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the deacons, who urged him to remain, the real state of the case, and told them he had only another sermon left. They constrained him to preach the following Sahhath morning, promising to supply the pulpit in the evening by another preacher. After the service, some of the congregation took leave of him in the vestry. When they had all departed, the principal deacon, with a sad countenance, accosted him thus:—
"My young friend, you must preach in the evening."
"No," said Mr. Boaz, "that is impossible, I am not prepared."
"Oh, but," said the other, "you must preach."
Mr. Boaz remonstrated, pleaded his inexperience, and stoutly refused.
"Well," said the deacon, "you won't preach, won't you?" "No, I cannot."
"Very well," said the deacon. Then going to the door, he added, "My young friend, in that cupboard," pointing to it, "you will find a Bible and a Cruden's Concordance, and writing materials. You can prepare your sermon. I shall send you some dinner, and no one will disturb you till the evening service." So saying, he locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and went oft".
Mr. Boaz did not like an impressment after this fashion, but he was under constraint, and prepared for the solemn service as well as he could. He preached in the evening with great acceptance. He received from the ladies of the congregation an elegant pulpit Bible, as a token of their esteem, and appreciation of his ministrations. During the week he went to Scarborough on his way to college and preached in his native town to a crowded audience, among whom were his parents, who, as may be supposed, were delighted with their young son.
He entered Newport Pagnall, in June, 1829, and continued there about four years. He was much engaged during his stay in preaching. This materially interfered with his studies, but activity was an essential element of his character, and he seldom passed a Sabbath without preaching. In 1833 he left Newport Pagnall, and as the delicacy of his health caused his friends to object to his becoming a missionary in a foreign land as he desired, he accepted an appointment to one of the stations of the Surrey Mission at Elstead, near Farnham. Here he laboured happily and usefully for some months, but his health becoming established, he offered Ins services to the London Missionary Society, and was accepted. He then resigned his charge at Elstead, and went to the East India College, at Haleybury, to study the Oriental languages under Professor Johnson. He resided at Hertford during his attendance on the college, and preached either in the town or the surrounding neighbourhood every Sabbath, and often on week days. He was popular as a preacher, and his services were much sought after. These engagements were, however, very serious interruptions to his studies, so that his proficiency in the Oriental languages fell far short of what might have been expected from a young man of his abilities. But the Lord was preparing him (unknown to himself) for the work to which he had appointed him—to preach the Gospel in a heathen country, not in a foreign tongue, but in his own language. He regretted these interruptions at the time, and his friends witnessed with sorrow how much his preparatory studies were broken in upon. They disapproved of this, and wished to see him apply more vigorously and constantly to those pursuits which were necessary to qualify him for missionary labours. But these preaching engagements were the proper school for fitting him for the work for which God, and not man, liad designed him. They were the best preparation for the sphere which he was afterwards called to occupy, and in which he was more useful than he would have been had he laboured directly as an evangelist among the natives of India. While there, even, he did not lose sight of Elstead. It seems to have made an indelible impression on his mind, which no change of place or association could efface From the banks of the Ganges he addressed the children in the Sabbath school at Elstead, in the following simple and characteristic style:
"To The Little Children In The Sabbath School.
"My Dear Little Children,—Perhaps you have almost forgotten nic. I have not forgotten you. Sometimes I pray for you. Will you pray for me? Do you pray for yourselves? If not, God will not love you, and I shall not meet you in heaven, if Jesus kindly takes me there. Since I saw you, God has been very good to me. He carried me safely over the great sea, a great distance—15,000 miles. I wish to be thankful to Him for Ids goodness; we should always be thankful for mercy. Will you thank God for me? Ho brought me to this city, and the Christians are glad through my coming, for they say, 'Now we see that Christians in England love the Christians in India.' One Indian Christian cried when he saw me, and said, 'We have been praying a long time, now God is answering our prayers.' You little people can assist in making these Indians happy. If I were to tell you, that if you gave a little money you could do it, you would say, 'Oh, I will give something every week.' Give it, then, and bo honest; but, nbove nil, love Jesus Christ. And you should try to send missionaries to preach to them, and teach them the Bible. I have said that the country in which I am living is a large and beautiful country, but here the people are very wicked. There is a house where your home is, a large and beautiful country, where there are no wicked children. Dr. Watts speaks of it in the hymn—
1 There is a land of pure delight.'
"I hope to meet many of you there; but you must remember the word of .Tesus, 'Except you be born again you cannot enter the kingdom of God.'
•; Perhaps you are too young to do anything for missionaries. Let me remind you that Jesus once was a little boy, and He was very active in doing good. He became a little child that He might teach little children how to be good. You must try to be like Jesus, not only good, but active; cliildren cannot be idle. If you try to sit still you cannot; you must bo active, and the child's hymn says, that—
'Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.'
If you are not working for Jesus you are working for Satan, and I hope none of you wish to be Ms servants. Some of you, I hope, wish to be missionaries. If you do, you must read your Bible very much; you should read about little Samuel, how he feared and served God: about good Timothy, who knew the Scriptures from a eliild. They were both missionaries. You should love the company of pious people, pray very much, and love Jesus with all your heart, and poor sinners as yourselves. My dear little children, I fear I have tired you. I love you, and therefore will not write any more.
"Your affectionate friend,
He was set apart to his work on June 18th, 1834, at Manchester. Amongst other ministers who took part in the services were the Revs. J. A. James, R. Knill, J. Parsons, and R. Wardlaw, D.D. He lias left an affecting account of his visit to his native place, to take leave of his family, in which he thus closes the recital of the parting scene:
"My father, in a stifled voice, while he pressed my hand, said, 'Oh, my boy, I have long prayed for submission to the will of God in this trying hour,' then turning his head, whispered, 'The Lord go with thee and bless thee;' again raising Ms voice, regardless of the crowd which had gathered together, lie said, while he crossed his face with his hands, 'I give him tip to Thee—to Thee, O Lord, protect and guide him for ever, for ever, for ever.' 'My father,' I responded, while with deep agony I said, ' O God, bless this honoured parent, and all these my weeping friends, with thy grace and glory.'"
Mr. Boaz left his native shores in August, 1834; and in a future paper we may give our readers some account of his labours in India, to which country he was appointed to proceed.
[From Guthrie's "Speaking to the Heart.")
Sailing once along a Highland loch where the crag goes sheer down into the water, our attention was arrested by the boatmen to an immense table of rock. Tilted up on its narrow edge, it stood there threatening destruction to any who ventured below it; appearing ready to topple over at tho touch of an infant's finger, and leap with a sudden plunge into the bosom of the lake. How came this gigantic stone to assume that upright attitude? No brawny arms of shepherd lads had raised and balanced it there. No earthquake, rolling along those mountains, and turning its stroke upwards, as earthquakes sometimes do, had started this mass from its bed and poised it so. Nor had the lightning, leaping from its cloud on the mountain summits, struck the crag, and splitting it, raised this giant fragment from its bed. That was the task of a much more quiet, feeble, simple, and secret agent. When Jehovah revealed himself to the prophet, it was not in the earthquake, or in the roaring lrarricaue, or in the blazing fire, but in a still, small voice; and the power that rent that solid rock, and raised the mass tottering on its narrow base, was of a kind as quiet, gentle, and unobtrusive.
Borne on the wings of the autumn wind, or dropped by a passing bird, a little seed had fallen into a crevice of the rock. Sleeping the winter through, but finding shelter and congenial soil, it sprang with the Spring; and fed by dews and rains, the tender shoot grew. In time, it lifted up its head, and spread its branches above, and its roots below, worming them into fissures, wrapping them round and round that strong table which, as they grew and thickened, it raised slowly from its bed. And then, one day when the seedling had grown into a tree, a storm, acting on leafy branches that caught the wind like sails, turned that tree into a lever, and, heaving on the rock that had received the fatal embraces of its roots, raised the massy table from its bed, and poised it on the edge of the dizzy crag; and there it stood erect, waiting another storm to be hurled into the mossy waters of that wild, dark mountain lake.
As that shall fall, so fell Demas from his lofty place; so have many fallen ; ay, and so unless we are restrained by the grace of God, the best of us would fall. It is not the world, observe, nor its money, nor its honours, nor its enjoyments, that the Bible condemns; but the love of them. Beware of that! At first it may seem little, small as a tiny seed, but let it get a lodgment within you, and fed by indulgence, it grows there, so silently, perhaps, that while it is worming itself deeper in, and wrapping its strong roots round and round your heart, you may nover suspect tho hold it is getting of you. That appears when tho hour of temptation comes, whatever form it may assume; and the man falls, to the astonishment of many, perhaps his own. When persecution came upon the Church, how did it act on Demas? As the storm on the rock that had lodged the seed in its bosom, and which, but for tho tree that sprang from it with wide-spread branches, and embracing roots, had stood unmoved by tempests, let them blow their worst. Turning Demas into a beggar, casting him into prison, or bringing him to the scaffold, persecution might destroy what of wealth, pleasure, health, and life, was his ; but had he not loved them, allowed them to take root in his heart, and occupy tho place that belonged to God, persecution had never destroyed him. Never; and when Paul, the apostle, stood with his grey head before tho crowd that had assembled to see him die, Demas had been at his side; one chain of love, as of iron, binding thorn; as they had fought, they had fallen together; their blood had mingled in the same stream; their heads rolled on tho same scaffold; one chariot had borne both martyrs to the skies; and over their mangled remains, carried by devout men to burial, a weeping church might have raised one monument to their memory—its inscription, these words of David, they " were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided."
It is another part of that lament which best suits this case of Demas,—" How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished." He was laid in an apostate's grave,—not excepting a drunkard's, the most hopeless of any; and, ere we close it over him, let us, like soldiers marched to a military execution, by the dead body of a comrade who has been shot for treachery, take a last look of this unhappy, guilty man. He loved tho world; and what has it brought him to? What is that world to him now, for which he denied his Saviour and forsook his servants? What now profits him a world, for which he bartered his immortal soul! He was a preacher; not the last who has turned back in the day of battle, and abandoned his principles when they had to be suffered for. He had been a preacher, perhaps an eloquent one; but ho never preached a sermon such as ho preaches now,— himself the sermon, and these words his text: "Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him."