their warmest thanks for his services. This led to explanations, and they were not less gratified to find they had been privileged with hearing an accredited preacher of the Methodist New Connexion, than he was to find that the "little flock," with whom he had spent such a pleasant evening, were members of the same religious community as himself, and that the little sanctuary in which he had officiated was their own place of worship. "Blessed are they that sow beside all waters." Who knows but the seed sown that night may spring up and bring forth fruit, "in some thirty, in some sixty, and in some an hundred fold?" But no place witnessed Mr. Beswick's zeal and devotion equal to Oxford street chapel. He was often found in the pulpit, and his well-informed mind rendered his services very acceptable. The last time he preached here, was on the 9th of September. He was then in a very delicate state of health. The text was Joshua xxiv. 15, “Choose ye this day whom ye will serve." His sermons were usually well arranged, and generally delivered with energy, but on this occasion he surpassed himself. That is, as one remarked at the close of the service, "there was greater earnestness than usual, and a manifest anxiety for the immediate salvation of those who heard him." Probably Mr. Beswick thought that sermon would be his last. The service was evidently too much for his enfeebled state, and he significantly remarked, "I feel that my preaching days are nearly gone." With such an impression no wonder that "He preach'd as one who ne'er should preach again, His work was done, I believe he never entered the pulpit again. and nothing remained for him but to die in peace, and enter into rest. If time, talents, property, and influence, thus consecrated to the glory of God, afford any evidence of genuine piety, then there can be no doubt respecting the character of our excellent friend. "His days were spent in doing good;" and having witnessed his faithful and unwearied labours in his Master's service, we are constrained to say of him as the evangelist said of Barnabas-" He was a good man." But, my brethren, however gratifying it may be to reflect on Mr. Beswick's devotion to the cause of Christ, or to hear impartial and intelligent friends speak of his pious and holy deportment, yet the best evidence of his piety was found in his protracted affliction and triumphant death. Here, by special manifestations of his presence and the richest communications of his grace, Jehovah affixed the broad seal of his approbation on our departed friend, and thus declared as with a voice from heaven, that "he was a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost and of faith." A sick bed and a dying hour will try a man's "work of what sort it is." Our worthy brother endured this fiery ordeal, and came out as gold purified. "His God sustain'd him in his final hour; Mr. Beswick's last affliction was peculiarly trying. About six months ago, he visited London, to see a brother sail for America. Whilst there, he was seized with violent fits of sickness, and finding no relief, he returned home very unwell. A little care and attention appeared to produce the desired effect, and for several weeks he was enabled to give some attention to business, and even to preach occasionally. At length, however, another severe attack completely paralyzed all his energies, and brought him to the verge of the grave. Additional medical assistance produced a favourable change, and again our dark forebodings and distressing fears gave place to joy and hope. He was decidedly better, and we began to congratulate ourselves on the prospect of his recovery. But O how transient and short-lived were those joys and expectations! They were born to deceive, and seemed to perish on the very day that gave them birth. It appears that our excellent friend, finding himself considerably better, left his room too early. Without proper caution he ventured into his shop, and sat there a few minutes. This brought on a relapse, which drove him back to his chamber, and kept him there till death put an end to his sufferings on Tuesday, the 8th instant, (January, 1850.) and Throughout this long affliction our estimable brother was mercifully sustained and comforted. To his old and confidential friend, Mr. Harris, he said, "I have no raptures, but I have peace, settled peace. If it be the will of God I should like to live a little longer, for the sake of my family and the church, but if he determine otherwise, all will be right. I have no fear of death, but am quite satisfied that, if I die the Lord will take me to himself." To me he frequently expressed himself in similar terms; and I often thought his experience was a striking comment on the language of the prophet: "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee." When Mr. Beswick was told the physician had given him up, that a few days would no doubt terminate his precious life, he did not appear to be at all alarmed. Believing views of Jesus, and strong confidence in the promises, evidently raised him above the fear of death, and constrained him to rejoice in hope. But still it was a solemn thing to die. He thought of his state and prospects, and wished to be left alone for reflection. His friends withdrew for a short time, and in their absence he enjoyed sweet and uninterrupted communion with God. On returning to the room, they found him perfectly resigned and unspeakably happy. Indeed, his calm and placid countenance soon told of that sweet and heavenly peace which dwelt within. Death was swallowed up in victory." My heart and my flesh faileth; but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever." We all know it is not uncommon for "The chamber where the good man meets his fate" to present scenes on which angels might cast a passing glance and weep. It was just so here. Brother Beswick was on the borders of the promised land, but his wife and children were in the wilderness. He could not take them with him over Jordan, but he knew that "a father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widow, is God in his holy habitation." That was enough for him, and therefore, resting on the promises of a faithful, covenant-keeping God, he said to his weeping partner, "My dear, I have now committed you and all the children to the Lord's care;' and from that hour all his anxieties concerning them were at rest. another time he supposed himself to be dying, and wished to have all At Bless 66 come the children called up, to take their last farewell of him. They gathered round his bed, and were all in tears. He looked at them very affecAfter a short pause, he tionately, but his feelings were soon overcome. recovered himself a little, and looking at them again, he said, you, my dears, it is hard work to give you up. Come," said he, and kiss me, one by one," and as they did so, he gave them a parting blessing, accompanied by a devout prayer for their individual welfare. O that their dying father's counsel may be deeply engraven on their hearts, so as to produce the desired effect in their present and eternal salvation. 66 Throughout this heavy affliction, Mr. Beswick took great delight in prayer, and spent much of his time in converse with God. When excessive pain denied sleep to his eyes and slumber to his eyelids, he was often heard crying out, Lord, help me." "Lord, save me." One night, when his pious and ever affectionate daughter Mary watched with him, he often looked at her very earnestly, and then said, "O my dear, may the Lord keep me. O my Saviour, look down upon me, and bless me." On another occasion, perhaps when labouring under some temptation, he said to Mrs. B., "Do you think the Lord will leave me now?" "No," she replied, "he has been with you in six troubles, and he will not leave you in the seventh." His mind was relieved, and he immediately added, "This is the seventh trouble." In this heavy affliction, our pious friend always combined watchfulness with prayer, lest he should in any measure grieve the Saviour, and wound his own soul. Of It was at a time when this, perhaps, one single example may suffice. nature appeared quite exhausted and ready to faint. To revive him, his estimable partner offered him a little wine and water, but he declined taking it, saying, "No, my dear, don't let me have a heavy head. I want to watch every step through the valley. I wish to find my way clear, and not make one single stumble." But, according to promise, at eventide there was light, and when going down into the valley Mr. Beswick was enchanted with blissful anticipations of everlasting life. "I never could sing," said he to his sisterin-law, who stood at his bedside, "I never could sing, for I never had a voice, but when I get to heaven I shall sing as loud as any. Then I shall have a new voice, and a new song will be put into my mouth. Yes, I shall sing with those before the throne, 'Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us unto God by his blood.'" In this sweet and heavenly frame he continued till Monday, the 7th instant. His cup was full, and he rejoiced in hope, but that did not suffice, for he longed "to depart, and be with Christ, which is far better." As the night advanced, he evidently thought he should die next morning about nine o'clock. With this impression, he counted the hours as they passed away, and wondered they did not fly more rapidly. When the clock struck two, he said, "Now it wants seven hours to nine." At six he repeated the observation, "Now it wants three hours to nine o'clock; what a while!" At length the long-expected hour arrived, and when his Lord came, he found him ready. His anxious family were gathered around him, "sorrowing most of all that they should see his face no more." They wept, but he rejoiced; and lifting up his eyes to heaven, he said, "Come, Lord Jesus, receive my body, spirit, soul. Come now, " and whilst thus calling upon Lord; just now. Come, Lord, God his unfettered soul rose in holy triumph, and "was carried by angels to Abraham's bosom." How just and beautiful are the sentiments of our admired poet, when he says, "Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, His watch-word at the gates of death, In closing my remarks on the life and death of Mr. Beswick, I must be allowed to say a few words to his estimable widow and family. so may you. My much-esteemed friends,-You have just sustained a most painful and irreparable loss; and be assured that I deeply sympathize with you on this trying occasion. A mysterious Providence has taken your best earthly friend away. You feel this event most acutely, and I am not surprised to find you overwhelmed with grief. There is nothing censurable in a flood of tears at such a time as this. Jesus wept;" and But whilst thus mourning over your loss, take care you do not murmur against God. This is the Lord's doing; and you know he has not taken our dear friend from you in anger, but in love. "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away," and in a submissive spirit you should now endeavour to say, "Blessed be the name of the Lord." You knew sufficient of our brother's piety to be fully satisfied that he was ready for his change; and when grace had thus rendered him perfect, God in mercy cut short his work in righteousness, and raised him to glory. · Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours, and their works do follow them." Painful as this separation is, thank God, it need not be eternal. It will not, it shall not be so, for I trust you are preparing to meet him in the skies. There he awaits your reception to everlasting habitations. Ere long you shall see him again. Look forward to that reunion with sincere and prayerful solicitude. Give all diligence. Encourage and strengthen each other's hands in the Lord. God has long been with you as a family; and he will be with you still. To our estimable sister, now doubly dear to us, as the widow of one whom we all so highly esteemed, I will merely say, "Thy Maker is thy husband; the Lord of Hosts is his name." And, my dear young friends, this event speaks in loud and touching terms to you. Be kind and attentive to your widowed mother. You must love her now as you have never done before; and thus endeavour to heal the wound which this painful bereavement has inflicted on her heart. And be kind and affectionate to each other. Remember the counsel and advice of your much revered father. He taught you to love one another. Think of his precepts and example; but, above all, think of your duty and obligations to God; and as your privileges and responsibilities have been increased by being favoured with such a father, endeavour to evince your gratitude by treading in his steps. Follow him as he followed his divine Master, and ere long you shall all meet again—a whole family in heaven. But, my hearers, this solemn event speaks to us, to me, to you, to all present before God this evening. It should remind us of our own mortality, and that every one of us must shortly follow our departed brother to the house appointed for all living. Are we ready for our change? Time brings precious privileges and tremendous responsibilities, and, ere long, every one of us must give account of himself to God, What are you doing? Are you improving your time, prizing your privileges, and carefully preparing for the judgment day? If so, we may rejoice together and rejoice in hope; but if not, I trust the event which has brought us together this evening will arouse us to duty; and thus eternity will show that, as Brother Beswick was useful in life, his death has not been altogether in vain. N.B. The chapel was crowded to excess, by an attentive and deeplyaffected audience; and by special request the sermon was preached again on the 3rd of February, in Unett street chapel, when many were present who were not able to get within the doors of Oxford street chapel on the preceding Sabbath. THE RAINDROP. Ir fell upon my burning check, I upward glanced its source to see, "Twas but one breath of vapour light, Yet 'twas the self-same power that made Nor was it downward sent for nought; I mused on one too fondly loved, Who had both cold and faithless proved, That raindrop raised my downcast eye, And check'd at once the bursting sigh, I turn'd from all the charms of earth, I dwelt on all his wondrous grace O Lord, accept my contrite vow, C. E. MAG. |