conscience enforced by any religious example. He was born in London, in June, 1769. His parents were respectable. Deprived by death of his father at the age of eight years, he was taken under the care of an uncle, who very soon employed him in keeping his accounts. This uncle was a mere man of the world. He took not the least care either of the religious or moral state of mind of his nephew. So that the men, of whom he employed a great number, were left to mould the character and form the habits of the lad. Amongst them were some who set the worst possible example. This the corruption of his nature, uncorrected and unchecked by educational warnings, induced him to follow, and he soon outran those who led the way in every sinful pursuit. A determined philosopher of the epicurean school, he resolved to seize the hours as they flew, and to make the most of the present world. He gave himself up, without stint, to every pleasure to which his depraved nature impelled him. In the midst of this giddy round of merely selfish gratification, he lost his uncle. This led to a change. He was removed from the establishment in which he had been initiated in business, and he was apprenticed. But he still remained without a spiritual, or even a moral, counsellor. His master appears to have been, in every respect, similar to his uncle; so that the best interests of the lad were wholly neglected. He appears, however, to have passed through the period of his apprenticeship with credit; as we find, soon after the close of the period, that he was employed in a house in which business of the same kind was conducted. But neither a spiritual nor a moral change had taken place. He continued in the same course of ungodly living and worldly pleasure. He had high health, a cheerful disposition, and no small amount of intelligence. Hence, his society was courted. He was regarded as a joyous boon companion, well qualified to set the table in a roar, and to prevent the evening hours from dragging on heavily.

It was during these his thoughtless and gay days, that he had several narrow escapes from death; but these, whatever of momentary effect they might have produced, left no lasting impression on his mind. It remained unchanged. And here we can but observe, that the Scripture history, both of the Old and New Testament, the observation of every intelligent Christian, and the records of church history, all concur to prove, that providential interposition the most striking, events the most appalling, and even miraculous displays of the power and majesty of God, produce only a temporary and superficial effect on the unrenewed mind. The passage of the Red Sea, following the ten plagues of Egypt; the stream from the smitten rock; the daily supply of manna from heaven; and all the other wonders of the wilderness; produced no permanent effect of a beneficial kind on the multitude that followed the guidance of Moses. At the foot of Sinai, and just relieved from its terrors, they cried out in language which appeared to result from the warmest emotions of the heart, "All that the Lord hath spoken will we do, and be obedient;" but the impression rapidly died away, and their ungrateful murmurs soon evinced that their hearts were unchanged. Even the miracles of our Lord Jesus himself, though they excited astonishment, called forth applause, and induced the people to say, "He hath done all things well," appear to have produced, except in a very few instances, no permanent impression on those who witnessed them. It is indeed expressly said, "Though he had done so many miracles among them, yet believed not they in him,” John xii. 37. Thus several remarkable interpositions of Divine Providence in saving the life of young Press, when exposed to imminent danger, though they doubtless affected him for a time, produced no favourable change, but left him as destitute of everything like true devotion of heart and life to God as they found him.

But at length the time for special favour towards him arrived, and that

man.

which the care of God's providence did not effect, the power of God's truth did. John Press, like thousands as low in morals and religion as he then was, valued himself on being a true ChurchThe Methodist and dissenting chapel was regarded by him as the hotbed of all evil. He had sedulously shunned all approach to their doors. But John Press had a friend-perhaps he was only a casual acquaintance-whose views as to true Christianity were somewhat different from his own. He had been accustomed to attend these chapels, and he invited John Press to accompany him on one particular evening. Perhaps he had frequently invited him before; but this the documents before us do not state. The probability is, that the prejudices of high churchmanship did not at once give way. Be this as it may, the persuasive powers of the friend of Press prevailed, and he entered the doors of the chapel. Of the feeling of his mind by the way, or the emotions excited by the appearance of the congregation, as he looked around him when he had entered, we have no record. Perhaps he felt repugnance at every step of the way, and the strongest prejudice as he contemplated the far from aristocratic assembly. Perhaps he was hardly seated ere he felt a wish to rise again, and leave his friend, the sanctuary, and the minister of God's word. But this was not to be. He sat through the singing and the prayer; but not through the sermon. His attention was arrested, fixed, and he listened with an interest induced by the power of divine truth on his conscience. The impression deepened as the preacher proceeded; till, towards the close of the sermon, he sank down prostrate in the pew, overcome by his emotions. These were of a most painful character. So great was the perturbation of his spirit under these first convictions of sin, that muscular power failed. He was raised, after some delay, from the floor, and a coach provided to convey him home. He passed a night of fearful agony. To use his own expressions, he feared to sleep lest he should open his

eyes in everlasting torment. This mental distress continued for some time; and our departed friend has been often heard to dwell on this season of religious awakening with deep emotion. He was thus made to know the "terrors of the Lord." He saw the law of God in its purity; sin in its guilt; but he knew not the way of mercy. The law of God shone out before him in its holy and strict requirements, and no messenger of mercy was at hand to whisper to him the accents of peace, reconciliation, and love.

He knew nothing of "God in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not imputing their trespasses to them." He had never heard the Saviour say, "Come unto me, and I will give you rest." There was no balm, that he was aware of, for his wounded spirit. He felt himself a condemned sinner in the sight of a holy God; and he was left for a time without the dawn of peace, or even the shadow of hope.

At length, however, terror and despair gave place to joy and peace in believing. The gospel of Jesus Christ, in its wise adaptation to the guilty and miserable state of man, and in all its grace and fulness, brought with it consolation to his burdened heart. He at once abandoned his ungodly companions, renounced his evil practices, gave up the unholy pleasures in which he had been accustomed to indulge, and cast in his lot with the people of God. To act with promptitude and decision was characteristic of John Press; and all who knew him can well understand, when he had once resolved on evincing by his conduct the change that had taken place within, how perfectly free from worldly conformity or sinful compromise his after-course would be. His choice once made, left no room in his spirit for change. He clung to the main doctrinal truths of God's word with an unbroken confidence; and he adhered no less closely to the preceptive parts of holy writ. A shifting and accommodating adaptation to the change which ever and anon passes on the religion and the morals of the half-worldly

and half-religious suited not John Press. He had an object before him, and he kept it steadily in view; a race to run, and he deviated not from the course. Before his conversion to God, he was fearfully consistent in following out his principles, bad as they were; and after his conversion, he was equally consistent in practising all holy duties. He was not, indeed, a man of strong emotions, violent passions, or great excitability: cool, calm, and self-possessed, he submitted quietly and habitually to a conscience touched by the finger and enlightened by the truth of God; to a conscience which, when thus taught, has the best right to the mastery of all our emotions, affections, and passions. These had at one time ruled him; but then they submitted to the dictates of the superior power, whose place it is not to obey the inferior principles of our nature, but to control, to guide, and to govern them. Hence his piety was of the firm, unflinching, and truly manly character. He could never have succeeded as a courtly preacher; but he would have appeared with advantage in the prison of the confessor, and at the stake of the martyr.

The Rev. J. Press was distinguished by great plainness in dress, in manners, but especially in preaching. The graces of oratory would have been lost on his congregation. He did not possess, and he had too much wisdom to affect them. A grammarian and a critic might have found fault with not a few of his words, and some of his sentences; but there have been, and we fear still are, a great number of preachers, whose grammatical and theoretical knowledge cannot be called in question, and whose intensive and philosophical style call forth the applause of the elegant and the refined, who never produce one-tenth part of the valuable impression which the preaching of John Press did. He was noticeable also for his integrity. He was as far removed from everything approaching to trick, cunning, or scheming, as ever man was. Foreign to his own nature, he never suspected it in others; and though

he lacked not the shrewdness of a thoughtful and intelligent mind, his uprightness of character would not permit him even to think of employing it to overreach another. His kind-heartedness was remarkable. It was exercised towards all. His own family-the best witnesses-bear testimony to it; his ministerial brethren experienced it; and the poor and the young were gratified by its influence. With this was associated an unbroken cheerfulness. It was in vain for those who loved not the man nor his doctrine to try to vex, grieve, injure him. He seemed to bear all with a smile either of pity or kindliness. The clergyman of the parish once sent his servant to draw a few shillings for tithe of the garden and small paddock attached to the chapel. "Let the good man come in," said our friend; and on his urging on behalf of his master the claim, he said to him, "Go, John, and tell your master I have known many shepherds who shear the flock, but I never heard of one before who wished to shear a shepherd." Of course the claim was never repeated. His piety was simple and unaffected. He referred all events and all circumstances to God; dwelt much on His character; was ardently attached to the grand peculiarities of the gospel salvation; and, above all, to the bearings which these have on the heart and the life. His religion was not fearfully, but boldly doctrinal; nor was it tremblingly, but courageously practical too. He was not ashamed either of the humbling or the holy design of the religion of the New Testament. Latterly he saw more of the importance of a practical strain in his ministry than he did at an earlier period. As a minister, he was faithful, persevering, and most laborious. His broad muscular frame and (for very many years) full health, sustained him in journeys and labours, the very prospect of which would fill men of infirm health and of a less Herculean fabric with painful apprehension. On one occasion, when he had to walk several miles across a wild country to a village