faith; without faith we shall find ourselves
sometimes at fault; but with faith never--for faith can remove the
difficulty. It will teach us to love life, brethren, when life is
becoming bitter, and to prize the blessings around us; for as every man
has his cares, brethren, so has each man his blessings. It will likewise
teach us not to love life over much, seeing that we must one day part
with it. It will teach us to face death with resignation, and will
preserve us from sinking amidst the swelling of the river Jordan."

And when he had concluded his address, he said, "Let us sing a hymn, one
composed by Master Charles Wesley--he was my countryman, brethren.

'Jesus, I cast my soul on Thee,
Mighty and merciful to save;
Thou shalt to death go down with me,
And lay me gently in the grave.
This body then shall rest in hope,
This body which the worms destroy;
For Thou shalt surely raise me up,
To glorious life and endless joy.'"

Farewell, preacher with the plain coat, and the calm serious look! I saw
thee once again, and that was lately--only the other day. It was near a
fishing hamlet, by the seaside, that I saw the preacher again. He stood
on the top of a steep monticle, used by pilots as a look-out for vessels
approaching that coast, a dangerous one, abounding in rocks and
quicksands. There he stood on the monticle, preaching to weather-worn
fishermen and mariners gathered below upon the sand. "Who is he?" said I
to an old fisherman who stood beside me with a book of hymns in his hand;
but the old man put his hand to his lips, and that was the only answer I
received. Not a sound was heard but the voice of the preacher and the
roaring of the waves; but the voice was heard loud above the roaring of
the sea, for the preacher now spoke with power, and his voice was not
that of one who hesitates. There he stood--no longer a young man, for
his black locks were become grey, even like my own; but there was the
intelligent face, and the calm serious look which had struck me of yore.
There stood the preacher, one of those men--and, thank God, their number
is not few--who, animated by the spirit of Christ, amidst much poverty,
and, alas! much contempt, persist in carrying the light of the Gospel
amidst the dark parishes of what, but for their instrumentality, would
scarcely be Christian England. I would have waited till he had
concluded, in order that I might speak to him, and endeavour to