formed not for itself, but for the world; not to increase private and domestic happiness, but to subserve the public welfare. This consideration, I think, must be capable of yielding high satisfaction. There is something peculiarly animating in the idea of diffusing knowledge and happiness through the world. . . .

. . I often feel a solicitude to know what are those schemes of usefulness which unite, in their greatest degrees, cool reason and the boldness and spirit of generous adventure. A few nights ago I was in company with a Quaker, a man whom I would select as one of the first specimens of possible human excellence. His sentiments discover a superiority of intellect, and his character admits, I believe, few rivals. His conversation was chiefly directed to prove the practicability of many designs which that kind of wisdom which is unconnected with benevolence and generosity is always ready to condemn, and which the world deem romantic and preposterous. His ideas, which were quite original, struck me with all the force of truth, and scarcely wanted the assistance of many interesting facts with which he illustrated and confirmed them. It appears to me that but little is accomplished, because but little is vigorously attempted; and that but little is attempted, because difficulties are magnified. A timorously cautious spirit, so far from acting with resolution, will never think itself in possession of the preliminaries for acting at all. Perhaps perseverance has been the radical principle of every truly great character.

I am sometimes apprehensive that I do not give to religion that preference of regard which it merits, and that superiority of influence with which it ought to operate on the system of life. I feel that religion is the life of every genuine excellence, but must lament an unhappy tendency rather to deviate from it than embrace it. Religion presents itself in an appearance different from direct and honest Christianity—a little more softened to the spirit of the world-affecting, at the same time, to retain all the essential qualities of Christianity. When ler into the scenes of life by this kind of equivocal piety, men are apt tẻ, lose the true spirit and feelings of religion; they substitute a certain chimerical generosity of spirit for Christian zeal, and, inflamed by a delusive idea of greatness and expansion of mind, break down the sacred boundaries that separate important truth from dangerous error. I find that in attempting to clear away the extraneous matter which ignorance and prejudice have attached to religion, there is danger of a presumptuous freedom which injures the great object itself. Everything rises in proof of the necessity of seeking both our happiness and our wisdom entirely from on high. Two of those whom I left in your family are, it seems, taken off by death. There is at least thus much of the consolatory in the event, that death has intercepted the many sorrows and sins which the train of advancing life would have brought on; and if the loss shall give those who feel it most sensibly more fully to God, 't will be happily compensated.. I often recollect Dr. Young's ex

pression, "Give thy mind sea-room." There are minds, and I must admire them, that disdain all restraints but those alone which the Deity has imposed. Perhaps it must be allowed, at the same time, that spirits of infinite vigor and fire are not the most necessary characters in the government of the world, or the cause of religion. The greatest abili ties are not always well directed, and when well directed do not always produce an adequate effect. . . . . Hall is expected by his relations in Bristol next month. I shall be quite eager to see him. The opinion which the most sensible here entertain of his powers leads me to think that all the accounts you have heard rather fall below than exaggerate them.

VII. TO MR. H. HORSFALL.

....

Bristol, April 2, 1792.

Depend on it, if I find any faults about you when I see you again, I shall criticise them with the most bitter and sarcastic severity. For instance, if you are silent in a circle of sensible friends, I shall either say you are unsocial, or insinuate that you are ignorant. If I find you have told all your secrets and mine to Miss and Lady ———, I shall remind you that it is necessary there should be some silly fellows to serve the ladies for playthings; just as children must have their dolls. If you continue in the use of sugar, I shall greatly suspect your generosity and humanity; I never taste it in any form. I have even almost forgot it, so that I never feel the want of it. Tea is now become as agreeable without sugar as before it was with it.. This is a fair warning now. If you are conscious of any of these faults, I hope you will take care to reform in time. I wonder whether, when we may appear together again, some of our friends will like us as ill as they did before. I hope we shall give no just cause for their ill-natured observations, and their idle remarks. But if they will find, or make a cause, let them fully please themselves. . . . . Let us mortify their captiousness by that kind of contempt alone which is expressed by displaying a noble superiority of understanding, manliness, and piety. The impertinence of conceit is unworthy of notice; but let us be anxiously concerned that neither our enemies nor our pretended friends may ever have it in their power to impeach our characters with respect to any serious and important matter. I trust, my dear friend, we shall ever stand at a distance from everything vain and foolish,-everything foppish and affected, everything proud, self-important, and disgusting. Whenever we discover a disregard of serious and important concerns, and whenever we appear as if we thought ourselves too dignified or too wise to converse and be familiar, occasionally, at least, with the meanest and most ignorant, we shall betray our selves into our enemies' hands, and justify in a measure their reflexions.

I hope you go forward with pleasure in the pursuits of learning. It is delightful to feel one's mind enlarging, to contemplate an endless succession of new objects, to extend our conquests in the regions of intellect and fancy, and to be perpetually aspiring to the sublimities of knowledge and of piety. We find that resolution and diligence are never exerted in vain. Sincere and well-directed efforts will promote our religion, as much as study will improve us in learning, or experience increase our prudence. Everything is attainable which we can justify ourselves in desiring; and certainly we cannot too warmly desire whatever can make us more happy in ourselves, or qualify us to impart happiness to others. Nothing can so effectually expand the mind as the views which Religion presents; for the views of Religion partake of the magnitude and glory of that Being from whom Religion proceeds. Their amplitude will extend, and their dignity will exalt, the mind. . . . .

....

1

Amidst your pleasures and your prospects, surely you can admit one thought of pity for a poor exile on whom love never smiles, before whom no pleasing prospects open, and to whom life itself is insipid. But, if life cannot make me happy, let it never make me malignant. If the visits of happiness to me are but transient, that very circumstance, perhaps, renders them more permanent to my friends. While the inhabitants of the North Pole are involved in a tedious night, those of the South enjoy perpetual day. . . . . Perhaps I may hope to hear from you before I go off to Africa.. This minute I have received a letter from Mr. T. Stovin, at Birmingham, in which he particularly inquires whether I ever hear from you. He writes seriously. In my last to him I expressed a wish that he would hear Mr. Pearce, a lively, popular young preacher at Birmingham, who a few years since went from our Academy. He writes: "On your recommendation I went to hear Mr. Pearce. He is, I think, an excellent preacher, and puts me in mind of those frequent admonitions and instructions I have heard from good Mr. Fawcett. These instructions afford me an ample theme of reflexion," &c. I always thought him a youth of a generous spirit. How happy should I be to see that spirit ennobled by religion!

VIII. TO MR. H. HORSFALL.

Bristol, April 19, 1792.

.... I once felt something like envy in observing how Mr. H. and several others of the same class would preach; but I believe I should not feel the slightest degree of it now. I think I should feel no more difficulty in preaching before twenty of them than before so many children. You say I must do something great in the preaching line when I come into Yorkshire. Let not my Yorkshire friends expect too much. Probably there never was a more indolent student at this or any other Academy.

I know but very little more of learning or anything else than when I left you. I have been a trifler all my life to this hour. When I shall reform, God only knows! I am constantly wishing and intending it. But my wishes and intentions have thus far displayed, in a striking degree, the imbecility of human nature. To-morrow is still the time when this unhappy system of conduct shall be rectified.

My dear friend, I hope you are diligent and pious. Time is infinitely valuable. Oh! do not suffer it to be lost. I hope you already possess and exercise that wisdom which I hope at last to attain. The work of life is great-greater to me, in proportion to the long season that I have neglected it. I perceive that religion does not promise in order to deceive, nor threaten in order to dismay; her intentions are uniformly kind. Be much in prayer, and in your prayers do not forget me. . . . . Our vacation will commence in five or six weeks; if well, I must then spend a week or two in visiting Bath, Cowslip Green, the country residence of the Miss Mores, and some other places. The time I shall be in London is uncertain.

IX. TO THE MANAGERS OF THE BAPTIST COLLEGE.

Bristol, May 26, 1792

HONORED GENTLEMEN,-The expiration of the term of literary privileges reminds me of the acknowledgments due to those to whose liberality I owe them.

One year has passed, attended with the important favors of your patronage, which has given value to time by conferring the advantages for improving it. My gratitude for your kindness will I trust be lasting; and never disappoint that kindness by neglecting or relinquishing its object. May He, whose cause you wish to promote, amply reward you! and may all who thus experience your generous assistance reflect honor on the institution and on you. Quitting the seminary without any determinate prospects, I humbly await that train of futurity through which superior wisdom may conduct me, firmly resolved, at the same time, that every scene into which I may be introduced, shall witness me actively alive in the cause of religion and of God.

I am, honored gentlemen, with grateful respect,

Your obliged and humble servant,

J. FOSTER.

CHAPTER II.

NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE-IRELAND-RETURN TO YORKSHIRE.

1792-1796.

AFTER leaving Bristol, the first place in which Mr. Foster regu larly engaged as a preacher was Newcastle-on-Tyne.* An ancient room in this town, situated at the top of a flight of steps called Tuthill Stairs, and formerly used as the Mayor's Chapel, had been occupied by a Baptist congregation ever since the year 1725. It was capable of holding scarcely more than a hundred persons, and both before and during Foster's stay the average attendance was much below this number. Yet, in so small an auditory, there were a few individuals capable of appreciating the merits of the preacher, and who took a very gratifying interest in his discourses. "I have involuntarily caught a habit," he tells his friend Mr. Horsfall, "of looking too much on the right hand side of the meeting. 'Tis on account of about half-a-dozen sensible fellows who sit together there. I cannot keep myself from looking at them. I sometimes almost forget that I have any other auditors. They have so many significant looks, pay such a particular and minute attention, and so instantaneously catch anything curious, that they become a kind of mirror in which the preacher may see himself. Sometimes, whether you will believe it or not, I say humorous things. Some of these men instantly perceive it, and smile; I, observing, am almost betrayed into a smile myself!"†

Mr. Foster remained at Newcastle little more than three months;

His immediate predecessor was the late REV. JOSEPH KINGHORNE, of Norwich, who, in his denomination, was inferior only to Dr. Gill in an intimate acquaintance with Rabbinical literature. The results of his studies were known to the public chiefly by a new edition of professor James Robertson's "Clavis Pentateuchi," and a sermon preached before the Society for the Conversion of the Jews, on "The Miracles of Jesus not performed by the power of the Shemhamphorash.”

The only survivor of this little group, J. L. Angas, Esq., has a vivid recollection of the breathless attention with which they listened to Mr. Foster's discourses. One sermon especially, on "This is not your rest," made an indelible impression on his mind.