reliance upon Divine Providence for the success of the work, also shows the scriptural faith they held in relation to the sacred Trinity, and the atonement of the Lord Jesus.

CHAPTER III.

ITS FIRST EDITOR.

The Rev. John Eyre, A.M., of Homerton, a pious clergyman of the Church of England, was its first editor; and whilst it is extremely gratifying to think of Episcopalian, Independent, and Baptist associating together as Christian brethren, for the purpose of diffusing the truth of their Divine Master, through the instrumentality of the press, at the very time when the metropolis of France was reeking with blood shed by the hands of atheistic madmen, it is also matter of devout thanksgiving that the principle of Christian catholicity has gained strength with the growth of piety among us, and that at the present moment, contrasting as it does in so many respects with the period we speak of, great multitudes of good men recognise the fact that Christianity is greater than any ecclesiastical system, and the things which unite the followers of Christ are immeasurably more important than those that divide them. One thinks with pleasure of Mr. Eyre and his friends meeting in some dusky room in the old City, and taking counsel together on the work they desired to inaugurate. They required more time in those days for their conferences and correspondence than we do in these. David Bogue came not from Gosport, Andrew Fuller from Kettering, and John Ryland from Bristol, by the 'express train." They could not correspond by letter, or send a quarter of a pound of manuscript, "open at the ends," for the sum of one penny. Nor could George Burder, or Edward Williams, send a telegraphic message to the excellent editor, and receive a reply in the course of two or three minutes. The brilliant gas shed no light upon their evening gatherings; and we are quite safe in concluding that when they looked with fondness on the first number of the magazine, Chapman, the worthy printer, did not say, "Gentlemen, it was printed by steam."

Of Mr. Eyre, Dr. Morison says, in his "Fathers and Founders of the London Missionary Society,"-"He belonged, in life and death, to a race of men who, valuing highly the peculiarities of their own ecclesi

That hither led, thy lambs with joy may drink
Of living waters; and, with gentle hand,
Their steps to guide where richest pastures rise,
With endless verdure crown'd, there to partake
Of angels' food, and grow prepared for heaven,
Where partial knowledge meets the blaze of day,
And means, so blest on earth, shall all be done away."

astical enclosures, were yet much more attached to the grand essentials of a common faith, by which all the members of the 'Holy Catholic Church' are linked together in the bonds of an indissoluble and glorious fellowship. . . . . Little, comparatively, is known of his early years; though that little is peculiarly interesting. As a child, he was lively, intelligent, affectionate, and sensitive-the general favourite of the little circle in which he moved. Of a singularly thoughtful and reflective turn of mind, he was not without powerful impressions of eternity in the season of his early childhood; and, though it does not appear that his parents laboured with assiduity to instil religious principles into his mind, he was no stranger to the lively workings of a tender and active conscience. When he was only four years of age, his mind was powerfully acted upon by an incident which he ever afterwards regarded as an element in the formation of his religious character. A friend of his family, eminently pious and benevolent, took up young Eyre one day in his arms, and said to him, 'There is such a thing, my dear child, as the pardon of sin, and there is such a thing as knowing it, too.' This affectionate appeal, though in no way remarkably adapted to the infant mind, seized on the conscience of Eyre, and left such an abiding impression on his memory and feelings, that in the days of childhood and youth he often reflected on the words of his venerable friend; and, at the early age of fourteen, began to seek in prayer the blessing of forgiveness, under a deep sense of his sinfulness in the sight of God.

As a clergyman of the Established Church he had subscribed her Articles, without a single particle of mental reservation, and ever expounded them in what he deemed their genuine sense, never so much as doubting their Calvinistic interpretation. But he did not receive them because they were the Articles of the Episcopal Church; but because he regarded them as a correct digest of the grand doctrines of grace, as contained in the infallible record of inspired truth. To the Bible, as the fountain of truth, he continually drew the attention of his hearers; and only valued human formularies as they aided him in this his paramount aim. He was emphatically a preacher of the Cross of Christ; and 'travailed as in birth,' till he saw his Saviour formed in the hearts of his people, the 'hope of glory.' Though resolutely attached to the doctrines of sovereign and efficacious grace, he never stated them in an abstract manner; but always associated them with calls to faith and repentance, and with earnest exhortations to holiness on the part of those who had been admitted into covenant with God. Like all such preachers, he neither pleased the high nor the low class of doctrinalists. He never sought to adapt his ministry to any of the violent parties in the religious world; but looked every part of Scripture in the face, and cared not whether he was held to be Arminian or Calvinist, so long as he felt that he was handing out to the people the sincere milk of the Word.'"

Mr. Eyre was a man of unaffected piety and great benevolencegenerous to a fault, having been known, on more than one occasion, to part with his last penny at the call of suffering humanity. One day, whilst standing in conversation with a gentleman, a poor man, in great distress, asked him for assistance. He instantly put his hand in his pocket and gave him a guinea. His friend suggested that he ought to consider his own family, and be less profuse in his charity. "Oh," The next day, a said he, "I shall soon have it repaid, with interest." very handsome present was sent to him; and he did not fail, with his usual good humour, to rally his friend on the parsimonious advice he had tendered on the previous day. On the 28th of March, 1803, this excellent man fell asleep in Christ, leaving behind him, as portions of the work in which his soul had taken pleasure, "THE EVANGELICAL MAGAZINE," the London Missionary and the Village Itinerancy Societies; and he, through these, though dead, "yet speaketh."

(To be continued.)

Worry.

"Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things." THE word "worry," though not very graceful, is yet exceedingly significant, and denotes an evil in daily life, from which few are quite exempt.* Small cares, petty disappointments, interruptions, frustration of plans and purposes, with their fretting effect on the mind, either cause or make up the worry of life. The mother rises in the morning with the intention of getting through work which imperatively demands her thought; but some slight accident-the poorliness of a child, or the unseasonable call of a visitor, or the forgetfulness of a tradesman, so interrupt her, that she is at her wits' end, and despairs of accomplishing the needful task. Moreover, reference is made to her about every conceivable trifle through every hour of the day. She hears her name perpetually called, to direct work, to solve difficulties, to settle disputes, until she is wearied out by the continual repetition of that word-in itself, the sweetest that is ever spoken-Mother. The servant finds what promises to be an uninterrupted time for some household duty-a half-day quite disengaged and free, but her expectations are altogether defeated. Unlooked-for intrusions occur; she is called away a dozen times in an hour; orders and counter-orders are given; callers change the purpose of the master or mistress, and the

* One of the most pleasing of our popular writers, the author of "Friends in Council," has recently given us a very ingenious essay on "Worry." Perhaps we may be allowed to borrow his title, and to adopt one or two of his hints, whilst we endeavour to cast the subject into a more decidedly religious form.

arrangements of the family; so that, instead of enjoying leisure for the execution of her plan, she meets with nothing but annoyance and vexation. The man of business is still more frequently harassed and perplexed. Persons who make appointments with him are unpunctual, waste his time, and throw him into a hurry for the rest of the day. Debtors break their promise at the last moment, and disappoint him of expected funds. Customers are unreasonable, unjust, forget their engagements, or are guilty of inconsideration and meanness. Those whom he employs blunder or fail, execute their work unsatisfactorily, exceed their orders through over-zeal, and do just what he wished them not to do; or, through carelessness, neglect to complete what ought to have been done to the letter. Accidents, unlooked-for events, misconduct or weakness of others, miscalculation, the demands of fashion, the exacting requirements of routine, interruption of health,—— all come in to wear and perplex the mind. In a word, in every department of life-personal, domestic, professional, commercial,-the weariness arising from over-work, and from the difficulty of crowding into to-day what must not be left till to-morrow,-the labour of keeping up appearances, complying with the etiquette of society, satisfying the demands of unreasonable people,--the mortification produced by the appearance of rivals, the tricks of competitors, and the artifices of ungenerous emulation, the distress of finding that your endeavours to please all, and do your duty to all, are unappreciated, and that you are blamed in cases where you have done your best,-the annoyance connected with the habits of neighbours, who either break your quiet, or shock your sense of propriety, the grief occasioned by the inconsistency or thoughtlessness of those you love,-all these things, and many such as these, produce an effect which no word so well represents as "worry."

It is not necessary to multiply illustrations of that which all understand; but it may be well to notice that the causes of this worry are partly beyond our power, partly within our power, and partly connected with temperament and self-government.

Some of the causes are evidently beyond our power. They are in many instances the result of providential events: the character of the seasons, the state of the weather, disease, accident, and other things, which we can neither foresee nor control. Or they arise from human imperfection, the impossibility of securing everywhere, and at all times, unerring accuracy. The most skilful sometimes fail; the most exact sometimes mistake; and hence, in this day of division of labour and co-operation in work, it is not wonderful that the precision which is required to make all pull together, as simultaneously as well-trained rowers, and to bring all parts of a complicated undertaking to tally, both in respect of time and place, should not be invariably attained. Then come confusion, delay, perplexity. Or, finally, the occasions of

worry are to be found in the faults and misconduct of others—their indolence, forgetfulness, irregularity, peevishness, disobedience, perverseness, dishonesty, exactions. Such causes as these are manifestly beyond our power. We cannot prevent them; we can hardly diminish them. But still, it does remain with us, whether we will allow them to vex us, or, at any rate, to what extent.

Some of these causes, again, are within our power. In other words, we are ourselves the authors of much of the worry we endure. Many persons are always in a muddle, never come to the end of their work, never have a quiet hour,-simply because they have no forethought and no method. It seldom occurs to them to make a plan for the day; to take that task first which will most fitly introduce the next; and hence they waste time, exhaust their energies, and wonder how it is that annoyances from which their neighbours seem to be entirely free, so pertinaciously cluster around them. There are others who never ask, in any given case, what is really needful; and for want of this, trouble themselves to make preparations on a scale which is ridiculous in itself, and perhaps painful to those for whom it is intended. Others, again, from neglecting to inquire how much they can accomplish, aim at that which is beyond their capacity, and subject themselves to the mortification of continual failure. Moreover, there is a very large class of people who seem to have no idea of time; allow it to slip away unnoticed; are seldom ready at the appointed hour; and, through their want of punctuality, miss those whom they had engaged to meet, see the train start just as they are in sight of the station, fail to complete works which are of pressing urgency, and find unaccomplished duties accumulate to an extent that at once alarms and paralyses them. Yes; the greater part of the vexations. and annoyances we endure are not inevitable-they lie at our own door.

But much of the worry we experience arises from temperament, and the want of self-government. There are some persons, indeed, who are remarkably equable; it is as though nothing could move them. Things which would drive their neighbours to madness are, by them, borne with a calmness which borders on stoicism and insensibility. Others, on the contrary, are of such quick perception and rapid mental movements, that they are continually irritated by the slowness of those around them. Moreover, being of a nervous and highly sensitive nature, they chafe at opposition, and are stung to the quick by petty slights. But then, it is clear that such persons have taken little or no pains to control and soothe their nervous excitability; for there are those who were once constitutionally irritable, sensitive in the extreme, liable to be vexed. and disturbed by trifles, who yet, by watchful care, by forming the habit of anticipating annoyances, looking upwards each hour for strength. to bear them, reviewing the past, and recalling the shame produced by permitted exasperation, and the satisfaction occasioned by victory over