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beings. At the expiration of this period, he was released by order of Parliament. In the solitude of his cell, he said the angel of patience had been with him. Through the cloud which had so long rested over him, the clear light of truth shone in upon his spirit; the weltering chaos of a disordered intellect, settled into the calm peace of a reconciliation with God and man. His first act on leaving prison was to visit Bristol, the scene of his melancholy fall. There he publicly confessed his errors, in the eloquent earnestness of a contrite spirit, humbled in view of the past, yet full of thanksgiving and praise for the great boon of forgiveness. A writer who was present says, the "assembly was tendered, and broken into tears; there were few dry eyes, and many were bowed in their minds.”

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In a paper, which he published soon after, he acknowledges his lamentable delusion. "Condemned for ever," he says, "be all those false worships with which any have idolized my person in that Night of my Temptation, when the Power of Darkness was above me; all that did in any way tend to dishonour the Lord, or draw the minds of any from the measure of Christ Jesus in themselves, to look at flesh, which is as grass, or to ascribe that to the visible which belongs to Him." "Darkness came over me through want of watchfulness and obedience to the pure Eye of God. I was taken captive from the true light; I was walking in the Night, as a wandering bird fit for a prey. And if the Lord of all my mercies had not rescued me, I had perished; for I was as one appointed to death and destruction, and there was none to deliver me." "It is in my heart to confess to God, and before men, my folly and offence in that day: yet there were many things formed against me in that day, to take away my life, and bring scandal upon the truth, of which I was not guilty at all." "The provocation of that Time of Temptation was exceeding great against the Lord; yet He left me not; for when Darkness was above, and the Adversary so prevailed, that all things were turned and perverted against my right seeing,

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hearing, or understanding; only a secret hope and faith I had in my God, whom I had served, that he would bring me through it, and to the end of it, and that I should again see the day of my redemption from under it all; this quieted my soul in its greatest tribulation." He concludes his confession with these words: "He who hath saved my soul from death, who hath lifted my feet up out of the pit, even to Him be glory for ever; and let every troubled soul trust in Him, for his mercy endureth for ever!"

Among his papers, written soon after his release, is a remarkable prayer, or rather thanksgiving. The limit I have prescribed to myself will only allow me to to copy an extract.

"It is in my heart to praise Thee, O my God! let me never forget Thee, what Thou hast been to me in the night, by Thy presence in my hour of trial, when I was beset in darkness, when I was cast out as a wandering bird; when I was assaulted with strong temptations, then Thy presence, in secret, did preserve me; and in a low state I felt Thee near me when my way was through the sea, when I passed under the mountains, there wast Thou present with me; when the weight of the hills was upon me, Thou upheldest me. Thou didst fight, on my part, when I wrestled with death; when darkness would have shut me up, Thy light shone about me; when my work was in the furnace, and I passed through the fire, by Thee I was not consumed. When I beheld the dreadful visions, and was among the fiery spirits, Thy faith staid me, else through fear I had fallen. I saw Thee, and believed, so that the enemy could not prevail.” After speaking of his humiliation and sufferings, which Divine Mercy had overuled for his spiritual good, he thus concludes: “Thou didst lift me out from the pit, and set me forth in the sight of my enemies; Thou calledst my acquaintances near me; they to whom I had been a wonder, looked upon me; and in Thy love I obtained favour with those who had deserted me. Then did gladness swallow up sorrow, and I forsook my troubles;

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and I said, How good is it that man be proved in the night, that he may know his folly, that every mouth may become silent, until Thou makest man known unto himself, and hast slain the boaster, and shown him the vanity which vexeth Thy spirit."

All honour to the Quakers of that day, that at the risk of misrepresentation and calumny, they received back to their communion, their greatly erring, but deeply repentant, brother. His life, ever after, was one of self-denial and jealous watchfulness over himself, blameless and beautiful in its humility and lowly charity.

Thomas Ellwood, in his autobiography for the year 1659, mentions Nayler, whom he met in company with Edward Burrough at the house of Milton's friend, Pennington. Ellwood's father held a discourse with the two Quakers on their doctrine of free and universal grace. "James Nailer," says Ellwood, "handled the subject with so much perspicuity and clear demonstration, that his reasoning seemed to be irresistible. As for Edward Burrough, he was a brisk young Man, of a ready Tongue, and might have been for aught I knew a Scholar, which made me less admire his Way of Reasoning. But what dropt from James Nailer had the greater Force upon me, because he lookt like a simple Countryman, having the appearance of an Husbandman or Shepherd."

In the latter part of the Eighth Month, 1660, he left London, on foot, to visit his wife and children in Wakefield. As he journeyed on, the sense of a solemn change about to take place, seemed with him; the shadow of the eternal world fell over him. As he passed through Huntingdon, a friend who saw him describes him as "in an awful and weighty frame of mind, as if he had been redeemed from earth, and a stranger on it, seeking a better home and inheritance." A few miles beyond the town, he was found in the dusk of the evening, very ill, and was taken to the house of a friend, who lived not far distant. He died shortly after, expressing his gratitude for the kindness of his attendants,

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and invoking blessings upon them. About two hours before his death, he spoke to the friend at his bedside these remarkable words, solemn as eternity and beautiful as the love which fills it:

"There is a spirit which I feel which delights to do no evil, nor to avenge any wrong; but delights to endure all things, in hope to enjoy its own in the end; its hope is to outlive all wrath and contention, and to weary out all exultation and cruelty, or whatever is of a nature contrary to itself. It sees to the end of all temptations; as it bears no evil in itself, so it conceives none in thought to any other if it be betrayed, it bears it, for its ground and spring is the mercy and forgiveness of God. Its crown is meekness; its life is everlasting love unfeigned; it takes its kingdom with entreaty, and not with contention, and keeps it by lowliness of mind. In God alone it can rejoice, though none else regard it, or can own its life. It is conceived in sorrow, and brought forth with none to pity it; nor doth it murmur at grief and oppression. It never rejoiceth but through sufferings, for with the world's joy it is murdered. I found it alone, being forsaken. I have fellowship therein with them who lived in dens and desolate places of the earth, who through death obtained resurrection and eternal Holy Life.”

So died James Nayler. He was buried in "Thomas Parnell's. burying-ground, at King's Rippon," in a green nook of rural England. Wrong and violence, and temptation and sorrow, and evil-speaking, could reach him no more. And in taking leave of him, let us say with old Joseph Wyeth, where he touches upon this case in his Anguis Flagellatus: "Let none insult, but take heed lest they also, in the hour of their temptation, do fall away.” J. G. WHITTIER.

DUTY! the star to every wandering barque,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken.

The Neglected Call.

WHEN the fields were white with harvest, and the labourers were

few,

Heard I thus a voice within me, "here is work for thee to do;
Come thou up and help the reapers, I will show thee now the way,
Come and help them bear the burden and the toiling of the day;"
"For a more convenient season," thus I answered," will I wait,”
And the voice reproving murmured, "hasten, ere it be too late."
Yet I heeded not the utterance, listening to lo! here-lo! there-
I lost sight of all the reapers in whose work I would not share;
Followed after strange devices-bowed my heart to gods of stone,
Till like Ephraim joined to idols, God well nigh left me alone;
But the angel of His patience followed on my erring track,
Setting here and there a landmark, wherewithal to guide me back.
Onward yet I went, and onward, till there met me on the way,
A poor prodigal returning, who like me, had gone astray,
And his faith was strong and earnest, that a father's house would be
Safest shelter from temptation, for such sinful ones as he;
"Read the lesson," said the angel, "take the warning and re-
pent,"

But the wily Tempter queried, "ere thy substance be unspent? "Hast thou need to toil and labour? art thou fitted for the work? Many a hidden stone to bruise thee, in the harvest field doth lurk ; There are others called beside thee-and perchance the voice may be,

But thy own delusive fancy, which thou hearest calling theeThere is time enough before thee, all thy footsteps to retrace;" Then I yielded to the Tempter-and the angel veiled her face. Pleasure beckoned in the distance, and her syren song was sweet, Through a thornless path of flowers, gently I will guide thy feet; Youth is as a rapid river, gliding noiselessly away,

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