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was as iron; his habits were severely abstemious; his diligence and perseverance, almost without a parallel. The Rev. J. P. Haswell, who laboured in the same District, speaks of him in the highest terms. "His early ministry," says he, "was marked for deep Christian experience. In his first years, all his labours and pastoral visitations convinced his acquaintance that he might say with truth, One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after.' His humility was as evident as his self-denial was great. A more transparent man I never knew. Surely, few Christians learned more fully the art of Christian contentment. Mr. Kemp practically believed it was more blessed to give than to receive.' For several years he returned me part of his annuity, stating as his reason, 'So many of my beloved brethren are worse off than I am.

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After twenty years acceptably spent in the work of the Lord, an affliction in the eyes, which was attended with great pain, and nearly deprived him of sight, obliged him to become a Supernumerary. He "sat down," as the phrase runs, at Carlisle and Wigton; and then went, at the special request of the friends, to reside at Barnard-Castle. He was well known there, having laboured two years in the Circuit, and was highly esteemed for his work's sake. The trustees of the chapel built him a comfortable house, and he was allowed a small salary. He laid himself out for usefulness in many ways, especially in pastoral visitation from house to house. As his strength increased and his sight improved, he shared with the two ministers the full work of the Circuit.

About this time he began to take a more active part in the Missionary cause, and to deliver those allegorical speeches for which he was deservedly popular. For this work he had a peculiar talent, generally selecting some striking figure, which he wrought up, and applied with great tact and ingenuity. At the District-Meeting of 1837, being then in his sixtieth year, but having greatly recruited his strength, he again placed himself at the disposal of the Conference. The offer was accepted, and he was appointed to Worksop. This Circuit he found to be an arduous one. "My walks," he writes, "are seven, ten, and occasionally thirteen, and sixteen miles." But he had all the zeal and energy of youth, and shrunk from no toil he was at all able to perform. found the Society much disturbed, in consequence of unhappy differences which then agitated the Connexion; but, under his judicious superintendency, peace was restored, and followed by prosperity. The congregations greatly improved, additional sittings were let, and several sinners in the town and country were brought to God. The memory of his labours in that Circuit, where he remained two years, is still precious.

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His next appointment was to Snaith, where he was much respected. Thence he removed to Holbeach. During his residence there, a large new chapel was built, which was opened in 1843 by Dr. Newton, Dr. Beaumont, and other ministers. The collections, far surpassing expectation, amounted to £140.-After travelling in the Market-Rasen and Driffield Circuits, he began to feel the infirmities of threescore years

and ten coming on apace; and, having lost his wife, he finally retired in 1846 from the work he so dearly loved, and settled down in the village of Sinderby, in the Thirsk Circuit. But did he then cease to labour? No: he was still "ready for every good work;" visiting from house to house, and caring especially for the sick; distributing tracts; conducting week-night services; and on the Sunday taking appointments regularly both in the Thirsk and the Bedale Circuits; not unfrequently walking out four or five miles, and preaching twice. His visits were always anticipated with pleasure, especially by the young; to whom he generally addressed a few striking remarks, accompanied by some familiar illustration. He still took an active part in the Missionary cause, by collecting subscriptions in his own neighbourhood, and by assisting at the country meetings for many miles round. For ten years after he became Supernumerary he thus continued to labour, till he reached his fourscore years; when increasing infirmities compelled him to confine his exertions within a narrower circle. His strength began to fail, and increasing pain was felt in his left eye. This seemed to be the beginning of an insidious disease, which gradually spread, and finally terminated in decided cancer. In one of his letters, bearing date about that time, he writes: "Sixty-five years I have been trying to do the will of God, and I now feel willing to suffer it. O Lord, help me! My soul rests in God." The best advice was sought, and means were used to arrest the painful affliction which he suffered, but without effect. The disease proved incurable, and finally brought him to the grave.

A little while after he was laid aside from public labour, I paid him a visit. He seemed to think his work was done; and, as he could not bear the idea of living a useless life, he could scarcely say Amen to the prayer that his days might be prolonged. I remarked, that he had been long spared to exemplify the grace of God in active service, and now it might be that he should be called to exhibit the passive graces, and become a witness of the Divine power in full resignation. And so it proved. Wearisome days and nights were appointed unto him. He was chastened with pain, yea, with strong pain. Yet a murmuring word never escaped his lips; scarcely, indeed, would he ever allude to this trial, unless in answer to a direct question. His patience was proverbial; and in his affliction he preached and taught by his example lessons as powerful and practical as he could by any means have enforced from the pulpit.

His Christian experience may be gathered from his letters, of which a few extracts may be given. "What a blessed thing it is," he writes, "to have sunshine through the wilderness! Thanks to God for the true light, which enables us to look to the end, and see the glorious reward which awaits us in the skies! Blessed hope!

'It lifts the fainting spirit up,
It brings to life the dead.'

And if the near view and earnest have such an influence on the mind, what must the full possession be! I feel that I can say, 'God is love;

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and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him."" Again: "Our path through the wilderness is up and down, never long at one stay. Well, so let it be but there will be no up-hill road in heaven; no louring skies; no pelting storm. It will be always even, always right. Praise the Lord, we are on our journey home. I have set my heart upon heaven, and I am determined to have it. My outward man decayeth; I feel as though I had nearly done with all earthly things. I want more of Christ; more of a present salvation, a present heaven. To be filled with all the fulness of God' is

'More than angel-tongue can tell,

Or angel-mind conceive;'

and yet it is a purchased blessing, and it may be ours." Once again: "I am making it my great business to glorify God. I feel that I possess that religion which keeps my mind in peace, and saves me from the fear of death. Christ is mine, and I am His. What a blessing to know that God is reconciled! Surely the world hath nothing to equal this."-Quotations like these might be multiplied; but those given. are sufficient to illustrate the character of his religious experience, which was uniform, rich, and deep. In the last letters he was able to write, and when his strength was greatly enfeebled, he bore his steadfast testimony: "God has long blessed me, and He still blesses His 'presence makes my paradise.' Thank God for a prospect of heaven! What can equal this?" The last line he wrote was, "I am living for eternity; the Lord is my portion."

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Henceforth Mr. Kemp's correspondence had to be kept up through the medium of an amanuensis; and a kind lady in the village gladly rendered him this service. By the aid of her pen he testified, "I have constant pain, yet I have great cause for thankfulness. My mind is kept in perfect peace: I have no upbraidings of conscience. I am thankful I have been able to steer a steady course. I am anxiously waiting till the final summons shall come. I can say, 'To me to live is Christ,' but to die' would be great 'gain.' The same lady adds, in a postscript, "It is very delightful to see the sustaining power of Divine grace exemplified in Mr. Kemp, enabling him to bear constant pain without repining, calmly viewing death, and arranging for his obsequies as if only for a journey."

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From this time the malady increased in virulence. I went a distance of forty miles, to see my old, afflicted, dying friend. That interview I shall never forget. I found him lying on his couch, with his face covered with the shade he generally wore. He was aware of my coming, and I well knew no one would more rejoice to see me. Yet he made no attempt to rise; and there was not the cheerful smile, nor the gladsome greeting, as of yore. His feelings were quite overpowered, and his mind sunk beneath the pressure of heavy affliction. "0," said he, "I am a wreck, a perfect wreck." And, most truly, he was but the shadow and remnant of his former self: for the strong man was bowed down. He said his work was done, and he was now laid aside as a broken vessel; adding, that he desired to depart, and be with Christ.

I reminded him of our last conversation, when it had been observed that he might be called to exemplify the passive graces, and glorify God by resignation to His will. He said, "Yes; and He enables me to say, 'Thy will be done.'" His pain increased much, but his patience increased also. He experienced, in the fullest sense, the answer to that prayer,

"When pain o'er my weak flesh prevails,

With lamb-like patience arm my breast."

I went once more to see him, and found him much worse, but very, very happy. He spake again of his decease, and the glory which should follow, with calm Christian resignation. He was then drawing near his journey's end: I knew this would be our last interview; and, on taking my leave, asked, "What shall I say to your Barnard-Castle friends, many of whom will be inquiring about you?" "Tell them," he replied, "I have perfect resignation." What more could he say? Here was the perfection of Christianity itself. (James i. 4.) What better could he say? The mature Christian, like his Lord, though in his humbler measure, is made perfect through suffering. “I find religion,” said he, "to be that which I always took it for; I am not deceived in it. It is not a cunningly devised fable.'

"Comfort it brings, and power, and peace,

And joy, and everlasting love.""

About this time, he was favoured with a beatific view of the heavenly Jerusalem. His pains were excruciating: yet, in spite of their intensity, so full was the joy, so transporting the prospect, that his countenance was lit up with a heavenly smile, which his friends perceived, but could not then account for. This rapture lasted two days; and he afterwards declared it to be unutterable, and full of glory. One evening he cried out,

"But O! when that last conflict 's o'er,

And I am chain'd to earth no more,

With what glad accents shall I rise

To join the music of the skies! "

As nature slowly sank, his pains were assuaged, but his weakness increased, till

"The wheels of weary life at last stood still."

During the evening before he died, he repeated the lines,

"O! what a mighty change

Shall Jesu's sufferers know,

While o'er the happy plains they range,

Incapable of woe! "

To him it would indeed be a most blissful change,—from sickness to health, from pain to ease, from sorrow to joy, from earth to heaven. "I shall leave this body behind," said he, "with its mutilated member," referring to the part consumed by cancer; "but, in exchange, this vile body, the body of our humiliation, shall be fashioned and

made like unto Christ's glorious body." The last words he distinctly uttered were, "My battle is fought : praise the Lord!" It was his last battle. The aged warrior was about to gain a triumphant entrance into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

"Servant of God, well done!

Thy glorious warfare's past;
Thy battle fought, thy victory won;
And thou art crown'd at last."

MEMOIR OF MR. BENJAMIN COCKER,

LATE OF MIRFIELD:

BY THE REV. THOMAS HARDY,

MR. COCKER was one of a host of laborious Local preachers, who proved invaluable auxiliaries to the mission of Methodism, especially at a time when Circuits were far more extensive, and ministers fewer, than at present. He was born at Almondbury, near Huddersfield, in 1785, of parents who were then, and to their dying day, members of the Methodist Society. In boyhood parental control was irksome to him, -the more so, while he saw the children of some professors left at liberty to attend feasts and fairs, and to wander whithersoever they would on the Lord's day. He consoled himself, however, with the thought that one day he should be of age, and his own master. Before that day arrived, he learnt to be thankful for the restraints of early discipline.

In 1803 the Rev. Edward Gibbons, (then newly appointed to Huddersfield,) calling at his father's house, went up to the chamber where Benjamin was weaving; and, grasping his hand, urged him at once to seek the Lord. Under the ministry of this faithful pastor, the young man's mind was deeply impressed. His father's class-then the only one in the place-consisted of eight members, of whom his mother was the youngest. "O," thought he, "if some young person would begin, I would at once begin too." Returning from class the very next day, his father told of an addition to the little company,- -a young man, who had been awakened under the preaching of Mr. Gibbons, and had obtained mercy, while his parents were beseeching the Lord on his behalf, at the hour of three in the morning. Benjamin had now no excuse for delay. So mightily wrought the convincing Spirit, as to constrain him oft to retire from the loom, and on bended knees to implore salvation. His silent grief was observed by his good father, who gave him suitable counsel, and invited him to the classmeeting. Hanging down his head, as if unwilling to meet the gaze of the ungodly youth of the neighbourhood, he followed his father for the first time to the cottage where the little flock assembled. When the leader came to speak to his son, his emotion was uncontrollable, and he gave thanks to God, who had now brought a child of his to a meeting for Christian fellowship. Select books were lent him by his vigilant pastor. At home his father was his daily adviser, to whom he

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