old Arab's 'woolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous instincts.' He wished to obtain slaves to barter profitably away to other Arabs, and, having weapons-guns and gunpowder-enough, he placed them in the hands of 300 slaves, and despatched them to commit murder wholesale, just as an English nobleman would put guns in the hands of his guests, and permit them to slaughter the game upon his estate. If we calculate three quarts of blood to each person who fell during the campaign of murder, we find that this one Arab caused to be shed 2850 gallons of human blood, sufficient to fill a tank measurement of 460 cubic feet, quite large enough to have drowned him and all his kin!"

Connexional Department.

MEMOIRS AND OBITUARIES.

MR. EDWIN JAMES, OF TRURO.
"Who knows the latent danger
Which on thy head might come,
From friend, or foe, or stranger,
While distant from thy home;

But thou art safely landed

Where tempests never blow,
Where barque has never stranded,

Where hearts ne'er break with woe."

EDWIN JAMES was born at Salem, near Chacewater, Cornwall, in 1867. He was a brother of our dear friend and co-worker in the vineyard of Christ, Rev. W. F. James, who recently left us for South Australia. He was a young man of more than ordinary ability, and there appeared to be before him a brilliant future. From earliest years he was a "boy of promise," and as he grew in stature he grew in knowledge, in self-control, and dignity. His aims in life rose as his horizon extended; and there were indications, too, of growth in humility, and of love to God and man. He was therefore honoured and loved, his friends delighted in him, and everyone spoke highly of him. He was a diligent and successful student. Whatever he set himself to do he worked at hopefully. To every new study he seemed to bring new powers and capabilities; encouraged by the past, he "reached forth to the things that were before." He delighted in French, music, and mathematics, and passed highly satisfactory examinations in these subjects.

From childhood-days he was the subject of religious impressions. He was blessed with a pious mother, whose influence had a

great deal to do with moulding his character, and preventing him from falling into those snares which beset youth. The home influence was of such a nature as to lead him to hate the evil and love the good. We have heard Mrs. James speak of his wonderful propensity to question this and to inquire into that, even when a child. These questions (as is frequently the case with the interrogations of childhood) often puzzled the mother to answer. They were generally questions of a religious nature, showing that from the first he was religiously inclined.

We do not think we ever associated with him without feeling better and happier for so doing. Scarcely have we known a more agreeable and genial young man. He was full of life and sunshine, though so near the sunset. Never strong, yet never complaining. "Faint yet pursuing," his mottoes were "Never despair," and "Let us live while we live." Although compelled, in consequence of ill-health, to give up his studies, yet he unmurmuringly, aye cheerfully bowed to the inevitable. Believing that what the Father did was best, he cast the whole "burden" on his God.

A French proverb says: "Few people know how to be old." Though a child in years (being only 18) he spoke and acted as one of much riper experience. He was a young man of superior judg. ment, and that discriminating faculty of his was often appealed to in the home, and his opinion was regarded as of much value. Those who knew him best, loved him most. His manners were easy and agreeable, and his whole nature affectionate and refined. He hated the untrue and the mean, with a perfect hatred; but with a joy as real and as genuine as life, he delighted in the beautiful, loved the true, and admired the upright and the faithful around him. He was true himself, and he rejoiced in the true of his acquaintance.

Passionately fond of music, he employed it to express his deep feelings of praise, and prized it as one method of communion with the Unseen. That he so regarded his playing is evident from his own words. Sometimes requested by his mother to "be quiet," he has said to others, "Mother wishes me to be quiet,' but she does not know that when she is asking me to stop playing she is asking me to stop praying." "Seated one day at the organ," he became so absorbed and inspired that he exclaimed, "Every chord is a prayer." Surely the soul that is devoutly musical can pour forth its anthems of praise to God upon the harp, the psaltery, "the instrument of ten strings," the piano, or the organ as reverently and sincerely and acceptably to the Great Object of Worship, as the man who is prayerfully devotional, offering, his prayers on bended knees. We have often

wondered what his employment is now! Could we be permitted to see him we should see that he had exchanged the piano for the harp, harping with the harpers the praises of the Lamb. He is "serving God day and night" in that land of which he seemed, while here, more like an inhabitant than a son of earth. We recall the calm, heavenly-like countenance, as we have looked at him in the sanctuary and the home.

Br. Mundy, who was pastor of the Truro Circuit for four years, says, "It was my pleasure to know Edwin James from his childhood. When I first became acquainted with him, I was struck with the enquiring tendency of his mind. He was a great questioner, but his questions were always most intelligent and useful, and never of that curious and conceited nature indulged in by some young persons, and always on receiving an answer, he would seem to retire within himself as if to test its reasonableness. Sometimes he would put other questions, and sometimes he would make suggestions; but he would rarely ever obtrude his own opinion. He always acted as one who felt himself to be a learner, and most anxious to learn. As he advanced in years, so his powers rapidly developed. He gave promise of great abiliiy, and had he lived and enjoyed good health, he certainly would have distinguished himself. As a pupil he was most diligent and persevering, and through his great industry and the help his excellent mother afforded him, he made rapid advancement. French and music were his delight. In music, he was the pupil of his sister and of the late Mr. Holt, Organist of St. Mary's Wesleyan Chapel, Truro, for whom he cherished profound respect; and Mr. Holt's regard for him was equally strong. Through his sister's careful training he passed some very advanced examinations in music. As he further advanced in years, I received the impression that he was somewhat of an idealist. His conceptions of the beautiful, the good, and the pure, were very vivid and real, and hence I thought of him as belonging to heaven more than to earth. Young men of his mental and spiritual constitution are, I think, seldom long lived. He appeared to be a lover of the Lord Jesus Christ, even when he did not possess what is regarded as saving faith, his sympathies and affections centring in the Saviour, before he apprehended clearly the plan of salvation, which is accounted for by the careful moral training he received from his mother, and the influence of her life and prayers.

"About six months since I had some serious talk with him on spiritual things, and I am happy to say that about that time he realised Christ to be his all and in all,' and subsequently, I believe, he constantly, lived under the consciousness of God's love, and is now before the throne of God and the Lamb.""

Life's voyage with him was short, but pleasant. The life was brief, but beautiful. The end was sudden and unexpected, but peaceful and calm. We were asked by his younger sister, "What is the meaning of the fifth commandment, and how can you reconcile it with the early death of my brother?" May not the meaning be that those who honour their parents "shall live as long on the earth as infinite wisdom sees will be good for them; and what they may seem to be cut short of on earth shall be abundantly made up in eternal life, the heavenly Canaan, which God will give them?" The question, "Why was such beautiful life so early cut down?" asked merely and exclusively from this world's standpoint, is perplexing and bewildering. If there be no immortality, no hereafter, if there be no life beyond the grave, if death ends all,' if all spiritual education ceases when this life terminates, then the query is hideous in its suggestiveness, and God's best works come to nothingness. But is there not an hereafter? Is there not an immortality? Is there not an eternal living on of a life of which this is but the beginning? Is not the present the infant state, the embryonic period? Is it not the germ life? Is not this the probationary process in which the soul is "on trial" for eternity? The preliminary education in which it is to gain wisdom and experience for a higher life. If so, and we are most sincerely convinced that it is, then to ask "Why such an one is so soon taken from us?" is tantamount to asking why the tree of the forest first received its training in the nursery ground. Our dear young friend was eighteen years in the nursery garden, where the Gardener carefully nursed and pruned His delicate plant until He saw that it was sufficiently trained and developed, and suited for a more salubrious clime, and then, from the earthly garden, He transplanted His flower to the paradise above. Eighteen years in this world-workshop, during which time the Divine Sculptor was kindly and tenderly chiselling, and moulding, and polishing the soul for a nobler building, and having accomplished His purpose, He has taken him as a "precious stone" to illumine the "beautiful city above."

There were peculiarities strongly marked in the end of this beautiful young life. He was reading a chapter in a serial story the evening before he died, and on finishing it he turned to his mother, and speaking of the heroine of the story, said, "She is gone, gone! but whither?" The following morning, the same words (changing the third personal pronoun from the feminine to the masculine gender) could be said of Edwin James, "He is gone, but whither?" On the Friday evening he went with his sister to the "place of the holy," and joined heartily in the service. From the nature of the prayers, hymns, and sermon, it seemed as if the

preacher had some strong presentiment of what the morrow would "bring forth," for he (Br. Dale) discussed solemnly and effectively on those beautiful words of the Psalmist : "" Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints." After the preaching service, our young friend attended the Mutual Improvement Class, and took part in a lively discussion, consequent on the reading of an essay by the writer of this sketch. He went to his home bright and cheerful, and apparently stronger than he had been for some time. Little did we think when wishing him "Good-night," that our next shake of the hand would be on the other side of the river. Hemorrhage of ths lungs brought his earthly life to a close the following morning, Saturday, April 18th, 1885. We were shocked to receive the intelligence of his death. Oh, "for a touch of the vanished hand, and the sound of the voice that is still." When we got to his home, the friends said, "he is dead," but we could not realise it. It seemed so unreal-so dream-like. We placed our hand on his forehead, but it was cold in death. And so we were compelled to come to the mournful conclusion that what seemed so unreal, was, after all, a fact-reality. He had gone from earth for ever. Gone for aye, his race is over."

The funeral took place at Kenwyn, on Tuesday morning, April 22nd. There was a preliminary service in the house. The coffin was covered with beautiful wreaths. Many of his most intimate friends followed him to the grave, some of whom carried him to his last resting place.

On Sunday, April 27th, a funeral service was held. The choir sang with effect, "Vital spark of heavenly flame:" and a sermon was preached by the writer, from John xiv. 2: "In my Father's house are many mansions." At the close of the service, the String Band, of which Mr. James was the much respected pianist, solemnly and sweetly rendered the "Dead March in Saul," the large congregation standing, many of whom were moved to tears. We were very forcibly reminded of Longfellow's words:

"Art is long. and time is fleeting,

And our hearts though stout and brave,

Still like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave."

"Now he is dead, wherefore should we fast? Can we bring him back again? We shall go to him, but he shall not return to us." Farewell, dear friend, we shall meet again at the other end of the Valley of the Shadow.

"Into the Silent Land!

Ah! who shall lead us thither?

Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.