ter, went before the church, told the process by which they had been led to embrace Christianity, and were received for baptism. The occasion was one of joyful interest. It was, indeed, too full of delicious excitement for Mr. Thomas to bear; for he had been laboring for seventeen years as a missionary, and now looked upon his first convert.

When it was reported that Krishnu had thrown up his caste and become a Christian, the wildest excitement prevailed. A mob of two thousand persons gathered around his house. They dragged him and his brother before the magistrate, but could bring no definite charge against them. They were released, and a native soldier placed as a guard at Krishnu's house. When they saw what a wild storm their profession of Christianity had created, the two women faltered and wished to postpone their baptism. Goluk did the same; and Krishnu was left to encounter the odium and withstand the storm alone. He was baptized in the Ganges. The Governor of India, a number of Portuguese, and great crowds of Hindoos and Mohammedans were present to witness the rite. Dr. Carey walked down into the water with his eldest son on one side of him and Krishnu on the other. Amid the profoundest silence he explained that it was not the water of the sacred river that could wash away sin, but the blood of atonement; and then he administered the sacred rite of baptism; breaking down the wall of separation between the Englishman and the Hindoo, and making them brothers in Christ Jesus. All hearts were impressed; the governor wept; and that evening, De

cember 28, for the first time the Lord's Supper was celebrated in Bengalee.

Krishnu was the first of a long line. When he was baptized he was about thirty-six years old; and he lived for more than twenty years a faithful and honored disciple of the Lord. He became an ardent student, and wrote and compiled tracts that were eagerly read by his countrymen. He also wrote a number of hymns. The one we often sing on communion occasions was translated by Dr. Marshman. He died with cholera in 1822, universally lamented.

O THOU, my soul, forget no more

The Friend who all thy sorrows bore;
Let every idol be forgot;

But, O my soul, forget him not.

Renounce thy works and ways, with grief,

And fly to this divine relief;

Nor him forget, who left his throne,
And for thy life gave up his own.

Eternal truth and mercy shine
In him, and he himself is thine :

And canst thou then, with sin beset,

Such charms, such matchless charms forget?

Oh, no; till life itself depart,

His name shall cheer and warm my heart;
And lisping this, from earth I'll rise,
And join the chorus of the skies.

"JESUS, MY ALL, TO HEAVEN HAS GONE."

ABOUT the year 1730 there lived in Reading, England, a lad by the name of John Cennick. He had a lively fancy and a warm social nature; he made friends

easily, and did not always choose them well, and he allowed himself to be too much influenced by idlers who courted his affection. The age of fifteen did not find him a promising youth; he was fond of cards, novels, and stage-plays, and, but for his warm, susceptible feelings, he might have been classed among the profitless boys of the town.

But he was not happy. His conscience was ever ill at ease, and, as he grew older, he found himself led hither and thither by the mere force of evil associations and habits, while his desultory life lost its charms for him. Solitude constantly presented to his mind the gloomy reflection that the day's of youth were swiftly passing, that manhood, too, must soon be gone, and he must die.

One day, while walking the streets of London engaged in serious thought, one of those mental reactions that suddenly arrest a gay life, took away all his relish for worldly pleasures. To use his own language, "While walking hastily in Cheapside, the hand of the Lord touched me, and I at once felt an uncommon fear and dejection." He had often retired to rest with a tortured conscience, but he had never before known a depression of spirit like that. He saw that he was a sinner, that his course was leading to ruin, and that one day he would suffer the penalties of his disregard of the requirements of God. He looked upon the past with regret and the future opened to him no cheering prospect.

This anxious concern continued two years. He daily longed for the peace that religion imparts, and sought

for it by reforming his conduct, and by practising selfdenial and austerities, but he did not seek it in the love and compassion of Christ. He often fasted till his strength was reduced; he prayed unceasingly, regarding prayer in the light of penance, as an act that would purchase pardon, but the unrest still remained. He had no peace, the great conflict went on in his soul.

One day, while thus sorely tried, and brought almost to the verge of despair, he met with the words, "I AM THY SALVATION." The text was like a revelation to him. It lifted the veil that had long darkened his mind, and he saw the way of peace and safety by casting himself wholly on the mercy of Christ. His mind was filled with unspeakable joy on believing that Jesus would "take him to Him" as he was, with all his imperfections, and pardon all his sin. He now found peace to his soul. The presence of the Saviour seemed continually with him, and he could say, as he afterwards expressed his feelings in verse, in view of the happy change: "Thou dear Redeemer, dying Lamb,

I love to hear of thee;

No sound so charming as thy name,
Nor half so sweet can be."

He now earnestly entreated his young associates to turn from the pursuit of worldly folly to religion, and the constant theme of his conversation was "peace and pardon through the blood of Christ."

Cennick became a Gospel minister, and was associated with the Wesleys and Whitefield in their labors. He was a fervent-spirited poet, and he thus told in

verse the experience we have been relating; a hymn that all our readers will recognize, though comparatively few may have known the circumstances under which it was written :

"Jesus, my all, to heaven is gone,
He whom I fix my hopes upon.
His path I see, and I'll pursue
The narrow way till Him I view.
"The more I strove against his power,
I felt the weight and guilt the more,
Till late I heard my Saviour say,
Come hither, soul, I am the way.

"Lo, glad I come, and thou, blest Lamb,
Shalt take me to thee as I am.
Nothing but sin I thee can give,
Nothing but love shall I receive.

"Now will I tell to sinners round
What a dear Saviour I have found.
I'll point to thy redeeming blood,

And say, BEHOLD THE WAY TO GOD."

He thus speaks of the same religious experience in one of his poems:

“Dangers were always in my path,

And fears of death and endless wrath.
Though every day I wail my fall
Three years of grief exceeded all:
No rest I knew! a slave of sin,

With scarce a spark of hope within."

He became a teacher in the school for colliers' children, which Wesley established at Kingswood. 1745, he severed his connection with the Methodists, and joined the Moravian Brethren. He died at an early

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