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A VISIT TO NORWAY.

can attend on account of the great distances at which they live from the church. The good priest lamented the worldliness of his people. He also stated that many of the clergy are departing from the orthodox faith. FUNERAL CUSTOMS.

On leaving the church we proceeded to the cemetery, which is close by on the slope of the hill. In this quiet spot many generations are sleeping. The ground was kept in good order, and there was a great profusion of flowers. The memorials of the dead were in various styles, but one of the favourite ornaments is evidently the cross. At funerals, after the coffin has been lowered the priest uses a silver shovel not much larger than a spoon, and throws earth over the corpse while he uses the words, "From dust thou didst come; to dust thou shalt return; from the dust thou wilt arise." A hymn is then sung, and after the benediction the mourners return to their homes.

AN EVENING WITH A BONDER.

After thanking the priest of Brevik, and assuring him of our good wishes, we soon sailed away to spend the evening with Mr. Ramberg, sen. He is an old resident. The home in which he lives was the home of his forefathers, and the place is called after their name. There are no tenant farmers in Norway, but what are called Bonders. Men оссиру their own land, which usually consists of forest and fjeld, or land which is cleared. Our host was a fine specimen of an old Norwegian. He was tall, broadly built, spoke English fairly well, was an earnest Liberal, and we soon found was "given to hospitality." The house was of wood, and in order to enter it, we had to ascend ten or a dozen broad steps, when we were conducted through a sort of entrance-hall into the best room of the house. The floor was uncarpeted, the furniture was of substantial mahogany, and the walls were adorned with pictures. In one corner of the room was the bed for visitors, which was brought into a small compass by means of a sort of telescopic slide. The table was laden with good things, and these were pressed upon us most earnestly. It is not usual in Norway for the ladies to sit down with the company, so that our party consisted only of gentlemen, excepting that the lady of the house served us, pouring out the tea, handing it round, anticipating every want of her guests most assiduously, but never seating herself in the room not even for a moment. Our host was very chatty about the ice trade, about politics, and about the improvements in his own neighbourhood since he was a boy. He said there were no wild beasts about Ramberg now. A good many of the sheep were destroyed by them years ago, and they are still found in some parts of the country. "Ah!" said the old man," I have seen them many a time. I have seen bears trotting by moonlight over the snow; and I have seen a wolf attack the flock and throw one of the sheep over his shoulders and carry it off. They used to make sad havoc; but they don't trouble us in this neighbourhood now." He spoke, too, of his church, and of the burying-place of his fathers, and of the blessedness of the Christian's hope.

After a pleasant evening we left, with the warm good wishes of our host, and saw the clear light of the stars, the light of the glow-worms, which were numerous by the side of the path, and then the light of our good ship, where we took up our lodgings with devout thankfulness to the Giver of all good. So ended the first day in Norway.

The Late Reb. Isaac Preston.

IT is with feelings of inexpressible sorrow we received and report the sad tidings of the unexpected decease of our dear friend and fellowworker, the Rev. ISAAC PRESTON, pastor of our church at Tarporley, Cheshire. He died, aged fifty-nine, March 28th, after a brief illness, and was buried on the 2nd of April in the burying-ground attached to the Tarporley chapel.

No minister amongst us was more highly esteemed or more tenderly loved. His urbane and genial spirit, quiet and fascinating goodness, unaffected and sweet modesty, fervid though tranquil love, have endeared him to all our hearts. From boyhood I have looked up to him as one of the present-day "saints" of God, gifted beyond most in everything that makes holiness attractive and goodness lovable. Fuller knowledge has deepened my reverence for his beautiful serenity, won at high cost and through prolonged suffering, heightened my appreciation of his heroic self-annulment, and quickened my affection for his manifold and captivating worth. He was a man full of the "Holy Ghost" and faith; a "good man." The spirit of exalted purity was incarnate in him, and he breathed it forth wherever he went. He made sanctity charming as a garden of roses, and clothed Christian holiness in a vesture of soft radiance and gentle beauty.

As a preacher he was a Barnabas, and the streams of consolation flowed full and strong from his sympathetic heart; in the social circle he was as pleasant as he was good, as real as he was tender, and as affectionate as he was pure.

Although, from physical weakness and disease, he was eager to avoid posts of denominational responsibility, yet his counsel was never sought without evidence that it was far-seeing, wise, and safe; and his solicitude for the welfare of our institutions and of our common organic life was always keen, sustained, and practical. The Heavenly Husbandman will not lack witnesses to His unique skill whilst such noble and fruitful souls are grown in His gardens!

And thou art gone! Dear, dear friend! the world is poorer and colder for thy absence! But no! Not wholly gone! We have thee still! Memory holds thee, and hearts clasp thee; with a warm affection thou livest still in quickened lives and holy loves at Ashby and Chesham, Halifax and Tarporley, and throughout our churches; and thy earthly resting-place will be a radiant spot in our General Baptist history. He lives! Let us sustain ourselves with the thought. He himself the man, the Christian, the husband, the father, the faithful pastor, the kind and genial comrade-he still lives-lives in God, who is not the God of the dead, but of the living; and soon, in our Father's presence, we shall meet, and work, and love, and talk again.

May the Lord of Bethany cheer with His presence, and sustain with His strength, those who, in their bereavement, know most perfectly what we have lost! May He lighten the home with His radiance, guide the church by His Spirit, and nourish in every one of us the passion to live for the one immortal kingdom in which He has already given us a place! JOHN CLIFFORD.

Friend or Foe?

A SEQUEL TO "OLIVER RAYMOND."

BY E. JOSEPH AXTON.

CHAPTER V.-THE GULF WIDENS.

THE sun had risen on the great event; had passed his meridian; had sunk again to rest. Night had come, and now the festivities were in full swing. Miss Drewe's twenty-first birthday falling-like all her birthdays-on the fifth of November, it seemed as though the rockets that rose here and there into the hovering darkness, to burst into a marvellous shower of lights of momentary existence, were sent up in her honour. It seemed as though those insane crowds of shouting men and boys, following the effigies in carts and on chairs, bedecked in all the splendours of many-coloured cockades and whirling their flaming torches, had but one, object in view, and that, to celebrate the day on her account. Indeed, one party in masks and ribbons drew up their grinning effigy before her house-attracted, no doubt by the merry strains of two violins within, and dancers' shadows flitting across the blind-and knocking, began to execute a wild Indian war-dance before the servant who answered, demanding payment for their pains.

"Nice goings on, I'm sure!" commented Mrs. Jay, whose parlour window next door was full of herbs and infallible remedies for everything. She stood at her own door as she muttered the words, looking on with disgust at the rabble her neighbours had attracted. But she hurried inside the next moment, for one of the masqueraders, dressed as a clown, and holding out his hat for coppers, had come up, and was facetiously bowing and scraping before her.

There was a polite little war in progress between Mrs. Jay and the Drewes. The former couldn't bring herself to believe in the latter; the latter considered the former very low. Who were they, Mrs. Jay would enquire, to give themselves such airs? Perhaps they had grand relations; perhaps the junior partner of Wyman and Drewe, the Sheffield house in Wood Street, was their brother; perhaps George and his father were in their office; perhaps Mr. Drewe of Wood Street did own this row of houses. What then? What if Barton Drewe was manager to his brother? Was he anything more than a mere servant? If so, why had he been there twenty years without being any better off? They tried to make people believe he would soon be a partner-rubbish! Then that other uncle in America, who was going to leave Helena such a grand fortune, but whom no one ever saw. For her part, she believed none of these grand tales. Her high-handed neighbours were outcasts of their family-that was her idea-the father and son next door being employed by Wood Street out of charity. Phaugh," Mrs. Jay added, as she pounded something in a mortar, while the sounds of merriment came faintly through the wall-" they might find something better to do than play the fine folks. They polish the brass curtain bands in their windows, and have a name-plate on their door, and think themselves so much better than other people, and Miss Drewe dresses in the latest fashion, and George swaggers about like a prince; but they would be better employed in paying their tradesmen, I should think."

But what was Mrs. Jay, or her pleasure or anger, to the Drewes? Well, a little-just a little, at ordinary times. They-that is, Mrs. and Miss Drewe; the head of the family was a timid man, and never counted, and George never bothered himself about anything but billards-suffered themselves to name her with scorn. She was so far beneath them, that she served well as a means of comparison, and she had contrived to make herself so obnoxious by refusing to believe in their superiority in point of education, social status, and indeed everything, that she was a fit object of their dislike. She had proved a source of some trouble to them, too, by remaining next door in spite of all their attempts to induce Uncle Drewe to turn them out. Yet, beyond this, and speaking seriously, What was Mrs. Jay? Nobody. What was Mr. Jay? Nobody either unless an unqualified surgeon, who found it necessary to sell herbs in

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his parlour window, and so vulgarise what otherwise would have been a very respectable row of houses, was somebody.

To this extent, on ordinary occasions, Mrs. Jay caught the notice of the Drewes. But on this grandest of all festivals, not even the thought that she and her husband, her pleasure, her anger, and all her belongings were nothing, could enter their minds. Wherefore, the merry-making went on, on this evening, merrily and untroubled.

There sat Mrs. Drewe by the window in the back drawing-room, smiling her most affable smile, and shaking her grey curls as she talked with Mr. Golding. Mr. Golding, an elderly gentleman, stood before her with a violin under his arm, gravely genial, and seeming to say, by his manner, "Money in the Funds, Money in the Funds," though his talk was of other matters. Beside Mrs. Drewe, that lady's maiden sister, Miss Elkinton, taking her pleasure somewhat severely. On the other side of this room, seated in a low easy chair, in such a position that the door quite hid him whenever the servant, entering with refreshments, threw it open, was Mr. Barton Drewe, silent and apart, as was ever the case with him, his face very placid and content as he bent it towards the dancers in the front drawing-room. While there, Amos Rearden stood near the piano, smiling and fiddling hard, and watching three couples who, with flushed faces and sparkling eyes, and with difficulty avoiding collision, whirled round and round in the confined space in answer to the strains he skilfully evoked. One of these couples was Helena's cousin, Frank, and graceful little Minnie Bell; another, Minnie's sister, Emily, and George Drewe; and the third, the handsome, dark-eyed Helena Drewe, and our friend Oliver Raymond.

The dance was to wind up the grand festival. The guests had come in the afternoon; croquet had been played-under difficulties-on the miserable grassplot in the rear of the house; Oliver had "really enchanted" Miss Drewe, to use her own expression, by his singing, and she had enchanted him by her playing, as well as by her voice; dinner had been enjoyed; whist-parties had been formed; and now the whole affair (which "had gone off beautifully") was to be wound up by the dance.

That, too-or so Oliver thought; for Pleasure seems to her neophyte to have a gluttonous appetite for time-only too quickly came to an end; and our friend found himself, almost before he knew it, making his way home, with his friend Amos Rearden on his arm.

"Oliver, old fellow," Amos said, as they went-but Oliver scarcely heard, his excitement was still so great-"you have outdone yourself! I confess I did not think it was in you. Quite the accomplished gentleman, I vow-the lady's man, every inch-"

"Cease, unworthy flatterer!" laughed Raymond-pleased, nevertheless, at the delightful flattery.

"Cease!" echoed Rearden. Why should I cease? I say, it's simply wonderful that, after a month of my poor coaching, you should have danced that waltz as you did to-night."

"Nonsense. The waltz is almost as easy as the polka, and you know how I go in for a thing when I resolve on mastering it. But under your teaching—” “But, you rogue, you Beau Brummel!" Rearden went on, laughingly, "what did you find to say, to bring such blushes into Miss Drewe's fair cheeks, such sparkles in her eyes, as you sat at dinner-indeed, whenever you got a chance at all of whispering? What was it, you slyboots ?"

66

Doubtless, you'd like to know!"-reddening and laughing.

"Be careful, my boy-be careful!" warned the other, in a tone of playful gravity. "Mr. Golding, with money in the Funds, has his eyes on that lady. Duels are still heard of, you know. Then there's that American uncle-not a myth, as some pretend to think-who will yet enable Miss Helena to keep a carriage, unless my information is false. Beware of attempting to soar too high. But, seriously, what of Miss Vaughan? As a friend, you will allow this liberty. And, really-"

"Have I not said, many times," Oliver retorted, with some heat, "that Miss Vaughan is only my foster-cousin, and can be no more? Have you not agreed with me, that she and I are not suited in temperament?"

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FRIEND OR FOE?

"True. But the uncle, Mr. Bradford. What will he say?"

"Am I to be sold? Has he any expectation that I will sell my affection for his kindness? Tut, tut! Let that matter drop. He has been more than a father to me, and I am grateful. He would have me marry his neice, no doubt, but he is too sensible to look for impossibilities. And surely this marriage is impossible. This half-estrangement, springing from the pettiest of quarrels, has lasted two months. That's sufficient. There's no love lost between-well, on her side, at least."

Oliver resolutely refused to speak any more of the matter, but wanted Amos to wind up the night with a game, there being half an hour yet. But Amos declined. It was time to be in bed. Besides (and his new morality did not sit ill upon him), it was dangerous when play began to grow on you. Ta, ta! Don't let it do that, old fellow.

This parting warning might have been given to the wind, as Rearden well knew ; for Oliver could not (would not, perhaps) pass the tavern. Besides, his blood was rushing through his veins so fiercely that he must have some counteracting excitement. And even as it was, when he at last came out again and went home to bed, he lay tossing restlessly, for sleep would not visit his brain. There was Helena's enchanting smile before him, her enchanting voice in his ears, and her dark eyes looking into his as she uttered again and again the parting words, while pressing his hand, "Do be sure to come again, and soon. We shall so look for you."

As to that enchanted and enchanting young lady, when her guests had all departed, her father gone to bed, and George not yet returned from seeing Emily home, quite a little discussion took place between her and her mother, as the two ladies' awaited the young man. Yet, who shall say that the other enchanted one, in his present state of feelings, would have been any the less enchanted had he overheard it? He might, certainly have thought it strange that so much reference should be made to the probable amount of Mr. Golding's money; to the reasons why Mr. Golding did not make a certain proposal; and to the possibilities and probabilities attached to his-Oliver's heirship to Mr. Bradford; strange, too, perhaps, that the ladies should be pleased at the thought of making Mr. Golding jealous, and that mysterious phrases about "playing one off against the other" should be uttered. But whatever the condition of Love's eyes may be, it is certain that those of Infatuation are blind, and so Oliver might not have seen anything but enchantment even in these things. O Simplicity, Simplicity! that leadest thy children astray-that tellest them the world is what it seems. We cannot choose but love thy childlike trust. Yet, in working us ill, how often dost thou rival our bitterest enemy! Is thy place indeed in this strange world, where the wisdom of the serpent is so needful?

General Baptist Association, Bradford.

I. MINISTERS' RECEPTION AND LIST REVISION COMMITTEE.

1. This Committee for 1883 consists of the Revs. Jas. Maden, Dawson Burns, D.D., and W. Gray; Messrs. B. Baldwin, J. T. Mallet, and W. R. Wherry. 2. The Secretary is the Rev. James Maden, Old Basford, Nottingham. 3. Will each Conference Secretary please

(a) Report to Mr. Maden all ministerial changes in his Conference area? (b) Inform every student or minister accepting a pastorate within his district of the requirements of this Committee, and forward his application to Mr. Maden?

N.B-No name can be inserted in the List of Ministers without the sanction of this Committee, or of the Association. WATSON DYSON, Association Secretary.

II. BEDS.-Ministers and delegates requiring beds are requested to apply, not later than June 12th, to the Local Secretary, Mr. J. W. BRUNTON, 2, West Grove Street, Bradford, enclosing stamp (not envelope) for reply. The Committee do not engage to provide for applicants after the above date.