MEMOIR.

THE beloved subject of this memoir, Augustus James Clarke, was born at Bangalore, in the East Indies, on the 22nd of May, 1831. Both his parents are Christians, who adorned the doctrine of their God and Saviour in a land where his name is so often blasphemed among the heathen by the inconsistencies of those who profess it. Their house was open to all who loved and followed their blessed Master; and many, who for his name's sake have gone forth among the heathen, could bear witness of their charity, like that of the beloved Gaius of old, in receiving them, that they might be fellow-helpers to the truth. They were praying parents; they desired first for their children the kingdom of God and his

righteousness, and that they might be brought up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

It was at Bangalore, in the year 1829, that I first became acquainted with these beloved friends. While I was absent on fieldservice, their house was my dear wife's home, and she was present at the birth of Augustus, their eldest son. She was the first who held him in her arms, when he entered into this world of sin and sorrow, little anticipating at that time, that she would for eight years watch over him, in the absence of his own dear parents, with a mother's care and love; and that, fourteen years after, she would smooth his dying pillow, and witness his triumphant departure to that Saviour, who had washed him from his sins in his own blood.

We returned to England, on account of the failure of my health, in 1835; and in 1837, our dear friends sent their two eldest children, Lucy and Augustus, to us, desiring to have them educated with our own. We undertook this solemn responsibility with trembling

hearts, trusting in His sufficiency alone, whose strength is made perfect in weakness; and being encouraged by the assurance, that while we were watching over them in England, their own parents were day and night remembering them and us before the mercyseat. When Augustus arrived, he was rather more than six years old. His natural disposition had many fine, loveable features in it; he was very open and generous, full of the most tender affection; and his bright, hazel eye beamed with ardour and intelligence: but his heart was as yet ignorant both of the depths of its own wickedness, and the deeper riches of the grace of God. Its natural corruption shewed itself in many of his words and ways; and often with aching hearts, we had to speak to him of the exceeding sinfulness of sin in the sight of that God, who is of purer eyes than to look upon iniquity; while we also told him of the grace and love of that Saviour, who came to save his people from their sins.

There is scarcely a deeper sorrow to one

who has tasted that the Lord is gracious, next to the discovery of the evil of his own heart, than the manifestation of it in the ways of those who are dear to us; but God in his rich grace turns even this to blessing; it stirred us up to cry more earnestly to him for this dear child, whom we loved as if he were our own: and he heard our cry. He answered the prayers of his beloved parents in India; and he heard the cry of those, who were now watching over him in their absence, and turned him to himself. He convinced him of his sins, and gave him peace by faith in the precious blood of Jesus.

Augustus was naturally of a delicate constitution, and subject to attacks of croup. In one of these attacks, his conscience became awakened: he was filled with fear and alarm-he saw that he had sinned against God, that he deserved his anger-he felt afraid to die-his sins lay heavy upon his soul. He cried with the gaoler, "What must I do to be saved? I spoke to him of Jesus, the Lamb of God; of God's love

in providing such a sacrifice; of the love of Jesus in laying down his life for sinners; of the preciousness of his blood in the sight of God; his finished work and spotless righteousness; that all this was for sinners as sinners. The Lord opened his heart to believe the glad tidings of his love; and he was soon enabled to find rest and peace by faith in that precious blood, which cleanseth from all sin. This peace, he told me on his deathbed, he never afterwards lost; for it was founded, not upon his own worthiness, but upon the perfect, finished work of Christ. This is indeed the only resting-place of faith, "which never alters, never varies, and is always the same before God." Nothing can be added to it. It is everlasting in its duration and efficacy. His blood is a constant propitiation, his righteousness a perfect covering. This alone can purge the conscience, silence the accusation of Satan, and give peace in the presence of a holy God: and I may add, give real tenderness of heart and conscience in our walk and conversation.