that he whose sympathetic words soothed and animated, has himself perseveringly triumphed, rising in social position and Christian usefulness-becoming the Chief Magistrate of my native town-one of the leading commercial centres of this great nation.

I say "Christian usefulness," and rejoice that this can be added; for, after all, to me this is the chief source of attraction—that in which we are of one mind and one heart.

Such, Dear Friend, is an indication of the reasons why I desire that your name and influence go with this volume; and hence I rejoice that you have so readily and kindly complied with my wish.

I have referred to "Life Story," because it forms the basis of the larger portion of this work; and I may state, in passing, that the latest edition of that autobiography was 5000 copies. It has been out of print for some time, while the calls for copies have been increasing, especially since the Railway Collision at Harrow, in which I nearly lost my life.

The labour of editing "Life Struggles" has been generously undertaken by my warm and constant friend, the Rev. George Gilfillan. As you know, this is only one of the many proofs of his hearty desire to help those who are endeavouring to rise. He has done more than linked the passages together. As you will find, his occasional remarks are to the point, and are likely to be useful. You will, I am sure, agree with me in my conviction, that I have reason to be thankful because of this proof of his hearty kindness.

This letter, I fear, is already sufficiently long, and yet I would hope that another sentence or two may not be out of place here. Whatever strength or charm the Editor may add to the work, it is an "Autobiography,” and in this I am deeply concerned. Almost every one who writes an autobiography presents an apology for doing so. But why? If it is proper to give a record of some of the several features of one's own

life, then no apology is necessary. If it is wrong to do so, an apology cannot mend the matter. Perhaps it is the severe pouncing upon the pronoun "I" that frightens such writers; but every thoughtful reader knows that an autobiography is necessarily subjective, and must involve the frequent use of that pronoun. Knowing this, and knowing that apologies are awkward offerings, and seldom accepted, I shall rather give a brief word of explanation.

"

It has been said that an autobiography cannot be "excused' unless there is something extraordinary in the narrative, or unless the writer has reached the crowning-point of a brilliant career, having worked his way to a position at once lofty and distinct. Now "lofty," as a qualifying term, is calculated to frighten one who does not belong to the tall class, especially if he is conscious of having lived a humble life. And this is my weak point. The truth is, I am still pressing onward, though, I trust, rising upward. Indeed, my position in the great "Life Drama" has never been very exalted, socially at least. Looking from that point, my life has been what some would call commonplace, and may be regarded as the life of almost all who have lived among the lowly; but who, by God's help, have tried to raise themselves and those around them. hence I lay no claim to any special mark of distinction separating me from those who have struggled as I have struggled, and laboured as I have laboured, to be useful. It would be sheer hypocrisy on my part to say I have neither special ability nor large experience in relation to the life I have endeavoured to lead. That would be a species of sham humility which honesty detests. God in His providence and by His grace has trained me (severely, I sometimes thought) for my mission, and I have endeavoured, in the Name and Spirit of my Saviour, to sustain the responsibilities connected with whatever work He has given me-whether as Teacher, Evangelist, or Pastor. Yet it would be as unbecoming in me as it is distant from my

And

desire to think of setting myself above my fellow-labourersthose earnest hard workers who have perseveringly striven to help the weak and raise the fallen.

But though my position alone cannot "excuse" the publication of this narrative-if we are bound by the rule just givenyet I may be pardoned when it is remembered that I was urged to write the autobiography; that it gained a first prize; that the late Professor Nichol was one of the adjudicators; and that the three specified conditions which gave the MSS. a place in the competition were these "That the lives be genuine narratives, that they be told with a fair share of intelligence and perspicuity, and that they possess breadth of representative character and fitness to afford practical suggestion and encouragement."

If this was in any degree realized in the smaller volume, surely the chances are greater under the kindly care of the able Editor.

I am, Dear Friend,

Yours most respectfully in all good work,

Eden House,

J. I. HILLOCKS.

127 Stoke Newington Road, London, November, 1876.

EDITOR'S PREFACE.

How uninteresting is the course of a canal, with its sluggish uniformity; or of a lazy low country river, like the Cam―“the sleeping river," as Hall calls it, "standing still to see people drown themselves." How different from a Highland torrent, resisted at every step by some rocky obstacle against which it boldly rushes and fiercely or gaily overcomes-here fretted into the picturesque, there lashed into the sublime, and yonder tormented into the terribly beautiful-its power developed by contradiction, and its passion provoked by controversy.

So it is in life. All men worthy of the name, are so indebted to, and identified with, struggle, that it has become difficult to conceive of virtue or excellence without it. And many have conceived its extent, in a modified form, to a future world; and have fancied that the "River of Life" hereafter may be grander and more divine, too, if shaded by forests, flung over cataracts, and contesting its immortal way with crags and precipices, than flowing smoothly through gardens of everlasting bloom.

But be that as it may, this we know, struggle is the wise law of humanity; and, as such, should be welcomed, not only with submission, but also with joy. Sometimes it may be that struggle sours and exasperates; but let it not be forgotten, that

those upon whom it produces bad effects would possibly have been worse under a different training. At all events, it is a pleasing thought that so many pilgrims of progress are climbing the hill of Difficulty, that so many heroes are pantingly following the banner on which Excelsior is inscribed. And, as we shall see, among those who have thus struggled upward is our friend Mr Hillocks, whose remarkable career on this and the other side of the Border we have watched with unflagging interest. In his heroic efforts-no less for usefulness than for life—we see a correct translation of Longfellow's Latin into the manly vernacular of Burns—

"Man's a sodger,

And life's but a faught."

To his case, in the stern preparation for the special work on which he has long ago so heartily entered, among the seething masses of London, we may apply the line of Dr Johnson, which was printed in capitals

"Slow rises worth by poverty depressed."

But to us, and doubtless to the reader, the manner in which such men, through incredible suffering and hard toil, work their own way to the desired haven, of even comparative success, is very interesting. Hence it is with no common pleasure that we set ourselves to the task of connecting some of the more instructive passages from the revised and enlarged copy of his "Story," offering such occasional remarks as the incidents may suggest.

Thus amply furnished with matter in type and in MS., we have had no difficulty in our endeavour to sustain the idea clearly indicated by the second part of the title—" An Autobiographic Record"-but we have thought it proper to omit many of his more lengthy remarks on social, educational, and