was communicated to some loose powder on the floor, and exploded the entire ammunition, resulting in the death of eight persons. Mr. Cary lingered till the 10th of November, when his life ended, to the great loss of the colony, that relied much upon his vigour and fidelity, and the grief of his brethren in America.

The character of Lott Cary was strongly marked. Quickness of perception and ease of acquisition were united to a thirst for knowl edge, that made him as laborious and persevering as if the task had been far more arduous. It may be questioned, however, or we might rather say it is unquestionable, that in whatever degree the elements of so aspiring a temper may have existed in his nature, they were mainly quickened and brought to light by the influence of religious principle. It was when he was animated by a desire to do good and to honour his Divine Master, elevating him at once above the low atmosphere of selfish pursuits, that he showed what he was capable of becoming. The executive power and skill that he developed, considering how greatly a state of servitude tends to dwarf this species of capacity, were remarkable. There was a steady, practical judgment, a faculty of adaptation, a readiness of resource, that every new exigency brought more clearly to light. These, united to unusual powers of persuasion, qualified him to act well his part wherever he might be placed, while an ingenuous modesty restrained him from overacting it.

The religious affections that gave the chief impulse to his mind, steadily directed his efforts. It was a missionary spirit that prima rily sent him to Africa, and if the desire of his own heart had been gratified, he would have left the secular cares of the colony to the direction of others, and expended all his energies for the evangelization of his race. But a wise Providence imposed upon him duties from which he felt himself not at liberty to shrink, and he discharged them well. As a physician, though in a great measure self-instructed, he became the preserver of many lives. And in the various civil trusts reposed in him, he acquitted himself in a manner that did honour to himself, and proved of eminent advantage to Liberia in its feeble beginnings. That rising republic is destined, as we believe, to occupy a distinguished place in the future of Africa, and it is indebted in no ordinary degree to his agency, under the blessing of a watchful Providence, for the high promise of its youth. In its coming greatness, his memory will not be lost.

MELVILLE BEVERIDGE COX.

MELVILLE BEVERIDGE COX, the first missionary sent to Africa by the Methodist Episcopal Church in the United States, was born at Hallowell, Maine, November 9th, 1799. His parents were in moderate, and latterly in poor circumstances, but had received more than average education for their times and station in society. Their straitened circumstances caused their sons to leave the parental roof at an early age; Melville was separated from them at ten years of age. He had been, however, carefully trained, both mentally and morally, and the religious instructions of his childhood made an impression that never left him. He was placed with a farmer, and continued in his service till his seventeenth year. But the limited "schooling" he enjoyed was not sufficient to satisfy his love of knowledge, and with the approbation of his friends he accepted a place in a bookstore in Hallowell. The stock of the bookseller was not, it may be conjectured, very extensive, and on the common principles of "supply and demand," it is likely, not over choice, but the young shop-boy improved his opportunities to the utmost. Here ho "completed his education." If it was not sufficiently profound to entitle him to an academic degree, the aliment it furnished his mind was acquired with greater eagerness, and was probably more thoroughly assimilated than if it had been more abundant.

His earliest religious impressions were derived from maternal instruction, and at different times, from his tenth year forward, they were peculiarly deep and vivid. In his nineteenth year, after a considerable period of indifference, they overpowered him. The immediate occasion of them was the conversation of a cousin recently converted, as they were walking together after attending the obsequies of her father. For three weeks he was in a state of extreme mental agitation, which he was at special pains to conceal, but at length found "peace in believing." He showed the reality and power of his faith by a consistent life, and one of great religious activity. It is believed that not a few, either here or now with him

́in Paradise, trace to his faithful endeavours their awakening to a consideration of their immortal interests.

A circumstance occurred in the year 1820, the narration of which will be regarded with diverse feelings by different minds,-to some suggesting nothing higher than the working of a heated imagination; to others presenting an aspect of something more mysterious. We may say-safely enough-in the cautious phraseology of the daily journalists, that it was a "remarkable coincidence." His brother James was master of a vessel then on her passage to New Orleans. James was a young man of irreproachable morals, but careless of religion. Melville and another brother frequently united in prayer on his behalf. One evening, at sunset, they visited their customary retirement in a neighbouring wood for this purpose, and the exercise was characterized by unwonted fervour and tenderness. The next morning their thoughts recurred to the same theme, and to the unaccustomed enjoyment they found in their intercessions the previous evening. "What do you think?" said Melville to his younger brother. "I think James has experienced religion," he replied. "Well," said Melville, "I think HE IS DEAD." He made a note of this impression. In a few weeks came tidings that their brother died, and on that same evening that witnessed their earnest supplications for him. It was not till the return of the vessel that they learned anything to indicate his spiritual condition at the period of his decease. They were then informed that through the entire voyage he showed unusual seriousness, and by his papers it appeared that the subject of religion pressed weightily on his mind. There was no written evidence that he enjoyed a comfortable hope of acceptance with God; but as death approached, the mate said to him, "Captain Cox, you are a very sick man." "Yes, I know it," he calmly responded. "You are "You are dying," continued the mate. "Yes, I know it," he whispered feebly. "And are you willing?" "Yes, blessed" and he burst into tears, and immediately expired.

About this time Mr. Cox turned his thoughts to the work of the ministry. In December he attempted his first public discourse, in a school-house, with fear and trembling at first, but with much inward satisfaction at the close. The life he now entered upon was one of peculiar hardship. A Methodist preacher at that time, and in that section of country, had little to enjoy, except the pleasure of his work, and there were many things to endure. Mr. Cox bore his full share of the burden. He first preached as a licentiate under

direction of the presiding elder, successively at Wiscasset, Bath and Hampden, teaching schools a part of the time to mend his scanty income. The unpopularity of the sect with which he was identified exposed him to trials harder to bear than any in the train of poverty. On receiving from the bishop his first appointment as an itinerant, he was sent to the Exeter circuit, then sometimes denominated "the Methodist college," a fit arena, it must be confessed, for training a young man "to endure hardness." The country was then new, the people generally poor, religion was not abundantly honoured, and Methodism especially was in low repute. At the sacrifice of personal comfort, he was indefatigable in his appointed service, and before he left, things had begun to assume a more encouraging aspect. On being transferred to Kennebunk, he left many warm friends to cherish the remembrance of his faithful ministry, and to smooth the way of future probationers in that scene of discipline.

At Kennebunk he seemed impressed with an uncommon sense of the shortness of time in which he might be permitted to labour. With no distinct presentiment of evil days, at first, he yet "hasted to do his work," and the Master whom he served wrought effectually through him to do great good in a comparatively short time. By degrees he became persuaded that his time for active usefulness would soon end. Nor was the foreboding false. Early in 1825, within a year of his settlement there, he was prostrated by a disease of the lungs that disabled him from preaching. His recovery was slow. In the course of the summer he became able to travel, but not to speak without difficulty. His old employer in Hallowell offered to dispose of his stock and "stand" on reasonable terms, and he entered into the book-trade, but the business was not profitable in his hands, and he was obliged to relinquish it. With scanty means and vague hopes he set his face towards the south, to find a more congenial climate and an opening for some useful employment. He fixed his residence at Baltimore, and in February, 1828, married Miss Ellen Cromwell, daughter of Mrs. Lee, the widow of Thomas Lee, Esq. The family was wealthy, their estate ample, and here he lived for a short time, busied in agricultural pursuits, and in the enjoyment of every earthly blessing. At the solicitation of friends, he removed into the city, and took charge of a weekly paper, The Itinerant, in defence of the principles and polity of his church, which were at that time rudely assailed. He acquitted himself well, and did good service to the cause. But the journal was not sufficiently

remunerating to be continued without loss, and after sinking a tnousand dollars in the enterprise, he relinquished it. Domestic calamities followed. His wife and child, and three brothers-in-law were carried to the grave in rapid succession, and sickness brought him to the verge of life. He was brought very low, but not into despair. "In her sickness," he wrote to his brother, "I was too sick to afford those attentions health would have enabled me to show. I could only kneel by her side, and weep that I could not relieve her; and at her death, I could not realize that she was gone, nor feel how great was my loss. But now there is no dreaming,-all is real; no mingled fear and hope,-all is stern truth. Ellen is no more. Well, be it so, my dear brother. Sometimes my path seems a thorny one; but God is infinitely better,-yes, I feel that he is infinitely better to me than I deserve."

His health was sadly broken. The fever that had so nearly ended his life, left him in great weakness, and his lungs were so irritable that even conversation was painful. His worldly prospects were blasted. He thought he must go further south, but knew not what to do. Secular occupations he could not bring himself to undertake. He was offered an agency to collect funds in aid of the Wesleyan University at Middletown, Conn., and actually entered upon its duties, but he was ill-inclined and ill-prepared for that species of work. Another newspaper was thought of, and other plans suggested, but none met his feelings. He now formed a resolution, which was daring even to desperation: "to go and offer myself, all broken down as I am, to the Virginia Conference. If they will receive me," he adds, "I will ask for an effective relation. Then, live or die, if the Lord will, I shall be in the travelling connection. Out of it I am unhappy; and if not watchful, I may wander from the simplicity of the gospel."

How far it was proper for him thus to yield to internal impulses, against what seemed the most absolute providential warnings to the contrary, it is not needful for us to inquire. The answer is at hand; the event was decisively against it. Mr. Cox, though able to satisfy himself at the outset, was at no time free from doubts. "God requires not murder for sacrifice," he was wont to say. The Conference accepted him, and in February, 1831, he was stationed at Raleigh, North Carolina. The first flush of feeling, at finding himself once more in the ministry, was exhilarating, and the excitement probably gave an unnatural stimulus to his physical energies,