tionate cordiality and simple ear- we should hesitate to determine : nestness of his deportment towards but after a considerable absence, other classes of his parishioners. he returned to his curacy; and the scene of his return afforded that testimony of his valuable labours among his people to which we referred in a previous part of our remarks. "In his conversations with the plain farmer or humble labourer, he usually laid his hands upon their shoulder, or caught ther by the arm; and while he was insinuating his arguments, or enforcing his appeals with all the variety of simple illustrations which a prolific fancy could supply, he fastened an anxious eye upon the countenance of the person he was addressing, as if eagerly awaiting some gleam of intelligence, to shew that he was understood and felt. "The solemnity, the tenderness, the energy of his manner, could not fail to impress upon their minds, at least, that his zeal for their souls was disinterested and sincere. "The state of gross demoralization in which a large portion of the lower classes in his parish was sunk, rendered it necessary for him sometimes to adopt a style of preaching not the most consonant to his own feelings. His natural turn of mind would have led him to dwell most upon the loftier motives, the more tender appeals, the gentler topics of persuasion with which the Gospel abounds; but the dull and stubborn natures which he had to encounter, frequently required 'the terrors of the Lord' to be placed before them; the vices he had to overthrow called for the strongest weapon he could wield. He often, indeed, sought to win such souls unto Christ by the attractive beauties and the benign spirit of the Gospel; but, alas ! Leviathan is not so tamed.' Amongst the people whom he had to address, he found drunkenness and impurity, and their base kindred vices, lamentably prevalent; and therefore he felt it necessary to stigmatise such practices in the plainest terms: he could not find approach to minds of so coarse an order, without frequently arraying against them the most awful denunciations of Divine justice." pp. 166, 167. The infectious fever which broke out in the north of Ireland commenced its ravages in his parish. Ou: author was indefatigable in his attention to the sufferers; and in these visits, although he appears to have escaped infection, yet he exposed himself to such frequent colds, that his susceptible frame soon received the seeds of consumption, and he was obliged by the importunities of his friends, to quit his parish for a change of scene. Whether the air of Scotland was most wisely selected under such circumstances, "On his return from Scotland, the writer met him at a friend's house within a few miles of his own residence; and, on the following Sunday, accompanied him through the principal part of his parish to the church; and never can he forget the scene he witnessed as they drove together along the road, and through the village. It must give a more lively idea of his character and conduct as a parish clergyman than any laboured delineation, or than a mere detail of particular facts. As he quickly passed by, all the poor people and children ran out to their cabin-doors to welcome him, with looks and expressions of the most ardent affection, and with all that wild devotion of gratitude so characteristic of the Irish peasantry. Many fell upon their knees invoking blessings upon him and long after they were out of hearing, they remained in the same attitude, shewing by their gestures that they were still offering up prayers for him; and some even followed the carriage a long distance, making the most anxious inquiries about his health. He was sensibly moved by this manifestation of feeling, and met it with all that heartiness of expression, and that affectionate simplicity of manner, which made him as much an object of love, as his exalted virtues rendered him an object of respect. The intimate knowledge he seemed to have acquired of all their domestic histories, appeared from the short but significant inquiries he made of each individual as he was hurried along; while, at the same time, he gave a rapid sketch of the particular characters of several who presented themselves-pointing to one with a sigh, and to another with looks of fond congratulation. It was, indeed, impossible to behold a scene like this (which can scarcely be described) without the deepest but most pleasing emotions. It seemed to realise the often-imagined picof Christ, living in the hearts of his flock, ture of a primitive minister of the Gospel 6 willing to spend, and to be spent' for them, and enjoying the happy interchange of mutual affection. It clearly bitually existed between him and his parishioners; and afforded a pleasing proof, that a faithful and firm discharge of duty, when accompanied by kindly sympathies and gracious manners, can scarcely fail to gain the hearts of the humbler ranks of the people." pp. 176-178. shewed the kind of intercourse that ha of an eternal world are about to be disclosed to the disembodied spirit. There are some persons who perhaps look for such evidences chiefly in ardent ejaculations, in affecting expressions of selfhumiliation, in palpable impressions of present comfort, or raptures of joyful anticipation; but these may not be, after all, unequivocal or indispensable tests of the presence and power of true faith. It should not be forgotten how much depends upon the state of the animal system at such times, upon the nature of the complaint, or even on the peculiar constitution, of the mind itself. As in the case of the stedfast and holy Christian here recorded, the disease may be such as to encumber the faculties of the soul by a peculiar pressure upon the body: the corruptible part may weigh down the mind which museth on many things,' and thus incapacitate it for any energetic manifestation of its feelings. It was the nature of his particular malady to bring on an oppressive lassitude of spirits; and he was also afflicted with a raking cough, which for some time before his death dis The resumption of his labours caused a renewal of his disease, till at length he was compelled to remove to Dublin, where his physicians soon forbad his pastoral exertions, and a voyage to the south of France was stated to be indispensable to his recovery. Two unsuccessful attempts were made to reach Bordeaux; but, the gales continuing violent, it was deemed prudent to abandon the plan, and to settle near Exeter for the winter and spring, which was done. In the summer, however, he made a sea-voyage, and spent the winter at the Cove of Cork, which is a very sheltered spot; but his cough increased, with every other symptom, and he died in the month of February.-We have thus briefly detailed the events of his life, in order to introduce part of its clos-abled him from speaking a single sentence ing scene, which is too interesting and profitable to be omitted. It is accompanied by some very discriminating remarks from the biographer, in which we quite concur; but although we are far from considering it as an indispensable and exclusive test of the favourable state of the soul, that in the terrible moment when" flesh is failing" and the next struggle will dismiss it to the unseen world, it should be able to spread the wing of faith, and soar triumphantly on it as in the sunshine of Divine love; yet such instances do occur. Often have the power of religion, and the love of the Saviour, triumphed over the most intense agonies of body, and the acutest sensibilities of the most gentle spirit; and while ties the very tenderest were being rent asunder, the all-wise and merciful Disposer who was severing them, has been the object of love and adoration. The following is Mr. Russell's account of his friend's dying bed. "It is natural for a religious mind to feel a lively interest in every record of the last illness and death of any eminent servant of God-to expect some happy evidences of triumphant faith and holy resignation in such a trying state-at the awful moment when all the vast realities without incurring a violent paroxysm. "One interesting fact, however, may prove, with more certainty than a thousand rapturous expressions, the ascendepressing circumstances. dency of his faith in the midst of these "On the day before his dissolution, the medical gentleman who attended him felt it his duty to apprise him of his immediate danger, and expressed himself thus: Your mind, sir, seems to be so raised above this world that I need not fear to communicate to you my candid opinion of your state.' Yes, sir,' replied he, ' I trust I have been learning to live above the world :' and he then made some impressive observations on the ground of his own hopes; and having afterwards heard that they had a favourable effect, he entered more fully into the subject with him on his next visit, and continued speaking for an hour, in such a convincing, affecting, and solemn strain, (and this at a time when he seemed incapable of uttering a single sentence,) that the physician, on retiring to the adjoining room, threw himself on the sofa, in tears, exclaiming, There is something superhuman about that man: it is astonishing to see such a mind in a body so wasted; such mental vigour in a poor frame dropping into the grave!' "Let not then the cold sceptic (to maintain a precarious theory on uncertain observations) seek to degrade his own nature, in the face of facts like this, by identifying the imperishable soul with its frail tenement. There are moments, he may see, at which that divine and immaterial principle can throw off the pressure of its earthly incumbrance, even when it appears to slumber in a deadly torpor. When its own appropriate excitements are presented to it, it can burst its cerements,' and rise superior to the ruins amidst which it seems to be buried. "This incident is abundantly sufficient to indicate the strength of principle and the ardour of feeling which may possess the soul at a time when, perhaps, it finds no utterance. His feelings indeed ap.. peared too deep for superficial expressions. The state of mind towards which he seemed to aspire, was what the excellent Henry Martin preferred above all others, 'a sweet and holy seriousness; and in. deed he seemed to have attained it. His was a calm serenity, a profound thoughtfulness, a retired communion with his God, which could not, probably, vent itself in verbal ebullitions; but when an opportunity of doing good to the soul of a fellow-sinner presented itself, he shewed how strongly he felt the Gospel to be the power of salvation to his own soul,' by his zeal to impart it to another. "It is important thus to see that true religion consists not so much in the constaut fervour of the feelings, as in a fixedness of principle, in the intelligent, determinate choice of the will; that the one may fluctuate while the other remains stedfast and immovable. "From the time that Mr. W. came to Cove he seemed scarcely to relish any subject of conversation but that which bore upon what is, in truth, at all times the one thing needful.' "His Bible was his chief companion: he seemed also deeply interested in Worthington's treatise on Self-resignation;' and occasionally read with satisfaction 'Omicron's Letters, by the Rev. J. New ton.' Upon the subject of religion he was always peculiarly indisposed to controversy. He delighted to seize the great principles, to embrace the vital truths; and read with pleasure any author in whose writings he could find them: he valued as brethren all who maintained them, and diligently sought to co-operate with them in their works and labours of love.' His own views seemed not to have undergone any change from the time of his ordination; but they became more and more vivid, and, of course, more influential upon his principles and affections. "During the last few days of his life, when his sufferings became more distressing, his constant expression was,This light affliction, this light affliction!' and when the awful crisis drew near, he still maintained the same sweet spirit of resignation. Even then he shewed an instance of that thoughtful benevolence, that amiable tenderness of feeling, which formed a striking trait in his character:-he expressed much anxiety about the accommoCHRIST. OBSERV. No. 294. dation of an attendant who was sleeping in the adjoining room, and gave even minute directions respecting it. "On going to bed he felt very drowsy; and soon after the stupor of death began to creep over him. He began to pray for all his dearest friends individually; but his voice faltering, he could only say- God bless them all! The peace of God and of Jesus Christ overshadow them, dwell in them, reign in then!' 'My peace,' said he, addressing his sister, (the peace I now feel) be with you!' Thou, O God, will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee.' His speech again began to fail, and he fell into a slumber; but whenever his senses were recalled he returned to prayer. He repeated part of the Lord's Prayer, but was unable to proceed; and at last, with a composure scarcely credible at such a moment, he whispered to the dear relative who hung over his death-bed, Close this eye, the other is closed already; and now farewell!' Then, having again uttered part of the Lord's Prayer, he fell asleep. He is not dead, but sleepeth.' pp. 205-210. We must now adduce a few specimens from the discourses in the present volume. The first of these sermons is on the duty of remembering our Creator in the days of youth, (Eccles. xii. 1,) and affords a good illustra tion of the author's characteristic excellence in seizing a few short but vigorous conceptions, and pressing them pointedly on the conscience of the hearer. The discourse opens with the following exordium. "We all know that we shall have to remember our Creator at one time or another. We cannot but know that he has many ways of inviting us to remember him the sun that he makes to rise upon the evil and the good-the rain that he sends down upon the just and the unjust the fruitful seasons, by which he fills our hearts with food and gladness'the weekly returns of his holy Sabbaththe ministry of the Gospel of salvationand the table which he spreads before us, which he has instituted as a peculiar memorial of himself, and at which he invites us to eat of the bread of life, and to drink from the fountain of living water. "And we cannot but know that he has also the means of making himself remembered, and that he will not always allow himself to be forgotten-but that he has certain agents at his disposal, by which, when he pleases, he can command our attention,-the sword-the famine-the pestilence the death-bed-the last trumpet the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched.'" pp. 223, 224. 2 Z The following picture of a parent advancing in years, and while endeavouring to call the attention of his offspring to this precept, suddenly recollecting that he had never himself attended to it, is strikingly conceived "But suppose that all this has been neglected, and that you, notwithstanding, have been permitted by the mercies of the God you have forgotten, to arrive at the borders of an unholy old age-how will you then set about remembering your Creator-reserving, for the dregs of sickness and infirmity, the work of youth in all its rigour offering rude and cruel violence to languid nature, as she is retiring to her repose-returning indeed to a second childhood, and beginning life anew, just as you are dropping into the grave-obliged to undo all that you have done-to turn out the whole tribe of loathsome ideas that have lain festering in your mind, and to purify a diseased and corrupted memory from all the sordid thoughts and recollections that have filled the place which should have been occupied by your Creator? And then, too, when you shall come to teach this precept to your children, instead of pronouncing it with all the dignity of a father-of one who is to them in the place of God upon earth, you will hang your head and drop your grey hairs in shame before the son that should honour and respect you; you will blush to look your child in the face, when you read him a lesson that you never practised; and your lips will quiver, and your tongue will falter, when you say to him, Remember your Creator in the days of your youth.'" pp. 235-237. His sermon on faith as the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen, is one of the best in the volume. It evolves the principle of the text in the following simple but powerful manner. Faith is to us instead of sight. It is as if we had seen the things that we believe; and it is therefore to produce in us the same effect. The inquiry then arises as to the course of conduct which would be adopted if all that the word of God propounds as matters of faith had become matter of sight and observation : Heaven with its glories, hell with its terrors, &c. Truly if this feeling were realized, the believer would become a stranger and pilgrim on earth. From the very few glimpses which, when his faith is strong, he seems to have obtained of the heavenly glory, how is he led to retire like an exile from the company of the foreigners around him, and to think of the beauties of his house, and its loved inhabitants-to cast a longing, Aingering look towards its shores, and meditate on his return! Such should we all be if we had seen. Such MUST we all be if we believe. seen. "And now let each man compare what he is with what we have just found he would be if he had seen what he professes to believe. And are you like it? Is there any striking resemblance? No doubt the impressions would be much more lively and powerful if they had been actually It is scarcely to be expected that we should attain so great a degree of spiritual excellence, as if we had seen them face to face; but the simple question that every man of plain common sense has to ask himself, is this-Whether there is to be so very great a difference between a man who had seen these things, and a man who from his heart and soul believed these things to be true, and that one day or other he shall see these things? Is your life (I will not say equal to, but is it) like that which we have been just describing? Does it fall short of it in degree, not in kind? or (what is the true and most important question) is it continually approaching it? Is it more and more like it, though you may not hope to attain it on this side of the grave? Remember, there were two different men that applied to our Saviour for relief: they were both fathers, and came to ask it for their chil-" dren. As soon as Christ had said to one of them, Thy son liveth,' he went his way, believing the word that Jesus spake, and accordingly he found his son fully restored. Now this man's faith, in this instance, was the substance of what he hoped for, the perfect evidence of what he had not seen. But when Christ asked the other father, Believest thou that I able to do this thing?' the father answered, with tears in his eyes, Lord, 1 believe help thou mine unbelief!' He felt that his faith was not as it should be, that it was not the evidence of what he did not : am see; but he felt humbled under the sense of his weakness, eager to have it remedied heart that his faith might be confirmed and and removed, and he prayed with all his invigorated. And was he disappointed? The good and benevolent Being who never yet rejected the prayer of humble earnestness, said unto him, even as unto the other, Thy son liveth.'" pp. 250-252. In considering that most encouraging and oft-renewed invitation of our Lord, "Come unto me, ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest," our author maintains, that the burden of which the Saviour speaks is in every man's heart, and that the invitation is universal. We quote the following striking passage: though we do not think its application to the preacher's text is strictly correct; for our Lord refers to a burden known and felt, and not to one which is only a matter of inference. There is one remarkable consideration that is fully sufficient of itself to convince us that we have a load, and a very heavy one, hanging upon our hearts and our consciences: it is simply this, our unwilling ness to examine them. There is not one of us who does not feel it to be a loathsome, a disgusting, a most painful, and a most humiliating task. Only observe with what eagerness we avoid it; how many excuses we make in order that we may escape an acquaintance with our own hearts and an inquiry into our own consciences. Now this is a positivé proof that we know full well the inquiry would turn against us. It is the testimony of our hearts against themselves at the very out set. How Why should you be afraid of examining yourself, if you did not know well that you would find a heavy burden within? Just consider what a delightful occupation would self-examination become if we had any reason to suppose that our hearts would make a favourable report. Every man loves to hear his own praises, if he believes them to be true. O if we had any idea that our own heart would praise us, there would not be a more delightful task upon earth than that of examining ourselves. How eagerly should we steal away to our closets and our Bibles if we thought that we should come away satisfied with ourselves, approving ourselves, assured that all was safe within! happy should you be in weighing your heart if you thought you should find it really a light and an easy one! How happy should you feel in looking at it over and over, and again and again, if you thought you should find it good, and pure, and holy! What a luxury would it be to start a new virtue at every step of our inquiry, to indulge in the contemplation of our own goodness, and the applause of our own consciences; and what a beautiful thing would the Bible appear to us if we thought that at every page we turned we read our own salvation! O then, what must be the real state of the case, when we would study any thing rather than the book of God, and would plunge into any society rather than the company of our own hearts! Is it not a proof that, in the one, we know we should find the evidence of our guilt; and, in the other, the registry of our condemnation? This plain and simple fact, examine our own hearts, is a sufficient that we would do any thing rather than evidence of the corruption of our nature; -we are afraid to look at it: a sufficient proof of the heavy burden within ;--we are afraid to weigh it." pp. 297--299. The following view of sin as a hidden disease, of which the outward act is but a symptom, occurs in the course of some remarks on the accuracy with which the moral invalid, dumb and insensible when the inquiry is turned to the health of that mysterious inmate which dwells in features of his bodily distemper, each of us, can describe all the and never mistake a symptom for the disease. Only observe with what scrutinizing ingenuity a man will penetrate into the hiding places in his constitution to discover the root and ground of some disorder that has shewn itself in some external sign! And should not the blind Pharisees have known, even of themselves, that it is from within, out of the hearts of men proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, deceit, las. civiousness; that all these evil things come from within, and it is out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.' These, sins as they are, these,against which the great God has registered his wrath, and for all which we shall be brought into judgment,-these are, after all, signs and symptoms of something worse within. Our evil words and our evil deeds are only overflowings of the soul, and do not shew the depth of the fountain from which they proceed. It has, indeed, its ebbs and its flows, like those diseases that shew themselves at some periods more than at others; but we should make a sad error if we mistook the signs of a complaint for the complaint itself. It is often by a slight variation of the pulsea pain, trifling in itself, a change in the habit or aspect, that would hardly be observed unless narrowly examined and inspected, that a physician detects a malady which is making serious and frightful in.. roads upon the constitution "We may at once convince ourselves of this by imagining ourselves thrown into a thousand situations in which we have seen others involved, and from which we have been preserved we know not how; and in which sins, that have only shewn themselves by faint and transient flashes, would have burst into a blaze, and have raged with the fury of a conflagration. Awful and tremendous truth! that our |