ing task was quietly to wait for the salvation of the Lord. We saw his sun going down, but its radiance was still bright, though mild and soft, and sweet was the lustre which it shed on every surrounding object.

It was during this summer that he selected a spot in the church-yard of Dunblane for his grave. In that place he had often meditated. The beautiful trees which covered its western bank presented, at certain seasons of the year, a striking contrast betwixt the renovations of nature and the desolations of time: and, when he marked the traces of its corroding power, even on the massive pillars of its venerable cathedral, and thought of the multitude reposing in silence under its floor, and around it, he felt more detached from a world whose fashion passeth away, and more devoted to things eternal. It is a natural wish to be buried by the grave of a father and a mother; and as he had no relations interred in Dunblane, it was long his purpose to order that his corpse should be conveyed to the church-yard of Stirling; but he was induced to choose out a burying-place among his people, that his grave might be a remembrancer of his ministry, and a warning of that death and eternity for which it was his office to

prepare them; that his dust might be mingled with theirs, and that it might be a place of burial for his successors.

The last time that I saw him was at Stirling, in August 1816, to which place he had come to attend the annual meeting of the County Bible Society. He was in his usual health and spirits; and rose to second the motion-That the exertions of the British and Foreign Bible Society deserve the gratitude and the support of Christians. I recollect, most distinctly, the impressive language in which he spoke of the value of the Bible, and of the obligations which the dying love of Christ laid on us, to devote every power that we had to his glory. It was marked by some of the audience that his face became pale during the speech, but he finished it without any apparent agitation; and after he sat down, requested me to go out with him. He left the county-hall, leaning on my arm, and we went into an adjoining apartment, where he sat down sick and faint. After taking a little water he felt somewhat relieved, and urged me to return to the duties of the meeting, which I did, after seeing him conducted by a relation to his dwelling. After the meeting was dismissed I called on him, and found him in bed, and perfectly tranquil. He said that he had been com

mitting his soul to Christ, in whose hands he had often placed it, and that he knew that with him it was safe. It was plain that there was in his constitution a strong tendency to apoplexy; and recourse was had to copious bleeding. He returned to Dunblane, strongly impressed with the idea of his departure being at hand, and said to a friend, "I am not afraid to die; I know in whom I have believed; I only wish to glorify God on my death-bed." He soon had symptoms of another attack, which required the application of the lancet again; and by the loss of so much blood, and the very low diet to which he was reduced, he became very feeble. During the three weeks that elapsed betwixt the first attack and the fatal one, he felt himself ready to be offered, and his conversation was like that of one on the brink of eternity. When one observed that his death would be a great loss to the Church, "Alas!" said he, "I never did any thing to the glory of God, as I should have done; and if grace had not restrained me, I know not what I might have been. 'O! wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death?' But how comfortable! It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners-the chief

servant.

of sinners.'" Resting himself one day on his bed, he said thrice, with much emphasis, "Oh what a poor creature I am! All my righteousnesses are filthy rags." Such were his impressions of the extent of God's claims on him, and of his own deficiencies, that he reckoned himself, as Christ enjoins us to do, an unprofitable This humiliation of soul was not associated with despair. Not long before his death, he heard, at the communion, a discourse on that text, Is. xli. 17, 18.—“ When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them, I the God of Israel will not forsake them; I will open rivers in high places, and fountains in the midst of the valleys; I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land pools of water." During that sermon his soul had been sweetly solaced, and this soothing promise encouraged him during all his confinement.

For some time previous to his illness he had enjoyed much communion with God. He mentioned this to a very intimate friend, but gave no minute detail of his experience. It appeared from his deportment and language, that the views which he obtained of the divine glory produced the same effect on him as on Job.

They led him to abhor himself, and to repent in dust and ashes. It is probable that he did not enjoy this full assurance of the love of God without intermission; for to a friend he said, "I have been looking over my evidences; I wish they were more clear; but I think they are sufficient." It is a striking fact, and it may show us how little dependence is to be placed on the raptures of the dying, that the most eminent Christians in wisdom and piety, are, at such seasons, distinguished in their exercise by sobriety and caution; and, when we see such a man examining himself whether he was in the faith, it must be with disgust that we mark the transports of the novice, and the confidence of the presumptuous.

When the idea of recovery was held out to him, he said, "Oh that I may come out of the furnace more purified, and more fitted for the Master's use. I cannot expect to grow in knowledge and gifts now; but if I grow in grace, that is best. All I wish for is, to be more holy and more active for Christ." He gave no indications of solicitude about life, nor did I ever see any one who discovered so little of the fear of death. In various scenes of intercourse with him I have marked something uncommon in the calmness with which he spoke of death when