and became entirely dependant upon the offices of others, the language neither of impatience nor of complaint escaped her lips, nor was a feeling of irritation ever observed to give even a momentary disturbance to her uniformly peaceful frame of mind.

Those religious principles which she had professed through life afforded her now an unspeakable satisfaction. She knew by long experience that a sinner's only hope is found in the sacrifice of the Lamb of God; and though she had been enabled "to walk," like Elizabeth with Zechariah, "in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blameless," she looked with no pharisaic complacency upon her past life, but placed her sole dependance upon the grace which justifies the ungodly through faith in Jesus Christ. I know not that her experience ever rose above a calm conviction of her interest in Christ. It was sufficiently clear and decided to afford her quiet happiness without producing "a joy unspeakable," and it sustained her with a well assured hope without kindling those raptures of which some have spoken in the prospect of dissolution. Great diffidence had always marked her expressions when speaking of her own character, and to the last she was distinguished in this respect by unaffected humility. But if she was not favoured with extatic joys, neither was she harassed by Satanic temptations. The Shepherd of Israel dealt graciously with her. Through no rough and dark passages of the shady

vale did he lead her, to no fierce assaults from the evil one who frequents it did he abandon her. In fulfilment of the promise he himself was with her, daily walking by her side, and suffering her to lean on his Almighty arm. As she moved gently forward from stage to stage she could tell of his condescension to her weaknesses, and of the tokens of his everlasting love. Nor did she indulge a fear that he would forsake her at the last. No apprehension of the future disturbed her present peace. Thankful for the supports of each successive day she was willing to leave the next to his faithfulness, and still as the next and the next concluded she had to renew her testimony to his unfailing grace. And thus two years and more softly glided away in which neither corporeal suffering was endured nor mental, though in the meantime an entire prostration of every faculty had supervened. The current of life had ebbed out; not a ripple on its surface indicated the presence of any disturbing element as its last waters silently flowed into the deep ocean of eternity. Nothing could be more tranquil than the final moment. The weary pilgrim, who through fourscore years and one had traversed the path of human life, laid down to rest and fell asleep; and as she slept her slumber grew more profound; first one sense and then another resigned its office; an unseen hand pressed down her eyelids, and they opened no more; nor shall open till she awake to immortality, and sing

her morning hymn at the resurrection of the just.

From the period of this bereavement there is scarcely an entry in his diary in which the subject of this memoir does not recur to his loss; he deplores it in a spirit of devout submission, but in terms which show how deep was the wound it had inflicted. At an earlier period in the same year he had also been bereft of a beloved and only surviving sister. She was baptized at the same time with himself and Mrs. Gutteridge, and survived to the age of eightyeight, still witnessing to the grace of God. In the first mention he makes of her death he says, "It affords me pleasure to reflect on the testimonies to her piety and benevolence, which impressed the minds of her friends around her at Watford. She was considered as a loss to the cause of religion in that place."

These repeated trials acting on a state of health already greatly impaired, brought on a serious fit of illness, which made it appear but too probable that he would not long survive them. After sixty years of the most affectionate intercourse, the severance of the bond must have been deeply felt. "It becomes me with all humility to bow to his will (he remarks with equal piety and affection) yet the pang of separation has been great." Greater there is no doubt it was than appeared to any observer, for he

rather suppressed his emotions than betrayed them. The funeral sermons too were preached on his birthday, a circumstance, as will be seen from the following extract from his diary, which awakened solemn trains of thought, and still farther taxed his already excited feelings.

"It is a circumstance I could not help noticing (though of no real importance) that the day on which these funeral discourses were delivered (August 26, 1838) I entered into my eighty-seventh year. A solemn and impressive birthday indeed, and I hope not altogether a lost day;' but a day pregnant with instruction. I feel assured that I cannot expect long to survive those that have gone before; probably it may with truth be predicted of me this year thou shalt die!""

Little however as it was expected, either by himself or his friends, it pleased God to add five more years to his already patriarchal age. Nor were they years, as might have been apprehended, distinguished more by disquietude than enjoyment. He was graciously restored from the shock which his health had suffered; and though he endured at times inconvenience and pain from local maladies, he still possessed much constitutional vigour, and his intellectual faculties seemed scarcely if at all impaired. It was indeed remarkable how quick his perception was, and how sound and clear his judgment at ninety; with how strong and firm a hand he could

still write, while his eye was not grown dim, nor his hearing dull, and his natural force but comparatively little abated. He continued to take an interest in public events, both such as were of a political nature and such as more immediately concerned the kingdom of God; but his thoughts and aims were habitually transferred to a better world. His removal to it he looked upon as an event which might any day take place, and his references to it in conversation were frequent and devout. The writer remembers calling upon him with the late Rev. Dr. Carson, when he expressed himself with so much dignity and calmness on his supposed close proximity to the eternal state of being, and spoke in so emphatic and evangelical a manner of the certainty of his hope, resting alone on the great atonement, as to give occasion when we came away for Dr. Carson to remark, that he had seldom witnessed anything more impressive or consolatory, and that on no account would he have missed such a visit. The prospect of death he always surveyed with solemn feelings, but at the same time without anxiety. He dwelt much upon it in his retirements, as appears from the reflections he was accustomed to record as the anniversaries of important events returned. His birthday, his weddingday, the day of his bereavement, of the funeral, of the funeral sermons, the day of his father's decease, and of his sister's, were seasons which he annually noticed and improved by specially devoting them to religious meditation.