He was fearfully emaciated, but, as I spake of the Saviour who 66 went not up to joy, until he first suffered pain," his brows again lighted with the calmness of one whose " way to eternal joy was to suffer with Christ, whose door to eternal life, gladly to die with him." Greatly comforted by prayer, he desired that the holy communion might be once more administered to him and his children. There was a separation around his bed. Those who had been accustomed to partake with him, drew near and knelt around the dying. Fixing his eye on the others, he said with an energy of tone which we thought had forsaken him,-"Will ye thus be divided at the last day?" A burst of wailing grief was the reply! Never will that scene be effaced from my remembrance; the expressive features and thrilling responses of the patriarch, into whose expiring body the soul returned with power, that it might leave this last testimony of faith and hope to those whom he loved, are among the unfading imagery of my existence. The spirit seemed to rekindle more and more, in its last lingerings about the threshold of time. In a tone,

whose clearness and emphasis surprised us, the departing saint breathed forth a blessing on those who surrounded him in the name of that God "whose peace passeth all understanding."

There was an interval, during which he seemed to slumber. Whispers of hope were heard around his couch that he might wake and be refreshed. At length his eyes slowly unclosed. They were glazed and deeply sunken in their sockets: their glance was long and kind on those who hung over his pillow. His lips moved, but not audibly. Bowing my ear more closely, I found that he was speaking of Him who is the "resurrection and the life." A slight shuddering passed over his frame, and he was at rest for ever. A voice of weeping arose from among the children who had been summoned to the bed of death. Ere I had attempted consolation, the lay-reader with an unfaltering tone pronounced, "The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord."-Deep silence ensued. It seemed as if every heart was installing him who spake in the place of the father and the governor who had departed. It was a spontaneous acknowledgment of the right of primogeniture, which no politician could condemn. He stood among them, in the simple majesty of his birth-right, a ruler and priest, to

guide his people in the way everlasting. It was as if the mantle of an arisen prophet had descended upon him, as if those ashen lips had broken the seal of death to utter, "Behold my servant whom I have chosen." Every eye fixed upon him its expression of fealty and love. Gradually the families retired to their respective habitations. Each individual paused at the pillow of the patriarch to take a silent farewell; and some of the little ones climbed up to kiss the marble face.

I was left alone with the lay-reader and with the dead. The enthusiasm of the scene had fled, and the feelings of a son triumphed. Past years rushed like a tide over his memory. The distant but undimmed impressions of infancy and childhood-the planting of that once wild waste-the changes of those years which had sprinkled his temples with gray hairs,—all with their sorrows and their joys, came back, associated with the lifeless image of his beloved sire. In the bitterness of bereavement, he covered his face, and wept. That iron frame which had borne the hardening of more than half a century, shook, like the breast of an infant when it sobs out its sorrows. I waited until the first shock of grief had subsided. Then, passing my arm gently within his, I repeated, "I heard a voice from heaven, saying,- Write! from henceforth, blessed are the dead, who die in the Lord!"" Instantly, raising himself upright, he responded in a voice, whose deep inflections sank into my soul, “Even so, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours, and their works do follow them." I remained to attend the funeral obsequies of the patriarch. In the heart of their territory was a shady dell, sacred to the dead. It was surrounded by a neat enclosure, and planted with trees. The drooping branches of a willow swept the grave of the mother of the colony. Near her slumbered her youngest son. Several other mounds swelled around them, most of which, by their small size, told of the smitten flowers of infancy. To this goodly company we bore him who had been revered as the father and exemplar of all. With solemn steps, his descendants, two and two, followed the corpse. I heard a convulsive and suppressed breathing among the more tender of the train; but when the burial service commenced, all was hushed. And never have I more fully realized its surpassing pathos and power, than when, from the centre of that deep solitude, on

the brink of that waiting grave, it poured forth its consolation." Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery: he cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower: he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay. In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord! who for our sins art justly displeased? Yet, O Lord! most holy -O God, most mighty!-O holy and most merciful Saviour! deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death. Thou knowest, Lord! the secrets of our hearts, shut not thy most merciful ears to our prayers, but spare us, O Lord! most holy!-O God, most mighty! O holy and merciful Saviour! suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death to fall

from thee."

Circumstances compelled me to leave this mourning community immediately after committing the dust of their pious ancestor to the earth. They accompanied me to some distance on my journey, and our parting was with mutual tears. Turning to view them, as their forms mingled with the dark green of the forest, I heard the faint echo of a clear voice. It was the lay-reader speaking of the hope of the resurrection "If we believe that Christ died and rose again, even so them also, that sleep in Jesus, will God bring with him." Full of hope I pursued my homeward way. I inquired, is devotion never encumbered or impeded by the splendour that surrounds her? Amid the lofty cathedral,-the throng of rich-stoled worshippers, the melody of the solemn organ,does that incense never spend itself upon the earth, that should rise to heaven? On the very beauty and the glory of its ordinances may not the spirit proudly rest, and go not forth to the work of benevolence, nor spread its wing at the call of faith? Yet surely there is a reality in religion, though man may foolishly cheat himself with the shadow. Here I have beheld it in simplicity, disrobed of all "pomp and circumstance," yet with power to soothe the passions into harmony, to maintain the virtues in daily and vigorous exercise, and to give victory to the soul, when death vanquishes the body. So I took the lesson to my heart; and, when it has languished, or grown cold, I have warmed it by the remembrance of the ever-living faith, of those "few sheep in the wilderness."

[Protestant Journal.]

WHAT IT IS TO BE A CHRISTIAN.

To be a Christian is to be allied to Christ; and this, not only by sharing our human nature, but by our own participation in his Divine nature. It is to have his Spirit within us; to be made in the image of God; to aspire after the lofty and inestimable privileges of the brethren of Christ, a share in his righteousness, an admission through him into the presence of the most holy God, a fellow inheritance with him in eternal glory. To be a Christian is to believe the humbling doctrines of the cross, which lay low the pride of man, and bring us as needy supplicants to the throne of mercy; it is ever to follow the self-denying precepts, the meek and lowly example, of our Saviour. Compare, then, my brethren, this character with that of too many in the world, calling themselves Christians. Are they Christians who are too proud to confess, and much too fond to forsake, those very sins, from which Christ came to redeem them; still, however, perhaps trusting in themselves to be saved by works of righteousness which they have done, not according to that mercy which He hath purchased for us by his own blood? Are they Christians who choose, in preference to himself, the things which Christ has taught us to despise; who are lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God? Are they Christians whose ambition terminates in the poor and low attainments of this present state; who seek the honour of men, not that which cometh of God only? Are they Christians who follow closely and precisely, not the rule of the Gospel, which they have in profession assumed, but the practice and opinions of men, which they have professed to forsake? In short, are they Christians whose example is not Christ, but the world; and who, when both are clearly and plainly set before them, will choose the course which makes for their present interest, rather than that which tends to the glory of Christ, or assimilates them to his Divine image? My brethren, examine yourselves conscientiously, and as if before God, by these tests; and according as conscience decides, so place yourselves, or not, amongst those who were, in the first ages of a pure Church, called Christians.- -ARCHDEACON HOARE.

MARRIAGE, A RELIGIOUS ORDINANCE*.

As a preliminary matter, I must set out by observing that, in regard to the Church of England, in regard to that apostolic branch of the Church of Christ, to which we, my brethren, by our presence here show that we belong,-in regard to us, there is no forced or compulsory change. We may proceed to the holy ceremony of marriage precisely in the same way that we have hitherto done. I am extremely anxious to urge this upon your attention, because among our poorer classes there is a notion gone abroad, that they are forbidden to be married in the Church, that they can only be married by appearing before the registrar, and so forth; whereas there is no compulsory change whatever. You may proceed to have the banns put up in the church for three several Sundays, as heretofore. You may proceed to procure a license from the ecclesiastical authorities, as heretofore; and then, as members of the Church of England, (or even as Dissenters, if they should think fit,) you may enter God's house as your ancestors have done, and before God's altar, and at the hands of his ministers, you may ratify the vows of your marriage contract, precisely in the same manner as you have hitherto been accustomed to do.

But then, you are ready to exclaim, if this be the case, wherein lies the change in our laws of marriage, about to take place? The change consists in this—that hitherto there was no possible way by which marriage could be esteemed lawful, except by the ceremony of the Church of England, as laid down in her Book of Common Prayer,—and all persons, of whatever religious persuasion they might happen to be, (with one or two exceptions,) were compelled to use this form, whereas, henceforward it will be left optional; those that please may use it, those who are offended by it may reject it; and for all such persons as dissent from the doctrines or discipline of the Church of England, other ways by which they may contract marriage are provided.

Now this, I do not hesitate to say, is perfectly just. That

*Extracted from Sermons published in June, 1837, by the Rev. W. J. E. BENNETT, on Marriage with reference to its Divine appointment. The New Marriage Act came into operation on the first of July following.