prayers. A domestic incident on which she loved to dwell was the conversion and piety of a native African woman, whom her husband had purchased, and whom she had assiduously taught the principles of religion. This woman died at last in christian faith and triumph, uttering, in broken English, sentiments that would have adorned the lips of the oldest and best instructed saint. The piety of Mrs. Hodge was indeed eminent, but its peculiar characteristic was humility. Those who had heard much of her did not always find their expectations realized, when they became acquainted with her. They found that she was not one of those who anticipate continually and with confidence the heavenly joys, who are raised by this above all fear of death, and who seem to be rapped into a better world while they remain in this. A person who, from what he had heard of her, was led to believe that she possessed something of this character, after a short acquaintance, offered to present her with a handsome copy of Mrs. Rowe's Devout Exercises of the Heart. Her reply to him was this: "I know something of that book, sir, and I thank you sincerely for offering it to me. But I must say that it is a book which does not suit me. I wish I was more like Mrs. Rowe than I am. But her exercises were so far superior to mine, and her descriptions of them are so strong, that, to tell you the truth, they rather discourage me than help me. If you please, let the book be given to Mrs. - I think it will exactly suit her." In this there was no affectation, to which indeed she was a stranger. She believed that others had made attainments far beyond her own, attainments which she wished to make, and mourned that she wanted; but to which, as she believed she did not possess them, she would make no pretensions. There were some considerable portions of her life, and many short seasons scattered through almost the whole of it, in which she rejoiced and triumphed in God her Saviour. But as a habit she did by no means possess the "full assur ance of hope." On the contrary, she had frequent doubts and fears, and great anxiety about her spiritual state; though never, after her first exercises, did she sink into any thing like despondency. She was often searching her heart, questioning and examining herself, to ascertain whether she was truly a disciple of Christ; and this continued to the very last. Few christians have ever more fully renounced themselves than she, and expected salvation as the purchase of the Saviour, and the free gift of God through him. The idea of human merit in the sight of God was the abhorrence of her soul. Some of the poor whom she relieved, would sometimes suggest that her abundant charities would render her the favourite of heaven. Such intimations she always received with manifest disgust, and it is believed never failed to reprove the parties who gave them, and to endeavour to convey juster notions of the manner in which we must be recommended to God. She panted ardently after holiness and inward conformity to the divine law, but a clear sight and a deep sense of her remaining depravity, made her abhor herself, and cleave to the perfect righteousness of Christ, as the only foundation of her hope. Newton's Letters, and Owen on Indwelling Sin, were, next to the holy scriptures, the books which she most delighted to read. Thus has an imperfect sketch been given of the character of this excellent woman, of whom a man who had seen much of the world, was heard to say, as he followed her corpse to the grave, "I would rather be Mrs. Hodge than Buonaparte." Beyond all question, her life was more enviable, her death more happy, and her eternal destiny infinitely more desirable, than that of any unsanctified hero, patriot, or sage, whose actions or whose wisdom have furnished the theme of the poet's song, the materials of the historian's volumes, and the objects of emulation to a blinded world, "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; yea saith the Spirit for they rest from their labours, and their works do follow them." LIFE OF THE REV. WILLIAM TENNENT. AMONG the duties which every generation owes to those which are to succeed it, we may reckon the careful delineation of the characters of those whose example deserves, and may invite imitation. Example speaks louder than precept, and living practical religion has a much greater effect on mankind than argument or eloquence. Hence, the lives of pious men become the most important sources of instruction and warning to posterity; while their exemplary conduct affords the best commentary on the religion they professed. But when such men have been remarkably favoured of God, with unusual degrees of light and knowledge, and have been honoured by the special and extraordinary influences of his Holy Spirit, and by the most manifest and wonderful interpositions of divine Providence in their behalf, it becomes a duty of more than common obligation, to hand down to posterity the principal events of their lives, together with such useful inferences as they naturally suggest. A neglect of this duty, even by persons who may be conscious of the want of abilities necessary for the complete biographer, is greatly culpable; for, if the strictest attention be paid to the truth of the facts related, and all exaggeration or partial representation be carefully avoided, the want of other furniture can be no excuse for burying in oblivion that conduct, which, if known, might edify and benefit the world. The writer of these memoirs has difficulties of a peculiar kind to encounter, in attempting to sketch the life of that modest, VOL. II. N humble, and worthy man, whose actions, exercises, and sentiments he wishes to record. Worldly men, who are emulous to transmit their names to following ages, take care to leave such materials for the future historian, as may secure the celebrity which they seek. But the humble follower of the meek and lowly Jesus, whose sole aim is the glory of God, in the welfare of immortal souls, goes on, from day to day, as seeing Him who is invisible, careful to approve himself only to the Searcher of hearts, regardless of worldly fame or distinction, and leaving it to his heavenly Father to reward him openly, in the day of final account. The writer of such a man's life, must principally rely on a personal acquaintance with him, and the communications of his intimate friends, for the information which shall be imparted to the public. In these circumstances it is peculiarly embarrassing if some of the facts to be recorded are of such a nature, that it is most desirable to have their authenticity so fully established, that incredulity shall be confounded, and the sneer of the sceptical and profane lose its effect. But the writer of the following narrative, though placed in these circumstances and having such facts to detail, has nevertheless determined to proceed. He has refreshed and corrected his own recollection, by the most careful inquiries that he could possibly make of others, until he is well assured, that what he shall state is incontestible truth. From the very nature of several things of which an account will be given, they do not indeed admit of any other direct testimony than that of the remarkable man to whom they relate. But if there ever was a person who deserved to be believed unreservedly on his own word, it was he. He possessed an integrity of soul and a soundness of judgment, which did actually secure him an unlimited confidence from all who knew him. Every species of deception, falsehood, and exaggeration he abhorred and scorned. He was an Israelite indeed in whom there was no guile. With such materials, then, as have been mentioned, and for a work of such character as has been hinted, the writer has undertaken his task. He has undertaken what he would most gladly have resigned to an abler hand; but from which, as no other offered, he dared not withhold his own. He could wish that speculative and even unbelieving minds might be instructed and convinced by these memoirs. But his principal object, and that in which he trusts he shall not be entirely disappointed, is to direct, assist, and comfort pious souls, groaning under the pressure of the calamities which they often have to endure in their pilgrimage through the wilderness of this world. |