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of our nature assumed in him, occasioning at times to himself serious inconvenience, to his friends much pain.

Now, in the position which he occupied, there was every thing to feed this disposition. At the head of the circle in which he moved, in learning, in eloquence, in conversational powers, he was also the idol of the people of his charge. The homage and adulation they rendered him were sufficient to seduce and corrupt an angel mind: but he withstood its influence, and at the very time that their incense was most freely offered, he was growing most in humility and grace. Along with his striking advance in piety, his brotherly kindness and charity became so evident, as entirely to obliterate from the minds of his brethren the effects of what Mr. Fletcher calls his former "haughty reserve;" and notwithstanding the frequently disparaging comparisons and offensive eulogies they were sometimes compelled to hear from the lips of admirers, the strongest confidence and affection towards him sprang up in their breasts. We know of no position more likely than his to excite the envy of others, yet he escaped or outlived it altogether; we know of none more likely to induce self-complacency and vain-glory; and where the native tendencies of the mind are favourable to the growth of these passions, how rare, even amongst good men, is the conquest; yet in his case the conquest was made, and this plague of the heart subdued, and the opposite virtues, to a large extent, superinduced. "Oh!" he has again and again repeated to me, says Mr. Griffin, (and others have heard it,) with an emotion of almost distress, "I care nothing what people may think or say of my abilities, if I may be useful to souls;" and once, with a kind of swelling indignation, "God knows, I do not want their applause, I want their salvation." Who can fail to recognize here the great power of the Spirit? who can help magnifying the grace of God in him?

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Of Noah, it is said, he was "a righteous man;" of Nathaniel, that he 66 was an Israelite indeed without guile;" Stephen was "full of faith and of power;" Simeon was "just and devout;" and Barnabas "a good man, full of the Holy Ghost and of faith." Were we to characterize M'All's piety, we should say he was devout and pure. His chosen religious exercise was meditation. He communed much with God in thought, and he came forth from Peniel, or rather from the mercy seat of the New Covenant, to exhibit a character which stood, to quote again from Mr. Griffin," in the very sunlight of heaven; and which, before human eyes, was without the shadow of a spot."

To that feature of his ministerial character, however, just alluded to, his anxiety to do good to souls; and the humiliation and distress of mind occasioned to him by what he thought the failure of his ministry, we must further advert. To this solicitude his biographers have referred; and this travail of his soul we also have had opportunities of knowing, and have heard its agonizing expression. We were favoured with a few hours confidential intercourse with him, at the commencement of the last year of his life, and never shall we forget the impression produced upon our mind by the lowly meekness of his spirit; by his "pantings of unutterable desire for the

salvation of souls;" by the strong solicitude with which he contemplated the effect of his labours, and the issues of his ministry, and by the deep groanings which at times escaped him as he spake. The cause of his sorrow was this, that, comparatively so few were known to him to be converted to God by his instrumentality. Our heart was nigh to bursting, nor would our emotions suffer us to reply as he appealed to us, in the most earnest and solemn manner, "Tell me, you have had opportunities of forming a judgment, and I know I can confide in your friendship, tell me is there any thing you have observed in me, or in my preaching, which appears to you, in any way to account for this failure? I entreat you, tell me.' The solution of the case given by his biographer, nearly agrees with the answer we returned. We are persuaded he was mistaken. Though his style of address was not adapted to produce the kind of effect, which is seen to be followed by the most striking instances of conversion; and to bring about those sudden and instantaneous revolutions in individual minds, produced by the appeals of such men as Knox or Whitefield of former days; or as Raffles, Parsons, Leifchild, Newton, and several others of the present; yet the cases of direct, though more gradually developed change, wrought by his ministrations, were far more numerous than he was aware. The order of emotion awakened by the two modes of address is so different, that we can scarcely venture an opinion of the causes of the difference. Perhaps, however, THEIR power arises chiefly from addressing to the more obvious principles of our nature, forcible exhibitions of the more obvious truths of religion; while HIS sprang from dealing so skilfully with elements and susceptibilities of equal importance in the mental constitution, but of more delicate and subtle character; and which, when reached, as they but rarely are, are attended with emotions of far deeper, though less turbulent, excitement. We think we can recollect many occasions, when, whilst listening to some of them, if we had never previously known fear or godly sorrow, we should have been brought by their appeals, to the first acts of repentance. Under his addresses our mind has been as strongly wrought upon, and impressions as good and holy awakened; yet this was not the precise effect. We do not remember to have been bowed down by their eloquence, as by his. They stirred us up, but when he spake we were made dumb with silence. They would have excited in us a restless anxiety and fear, which would have led us to act as did the Philippian jailer, and induced us to seek the first possible interview with them, to tell the tale of our guilt and unbelief, and seek direction. His expostulations were attended with a solemn awe, like that which pervaded the Israelites at the foot of Horeb, which inclined us to seek the solitude of the closet, and to ponder seriously the state of our own hearts, whilst their full effect would be seen, only after many days. That effect, however, on the whole, was quite as powerful in its direct operation, if not so palpable; and exerted an influence on the character as extended and permanent. Through their ministry, numberless conversions have been effected, at once, and are known to have taken place; through his, as many, it may be, have resulted,

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but by a series of operations, to no one of which they could be distinctly traced by human eye or human consciousness; and are therefore hidden from our knowledge, till the revelation of the great day.

At the same time, we do not think that it was for the rise and fall of many in Israel that he was set; it was chiefly, perhaps, for other purposes, though of equal moment and equal honour. Indirectly, as well as directly, his life and labours have been made to produce an amount of good on the entire christian ministry of the country, on the church, and on the world, which we cannot estimate, which is felt through all the ramifications of society, which will be transmitted to remote posterity, and with which the numerous isolated conversions of others cannot compare. The other kind of good, however, because more visible and ascertainable, is usually esteemed a more direct testimony of divine approval, is naturally more desired by us, and when withheld, is to the devoted minister of Jesus Christ a trial of faith which occasions serious inquiry and great searching of heart. It was so to him, and we believe it was that sword of keenest edge, that wore out the scabbard. Respecting the paltry "business of a harassing nature," (the details of which, his esteemed biographer bas passed over; whether wisely or not, we do not presume to say.) Mr. Robertson observes" that it was such as probably would not have much disturbed one of a tranquil temperament, but certain to overthrow the equanimity of my too sensitive friend." He should have added, however, that it was the previously shattered state of his nerves which rendered him thus susceptible; and that had he been in ordinary health, no mischief beyond a moment's vexation could have arisen. But the vital energy was already gone. The zeal of the Lord's house, had already consumed him. Week by week was he anxiously looking for inquirers, and agonizing in prayer for the manifestation of the Spirit's presence among his people. Day by day was his mind intent on subjects of discourse, and conversant with the love of Christ, or the terrors of the Lord, if he might but draw or drive his hearers to the cross. With intense desire he studied every case, and searched every heart, exploring the causes of unbelief: and with equally intense ingenuity and thought, aimed to adapt to that case and that heart his appeals. No man knows the amount of mental labour he thus expended. He heard of conversions effected by instrumentality which he could not but know was far feebler than his own; and he could not be satisfied with referring his supposed failure to the sovereignty of divine grace. It was not enough to tell him that God sometimes chooses the weak things of the world to confound the things that are mighty; because, though true, it is no rule or law of his procedure. He has frequently selected the greatest men, as Moses, Solomon, Stephen, Paul, Luther, Knox, to accomplish his greatest works; and the fear, the corroding fear, followed him perpetually, that in his case and in him some special reason hitherto undetected might exist, which prevented those copious effusions of the Spirit, which he so ardently desired. It is true the apprehension was to himself GREATLY sanctified; and though it might be somewhat morbid, largely contributed to his meetness

for death. But there it was, constantly preying on his mind. Every week, as the Sabbath drew on, and the time of preparation for its duties approached, it acquired fresh strength; and by its periodic and frequent recurrence in a subject so strangely susceptible, did more, we are persuaded, than all other causes to wear out his bodily frame, and to prematurely remove him from the toils of earth to the repose of heaven.

There is an interest about the closing scene of his life, unusually touching. We have not met with an individual, old or young, stern of heart or tender, stranger or friend, who could read the narrative with a tearless eye. We have again and again perused Raffles's, Griffin's, Wardlaw's; we have charged ourselves with weakness and endeavoured to conquer it, yet could not refrain from weeping. Surprise may have something to do with this effect. It is very rare to meet with so much true simplicity of faith and docility of spirit as are seen in him; but to find it in a mind of his order, is less common still. Wherever it exists it interests; but when found in combination with certain mental attributes and moral propensities, it astonishes as well as gratifies. Those who saw M'All only at a distance, and conceived of him principally as great and haughty, not less than those who enjoyed his friendship and knew his defects, are subdued and overwhelmed, the one by the discovery, the other by the expression of his deep humility, his simple and undeviating trust, his calm, but clear and unclouded assurance of eternal life. We must limit ourselves to a few extracts bearing on the spirit of his religion.

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"The illness of his only daughter, to whom he was tenderly attached, was coincident with his own. On being informed, a few days prior to her decease, that she was getting rapidly weaker,' he seemed surprised and shocked; .. but said, she is in the hands of her merciful Lord, and there I desire to leave her.' Soon after the intelligence of her departure was communicated, he calmly said, If a word of mine were sufficient to call her back again, that word I would not utter if I might.' Describing to a friend the closing scene of her life, he added, Dear girl, she had to pass indeed through a dark valley, but there were bright, bright prospects at the end of it; no hallucinations, but bright prospects.' "Often amidst that distressing restlessness which attended his complaint, he entreated that patience might be afforded to him; and often, when unable to obtain a moment's rest, he would pray and request his friends to pray, that he might have power to recline, or to sleep, or to breathe, as his wants at the time might dictate; remarking, that he thought it not sinful to pray for so small a mercy as power to recline without restlessness. Once, about that time, he quoted the passage I will make all his bed in his sickness,' and added, ‘What infinite condescension to promise, I will make his bed! How beautiful! Who but one situated as I am, can tell the sweetness and importance of a bed prepared with care.'

"He had a keen relish for the beauties of nature; . . . . sitting in the garden on one occasion, he was presented with a piece of sweet-briar, when he said, 'Did you ever see any sweet-briar hedges, growing in the country lanes? I have often risen in the morning very early, and walked for hours to enjoy their fragrance, which, when the dew is upon the leaves, is particularly fine.' He then quoted an exquisite passage from Milton's L'Allegro, and passing from this, in language too beautiful to be remembered, he expatiated at considerable length on the glory of the heavenly state, the variety of its engagements, and the perfect harmony that pervades the whole. He was powerfully excited, and the little

group that had gathered round him were melted into tears; they were reminded of some of his happiest closing addresses from the pulpit, when there seemed to be something angelic in the tone of his feeling, and almost in his very form.

"To his dear wife, he said on one occasion, Sarah, if I die this night, remember I die in perfect peace with all mankind, and in the sure and certain hope of a blessed immortality.'

"Once, as he lay with closed eyes, apparently asleep, he suddenly lifted up his hands and eyes, and exclaimed,

"A guilty helpless wreteh am I!

Yet Jesus died for me.'

"Death,' says Dr. Raffles, who in company with his friend Mr. James, visited him the day before his decease, 'death was in his countenance; but never shall I forget the affection of his looks as he gazed upon me, or the warmth of las embrace, when he pressed me to his bosom! nor will it be possible for lapse of time to obliterate from the memory of either of us, the touching and inpressive things he uttered. 'O,' said he, ‘my dear brethren, O that I could give expression to some of the sentiments and thoughts which at this moment fill my heart, even to bursting!' and after a pause he added, You see in me such an utter negation of all goodness, that I do not suppose it could be surpassed. even if the universe were burnt up to its last fragment, its last cinder; and yet if the great and glorious God has condescended to make such a fceble, worthless creature as I am, in any measure an instrument in the promotion of his glory, O what a wonder, what a miracle!'

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"It will not do for us,' said his medical attendant, to have many such nights as the last, if a remedy can be thought of; you are indeed sadly exhausted and broken down this morning.'Yes,' he exclaimed with emphasis, 'I AMbroken in pieces like a potsherd; but I am a potsherd that has ceased to strive with its Maker.'

"Turning to one of his young friends. . . . to whom he was much attached... he said with great earnestness' Promise me, promise me, that you will meet me at the last day, with an unclouded brow. Look me in the eye,' he said, and promise me;' nor would he rest satisfied till he had received an unequivocal reply."

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One extract more from his last conversation with his friend, Mr. Fletcher, must suffice.

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"It was at a time when he was appallingly death-struck' and oppressed;as Mr. F. entered the room, he lifted up his eyes and stretched out his hands to him, saying, “Ah, Richard Fletcher, my faithful friend,' and embraced him, My outward man you perceive is decaying day by day.' Yes,' Mr. F. replied, but I hope the inward man is daily renewed.' 'I trust it is,' he answered. As well as he could, he expressed a wish that he should bear some message to his brethren the ministers. "What,' replied Mr. F. shall I say to them? all that is affectionate?' 'Yes,' said he, and grateful.' He asked him if the gospel he had preached to others now occupied his thoughts, and was dear to his heart? Yes,' said he, with a smile, 'ITS VERY CORE; I cannot now trouble myself with the envelopements.' Mr. F. observed, that he trusted he felt his soul safe, securely resting on the true foundation. He answered, Aye, on oaths, and promises, and blood.' . . . . As far as his broken heart and flowing tears would allow, Mr. F. prayed with him, and when he closed, the Doctor said, solemnly and slowly, Amen Amen Amen;' and, after a short pause, again' Amen.'

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"This morning,' (in Mr. Roberton's memorandum) "July 27th, 1838, my revered friend died at half past two o'clock; so calmly departing, that those about him failed to notice the precise moment when the change took place.""

"Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his !"

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