his daughter in the room, he suddenly called for assistance, and directed the attendants to place him on the bed. Syncope of the heart had ensued, from suddenly assuming an erect position in his state of weakness. All the appearances of death presented themselves to his distressed family as they hastened to his room. But while they stood anxiously round him, animation gradually returned. How great was the joy once more to listen to those lips, though in the faintest whisper, which it was feared were closed for ever without one parting benediction! After taking a little food, strength returned sufficiently to enable him to speak with comfort. Then he said to his brother-in-law, Sir W. L., "If consciousness of my own unworthiness, and reliance on Christ alone, be a proper ground of peace, I have it, and have long had it. But you must not think that because I have not talked of these things, therefore I have not thought of them. I have long been feeling my way after the truth." Expecting he was at the point of dissolution, he seemed desirous thus explicitly to assure us of the foundation of his hope. In confirmation of this, when the beautiful hymn was repeated—“Jesus, lover of my soul," which so fully expresses the sinner's helplessness, and the Saviour's grace, he responded with much feeling, "I reiterate all that.”

Dreadful agony now came on, arising from spasm of the heart. He frequently raised himself in bed,

and lifted up his arms in great distress, comparing his sensations to the effect of ten thousand screws tearing him to pieces. As his powers of patient endurance were remarkable, it was evident that the suffering which could cause such indications of it as were witnessed, must be of the most intense kind. He once cried out, "O my friends, my children, can you do nothing for me? O my heavenly Father, help me! O my dear Jesus, take me!" Frequent vomiting, and the necessity of continually changing his position, added to his distress. But he retained most fully his self-possession, frequently feeling his pulse, making remarks on its intermittent character, and calling for remedies as the symptoms varied often expressing his surprise that he continued so long. His intellect throughout the night retained all its clearness, his love all its tenderness, his consideration for others all its delicacy. At intervals he spoke to those around him, recognizing all with the tenderest affection; and though suffering so much, was as attentive as ever to the comfort of others. He entreated his beloved daughter, who was very poorly from excessive excitement and grief, to sit down; and said to his brother-in-law, the Rev. William Knight, "You've hard duty to-morrow, you had better go home."

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At one time, from the feelings at his heart, he considered he was in the act of dying, for he said earnestly, "Come, kiss me, all of you, quick, quick,"

as though life might be extinct ere he had given us an individual farewell.

At intervals he made the following remarks:Remember this pain is only bodily. I've no fear. Is this because I've no dependence on myself, but am trusting to Jesus alone? If I come, will he reject me? And will he put those white robes on me? This is indeed agony, torture: but what a mercy that my mind is at perfect peace!-Remember me to my friends. I hope they will keep me in mind. I wish to live in your affections. I shall be with you. I shall be there to meet you."

He frequently spoke of reunion with those dear to him, his love to whom seemed to increase with his love to Christ and his hope of heaven. His human sympathies were not weakened by the strength of his religious emotions. The very contrary was the case. Being assured that he would still be with us, constantly in our thoughts, he said, "That's delightful. I wish to be missed. I should be unhappy if I thought it would not be so. You comfort me very much." As we stood round his bed, his eye tenderly passed from one to another, and he said, "This is what I have often pictured to myself, as I have lain awake at night. I've seen it all just like this, and seen myself in my coffin, and you at my funeral."

Referring to his past life, and the ground of his present hope, he said, "My natural disposition led

me to do many things of a benevolent character, but this was not love to God. Mere natural disposition will not do. There needs something better for a holy God. I am quite unworthy, corrupt, corrupt."

The distinction he thus made between impulse and principle is most important, yet it is one generally overlooked. It is the motive which gives the true quality to an action, Reason and revelation combine to require a universal reverence towards God. No act should be performed apart from the homage due to the Creator. "To love him with all our heart" is our duty at all times, and in all actions. In the neglect of this "first and great commandment" no other can be rightly obeyed, and even if it could, compliance with a subordinate law can be no excuse for the neglect of that which is paramount to, and inclusive of, every other. A deed otherwise good is essentially defective where there is the absence of this high motive. God is not honoured in it. Being forgotten, he is really dishonoured. The outward action may be most commendable in the eyes of society, yet may be only an additional evidence of the grand charge against the wicked-"God is not in all his thoughts."

Following the bent of mere natural temperament is not love to God, when it prompts to the relief of the afflicted, any more than when it leads to the investigation of a scientific truth.

The

generous man may be as indifferent to his Maker's claims, as the miser and the churl. One is far more useful to society, and more deserving of its approval and love than the other, and he has his reward; yet they may both be in the same condemnation at the tribunal of the Searcher of hearts.. The ordinary actions of life are criminal, when performed by one who is not "reconciled unto God by the death of his Son." Thus we are told that "the ploughing of the wicked is sin." The smallest act of love is more acceptable to Him than the most scrupulous performance of religious rites, or the most profuse benevolence, when destitute of this motive. "Incense is abomination; it is iniquity, even the solemn meeting." "Though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and have not LOVE, it profiteth me nothing."

But, alas! how many there are, who, in the absence of this love to God, trust in the efficacy of pious and benevolent acts! How often is a man's general amiability alleged as a good evidence that he died the death of the righteous! The very insensibility to the claims of God which makes men so ready to build their hopes on their own kind actions, is one of the most striking proofs of human depravity. But when the Divine Spirit enlightens the mind to understand our obligations, then with Job we "abhor ourselves, and repent in dust and ashes."

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