things; but there are times when we are led deeply to consider, not merely the trial itself under which we labour, but how far it has answered its appointed end. Whether it be sanctified to our own souls ;what is the reality of our own hope;-the foundation on which we ourselves stand;-the evidences of a renewed mind;-and whether we can appeal to the great Searcher of hearts, that all is right within.'

'But you have this hope,' I said; why then does it not support you with its consolations?'

'God,' he answered, 'is sifting me; he is weighing me in the balance of the sanctuary. I have been preaching all my life to others;-how far am I myself interested in these great truths? Yes, God is searching me, and proving me, and seeing if there be any wicked way in me.'

'He will do more,' I said, 'than this, he will lead you in the way everlasting.'

'God grant it,' he replied; 'God grant I may have as assured a hope for myself, as I have for my beloved child.'

The tears flowed down his cheeks during these few remarks, and his whole manner evinced the inward conflict and agitation of his mind.

The following interesting meditation, which was written in the privacy of his study, to which he was confined by indisposition, will further disclose the state of his feelings :

'I am this day staying at home, during divine service in the afternoon, owing to a cold,—Mr. Ayre being here to assist me. The last Sunday afternoon on which I was similarly detained, was in December, 1824, with my dear Wilberforce; he was then within a few weeks of his decease. This day twelvemonth was the day preceding his death.

'Dear, blessed boy! in the midst of our daily

domestic cheerfulness of spirits, how my heart moans and mourns in tenderest recollections! I see the dear child in all his debilities of body; I hear him speak, I retrace the look of his eye,-I hang upon his spiritual language,-his affectionate expressions, -bis devotedness to God,-bis faithful admonitions, -his languid frame,-his sweet countenance,—his willingness to die.

:

'I lament my own want of more feeling and yet I feel much. O blessed God! help me ;-strengthen me;-save me! Make his death to be a source of life to me, through the death of Christ,-sanctifying his memory to my soul! I want to see more deep and solemn seriousness amongst my children at this time; and yet I know they are not deficient in much good feeling on this subject. Lord! help, bless, and save them also!

My Nugent, too, is since gone-or rather, I have since heard it; for he died some months before his brother, little as we apprehended it, when Wilberforce was so beautifully speaking about him, a few days previous to his own death.

'Oh! my dear boys! your memorials are most dear to my soul!

'I tremble when I think how poorly I have profited by these parental warnings; yet I take some encouragement from the feelings which I am conscious I retain. Lord, increase their influence! In the midst of life I am in death. Who may be taken away next? I sometimes have fearful forebodings— I look around my beloved little circle and sigh. I check these feelings again, and am ashamed of my weakness. Lord! make Christ to be every thing to me-and then all will, all must be well. Oh! keep my Fanny in a serious frame. Let her not forget her past impressions! Bless my Henry, and preserve him in a steady mind, untainted by levities! Cherish my poor Legh, and let not my good hopes concerning

him be blighted! Bless the little ones, and make them thine own for ever!

'Pardon my weakness, O God! and bless this whole meditation to my own soul.'

"Turvey, Sunday, Jan. 15, 1827.

'L. R.'

CHAPTER XV.

Closing scene—Funeral—Remarks on his character, &c.

We are now drawing to the close of the life and ministry of this excellent man, whose labours were singularly accompanied by the blessing of God to the end. The last two Sundays on which he preached were in the beginning of March, 1827. On the former of these occasions, a person attended the church, who, having taken some offence, had secretly made a rash resolve never to enter it. He was both thoughtless and dissolute, and a bitter persecutor of religion in those who professed it; but on this day was constrained, by circumstances which need not be mentioned, to alter his determination. The text of the sermon was taken from Psalm li. 10, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." Sharper than a two-edged sword is the word of God; and in its application by the power of the Spirit to this poor man, it proved" to be the hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces." He confessed that immediately on his return home, he fell for the first time on his knees, and with crying and tears poured forth the strong emotion of his heart in the language of the publican, "God be merciful to me a sinner."

Should this record meet the eye or the ear of the

individual so deeply interested in it, we would remind him of that hour of divine mercy, and of the day when he bore to the grave the body of him whose dying lips bad conveyed the message of life to his soul. We would recal to bim his bitter anguish, when he descended the vault, and knelt, weeping, beside the coffin. We would exhort him to cleave with full purpose of heart to the Lord, and to continue faithful unto death; that in the day of Christ's appearing, he may be found among those who will be the crown and joy of him whose loss he now deplores.

The next Sunday, Mr. Richmond's sermons were particularly solemn. In the morning he preached from Col. iii. 2; "Set your affections on things above." This address was directed to the true disciple, for his comfort and confirmation. In the afternoon he preached from Psalm cxix. 52, 53: "I remembered thy judgments of old, O Lord, and have comforted myself. Horror hath taken hold upon me, because of the wicked that forsake thy law." This sermon was an awful and solemn appeal to the consciences of awakened sinners. It was remarked by a person going out of church: this sounds as if it came from the lips of a dying man.'

From this time the disorder of Mr. Richmond visibly increased: he caught a fresh cold, and could only speak in a whisper. It was nevertheless with some difficulty that he was restrained from being carried to the church; but he never more left his house, and soon became sensible that his beloved flock would " see his face no more." A gloom of sorrow overspread the parish, and prayer was made without ceasing of the church unto God" for his recovery. But the time was come when be was to enter into his rest. Few of his brethren had the privilege of conversing with him at this time, and the editor being abroad on account of his own health,