frequently express his grief, saying, These are the sad presages of greater miseries that will befall this church and kingdom, and make way for popery, to which our own divisions and wicked lives give the greatest advantage; and at length they will prove a scourge to the nation, if not cause the greatest blow that has been ever given to the reformed churches!"

These forebodings seem to have been strongly impressed upon his mind; and were perhaps not a little confirmed by the assurances sent to him by some friends abroad, with whom he corresponded, that certain English, Scotch, and Irish papists were trained up abroad with a knowledge of the chief points of difference between the Church of England and the multitudinous sects which united for her subversion, that so on their return to this country they might take part against her, by advocating any cause which might seem most likely to do her injury.

After the King's death the Archbishop cultivated retirement as much as possible, attending closely to his studies and preaching regularly at Lincoln's Inn, and occasionally at St. Martin's or other churches. His attachment to the Church of England still continued, and indeed rather increased with his increasing years; and he exerted his influence in various directions to procure relief for its suffering members and ministers. In 1650 the Archbishop published his Annals of the Old Testament, and in 1654 was invited by Cromwell to visit him, with whom he conversed on the best means of promoting the protestant interests at home and abroad. The Protector pretended to grant to the Archbishop a lease for twenty-one years of some part of the lands of the Archbishopric of Armagh, but delayed passing the grant till the Archbishop's death, when he refused to perform

the promise to his son-in-law, Sir Thomas Tyrrell, under the pretext of his being a malignant, that is a Royalist.

In Nov. 1655 the Protector and his council issued a declaration which made it penal for any persons to keep in their houses any of the sequestered or ejected ministers as chaplains or tutors, forbad any such ministers to keep either a public or a private school, and made it penal for them to preach to any other than members of their own families, to perform any of the offices of religion, or to use the book of Common Prayer. The extremities to which the deprived clergy were reduced by this declaration induced the Archbishop to apply to Cromwell on their behalf; at first the Protector promised the clergy should not be molested provided they did not interfere in any way with his government, but at a subsequent interview he declined to interfere.

The aged prelate, troubled and heartsick, returned sorrowfully to his home, and retired to his chamber. When his friends presented themselves to him, he complained with tears in his eyes of the defeat of his charitable mission. He also declared his belief that God would not long prosper so unrighteous a cause. This false man,' he said,

hath broken his word with me, and refuses to perform what he promised; well, he will have little cause to glory in his wickedness, for he will not continue long. The King will return; though I shall not live to see it,—you may. The government both in church and state is in confusion; the papists are advancing their projects, and making such advantages as will not long be prevented.'

Having thus failed of success, he went down once more to his country retirement at Reigate; where he pursued his literary occupations being especially desirous of completing his work on Sacred

Chronology. He was still blessed with as much health and vigour as commonly fall to the lot of his period of life, though his sight had been greatly impaired by severe study.

The days of his pilgrimage were nearly accomplished. And as he was wont on his birth day in January, every year, to set down his age in his almanac ; so, on its recent return in 1656 he had entered the following remark with his own hand :-'Now aged 75 years. My days are full!' and just below, in capital letters

RESIGNATION !

The archbishop was acting wisely in thus girding himself for his departure. On the 20th of March, having passed all the earlier part of the day as usual in study, he went to visit a sick lady, then in the house, and spoke to her in so heavenly a manner of holiness, death, and future glory, that it seemed as if, like Moses upon mount Pisgah, he had then a prospect of the celestial Canaan.

That night he complained of a little pain. Next morning it increased greatly, and the attempts to remove it were ineffectual. These sufferings he bore with Christian patience; but his strength was rapidly sinking, and he felt that the time of his departure was at hand. During a little interval of ease, he availed himself of the help of the chaplain of the house in prayer; and then, addressing himself to those who stood around his bed, spoke to them of life and death, and particularly besought them to prepare for their end while they were yet in health, that at the last they might have nothing else to do but to resign their souls to God in his good time.

He next took leave of the Countess of Peterborough, thanking her for the kindness and friendship which she had exercised so largely towards him for several years, and giving her, as his last

return, some counsel respecting the interests of her soul.

He then desired to be left alone, that he might think more calmly of his approaching change, and disengage his heart and mind still more from earthly things; and thus, amidst holy meditation and communion with God, he fell asleep, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ.

The last, and they are memorable words, which this holy man was heard to utter, were, ' O Lord forgive me, especially my sins of omission!' So terminated the mortal life of this man of God; and although the chamber of death is a dark chamber, and the house of mourning a gloomy house, yet, where the Sun of Righteousness has shone upon the departing spirit, the survivors may well be taught not to sorrow like others who have no hope, for surely the bitterness of death has passed away.

The following sketch of the Archbishop's character from the pen of Bishop Burnet may well close this brief memoir.

In his conversation he expressed the true simplicity of a Christian; for passion, pride, self-will, or the love of the world, seemed not to be so much as in his nature; so that he had all the innocence of

the dove in him. He had a way of gaining people's hearts, and of touching their consciences, that looked like somewhat of the apostolical age revived; he spent much of his time in those two best exercises, secret prayer, and dealing with other people's consciences, either in his sermons or private discourses; and what remained he dedicated to his studies, in which those many volumes that came from him showed a most amazing diligence and exactness, joined with great judgment. So that he was certainly one of the greatest and best men that the age, or perhaps the world, has produced.'

How full of signification is that one word reminiscence'! How much of the tender, the pensive, the thrilling does it embody! How does it awaken the half obliterated recollection of the distant, the departed, the loved, and the lost of other days. How forcibly does it remind me of the era of buoyant hope and ardent expectation, when I thought that life was but a summer season, and that its sunny days would last for ever, and could not believe that the clear skies and brilliant hues of autumn were to usher in the dull and drear decay of winter!

How does it tell of joys and sorrows which are, as though they had never been; of loves and friendships nipped by early frost, of blighted hopes, faded flowers, disappointed expectations.

But has this favourite word no other voice but that of gloom? Does it not also speak of the goodness, forbearance, and mercy of God, of blessings in providence and blessings in grace, of deliverance from pressing troubles, of support in wearisome nights, of joyful reaping after a tearful sowing?

Let us consider the days which are past, and then, when we ponder over the word reminiscence, we shall be constrained to acknowledge that "goodness and mercy have followed us all the days of our lives."

As soon as the warm weather set in Rachel became much worse. Her sallow complexion and sunken eyes, pinched nose, difficulty of breathing, and increased size, all betokened that death would ere long claim her as his victim. It was heart rending to see her fixed deep-settled depression. For many

You

come

But you should try. can't think what a pretty little garden she has, the roses into the windows, you are fond of flowers, and I shall be nearer to you, and able to see you oftener, and the kind gentleman who sends you so many comforts could see you. Would you not like to see and thank him?'

The tears trembled in her heavy eye.

'You've been very good to me, and I do beg to the Lord to reward you and the dear good gentleman ; but James was always good and kind to me. I would not go for to desert him, and what would he say when he comes home and finds us all away?

'But, my poor creature, he cannot return for many a day-he will not.'

'Hush!' said she, interrupting me, don't I know he'll be here very soon. You'll see.'

And I saw she believed in her heart that he would, and though I

mourned over the delusion under which she laboured I could not resolve to leave her quite without hope that her vision might be realized in some unlooked for manner. I endeavoured to lead her mind to dwell upon the future meeting at the bar of God, and she listened with interest whilst I spoke of the glories and blessings of that land where the captive's bonds are loosed, and where the inhabitant shall never say I am sick. I left her in prayer that she might be of this happy number. I saw she was anxious, and whilst I thanked God that she seemed somewhat more alive to the importance of eternal things than she had hitherto been, I prayed that he would spare her a little until she recovered strength, and was made meet for the inheritance of the saints in light.

her

Poor thing! she little thought her end so nigh. I had not seen her for three days after the above inter. view, when early in the morning, before I had left my room, eldest boy, a fine intelligent child of seven years, came to say his mother wanted me, and begged I would go to her as soon as possible. It was very wet, and the walk at best of times was far from good; but I I could not think wind or rain, a long rugged walk, or my own feelings of weakness and weariness, furnished any legitimate reason for turning a deaf ear to the solicitation of a dying woman and in defiance of my careful servant's prudent but somewhat calculating remarks upon the duty I owed to myself as well as my neighbour, by which she thought to prevail upon me to employ her as my substitute on the present occasion, I went, attended by little Robert, who was far too much overpowered with fright to have any breath for replying to my numerous questions about his mother.

sure; and when I said so, she was so angry with me, and said I should have no breakfast,' was all I could extract from the poor boy.

And the child was right, it was not his father,' but her own brother, whom she had in a fit of delirium taken for her husband.

'There, there,' said she, as soon as I entered, I knew he would come, but he could only stay half an hour, and so he's gone again, bless him! but I knowed the Lord would be as good as his word. You have always told me the Lord would answer my prayers, and he has; but now pray for me, and give thanks to God for for her breath was failing fast. I knelt down and repeated that beautiful commendatory prayer from the office for the visitation of the sick, which I had so often repeated for my dying brother,

-

Promise me,' said she with renewed energy,' promise me before I go, that you will tell James all about me, and how content I died after seeing him, though he stayed so short a time.'

I promised to do all she required; God for ever bless you,' was her reply.

The cold dews of death were on her; she breathed with great difficulty; there was a gurgling in her throat, a slight heave of the chest, and life was ebbing fast. Yet whilst these faint indications that all was not yet over remained, I prayed that God would restore her faculties, if it were only for one minute, that I might have some hope in her end, and I did not pray in vain.

It was a mournful, a harrowing interval; but at length she opened her eyes, gazed upon me with a searching doubting earnestness, and said, 'It is you; well, mind, mind you see him, and bid him follow me: but where! where ! Oh, I have begged to the Lord to take me; but will he?'

My poor Rachel, be comforted. "He willeth not the death of a sinner. He"- Stop, stop, what said he to Ephraim ? and she spoke with agonizing vehemence.'

How shall I give thee up? Oh no, not that, something about idols, but I can't say it. You have been so good, so blest to me, you said there was hope for me, for me. I might have died without knowing or feeling that :--tell him, I prayed the Lord would have mercy on him, pity on my poor children, and take them all to his mercy.'

It was her last prayer, and in a few hours she was released from the body of sin and death.

Was there hope in her end? It is not for us to presume to form or express an opinion. It is enough for us to know that much may pass between the soul and its haker, of which an outward observer is ignorant, and with which a stranger cannot intermeddle; that the dew of God's Holy Spirit may visit and fertilize the barren desert, where there is no sound of an abundance of rain; that it is a part of the providential guidance of many souls to be directed rather to secret and retired intercourse with their God, than open conference and public communion with their brethren. And in cases of this nature, it is not for the visitor to speculate, much less to pronounce upon the safety or the misery of a departing soul. The question is, have I been faithful with such an one? Have I done what I could to lead him to Christ? Have I been instant in season and out of season ? Have I watched, and prayed, and laboured to win, to reclaim, to restore the lost, erring, and wandering sheep, to comfort the weak-hearted, to strengthen the feeble-minded, to

raise up those which are fallen, and cheer the faint.

If in these things our hearts do not condemn us, then may we have confidence towards God, that whatsoever we ask of him in accordance with his will, we shall receive.

But whilst we are on our guard against that presumptuous and uncharitable disposition which might lead us to decide upon the final state of the departed, let us not forget the lesson which every event of this nature is appointed to convey. And in the case before us, I saw and felt how evil and bitter a thing it is to have the affections so firmly settled upon the creature.

The Lord had stirred up my heart, when he found that I was building upon low ground for happiness and comfort; he had removed the gourd which had been to me as an all-sufficient shelter and protection. He had made me to feel how empty, how broken were the cisterns of earthly waters; but he had spared me the anguish of that reflection which so fearfully agitated this poor woman's dying moments. He had graciously permitted me to be the messenger of mercy to one who in the hour of death perhaps for the first time, felt that she had mocked her Creator by worshipping the creature; that she had set up an idol in her heart, that her fondly-loved husband had been dearer to her than her God or her Saviour, and the sentence, "Ephraim is joined to idols, let him alone," came home to her with awful individuality of application.

May the writer, and all who read this short reminiscence, never forget the solemn lesson which the death-bed of Rachel S- was intended to convey.

PERSIS.