my heart to these forms of beauty, I could feel the rivers of delight rolling in upon my soul. I forgot the Duke of Marlborough; I had no appreciation for his military glory, or for his royal mistress. I thought only of God, who made this majesty and loveliness. I felt that he intended and adapted the world-its creatures-its lakes-its forests-its landscapes, to speak of him, to lead up our hearts to him. I felt that there is no mistake as to the oneness of the Godhead in Revelation and in nature. And my heart praised him; I cried out for holiness-that there, with such beauty of the natural world, there might be nothing but moral consanguinity in my soul." Amid the mummeries at Rome, he says: "I feel, as I see the disgusting pretence of this formal worship, this fresco piety, that God must be offended with formalism; and I am more put on my guard to deal honestly and truly with Heaven in my devotions." In the valley of Oberhasli, in Switzerland, he says: "My soul has been lifted up amid the grandeur of these everlasting hills. I have felt the grandeur of God; I have felt my own littleness; I have felt that it was an inexpressible condescension for Christ, having built this mighty earth, to die for the sinful creatures who creep on its surface." And at Chamouny he writes: "Here, amid the sublimest of God's works, I have communed with him, and have endeavored to reconsecrate myself to him. O Lord, who by thy power settest fast the mountains, exert that power to make this poor, vile heart all thine own." Such were the outpourings of the heart of our wayfarer in Europe-a pilgrim still to the heavenly city!

He came back with but little apparent improvement in health. Month after month he struggled with his old infirmities, till, on the 14th October, he left the Home Missionary office for the last time. Oh, had he known that it was the last, what mingled emotions, too tender and deep for utterance, would have been concentrated in his farewell look! The illness which detained him at home, he trusted would prove but temporary. It was soon discovered, however, by the medical skill which was so faithfully and lovingly exerted on his behalf, that disease had made its inroad upon the citadel of life. An affection of the heart, of a dropsical character, connected, probably with the inflammatory rheumatism that had so often and so severely afflicted him, gave decisive indication that his end was near. ing traced his life thus far, it only remains, now, that we gather around his dying bed.

Hav

He was ready to die-need I say it? Death to his thoughts was no remote event. He had kept his house habitually in order; his papers and his concerns generally, were in a remarkable state of preparation for his departure. It is said by one who travelled with him in Europe, that as they sat together on a lovely Sabbath, in the valley of Chamouny, he "distinctly expressed the apprehension that he should not live long," and while he manifested a truly christian reluctance to leave his cherished work in the family and in the Home Missionary Society at all unfinished, he expressed also "a strong desire and a full hope to be with Christ hereafter in his glory."

The first full development of his feelings, during his last illness, was about a week after its commencement. He had been suffering not a little, but having found partial relief, he was sitting at the window, looking out upon the pleasant grounds around his dwelling. The flowers had nearly all passed away, and the autumnal wind was scattering the manycolored foliage upon the paths of the garden. His countenance wore a deeply serious expression, with perhaps a slight tinge of sadness. "Are

you watching me?" said a friend, coming to him from the garden. "No;" he replied, "I was not watching you, I was taking my leave of the leaves." Then, after a moment's pause, he added, "I shall probably never see them fall again." "Is it not delightful," his friend replied, " to think of that brighter world, where the leaves do not fade nor fall, nor the flowers wither?" "No," said he, "nothing delights me now. This suffering has exhausted my spirits." A hymn he had loved to sing"Jerusalem, my happy home"-was then mentioned to him. There was no specific response to this; but he soon remarked, as if he had been examining the foundation of his hope, "The most that I can say now is, that I have a calm trust in God. It has become the habit of my mind to trust him. I believe he will save me. I have been a poor, miserable, unfaithful creature. I am grieved that I have done so little to honor him; that, with the opportunities I have had for doing good, I have accomplished so little." Here he wept like a child. Recovering his composure, he alluded to the condescending goodness of God, in having put him into the ministry, and called him to such a post of usefulness as "the blessed Home Missionary work." He spoke with affectionate tenderness, as he was accustomed to do, of his beloved associates in the work. "Dear brethren!" he said, "I feel for them; they have to bear their own burdens, and mine too, now." He added, "I think my public labors are probably at an end." "Do you really feel," his friend replied, "that your Heavenly Father is about to call you to rest from your labors" "I do not know," he answered, for substance, "how that may be; nor do I feel solicitous to know. I leave all that, with all my interests, however great or dear, at the disposal of infinite wisdom and goodness." The fullest evidence did he give, by remarks in this strain, that though his worn and languid frame was scarce capable of ecstasy, he had what is better, the most perfect and cordial submission to the will of God. In a few moments, he spoke again of his deep sense of unworthiness and guilt, and then of the "fullness of Christ." Here he became eloquent; every trace of sadness disappeared; his eye kindled, and his soul seemed to dilate as he dwelt on the glorious theme.

He continued to suffer much, and in a variety of ways, especially from pain in the region of the heart, and difficulty of respiration. Yet he bore all with the most perfect patience. The last Saturday of his life, he exclaimed aloud, after a season of great bodily distress, "God of mercy and grace, thy will be done!" Toward the last, it was difficult for him to say much. Whatever he did say, however, was indicative of peace within. As texts of Scripture, or verses of hymns were often repeated to him, he would invariably respond by a look of intelligence, and by repeating the last words or line. The Sabbath but one before he died, his eldest daughter read to him, from the "Gems of Sacred Poetry," the hymn beginning:

"My times are in thy hand; my God, I wish them there. My life, my friends, my soul, I leave, entirely in thy care." He gave his attention quite to the end, and then said with emphasis, "I think I can say that."

On the morning of his last Sabbath on earth, as the day was breaking, a friend who had been sitting with him said, "Dear brother, it is the Sabbath's dawn. May the Sun of righteousness arise, with healing in his wings." He replied, "The Sabbath-the Sabbath-the swect, blessed Sabbath!" His friend then repeated the lines,

As the sun was lighting up the east, the chair in which, from difficulty of breathing, he was obliged to sit, was drawn toward the window, that he might look out once more upon the loved face of nature. It was one of those serene and beautiful Sabbaths, that had often called from his lips the exclamation

"Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,

The bridal of the earth and sky!"

A member of his family, not being aware of what had passed, said to him, "It is the Sabbath." "Yes," replied he, "it is a smile of the Lord." A person who had been passing the night in the family, coming to take leave of him, he shook her hand, and said, "Good morning; the Lord bless you!" Then looking around on all present, he raised his hands and pronounced, with animation and fervor, that beautiful benediction: "The Lord bless you, and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace." To this he added, "Blessed Jesus, bless them, as thou only knowest how to bless. Blessed Saviour, give them that peace which thou only knowest how to impart;" with other petitions of the most affecting and heavenly character. These were his last audible supplications on earth.

His strength began soon to decline rapidly; and it was thought his departure was at hand. This was told him; but he evinced no emotion, and made no distinct answer. It is probable he then felt unable to answer. Later in the day, his wife said to him, "We think this is death. Do you not think so?" There was still no reply. Again, she said, “ We think you are dying. Can you say, as you did yesterday, "God of mercy and grace, thy will be done?" Hours passed, and then, in one condensed utterance, the answer came. Calling her from the adjoining room, and throwing his arms around her neck, he said, "Triumph in death! Triumph in death!" She asked, "Is it triumph in Jesus?” 66 Yes," ," he answered, "in Jesus!"

He spoke no more, but lingered till the following day, the 31st of October. For the last hour of his life, a slight film had been gathering over his eyes, and a tear had started forth, and made its way partly down his cheek. Suddenly the tear dried, the film cleared away, his eyes became bright, as one present has expressed it,

"With more than reason's ray."

His whole countenance was radiant as with heavenly joy. Literally, it seemed, "his whole body was full of light;" and "he was not, for God took him."

He is before the throne, now, with White, and Baldwin, and Nitchie, and others, his fellow laborers on earth; with many a glorified missionary, and many a ransomed soul, won to Christ by Home Missionary instrumentalities. "I saw him again, in my dreams, of late," said one of his dear surviving friends recently. "It was the same countenance, only the fullness and freshness of youth were there." That was not all a dream, blessed be God! The weariness and the painfulness of disease are all gone, and the lineaments of care and sorrow. He rejoices now in immortal youth, and immortal vigor. Rest thee, dear brother, in thy home above! Incited by thine example, we will toil on as thou didst-striving to keep ever the single eye; and when our work is done, we will go up, to cast, with thee, our crowns at the Saviour's feet.

BY REV. WILLIAM B. SPRAGUE, D.D.,

PASTOR OF THE SECOND PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH IN ALBANY, N. Y.

A FUNERAL DISCOURSE.*

"For behold the Lord of Hosts doth take away from Jerusalem and from Judah .. the prophet, and the prudent, and the ancient."-ISAIAH iii. 1, 2.

THIS prophetic declaration has respect to the terrible calamities which were ere long to overtake the Jewish nation, as a punishment for their manifold iniquities, especially their abominable idolatry. They had forgotten the Lord of Hosts; and He would bring Himself to their remembrance by tokens of his righteous displeasure. And among other evils which He would inflict, would be the removal of those who had constituted emphatically the "stay and staff" of the nation; and in the list of the useful and honorable who were to be taken away, were those enumerated in our text-"the prophet, the prudent, and the ancient." However these words may have been intended originally to designate different characters, they obviously admit of being applied to the same character-the whole may be considered as descriptive of a prophet, venerable for his years, and eminent for his wisdom.

A prophet was an extraordinary messenger, directly and supernaturally empowered by God, to reveal his secret will in respect to the future, either to individuals or the church at large. In this strict sense the prophetical office never existed apart from a miraculous dispensation; but as the ministers of the gospel are Delivered at Dudley, Mass., Jan. 17, 1854, occasioned by the death of Rev. Joshua Bates, D.D.

the true successors of the prophets, in respect to a part of their office, namely, in declaring the will of God since it has been revealed, so we are accustomed, using the word in a large sense, to call them prophets; and this seems to be justified by the Apostle, when he speaks of ordinary preaching under the name of prophesying "He that prophesieth, speaketh unto men for edification, and exhortation, and comfort."

Regarding the text then in a slightly accommodated sense, let me direct your thoughts, for a few moments, to the providence of God as concerned in the removal of aged and distinguished ministers.

Let it not be said that I magnify mine office above measure, when I assert that the Christian ministry is the most important agency that has ever been established among men. It originated with the Son of God Himself; and bears the stamp of his own mediatorial authority. He has pledged Himself for its success and its perpetuity; having identified with it both the workings of his grace and the accomplishment of his purposes. The ends which it contemplates are vast, beneficent, glorious, beyond our conceptions-nothing less than the spreading of the gospel "far as the curse is found;" the healing of all man's moral maladies, and the complete renovation and exaltation of his nature; and finally, the most perfect illustration of the divine character in connection with the Mediator's universal reign. The office of a Christian minister may, indeed, in the view of the world, be a light thing, and it may utterly disappear in the splendor of great civil or military achievements; but, rely on it, God accounts it the noblest office on earth; and the day will come when those who affect now to despise it, will be constrained to recognize in it a mighty engine of divine power. True, it is held by a weak, unworthy, partially sanctified mortal; but God had his own reasons for committing the treasure to an earthen vessel. There is no minister occupying so exalted a station, but he has reason to humble himself on account of his own unworthiness; and none occupying so humble a station, but he may feel honored and exalted in the reflection that he is acting as God's ambassador, and doing God's work.

But while great importance and responsibility attach essentially to the ministerial office, irrespective of the particular qualifications of those who hold it, some ministers are greatly distinguished above others in regard to intellectual powers and attainments. The word prudent in our text may denote one who is eminent in this respect; especially one who is eminent in that quality which we call wisdom. There are those in the ministry who, beside being truly godly men, are emphatically mighty men;-men whose minds, naturally capacious and comprehensive, have been subjected to the most careful culture, and the most rigid discipline; men capable of accurate discrimination and profound research; men who have an almost intuitive know