"May this office, I have undertaken, be blest to myself; and through my means, to those for whom it is more especially intended. Here, and wherever my public duty calls me, enable me to declare the truth as it is in Jesus,' plainly, sincerely, and affectionately; not as pleasing men,' but Thee, the searcher of hearts."

It may be regretted that he did not continue this journal, as there is no record, by himself, of any of the numerous cases that occupied him during the period of his ministry in the Dispensary. There is good reason, however, to believe, that as much, if not more, success attended his labours here as elsewhere. He thus speaks of his duty at the Dispensary: "I can truly say that no part of ministerial labours in Bath has afforded me, altogether, more comfort and satisfaction than my duty at the Dispensary." For what is known of the benefit of his services, the writer of this notice is principally indebted to a benevolent friend who occasionally visited the Dispensary in his company.1

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1 It may be satisfactory, perhaps, here to mention one of the cases that fell under this friend's notice; not that it contains any thing more striking than many of the kind. "A young woman named Sophia F., a sad character, who had been frequently brought before the Mayor for disorderly conduct, and in consequence imprisoned several times, became a patient in the Dispensary in 1819. She was very ill in a rapid consumption, totally hardened against all

The care of the Dispensary was almost like the addition of another parish on his hands. The Bath Dispensary usually contains from twenty to thirty in-patients. Several of them, of course, are suffering under dangerous, if not fatal disorders; and, therefore, demand a considerable portion of attention. Many, too, of those who ultimately recovered, he did not lose sight of. If they remained in the town, he would call occasionally on them, and endeavour to keep alive the salutary impressions that sickness might have produced on their minds.

instruction, and completely averse to hearing any thing Mr. R. had to say. Her dislike was so marked, that she constantly turned her back when he came to read to her, while she lay in bed. She continued for some time in this unsubdued state. Mr. R. was unremitting in his visits. I cannot, however, recollect the exact time of her alteration of mind: but it pleased God to bring about a great change. She first became desirous of listening to instruction, anxiously reckoning the days when Mr.R. would come. She much wished to learn to read, (what little she knew was almost forgotten) saying, 'were it ever so little, it would be something for her to remember and think about.' By degrees she was so impressed as to declare she quite loathed her former life; and she repeatedly said, with every appearance of sincerity, that nothing should ever induce her to return to it. She died in the Dispensary, and Mr. R. had every reason to think his labours had been blessed to her eternal good; for her humility and patience were as striking as her obduracy and pride had been before. There still remained some little doubt about the truth of a part of her story; but when this was ultimately cleared up (after her death) and her veracity established, he told me that he could now think, without any counteracting feeling, upon her removal from this world, and thank God on her behalf."

The stated service at the Dispensary consisted of the Church prayers, and a lecture on the Sunday. To this he added a similar service on Thursday afternoons. He was most assiduous, too, in his private exhortations to the patients. In cases of immediate danger, he never, if possible, allowed a day to pass without a renewal of his visits to the individual.

In October, 1819, he was severely tried by the loss, at the age of eighteen, of his eldest daughter, Anna Betty; a young woman of superior intellectual endowments, united to uncommon gentleness of disposition. She had long been in a declining state of health, and consumption was apprehended; but occasional amendments, not uncommon in that delusive complaint, served to raise hopes that were never to be realized. This painful state of suspense was continued for two years. How keenly he felt her loss, and yet, how submissively he bowed to the dispensation, may be seen by the following extracts from letters written about the period of her death. In the first, which was written in the immediate prospect of that event, he thus expresses himself: "Sept. 28, 1819.

"After what you know of our dear eldest child's illness, you will not be surprised to hear that she is past all human hope of recovery; and that God, in all probability, will

very shortly (it may be, as far as we can see, in a few weeks or a few days,) take her to himself. I bless God she is, through his grace and love, fitted (we humbly hope) for her great change. I could tell you, and hereafter I will endeavour (D.V.) to do so, many interesting and satisfactory things of her state of mind. She places her trust fully, unreservedly, on a Saviour and his merits alone: and though, dear girl, as far as contamination with a bad world goes, she has been mercifully preserved from that evil; though, in a lower sense we may say, with the most scrupulous exactness and truth, that she never gave us one moment's uneasiness till her illness; yet she is humble, stripped of self, and willing to cast herself wholly on her Saviour. She is wonderfully calm, and placid, and resigned; looking, without the shadow of dread (thank God), to her approaching removal. We talk freely and constantly on the subject; and, could you be with us, I think you would say more than I will attempt to do now on her state." And after her death he thus writes: "Nov. 10.

"We all of us feel the value of your kind and affectionate sympathy on this occasion. Yes, God has been pleased to deal us a heavy, a very heavy blow; but it is in love, not in anger; for He doth not willingly afflict or grieve: his name

and his nature are love; and however dark and inscrutable many of his ways are, and must be to us, while we are in this state, yet of this we are sure, for our reason and faith both assure us of it, that in all his dealings with us, he only intends our final happiness and benefit. Affliction is the great school in which such creatures as we are, are to be trained, and to have those virtues exercised which are to make us meet for a better and a purer state of existence. Let us not then complain; nor let us, to whom this has happened, wonder, as if any strange thing had befallen us. Death is the common inheritance of our fallen nature: 'in Adam all die.' When the sentence is to be executed upon us, we know not; but this we know, that whenever the time shall come-death, to the Christian, is only the gate which leads to everlasting life. We must pass through the dark and dreary valley; but Canaan, our heavenly rest, lies beyond. To me,' said the great Apostle, 'to live is Christ, to die is gain.' Our dear child was, in some measure, enabled to the same. She did live in heart, word, thought, and life, very greatly, and very sincerely, to her God and her Saviour; and she felt and believed death to be her gain. Its terror was wholly taken away, yet she viewed it with open eyes. Blessed are the dead,' my dear L-, 'who die in the Lord: so saith the Spirit;

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