meeting in that town the following evening: but the weather being cold and wet, he was at length prevailed upon to allow the Rev. T. D. Baines to supply his place. He records the circumstance in his journal, and remarks:-"Necessity alone could have induced me to be absent from my post, and take that of another. I am

called at present to take up my cross, and to submit to be almost useless. Thy will be done.' These are the last words he wrote in his journal; and with no words could a record of uniform self-resignation to the Divine disposal, have been more fitly closed.

Though unable to go to Wetherby, yet finding that he had strength to do a little for God, he was not willing to be wholly unemployed. He therefore took Mr. Baines's place at Tadcaster on Sunday evening, and preached with uncommon power and unction from John xvii. 3; respecting which he makes the following memorandum on a blank page in his pocket almanack :— "Assisted in preaching this evening, but very much fatigued when I had finished the sermon. Alas! I am a

poor creature. O may I be ready-quite ready—for my last hour!"

"Re

The next morning he writes in his almanack freshing sleep last night. Hope I shall be well enough to visit the sick, preach, &c. this week. 'O for a closer walk with God!'" In the evening of the same day he conducted the Monthly Missionary Prayer-meeting, both the preachers being engaged at Wetherby.

A considerable part of Tuesday he spent with the biographer, dining and taking tea at his house. He seemed much better, was very cheerful, and in a delightful state of mind. He mentioned, however, some strange sensations in his chest, which led him to suspect, as he expressed himself, that there was some mischief at work there." I urged him to consult a medical friend whom I named, without delay; with some reluctance he consented, and saw him that same afternoon. He prescribed a little medicine for his cough, but expressed no opinion of the case calculated to excite even the slightest apprehension of any serious result. His appearance at the time was such as to warrant the expectation, that he might be spared for years yet to

come.

On Wednesday evening, Nov. 3rd, he again preached for Mr. Baines, at Tadcaster, with remarkable power, and thought himself all the better for the exercise. His text was Rom. xii. 12. "Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer;' -a passage on which his own mind loved to ponder, and which he was enabled in a high degree to transcribe into his habitual experience and practice.

On Thursday he was so much better that he thought himself well able to fulfil a promise made some time before, to visit his relatives at Thorner. He rode over in his own gig, accompanied by Mrs. Dalby; and preached a most delightful sermon there in the evening, from Col. i. 12.—“Giving thanks unto the Father, which hath made us meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light." Little did any one who witnessed the energy with which he preached, imagine that this would be his last sermon. But so it proved; and with no subject could his ministry have more fitly closed.

He spent the following day at Thorner, among the relatives of his first wife and other friends, and with his daughter paid a visit to the grave of Mr. Pawson, whom he highly venerated, and with whose remains he had thought he should like his own to lie. On this occasion, however, he expressed a different feeling, for which he assigned a sufficient reason. My dear father greatly enjoyed this excursion, which afforded him the opportunity of intercourse with beloved relatives and friends, and of revisiting scenes associated with some of the most touching and tender recollections of his whole life. Their influence was at once solemnizing and cheering.

On Saturday afternoon he returned home, greatly improved to all appearance both in health and strength by his journey. Immediately on his arrival, which was about four o'clock, I went down to my sister's, and spent nearly an hour with him, and rejoiced to see him look ing better than for many months back. He conversed with his usual cheerfulness, talked of hearing me preach in the morning, and expressed a hope that he should himself be well able to take the pulpit in the evening. About five, I took my leave of him, little imagining that it was the final adieu.

At his usual hour he ate a light supper, prayed sweetly

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with his family, and after having desired his grand-children to commit to memory on the morrow the 13th hymn, beginning, "Happy soul," &c. observing that it was a favourite hymn with him, he retired to his room about half-past nine o'clock. A little before ten, his sonin-law, Mr. Dalby, heard him open his door, and call aloud, “Mary." In one minute, Mr. and Mrs. Dalby were by his bed-side; for he had been able to get into his bed. He was coughing violently, and seemed unable to expectorate. "My dear father," said my sister, I do any thing for you?" With great difficulty, he feebly but calmly replied, "No, my dear," and spoke no more. I had been sent for, as soon as our dear father was found to be ill, and immediately hastened to his chamber, followed by Mr. Spink, his medical attendant; but he now seemed unconscious of every thing around him; his eyes were closed, and in a very short space of time, his peaceful spirit escaped away so gently, that none of his surrounding friends could mark the precise moment of his birth into better life. His was a sudden departure,—a "soft transition" to endless bliss. Two minutes before he called my sister, he was heard stirring the fire in his bed-room; a few more minutes, and he was at rest. But all was well he had set his house in order; and was not taken by surprise. To his prepared mind death was not sudden. Indeed there is reason to believe, that while his family were indulging the hope that our venerable and beloved father might be spared to us and the church yet many years, he himself expected a speedy and sudden removal. For some weeks before his departure, he was much engaged in arranging his books, manuscripts, &c. his papers were sorted, put up in bundles, and carefully labelled lists of the different articles in the several cupboards, drawers, and boxes were accurately written out: the principal keys were labelled; and every arrangement had been made as if with the design to prevent difficulty and confusion in case of his sudden removal. Seldom did I call to see him during the last few weeks of his life, but he wished me to bring away with me some article he valued. On one occasion he presented me with Mr. Pawson's watch, a curious old repeater, not less than 180 years old, bearing the name of Tobias Tompion, who is said to have perished in the great fire of London, in

1666. Again and again he pressed me to remove to my own library, Mr. Pawson's copy of Matthew Henry's Commentary, and other valuable works; and when I objected to his thus stripping himself of works which I hoped he would live many years to enjoy, he would reply, that he wanted to have quite done with all worldly affairs, and to have every thing settled. For some time, indeed, he was like one who had all his goods packed up, prepared to emigrate to another land.

At a former period of his life, he had often been heard to express a desire, were it the will of God, that his death might not be sudden,-chiefly on account of the shock and inconvenience to surviving relatives and friends; and in family prayer, especially in the evening, he would quote from the liturgy the well-known deprecation of "sudden death." But in this respect a remarkable change had long been observable. He often spoke of it as being in itself desirable to one prepared by grace for his change; the translation of Enoch and Elijah became a frequent topic of conversation with him during the last few weeks of his life; and in the early part of the week in which he was called to his reward, he said, in the course of a spiritual and edifying conversation with one of his friends,- 'How delightful it would be to go to heaven like Enoch and Elijah." His wish was granted: his departure was like a translation: he died indeed, but he could scarcely be said to "taste death ;" and the sweet serenity, the calm, holy joy with which he entered upon his eternal reward, were beautifully depicted on his countenance even in death. He looked as though sleeping tranquilly, soothed and cheered with visions of heavenly glory; so that his weeping family, surprised and overwhelmed as they were with their sudden and irreparable loss, could not but think of Mr. Wesley's words:

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"Ah! lovely appearance of death," &c.

Never did death appear more lovely; never did his approach appear less formidable.

Only four days before his death, my dear father had addressed a letter to his brother-in-law, the late Rev. Henry Moore, containing the following remarkable passage: "I see it is a wise and gracious arrangement of

Providence, that in the last stage of our pilgrimage, growing infirmities should put us in mind, that this is not our rest.' Blessed be God for a 'good hope through grace.' I know whom I have believed.' He does not now leave me. His presence cheers my mind. I am endeavouring to act agreeably to the Apostolic direction, Rom. xii. 12. May I obtain mercy of the Lord in that day! We are getting nearer home; and WE HAVE A GOOD HOME TO GO TO. Praise the Lord!" That good home he has safely reached: "absent from the body, he is present with the Lord."

On Friday, Nov. 12th, the remains of my revered father were interred, agreeably to a desire he had expressed, near his favourite walk in Tadcaster Churchyard, and not far distant from those of the late Rev. William Moulton, whom he highly respected. The whole town was moved: the shops were closed. The funeral procession was headed by the Rev. Benjamin Maddock, Vicar of Tadcaster, and H. H. Spink, Esq. surgeon, followed by sixteen Wesleyan Ministers from York, Leeds, Pontefract, and other neighbouring circuits, and ten local Preachers; the pall was supported by ten of the most respectable gentlemen in the Tadcaster Circuit; and the remains were followed by the only surviving son and daughter, with their respective families, about twenty other relatives, and a multitude of warmly attached and sorrowing friends, from Tadcaster and the surrounding country. The service was solemnly and impressively read by the vicar; and the Rev. Dr. Newton, on the first vacant day he could command, improved the mournful event in Tadcaster chapel, before a crowded congregation, by an appropriate and impressive discourse on Enoch's walk with God.-Gen. v. 22.