thus favoured without one cloud, or one doubt, yet I feel myself the same sinful being as ever. It is all grace, free grace, unmerited mercy." After seeing a dear friend that day, some one observed, they feared he was agitated, on which he replied, "agitated, agitated-I know not what that word means."

On Saturday morning the 15th, several of his flock and others were permitted to see him and to witness the triumph of grace over sin and death. The presence of Christ was manifested in the midst of the little assembly, who saw that his love alone could produce the calmness with which his favoured servant contemplated the approach of the king of terrors. He said to one with a smile, "they have a little disappointed me, they gave me hopes I should not have seen this day's light;" he then asked another if she had ever seen any one die; he added, "the Lord has dealt very graciously with me;""but," said she, we cannot all expect so glorious an end;" he replied, "I little thought that it would have been thus with me; I expected darkness, but the valley is all light I am passing through, for Christ is with me; I expected that at this time the enemy would have been let loose upon me, or that my sins would have risen up against me, but it is all light— not one cloud." He then anxiously inquired whether any approaching signs of dissolution were perceptible, and asked for the looking glass to see if any alteration had taken place in his countenance. On being told the action of his heart indicated an approaching change, he said, "that is encouraging!" When taking leave of one of his flock, he said, "farewell, count all things but loss, for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus your Lord." At a time when he hoped, and his friends feared that the moment of separation was near, he said to a young person, "O! it is pleasant dying, Christ being with us, the bitter cup of death is past-what a privilege to be brought to know and trust the Saviour! Cleave to him-he will not disappoint you. You may be in this happy state soon. O! if he does such things for us now, what will he do hereafter!" After she left him, some came to see him whose views he knew were not such as formed all his sup

port and consolation; and he determined though to all appearance dying, to spend his last breath in his Master's service. One of them said to him, "I have known you from your youth, you have never done anything to be ashamed of, you have lived a most innocent life." At these words he raised himself, and in a voice almost as loud as when he declared the same truths from the pulpit, proclaimed all the glory of salvation, and all the joy he then felt, to be a free gift from the God of all grace. His first aim was to impress this truth upon all around him; and he requested his funeral sermon might be preached from these words, " By grace are ye saved, through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God:" and he said if they treated that text rightly, they would say nothing of the creature.

On Sunday the 16th, the little he was able to say proved to his friends the light and peace he was enjoying. To one who told him his end was near, he said, in broken

accents:

"Now while ye hear my heart-strings break,

How sweet the minutes roll;

A mortal paleness o'er my cheek,
But glory in my soul."

On the night of Thursday the 21st, which preceded his death, he was very restless and wandering, owing to an opiate which had been administered; but at intervals his conversation was delightful, and during his delirium it was the same. Part of the time he seemed to be talking to his little boy, and was heard to say, "Henry, walk in the light of God's countenance." Some one said, “O that I could do so," and though still wandering, he replied, "the same grace is free for all." Then he continued, addressing Henry, "avoid even the appearance of evil; the atmosphere of it is corrupting." When he was sensible, a person said to him, "your work is nearly done, you are going to receive your wages;" on which he said, "Wages, wages! the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord."" Another person said, "you have not many hours to live:" on which he asked, " is it really so? you have disappoint

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ed me so often." She answered, "it never appeared so likely before;" then he said, "O that is encouraging and soon after added, grace, grace, there let us build. About three hours before his death, he said with great animation, "I have fought the good fight, I have kept the faith, henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness that fadeth not away." Afterward he said, "O what a sun I shall see rise tomorrow, the glorious Sun of Righteousness, I long to depart and be with"... and here his voice failed. But when the last moment came, he raised both his hands, and to the great astonishment of all present, spread them as wide as possible, and by the expression of his countenance seemed to have a view of heaven; he exclaimed, "there! there! come, Lord Jesus," and without a sigh or a struggle his blessed spirit quitted the habitation of clay, and stood before the throne of God.

THE RELIGIOUS INNKEEPER.

I am of opinion that in every lawful calling God has his witnesses and faithful servants, to convince us that those callings which are most abused, and the greatest sources of iniquity, may be sanctified.

It happened in one of the midland counties of England, some years ago, that an innkeeper became concerned for his soul, and set himself with all his heart in pursuit of the one thing needful-religion. His search was not in vain; from deep and humiliating views of his sinfulness, he was led, in the course of time, to discern the fulness and sufficiency of the blood of Jesus Christ to cleanse him from all sin. He received the perfect work and righteousness of Jesus Christ by faith, and became not a nominal, but a real Christian. In a word, he became a new man, and felt himself to live in a new region. Many painful reflections, however, on his past sins were constantly passing through his mind, and it grieved him more especially and above all, that his particular calling had been the occasion of much sin, and that even now his house, at times, was the scene of unhallowed mirth and wanton joy. What was to be

done? Things (thought he) cannot possibly go on as they are. The question therefore arose, whether it was lawful for him, as a Christian, to continue any longer in his line of life? Many things were to be taken into consideration: he had a large family entirely dependent on him, and if he gave up his business, poverty and want seemed to stare him in the face; besides, ́should he give up, he could by no means be certified but his house, being let to another, would again become the scene of equal, if not greater, wickedness. In this strait, however, after much anxious thought and earnest prayer for Divine guidance, he determined to remain and to glorify God in his present calling. He resolved to harbour no improper characters, and never to draw more than one pint of ale at a time, for any customer; by these regulations, he knew his house would be still useful for the accommodation of travellers, and he hoped to rid himself of all his tippling customers. It is true he had his doubts and fears, at times, whether he should be able to make business answer on his new plan, but he generally cut them short by faith in that universal promise, "Them that honour me, I will honour." So that, in the main, he trusted, by God's blessing, to be able both to pay his rent and to maintain his family.

In process of time, the religious innkeeper's peculiarities became known; and as he was universally respected as a man of great integrity, his house was much frequented by travellers; although some, whose custom he cared little for, withdrew their favours. On the whole, what was lost on the one hand was more than made up on the other.

The 'squire of the parish in which he lived kept a pack of hounds, and his house was consequently the resort of the idle, the gay, and the dissipated. In one of their convivial meetings, the conduct of the publican became the subject of their derision and merriment, and they determined, the next time they went to the hunt, to put his religious principles to the test -they determined, if possible, to have more ale than his rule allowed. Accordingly, no long time after, the troop of hunters, greatly heated in the chase, hauled up at his house to bait their horses, and take some refreshment. The landlord, with his usual attention and civility, took the charge of the horses, to rub them down and bait them, while the good man's daughter within, busied herself in preparing the refreshments, which were

eagerly devoured. Then came the drink; pint after pint was called for and drank, until each had been served with his allowance, for Betsy had counted heads, and scored with her chalk each successive flagon; and now that the scores had equalled the heads, what was to be done? More ale was called for, and how to refuse the 'squire, she hardly knew; but her father's orders were not to be disobeyed. Like a dutiful daughter, therefore, she told the company she could not draw them any more, for they had had enough. "And who made you a judge of that?" cried one of the troop. "My father," replied the girl, "never draws more than one pint for any one, and I have drawn that, Sir, for each." On this the company became very noisy. Some calling for the host; others exclaiming against his methodism; whilst, in the midst of the bustle and confusion, the father stept in, and so relieved his daughter from her trying situation. He told them briefly his reasons for adopting the rule, which he hoped they would value; but, whether or not, he would by no means break it to please even the 'squire. "More ale we want, and more ale we'll have," shouted one. "What has religion to do with drink?” cried another. "Hang him and his enthusiasm," cried a third. "Gentlemen," said the landlord, firmly, yet courteously, "I am sorry to disoblige you, but under no consideration will I draw any more: my conscience will not permit me.' "Perhaps my conscience then will not permit me to renew your licence, rejoined the 'squire;" while the doctor and the lawyer backing him, besought him, the one to give him a pill, and the other to make out his mittimus. "As for that, Sir, I cannot help it," replied the landlord; "but I can help offending my God, and burdening my conscience, which I will never do to get the favour of men." The party, thus defeated, and seeing that remonstrance was in vain, left the house with many threats, and much abuse:

On the way home, however, they cooled down, and in the end agreed in admiration of the innkeeper's firmness and principle; indeed one went so far as to propose that they should give him the benefit of a pint and refreshment, as often as they went his way, which, meeting with no opposition, was agreed to. Thus leaving another proof of the faithfulness of God's promise, "Them that honour me, I will honour," and that He will make even "their enemies to be at peace with them."