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THE

SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD,

CONDUCTED UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF MINISTERS AND MEMBERS OF THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH.

"THE FEAR OF THE LORD, THAT IS WISDOM."

VOL. I. No. 20.

SATURDAY, JULY 16, 1836.

THE PARTING SCENE AT TYRE. BY THE REV. ROBERT COWE, A. M., Minister of the High Meeting, Berwick-upon-Tweed. PRIMITIVE Christianity was distinguished by that ingenuous simplicity of spirit that so usually and amiably marks the spring-tide of life. Full of youthful vigour, and unembarrassed by those damping calculations of worldly expediency, which so unhappily impair the quality of devotion, and restrain the flow of religious feeling, wherever they prevail, it was not ashamed to show itself in its plain and native attire, or to give an honest expression to its sentiments and hopes. And, as the prevalence of hostile opinions did not deter the early Christians from a frank disclosure of their views, so the frowning aspect of ungodly habits was not sufficient to bar their performance of important duties. In this season of youthful fervour they were not more candid than brave; the shame of the cross was their glory; they nobly honoured what the rest of the world despised; Religion, with them, lay near the heart; and to preach, vindicate, and practise it, they resolutely and cheerfully encountered every danger; their piety did not play like moonbeams on the surface of a lake, but shone steadily through their lives, with a brilliancy emanating from the central and heaven-fed light within. Accordingly, they entered warmly into the Lord's work, willingly lending to his followers the aid of their sympathies and prayers. To reflect his image was the surest passport to their favour; in those days, Christians loved each other because they were Christians; they saw in each other a family likeness, that drew their hearts together, producing mutual confidence and esteem. Of the influence of this ingenuous and affectionate spirit, we have a beautiful and an instructive illustration in the touching scene that occurred when Paul took leave of the Tyrian converts: "And they all brought us on our way, with wives and children, till we were out of the city, and we kneeled down on the shore and prayed." A residence of no more than seven days among them, had been employed with such prudence, zeal and love, as completely to win their favour. Though faithful in the discharge of his apostolic office, correcting errors and reproving sins, wherever

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found, by unfolding the mercy of God in Christ, the beauty of holiness, and the power and excellence of divine truth, he had effectually succeeded in captivating their affections, and rendering them ardent and devoted friends. He had resolved their doubts, enlarged their spiritual knowledge, listened with tender interest to the unburdened sorrows of the penitent, and, by many kind words and deeds, endeared himself to old and young. They had worshipped God together in the name of their common Saviour; their hearts had been warmed in company by the same divine Spirit; their finest sympathies had been awakened by sweet, devotional intercourse; and how could they be unmoved when the hour of separation arrived? They had lived in amity, like brethren in the Lord, and were they to part with the cold adieu of strangers? Their farewell was not of an ordinary kind, not the dictate of formality, but the spontaneous effusion of piety and friendship. In the prospect of parting from a spiritual benefactor, who had treated them with the affection of a guardian and a father, directing them by his counsel, and enlarging their love by his prayers, they deplored their loss, while they saw its necessity. When he rose to go away, instead of exchanging the usual courtesies of farewell in their own dwellings, and allowing him to depart alone with his companions, they flocked around him with every mark of gratitude and esteem-husbands, wives and children, were his honourable escort from the city to the shore. This was a body guard that royalty might envy, a tribute of true affection, a warm expression of love and regret.

But how did the scene close? It closed in a manner worthy of the Gospel, and honourable to Paul and the Tyrians. Their work was divine, and, ere they parted, they made a solemn and harmonious appeal to Almighty God, commending each other, and the cause they had most at heart, to his fatherly care. "They kneeled down on the shore and prayed." Under the broad canopy of heaven, they prostrated themselves, with the bare ground for their cushion; and the voice of supplication, blending with the murmuring of the waves, rose on the wings of faith to the Hearer of Prayer. They did not heed the scofis of the bystanders; God looked on and approved, and that was en

couragement enough to them. Consulting their | own feelings, and their sense of duty, loving the praise of God more than the praise of men, inspired with more love to Paul, than fear of the heathen, they were not ashamed to pray with him openly, as well as pray for him secretly. It was a noble and spirit-stirring sight,-a sight which it does the heart good to think of, and which must have soothed and ennobled those who were engaged in it. Even Paul must have been the better of such a parting, and must have often reverted to the scene with a grateful and refreshing remembrance in after days. It was, indeed, a rare and noble adieu, so fraught with benediction, so richly seasoned with Christian love, The cross triumphed more sublimely there, than ever martial hero did on a victorious battle-field, It was not a victory of death, but of life, love, and praise. The trophies were ransomed souls and grateful hearts. The shore on which they kneeled had been long the theatre of very different exploits; the hum of merchandise had been triumphantly heard there many a day; the choicest treasures of the world had been imported there when Tyre was in her glory," when her merchants were princes, and her traffickers were the honourable of the earth;" but the gayest, most enterprising, and splendid sights that eye had ever witnessed there, even in the days of her highest grandeur, were infinitely surpassed by the simple and sublime scene of kneeling worshippers. The most richly laden vessel that ever sailed majestically into that port, contained nothing half so precious as the treasure of kindly feeling and heavenly aspiration in the hearts of that Christian circle. The wealth of no emporium could rival theirs. Love and godliness were in triumphant exercise, uncontrolled and unabashed by the adverse influence that prevailed around. The city, it is true, was not intoxicated with joy; the rich were not elated; the poor were not filled with admiration at the sight, but angels were approving spectators,-God bowed the heavens and came down, and his blessing was there.

Parting scenes are generally of a character very different from this. How many members of the same family, how many friends endeared to each other by congenial tastes, and long, affectionate intercourse, part, with little prospect of ever meeting again in this world, without the most distant allusion to their eternal interests, in commending each other, in prayer, to the Preserver of Life. Precious hours of converse glide away, while the mind is taken up with things comparatively trifling, to the exclusion of those great concerns that should be dear to every heart. Compliments are sent to absent friends, but few breathe this request, "Commend me in prayer to God." And when the farewell scene is over, and time for calm reflection enjoyed, regret is often felt and expressed for forgetting to speak of something interesting to both parties; but how seldom does it happen that this has any relation to the grave demands of the eternal world? If God is not in all our thoughts in such interesting seasons, does it not

arise from the loose hold Religion has of our hearts? Were we thoroughly pervaded and leavened by divine love, it would unostentatiously discover itself in all the relations of life in which we should be placed. It would season our friendship, as well as every thing else, cementing it with the warmest affection, and embellishing it with the sweetness of the Christian spirit. If we are friends of the right stamp, shall we confine our sympathy to worldly interests, or bodily wants, or even mental tastes; shall we not be most anxious for what is most valuable, and, while wishing our friends well, and contributing to their happiness in temporal things, shall we not enter with a lively and deep concern, into whatever pertains to their immortal souls? Though the better our friends are, the sadder is it to be separated from them; yet is it a consolation to leave the shore on which they stand, waving to us their last adieu, conscious of their benedictions, sure that, when out of sight, we shall not be out of mind, but shall be remembered from the heart by them at the throne of grace. We deprive ourselves of much help and comfort, when we do not reciprocate such feelings; we refuse to others, and withhold from ourselves, one of those consolatory supports provided by the goodness of God, and are not alive to that holy brotherhood, whose tongue knows not how to be silent, when it has the power to strengthen and bless. Our prayers are a debt due to our brethren, which it is unjust not to pay.

But that friends often bid a long adieu to each other, without any recognition of the love and guardianship of God, is not the only ground of complaint; it is painful to think, and deeply to be lamented, that parting scenes are sometimes debasing exhibitions of ungodliness and dissipation. Among some persons a foolish opinion prevails that it is cold and ungenerous to separate in a sober state of mind. Accordingly, the maddening influence of intoxication is courted as a kind of set-off to the long absence in prospect, as if eager to take revenge on the future by large draughts of ill regulated and boisterous merriment. How dishonourable to human nature, how symptomatic of a depraved moral condition, to consider this a rational or pleasing mode of spending the last hours that friends may enjoy together on earth! Are such scenes reverted to with complacency on a death-bed, when the immediate prospect of eternity leads the mind to a more correct estimate of the value of time, and forces upon it the conviction of duties neglected, and privileges misimproved? And how must it sadden the remembrance of such a season, when the person whose society we last enjoyed, under these circumstances, is called to his account, a short time after his departure! Will it add to the serenity of the mind, relieve the conscience of rebuke, or render the recollection of that name welcome and delightful, to think that the last time we were together we tempted him to sin, and left him in a state in which we should tremble to die? Surely such interesting and important periods of life may be spent cheerfully and happily without

being spent sinfully, by the interchange of kind | compatible with due devotion to God; or fearing, at feeling, uncontaminated by the gross appendages of riotous iniquity.

The feelings, in the prospect of separation from those dear to us, are generally in a very susceptible state, and therefore very accessible to religious impressions. Such periods constitute favourable seasons for distilling, in the feelings, the influence of piety, by dropping sentiments of a spiritual character, likely to insinuate themselves into the mind. The melting of the heart by the overflow of the tender sympathies, is a kind of spiritual tillage, which, by judicious management, may be rendered highly conducive to the reception of the good seed of eternal life. As the Egyptians cast their seed into the soil, while saturated with the waters of the Nile, so should the truth be cast into the heart, while it is softened by the springing up of those fountains of emotion which God has wisely and graciously lodged within us. Advice given, warnings uttered, allusions made at such a time, are frequently more memorable and efficacious than at other seasons. They are affectionately retained, because they may be the last heard from the same lips, and are bound like chains around the neck. Such things approximate to the sacred character, associated with the last counsels of the dying, and the heart feels as if it would betray a delicate trust ever to forget them. These are not opportunities to be slighted, especially by parents, guardians, and friends; let the seal of divine truth, with the image and superscription of the King of heaven upon it, be applied to the soul in this melted state, and who knows but the likeness of God may be left behind!

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least, that, in her own case, they might ensnare her
affections, and betray her into a neglect of her highest
interests. Such a resolution, taken on such grounds,
was not a good proof of the soundness of her piety, nor
did it hold out favourable promise of its constancy.
In many, a " necessity," as the apostle speaks, "not to
marry," is the dictate of sound discretion and Christian
principle. But the absolute purpose to forego the rela
tions of social life, from the notion that they are hurt-
ful or hazardous to the life and progress of religion in
the soul, cannot be referred to the same honourable
source. That notion impugns the constitution of na-
ture; it counteracts the destinations of Providence; it
distrusts or denies the provisions of grace; and as often
as it is acted on, (we appeal to the history of Mona-
chism for the proof,) it corrupts or withers those affec-
and annihilates or contracts those services of usefulness
tions which it seeks unnaturally to purify and elevate,
which it professes to multiply and extend.
it is altogether the offspring of a romantic feeling, which
soars above the humble realities of man's earthly con-
dition, and forgets the proper nature and sphere of duty
and discipline which God has appointed to him. Like
and the purposes which it gives birth to are made
all such high-flown feelings too, it is always short-lived,
much oftener than they are kept, for they die away, or
are borne down before the power of those stronger emo-
tions which are awakened amid the changing circum-
stances of life. It was thus in the present instance.
kept her purpose only till a temptation
prise any one who judges of the style of her Christi-
was presented to her to break it. And it will not sur-
anity by this specimen of it, to learn that, after her
marriage, she fell away from her Christian profession
and character, and, amid her cares fort be things of this
world, left off caring for the things of the Lord. Her
and her rising family, which her ambition would fain
domestic circumstances, which were rather straitened,
have maintained in a higher style of comfort than her
husband's income could afford, produced a crowd of
worldly cares, which seemed utterly to choke the good
seed of divine grace in her heart, and to make her un-
fruitful in the work of God. This result of her mar-
ried life, though realizing sadly all her early apprehen-
sions, must not, by any means, be considered as justi-
fying them. It is, indeed, but too true,-being evinced,
not merely by an occasional instance, but by universal ex-
perience, that in our natural hearts the tendency of
every care, and of every comfort in social life, is to
exclude God, and to fix down our thoughts and affections

Miss

IN very many instances, especially in cities, where frequent pastoral visitation is impracticable, a pastor's intimacy with the families of his flock begins in the seasons of their distress. This circumstance, though it may create much painful embarrassment in the commencement of his intercourse with them, serves, I am per-upon the things which are seen and temporal. Even suaded, to give a deeper and more tender interest to its growth and continuance. The seed which falls into the moistened earth finds a deeper root, and shoots up into greater strength and luxuriance; and in like manner, those affections which are first awakened amid the softening influences of affliction, take a stronger hold, and ripen into more intimate and confiding friendship, than those which spring up and are cherished only amid the lighter and less trying scenes of life.

It was in the day of their deep affliction that I first became acquainted with the interesting family, whose memorial I am now briefly to record. Mrs C

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the widowed head of this family, had been in her early youth, as she told me, very religious," at least, she was the subject of very strong and ardent religious impressions, and, under their influence, continued for a time in the diligent and delighted observance of her Christian duty. So inviting did God's service then appear to her, that she gave herself to it, as not only the chief, but the sole employment of her life. That nothing might distract or diminish her attention to it, she formed a solemn resolution that she would never marry,—judging that the cares of domestic life were in

in minds religiously disposed, which would recoil from the indulgence of grosser sins, the love of kindred, of husband, or wife, or children, is very apt to usurp an unlawful place and power in them. The amiable habits which it forms, and the delightful pleasures which it yields, procure for it an easy ascendancy, and many, many are the instances in which it comes to reign, to the exclusion of the love of God, over those who, like Mrs C- —, entered life with the serious purpose of consecrating it to his service. But this is not the necessary consequence of the social condition. On the contrary, that condition affords the finest scope for the exercise of the best affections, and for habits of most eminent usefulness to the Church and the world; and there are many who, under the guidance and blessing of God's Spirit, signally improve these advantages. The opposite result proceeds from sinful neglect of their duty, and their resources. They cease to watch and to pray that they enter not into temptation. They thus forfeit that promised grace, without which, every scene and circumstance of life is, to our fallen nature, fraught with the power of ensnaring and corrupting us; and hence obey their downward earthly tendencies, and settle

their hearts on those worldly delights, which were in- | tended to raise them in grateful devotion towards their bounteous and blessed Author.

While, from this cause, Mrs C was rapidly backsliding from God, and growing into the habits and spirit of a mere worldling, her husband was taken away from her with a stroke. He held the office of a tide-waiter at Leith, and, while on duty, he was killed by a blow from a cable, and carried home to his widow a corpse. This sore and sudden bereavement, it might have been thought, would have recalled her, and led her to return to her "First Husband." But its only effect was, to give greater intenseness and concentration to her worldliness. Her affections were now fixed with undivided regard on her three fatherless children, and her sole object was to support and educate them. This, in all circumstances an anxious and arduous charge, was, in her state of mind and circumstances, made doubly burdensome. She was an ambitious as well as an affectionate mother. Not satisfied that her children should have necessaries, she aspired to have them all genteelly clothed and well educated. But her husband had left her in utter poverty. His relations, who seem to have been offended by her uppishness, offered her no assistance, and she was too proud to ask it; and, with only her own industry to supply the means, it may easily be conceived what a fight she must have endured in carrying into accomplishment this object of her heart's desire. This fight, which was not "the fight of faith," but rather what Boston would call a "faithless fight," was all the more grievous that she maintained it alone. Had she sought to cast her burden upon the Lord, he would, according to his promise, have sustained it. But alas! she was either become too ungodly to seek to him at all, as the husband of the widow, or, from the consciousness of her unworthy and dishonouring apostacy, could not confide in his grace and compassion toward her. She was left, therefore, to struggle on with her difficulties in the strength of her own love and pride, and severe indeed was her struggle. "Many was the day, I may say the year," said she, during which I suffered hunger and nakedness, that my children might want nothing, and appear respectable among other children."

66

When I first became acquainted with her, she had got over the hardships which she had endured in bringing up her family. Her son (the youngest, if I mistake not,) was so far advanced, as to have entered on an office in the Customs, which his mother had got for him through the kindness of Mr O

who remem

bered her husband, and felt a humane interest in his family. The youngest daughter lived at home with her mother, and, I believe, supported herself by her industry. And the eldest had been, for a considerable time, in an honourable family, in the situation of governess. According to the worldly way of reckoning, therefore, it might have been supposed that her toils and cares were at an end, and that the time was come when she was to reap her recompense in the requitals of her grateful and prosperous children. How far her heart yielded itself to this illusive promise I cannot tell, though, I believe, it is not possible for any mere worldly heart to resist its power. But a sore experience of its illusiveness soon awaited her. It seemed to have been said to her, as to backsliding Israel, "Because thou hast forgotten the God of thy salvation, and hast not been mindful of the rock of thy strength, therefore shalt thou plant pleasant plants; in the day shalt thou make thy plant to grow, and in the morning shall thou make thy seed to flourish; but the harvest shall be a heap in the day of grief and of desperate sorrow."

Her son had been only a few months in his office when he lost his health. My first visit to the house was on being called by his sister to see him. I found

him already in the last stage of consumption—his voice gone, and his strength so feeble, that he was quite unable to bear the fatigue of conversing with me. It was, therefore, impossible to learn from him much of his views and feelings in the prospect of approaching death,-a disadvantage under which a minister is often made to grieve, when called too late to the sick or dying beds of his people. All that was left to me, was to declare unto him the Gospel, and to join in prayer to God with him and his afflicted friends. And though I could know very little of his state of mind, yet, from his eager and interested attention to the truth, I was, and am, disposed to indulge the hope, that he was vitally interested in the salvation of the Gospel. It was, I think, on returning a third time to visit him, that I found him removed beyond the reach of all ministerial or Christian attentions. His mother and his sister were sunk in sorrow; yet there was very much in their spirit and demeanour, which left the impression upon my mind, that they sorrowed as became Christians. At the funeral of this widow's son, a relation of the family asked what I thought of his religious state; and I well remember, that on my expressing a favourable hope, so far as I had seen, he expressed surprise and incredulity, adding, "I could not have thought so, for his mother and the whole family are still in a state of nature." Though far from admiring this harsh and unfeeling judgment, yet, aware how closely the language of sadness is allied to the language of seriousness, and how many speak, and perhaps feel, religiously in their affliction, whose language and conduct in their prosperity bear no evidence of picty, I was, perhaps, led by it, in some degree, to distrust my own more favourable opinion of the religion of the family.

As

In less than a year after, the threatening of a renewed stroke gave me occasion to resume my visits to them. The youngest daughter was now sinking under the same ruthless disease which shortly before had ent off her brother. The hectic cheek, the short hurried breathing,—the profuse wasting perspiration, were all the too sure tokens that she had not long to live. yet, however, the disease had not made the same progress in her as in her brother, when first I was called to attend him. She was still able to read and to converse, and to apply her mind profitably to the concerns of her eternal peace. I found her at first very timid and reserved. Indeed I cannot say that she ever became much otherwise, but I soon saw and heard enough to satisfy me, that in pronouncing them all to be "in a state of nature," her relation, in so far as she was concerned, was as wide from truth as from charity. For several years before this time, as I learned, she had been brought to a deep concern about her salvation, under the ministry of a man, who had never been reputed to be careful about his own-a mysterious yet instructive fact, which may well awaken, even in those ministers who may have been honoured in converting sinners, a salutary jealousy over themselves, inasmuch as their being made use of to convert others does not argue their own conversion, nor hinder that, after all, themselves may be cast away! Over this man's death she mourned like a dove, as her mother expressed it, as for a spiritual father. The work of grace thus begun in her, advanced steadily in her soul. During her protracted illness, and in the full anticipation of her latter end, she enjoyed a blessed peace; and died in the humble hope, and I doubt not, passed into the full enjoyment of the great salvation. This renewed bereavement lay heavy on the spirits, and the long and anxious waiting, which preceded it, bore hard on the bodily health of the afflicted mother. were visible in her countenance the lines of deep and settled sadness. And though nothing at the time escaped her which betrayed a want of Religion, there was evidently an embarrassment and restraint, which prevented all cordial response to the lessons of divine truth and all

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cordial sympathy with the language of Christian consolation. Soon after her daughter's death, she removed to the country, with the view of recruiting her exhausted strength, and reviving her depressed spirits. On her return to her own house, after an interval of about eight months, it was evident, at a glance, that she had not found what she sought from her country residence. The seeds of disease, which had ripened more rapidly in her children, had been lurking in her own constitution, and care and sorrow seemed now to be hastening on their maturity. She was evidently consumptive. A great change was visible in the state of her mind. She had not lost her dejection, but she had laid aside her reserve. It was at this time that she gave me all the particulars of her early history, which I have already detailed; and the circumstance which gave her freedom to disclose it, was, I doubt not, the gracious experience by which the sequel was distinguished. When left alone, bereaved of her children, her comfort and her pride, and brought to reflect on all her afflictions, on their cause, and their design, the sin of her backsliding came to her remembrance. The light which had been long excluded from her mind again found entrance; and her sin in having so long "forsaken the fountain of living waters, and in hewing out for herself broken cisterns which could hold no water," appeared to her in so strong a light that astonishment and terror seized upon her; and for months, like many an awakened backslider, she was hardly preserved from sinking into despair. At last, however, she was made to know that God was waiting to be gracious. After a dreadful conflict she found her way, under the guidance of the Spirit of Grace, to the peace of reconciliation through the blood of the cross; and I well remember, with what deep emotion she acknowledged the way by which the Lord had led her, saying to me, "the getting of my family, Sir, came between me and God, and I now see that he has taken them away from me again, that he might bring me back to himself." This is no peculiar experience. A similar discipline is common to man, and the effect of it, in the present instance, may help those who are now subjected to its experience, to know what is its design, in their own. It is altogether the dictate of natural feelings, when affliction visits us, when adverse providence cuts off our resources or removes our comforts, to say "all these things are against us." In one view they are against us: if man were only flesh and blood, and his whole interests confined to earth and time, it would be impossible, perhaps, to reconcile such experience with our real good, or with the love and favour of our heavenly Father. But, let it once be considered that man is spirit as well as flesh, that he is destined to live for ever, and that God, as the father of our spirits, takes chiefest care of our spiritual and eternal welfare, and, straightway, the most adverse events in life assume a new and more attractive aspect. They are seen to be what this afflicted widow lived to feel and acknowledge, the irksome, yet the needed discipline by which the soul is cured of its ungodliness, and the purposes of God's fatherly care most effectually accomplished, in its recovery to himself an experience which carries with it the strongest argument for meek submission to all sufferings, and suggests the most profitable and precious use to which every sufferer should ever labour to apply them.

From this time Mrs C

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a

made visible and rapid growth in the spiritual life. But her bodily health continued to decline. So long as she was at all able to move about, she lived in unrelieved loneliness, widow indeed, and desolate, and continuing," I believe, “in supplications and in prayers night and day." Her good hope, through grace, seemed almost daily to gather strength. In this respect her experience forms a blessed encouragement to the penitent backslider, for it testifies of God's faithfulness to bis gracious promise, "Return,

ye backsliding children, and I will heal your backslidings." Yet, when all is known, it gives no countenance or encouragement to presumptuous backsliding, for with her joy in God, through whom she had received the reconciliation, was blended a sense of shame and selfreproach, under which she continued to mourn bitterly, even to the last.

When no longer able to assist herself, her only surviving daughter, who had for some years filled the situation of governess in a family, not far from Edinburgh, came home to wait upon her dying mother. Of the beginning of this young person's spiritual history I have no information; this, however, I know, that she was eminently pious, and, I believe, was made singularly useful in infusing her Christianity into the hearts of her pupils. It may well be imagined, therefore, that she proved a great comfort to her Christian parent, in the last days of her life. These were considerably protracted; the disease, under which she was dying, being generally more tardy in its progress in aged than in younger patients. As Mrs C—- - had few friends, and was almost a stranger in the neighbourhood, her daughter sent for me early on the morning of the Sabbath on which she died, to be with her in her last moments. The scene was deeply affecting. When told, a short time before, that her end was near, that she could not survive above a few hours, she replied, "Is it possible that there are only three hours between me and glory? Blessed be God." With these words she ceased to speak, and about two o'clock she expired, leaving her daughter the sole survivor of all the family, an orphan and fatherless, in the world. For a few months Miss C- - lived the lonely inhabitant of her mother's dwelling. But, by and by, her health also began to droop. From a kind consideration of her circumstances, she was invited to the country, on a visit to the family in which she had spent the days of her health and usefulness; and there, she so far recovered strength as to undertake the education of a family of motherless children in Edinburgh. Her Christian character and usefulness formed her sole recommendation to this important charge; but she had not well entered on its duties, when the same dreadful disease which had cut off the rest of her family, seized upon her frame, and in a very little time, brought her down to the grave. I had not an opportunity of seeing her often during her illness, and have nothing to record of her death beyond the simple, but all-satisfying fact, that she died in the faith of that Saviour, whom, while she lived, she loved and honoured.

The whole family is extinct. Death began and completed his triumph over them, in the space of less than three years. But they have exchanged their place on earth, we trust, for a place in heaven, where she who once felt herself sorely bereaved, and counted her pain, and and toil, all cruelly frustrated, appears before the throne, saying, in devout, and grateful, and rejoicing admiration of the providence and grace of her God and Saviour," Behold I and the children thou hast given me."

care,

A REVIVAL OF RELIGION IN THE
ISLE OF LEWIS.

In our last number we made an interesting extract from a work entitled "History of Revivals of Religion in the British Isles," published by Oliphant and Son, Edinburgh. From the same source we are enabled to present our readers with the following narrative, which cannot fail to be read with thrilling interest by every reflecting person.

"The Rev. Alex. M'Leod commenced his exertions as minister of Uig in 1824. The people attended public worship tolerably well from the time of his admission; but he describes his painful conviction that the fixed

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