Upon Dr. Hope's illness becoming known, his acquaintance, aware of the activity of his mind, asked, "Whether he was not fretting himself to death."

"But Dr. Hope was now suddenly transformed. His activity was exchanged for the most placid composure-no irritability of temper was visible-a more than usual cheerfulness, and even playfulness, appeared in his manner-and, instead of struggling to be at liberty, he submitted like a child to his physicians, shutting himself up at home, laying aside all study," &c.

And can we wonder at this equanimity, when we read as follows?

"The simple faith, and unwavering hope, which formed so striking a part of his religious character, prevented his mind from being agitated with doubts of his salvation. He knew that Christ had died for sinners he acknowledged that he was a sinner, and deeply felt his own individual sins-he read the invitation to all who thirsted for the water of life, to all who were willing to have it-he was willing— why, therefore, should he doubt? This firm confidence in God's truth was united to the deepest sense of his own unworthiness. Within himself he could perceive nothing but sin; and, therefore, it was only by looking at the Divine perfections that he could have the faintest glimmering of hope. Had he trusted at all to himself, his unworthiness might have depressed him; but while resting on the promises of Christ, to the performance of which the Divine power and truth were pledged, no fear nor doubt could shade him."

In a later stage of his illness he observed,

"Were

a reprieve now given me, I should acquiesce in the will of God; but I must confess, it would be long before I could rejoice."

The last affecting passages of his life we must pass over. His cheerfulness, heavenly-mindedness, triumphant expectation of the opening joy of heaven, show, that in the gospel is "firm footing" indeed, when all is sea beside."

We unite our counsel with that of the biographer. "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace!"

On the 10th March 1831, Dr. Hope married Anne, second daughter of John William Fulton, Esq. of Upper Harley Street. "A remarkable similarity of tastes, and suitableness of disposition, rendered this union a peculiarly happy one." The whole spirit and strain in which Mrs. Hope has written the Memoir, prove her to have been peculiarly qualified for the companion of her lamented husband. We cannot but deeply sympathise with her under her heavy loss. We feel grateful for her most valuable contribution, in this Memoir, to the public good; and we doubt not, that He who has promised to be a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless, will give to her, and to her child, all the richness of his promised blessing.

"The sweet remembrance of the just,
Like a green root, revives, and bears
A thousand blessings for their heirs,
When dying nature sleeps in dust."'

TO J. MONTGOMERY.

A FEW more days, these voices shall be mute,
Now singing in the branches eve and morn,
And in the azure noon, the song of Hope;
For now the sun descends, the year declines,
Though deeper glow his beams, and richer spread
The radiance of the summer's robe of gold-
Possession, but not Hope! albeit the fields
Speak of the ripening harvest ;-Hope, more sweet,
With light and life advancing, fills the air
With that full summer chorus. Sing your last
Sweet birds, I prize each failing note

For coming silence,-mute the

many thenAnd I shall listen for the wind above

Among the murmuring boughs; or the faint tone
Of rippling stream, among the broken stones
Smooth'd by the gliding waters; or, at eve,
To one lone songster from the distant hill,
More valued for its soleness. So might I—
Long silent or unheard, among the choir,

Vocal no more, to whom I listen'd long

When life was new, when they and I were youngNow find fit audience, or at least be prized,

That, in faint echo of the sounds of

yore,

Breaking the stillness of the waning year,

I raise a vesper hymn,-unknown to fame,-
Content to love the famed ones;—whom to hear
And not respond to, were a task now vain
To one who loved their lays as I have done.
That autumn songster has beheld the fall

EXTRACTS FROM LIFE OF JOHN CHAPMAN.

105

Of his sweet summer bower,—his hopes of spring,—
And sadness mingles with his notes of joy.

By sorrow chasten'd the lone minstrel's lyre,
Few sing in age, unless they sing for Heaven;
To Thee, MONTGOMERY, voice of other days,
And music of our own, I dedicate this song.

F. R.

SCARBOROUGH, June 20th, 1838.

EXTRACTS FROM THE LIFE OF JOHN CHAPMAN. WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

In our former Number, we gave the letters of John Chapman, an eccentric deaf and dumb lad. We shall now make some selections from his life, as written by himself, at the request of a lady in his neighbourhood, who had been kind to him, and thought that this might serve to occupy his restless and active mind. He commences thus :

"MADAM,

"As you wish to know the progress by which I have arrived at the knowledge I possess-what length I were come in reading, before I lost my hearing, and who instructed me before and after that happened-I, therefore, during my leisure hours,* here endeavour to write, as far as I can have words sufficient to express, which I long feel and remember,

* His trade was that of a Weaver.

in order to give you an accurate account of this, upon this paper which you have sent me." He next mentions, with minute particulars, his earliest recollection of an eager desire to visit a maternal uncle, living in the same village of Strathmiglo, who was in possession of "a large pictorial Map of Palestine, or the Holy Land, full of rude wood-cut vignettes, and letterpress description of them, which were no other than those of the Old and New Testament;" and he stood upon a chair to inspect this map, while his uncle's wife explained to him the meaning of the woodcuts. He was now seized with a great desire to learn to read, that he might examine this, to him deeply interesting map, for himself, without the assistance of

any one.

His desire for learning became, even at this early age, his ruling passion; and, getting into a subscription school in Strathmiglo, he soon learned to read, passing his time when at home in poring over the spelling-book, while his father worked at the loom, and assisted him in spelling the words. At this period he seems to have had a great delight in storing his mind with hymns and passages of scripture. He now speaks for himself" I used always to listen deeply to the conversations of whoever came to visit us, none of which gave me greater pleasure than those who came at times during the beginning of the winter evenings, in order to learn or know something of sacred vocal music, which my father used sometimes to sing, while working upon his loom. So charmed was I, that I imitated my father's voice, and was thought to be a good singer-but now my sweet voice