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mayest know thyself, and live by the faith of the gospel? Dost thou never say from the heart with the Psalmist, "Search me, O Lord, and know my heart, try me and know my thoughts, and see the wicked way that is in me, and lead me in the way everlasting?" Consider, I entreat thee, the danger of insensibility, the danger of insincerity. .

By the gospel thou must be judged in the great day of the Lord; self-deceit will then be unavailing, when every thought will be brought into judgment, and every secret work, whether it be good or evil. Examine, then, thy heart; thy conscience must be purified from dead works, in order to enable thee to serve aright the living and the true God. The blood of the Son of God alone has this efficacy; and if thou despise it, there remaineth no more for thee a sacrifice for sin, but a fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation, which shall devour the adversa

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stance. The way of the wicked is as darkness. The sick bed tries the correctness of principles, and the king of terrors, as he approaches, sweeps away all the false hopes of the unbeliever, and scatters them to the winds. Infidelity may give her votaries the satisfaction of being free from enthusiasm and superstition; she may harden their minds; but she furnishes them with no support under the various evils, which we are called to suffer.

The death of Mr. Gibbon was

such as we might expect from the principles, which he professed. Speaking of the decease of lady Sheffield, in a letter to her husband, he observes; "She is now at rest; and, if there be a future state, her mild virtues have surely entitled her to the reward of pure and perfect felicity.-The only consolation in these melancholy trials, the only one at least in which I have any confidence, is the presence of a real friend." In these passages the writer expresses a doubt respecting his future existence, stumbles upon the error of the self righteous, that the ordinary virtues of social life merit the reward of everlasting blessedness, and gives up at once all the rich consolation, which a belief in the righteous government of the Father of mercies is calculated to afford us under afflictions and troubles.

In his memoirs he says, "I must reluctantly observe, that two causes, the abbreviation of time and the failure of hope will always tinge with a browner shade the evening of life." This is the gloomy sentiment of an atheist, whose views terminate with this world, who considers himself as the offspring of chance, and whe

is cheered with no glad expectation, that "the evening of life" will be succeeded by a glorious morning.

It is true that the aged are frequently peevish and unhappy. The acuteness of their senses is blunted by long action. Their eye is no longer delighted with beauty, nor their ear enraptured by melody. The agitation of business no longer exhilarates their minds. Besides this, they find few or none of their early companions, with whom they may recal the days that are past.

These are the causes, and not those assigned by Mr. Gibbon, which will always operate in a greater or less degree to diminish the enjoyments of those, who have travelled far into years.

But to the aged saint, whose gray hairs are found in the way of righteousness, "the abbreviation of time" is a subject of joy, not a source of grief; and with "the failure of hope" he is unacquainted. He exclaims in the language, and with the exulting anticipation of St. Paul, "The time of my departure is at hand! I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day, and not to me only, but unto all them also, that love his appear ing." Had not Mr. Gibbon been fearful of this appearing of Jesus Christ, when he shall decend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God," to punish the despisers of his words; or had he not looked upon all beyond the grave as one hideous night, whose silence will never be

disturbed by the footsteps of liv ing beings, he would not have expressed his conviction, that hope must necessarily fail, as life approaches its termination. If he had not been destitute of the joyful hope of immortality, which only is the glory of man, such a sentiment his pen never would have recorded.

And what was the death of Mr. Gibbon? It was cheerless and awful.

We hear no expressions of resignation or hope. We behold no no delightful anticipations of blessedness. We see not even an intimation of his belief, that another state of existence would succeed that, which was approaching its end. All was silent as the grave, to which he was going.

He said to his servant, just before his death, "Pourquoi est ce que vous me quittez ?" Why do you leave me? And the last words which he uttered, expressed his desire that his servant would not leave him.

Thus perished this insidious enemy of Christianity. I said to myself, if infidelity can throw no ray of light upon the darkness of the grave; if she can give no support to the sinking spirit; if she can administer no consolation, when this world has lost its pow er to please; if she can stamp upon the pale countenance of the dying no impressions of hope, of joy, of triumph; then, "O my soul, come not thou into her secret," and let not her delusions beguile thee! W.

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and ornaments, “ dispenses its choicest cordials in the seasons of exigence, in poverty, in exile, in sickness, and in death." It can not only refine and elevate all earthly enjoyments, but supply their loss. It can do more. It can convert the greatest outward calamities into positive, substantial, everlasting blessings. Nor can any thing be more truly honourable to the gospel and grace of our DIVINE REDEEMER, than the sweet peace and cheerfulness with which they have inspired thou sands, on whom a thoughtless world has looked down with pity,

mixed with horror.

Among these happy sufferers, few occupy a more conspicuous place, than Miss A. D. a young woman recently deceased. For several of the last years of her life, she was confined by a complication of maladies, to a bed of unutterable, and almost unparalleled distress. In the early period of her sickness, she seemed a stranger to religion, and its comforts. But between two and three years previous to her decease, she exhibited a remarkable revolution in her sentiments and feelings. Of this happy change, her afflictions were, under the divine blessing, the principal instrument. Under their pressure, she was led into very distinct and evangelical views of the evil of sin, the depravity of her heart, the glory of the Redeemer, and the infinite worth of gospel blessings. Her heart seemed gradually moulded into a temper of sweet submission to the divine will, of humble confidence in the divine mercy, and of joyful complacency in the perfections and government Vol. II. No. 2.

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of God. Often, in the latter years of life, did she express her wonder and astonishment at her former insensibility, at the patience of God in waiting thus long upon her, and at the overflowings of that condescension and goodness, which could pardon and save one so unworthy and vile as she. Her patience, serenity, and even cheerfulness under her sufferings (her pain being, for years, literally without intermission) were remarkable indeed. Some, who familiarly knew, and often visited her, have declared, that they never witnessed a solitary instance of impatience, manifested either by her countenance or lips. Not unfrequently, when every nerve of her frame was agitated by extremity of pain, and when her bed trembled underneath her, has she conversed at length on religion, and on the many mercies vouchsafed her, without once adverting to her sufferings. It was remarkable that some of her best enjoyments seemed to occur in seasons of this kind. She once remarked to a friend, that for a few preceding days, she had enjoyed a sweeter savour of divine things, than ever before. "Every thing," she said, "seemed sweet. Oh," she exclaimed,. "there was such a sweetness in Jesus! My soul ran out in love to a chastening God, and rejoiced in him ! He was all in all. Oh, that all would praise him! My soul delights in him. Oh," she added, "my body was filled with pain, but my soul was more filled with comfort. Compared to one view of such glories, and the enjoyment of one half hour's communion with God, these af flictions are not worth mention.

ing, ought not to be named; nay, are not worthy to have a thought of them pass through the mind. Oh," said she, "entertain high and honourable thoughts of God concerning this thing. I now place this distress among my choicest mercies." Soon after her happy change, she said to a friend; "How many nights have I kept myself awake in thinking on and pursuing the vanities of the world; and it is but just that I should now be kept awake, and smart for it." When exercised with excruciating pain in her side, she once said; "I have been thinking that my side was only pierced with pain, but Christ's side with a spear. My smart cannot benefit others; but by Christ's stripes are many healed." She added, that though health was such a great blessing, yet if her's could be restored, and she must in that case be as vain and worldly as she once was, she would greatly prefer her present painful situation. On another occasion, she remarked, that she had experienced more enjoyment on her sick bed, than in all the former years of her life. On a certain occasion, she said to a friend, that in the night season, she was in an agony of distress, and much wished for half an hour of sleep; but immediately a new thought arose ; O, how good was God to permit her to lie awake, and contemplate on his perfections! O, it was sweeter than sleep. At another time, after a night of excruciating distress, she said, " For a few hours my room was a little heaven. Oh, it was sweet being awake, and receiving pain from such a hand. Oh, how the glory, pow

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er and goodness of God shine in this affliction. Once I saw no goodness in it; but now, the sharper the pain, the brighter his goodness appears." In another season of exquisite suffering, she expressed herself thus: "When one pain is gone, I can welcome another. My heavenly Father waves his rod over my body, but smiles upon my soul."

She frequently manifested a very tender anxiety lest any should think the less honourably of God and religion, on account of her sufferings. Two of her friends having watched with her in a night of remarkable distress, one remarked to the other, that probably she had suffered more than martyrdom that night. This she overheard ; and in a feeble and very affecting manner said, "O do not think hard of God on account of my sufferings. Think how great the consolations are which he affords me. He might justly send all these afflictions, and none of the consolations. The one I deserve, and the other I do not. He is good, He is kind.”

She often expressed a lively concern for the honour and prosperity of religion. She manifested a most tender pity for the multitudes around her, who lived without its blessings, and an ardent desire that they might taste and see that the Lord is good. Whatever tended to bring reproach on the name of Christ, gave her great pain. She frequently mourned over the coldness of Christians, and most of all, over her own.

She was remarkable for speaking of divine things in a manner equally distant from levity and ostentation, and which showed

The writer of the above enjoyed the privilege of frequently witnessing the piety, the sufferings and consolations of this highly favoured young woman. He offers this imperfect sketch, in the hope that so animating a testimony to the truth and excellence of religion, may be instrumental in confirming the faith of the Christian, and producing some salutary impression on the mind of every reader.

that her very heart was penetrated by what she uttered. Amid her highest consolations, she seemed deeply sensible of her anworthiness. Being asked, a few weeks before she died, how death appeared, she replied: "It is a solemn thing to die: I wish to examine myself; but I cannot make the thought seem terrifying." At other times, she expressed great desires to die. She was once heard thus to express herself in prayer: "Why are thy chariot wheels so long in coming? hasten them in thy time :" still adding, “not my will, but thine be done." At another time, she told a friend that a few nights be fore, she viewed herself upon the verge of eternity, and it was delightful entering. Being asked, what made it most delightful, she replied, "the glory, and the holiness-to be freed from a body of sin:" and added, "Christ is precious." She once declared, that the night preceding, her distress was very severe; but the glory, holiness and justice of God seemed so clear, that it was sweetly consoling to her mind; and it seemed a favour to be kept awake, and contemplate upon his justice; and the sharper her pains, the more faithful his character appeared, and the stronger was the evidence of his love. "I long," said she, "to die; but feel willing to live and suffer." When death actually came on, her distress and weakness were such that she could say but little : yet that little manifested her mind to be in the same humble, tranquil, cheerful frame as ever; till, with scarce a struggle or a groan, she yielded up her spirit into the hand of her God.

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A total eclipse of that luminary, which is not only the source of light and heat to the globe we inhabit, but the life and soul of our system, is an event of such rare occurrence, as well as so grand and sublime in itself, as naturally to command a serious and interested notice. It would be well, if the ideas and feelings, which such events are calculated to excite, might oftener rest on the mind; and especially, if they might become subservient to our moral and religious improvement.

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Eclipses, particularly those of the sun, are among the most solemn and impressive specta

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