used to amuse himself with his minerals, when all his other scientific pursuits failed to interest him: and poor Willy found the same pleasure in this study; for within a few days of his death, he was searching to see how many different kinds of stones might be enumerated. He had never been absent from home, but was brought up under the immediate eye of his parent, and watched with ceaseless care. He was now preparing for college, and sanguine in the hope that he might distinguish himself; and his father was looking forward with deep interest to this period.

"In the summer of 1824, my brother ruptured a blood-vessel, and began to spit blood. My dear father discovered great anxiety and alarm; though we did not, for a long time, know how deeply he was affected. He afterwards told mamma, that on that morning, as he looked on Wilberforce, he felt a shock, which seemed to shatter him to the very soul, and from which he never after recovered. He did indeed, to use his own words, ' roll the troublous calamity on God,' but nature sunk under the stroke.

"In June 1824, he took a journey to Scotland, to place Wilberforce under the care of Dr. Stewart. I was their companion in that journey, which I have a mournful pleasure in retracing.

"It was very pleasant to travel with my father, he had such an exquisite perception of the beauties of nature; and every object of interest was pointed out to us with his own elegant and devotional associations. Often has he wandered on through the fine scenes of Scotland, both by day-light and moon-light, with poor Willy and myself at his side; and we have sat down together on the sea-shore, or by the hedge-side, while he shewed us the image of the Deity in the beauty of his works: and whether he was contemplating the simple wild-flower or the resplendent firmament, he would point to the hand of Omnipotence in both. But his enjoyments at this time greatly depended upon his dear boy's being able to participate in them: if Willy drooped, his spirits were gone, and nature lost it's power to charm. I think he was gradually declining in his own health, though he did not complain. He was watching the decay of his beloved son, while his own frame was giving way.

"We returned home in October, with no material benefit to our dear invalid : and in January 1825, after a happy and even triumphant experience of the power of religion, my brother breathed his last gentle sigh in the arms of his afflicted father, who had been, in God's hands, his sole teacher, comforter, and supporter. He was ever at the dying pillow of his suffering child, reading, praying, and comforting him by day and by night. Before us he appeared composed and tranquil; but in his retired moments, I have heard him give vent to his feelings, with strong crying and tears.' I remember, on the evening of Wilberforce's death, after he had yielded to the first burst of grief, he clasped the inanimate form to his heart, laid it down, dried his tears, and collecting us together in the study, he knelt down, and uttered only the language of praise and gratitude. For a little moment he seemed not only to follow, but to realize his child's flight and welcome to the realms of glory. His whole conduct seemed to express, though I should see his hand lifted to slay me, yet from that same hand will I look for salvation.'

"He was much comforted, at this time, in his parish and in his own family. In the parish, there appeared a remarkable revival of religion, particularly among the young people. It might be truly said, there were added to the church daily, such as should be saved.' This dear boy's death appeared to be the life of many souls; and, in my dear father's own language, they were as spiritual roses, blooming around the grave of his Willy." pp. 582-588.

"It was a few days after Willy's death, that my own mind was in a state of agitating anxiety-thirsting for the knowledge of God and his holiness, yet feeling so ignorant, dark, and helpless, that I knew not where to look for en

couragement or assistance. My ignorance was my great burden. I felt as if I never could understand religion, and with these feelings I went into the study, where I found my beloved parent in deep meditation. Ile seemed to perceive at one glance what was the matter. In his engaging manner he took me on his knee, and folding me to his heart, begged me to tell him all I felt. This was the first time I had opened my mind to him on the subject of religion. I tried to tell him my feelings, dwelling particularly on my ignorance and total blindness in spiritual things. With striking humility and condescension, he replied, Well, my dear child, we will begin religion together. We will set out in the first step, for I have as much need as you to begin all again. We must go to Jesus Christ to be set right. We will ask to be taught the first lesson in his religion, and wait in the ignorance of babes for his instruction.'

"In the following winter, my dear father's failing spirits sustained another severe shock. We were expecting every week our eldest brother from India. He left home at the age of fifteen, and eleven years had now elapsed since his father had seen him. Many singular and affecting circumstances had occurred during this interval. He was thrice shipwrecked; and on one occasion, with only a few others, he got safe to shore. In his early youth he had been a source of much sorrow to his parents, but in a far distant land his heart was turned to the God of his father; and we received the most satisfactory testimonies to his conversion.

"My father's sensitive feelings were strained to the highest pitch in expectation of meeting his dear sailor-boy, who was on his return to visit us; and he was preparing to welcome the son who was lost and is found, was dead and is alive again,' when the mournful tidings of his death reached us.

"Both the mind and body of my dear father was shattered by this intelligence. But though suffering most acutely, he was, as in the former bereavement, the comforter and stay of his family;-concealing his own feelings to mitigate theirs.

"He used to be much alone at this time, communing with his own heart, in his chamber, in silence: and no doubt it was his fervent and frequent devotion which strengthened and enabled him to comfort those who were in trouble, by the comfort wherewith he himself was comforted of God.'

"He had shut himself up for six weeks, and never appeared in public, except on the Sunday; but when he heard of the anxiety of the people to see him, and share the sorrows of their beloved pastor, he desired them to assemble in the school-room; and he went there to meet them. It was evidently too trying and exciting for his weak frame. For some time he could not speak; but when he recovered himself, his address was inexpressibly touching, and yet comforting. "The people wept with him, and felt his sorrows as their own. He told them, that, conscious of their interest in him, and of their anxiety to know his state of mind under this afflicting rod, he had come on purpose to tell them what God could do for the soul that looked to him for help; that they might magnify the Lord with him, and exalt his name together. He said, that while he had been shut up in the solitude of his study, for the last six weeks, in silent communing with God, he had learnt to feel, it is good for me that I have been afflicted,'-that the experience of his soul during that trying season had been, in the multitude of my thoughts within me, thy comforts have refreshed my soul.'" pp. 590-593.

The full assurance of hope is indeed no small mercy; and when it pleases God to grant it to his servants, it becomes them to be unfeignedly thankful. Often, however, do we find that some of the most eminent of God's faithful servants have

been exercised towards the close of their pilgrimage with feelings of a very different, and indeed painful character. Yet how instructive as well as affecting is the following:

"In what followed, I was struck with the deep humility of his feelings. He said, it was not unmingled grief for Wilberforce which was then uppermost ; he knew he was safe in heaven, and that to him death had been victory: but that the thought painfully harassed him--shall I ever meet him in heaven? shall I indeed ever get there? Friends try to comfort me, by saying (as if they took it for granted), that sorrow is unnecessary; for the separation is very short, and we shall soon meet again in heaven. But, alas! there is that inward consciousness of sin, and that perplexing conflict, that I cannot take it for granted; and the thought is now sinking me in the very dust, shall I indeed meet in heaven?-am I sure eternity will unite us? And I often shudder, and fall down confounded, at the possibility that, after all, I may come short, and our separation be eternal.'

"This was an affecting and important lesson. I saw that the most holy and established Christian is still a sinner, and feels himself such; that, however high his spiritual attainments in this life, the flesh still weighs down the spirit. I had heard and seen my dear father so strong in faith, that heaven seemed realized, and victory obtained; and I fancied he could never have a doubt of his salvation. But I found that the father in Christ could weep and tremble like the babe, because of the sin that dwelleth in him.

It

"My dear father's cough continued, and he became very thin; and every one remarked how ill he looked. But he appeared not to notice it, and we thought he did not apprehend danger: we have since found that we were mis'taken, and that he always looked on the cough as a summons from above.' He abated nothing of his work, and still continued his visits to the poor. was in the cottage of sorrow and by the bed of the dying that my beloved parent's character appeared the brightest. He was the father as well as the minister of his people; and they brought all their difficulties and troubles to him, and ever found in him a tender and judicious adviser. He had particular pleasure in conversing with the pious poor, and said he had learnt some of his best lessons from them; that the religion of the poor in general was more spiritual and sincere than that of the rich: that they lived more simply the life of faith on the Son of God. I have seen my beloved father in public, when the gaze of admiration was fixed on him, and in the private drawing-room I have beheld him the delight and entertainment of the company, and my heart has exulted in him; but it was when smoothing the pillow of poverty and death, that I most loved and venerated him; and discovered the image of that Saviour,' who went about doing good."" pp. 596, 597.

The closing scene must now be depicted. We shall not diminish from the beautiful simplicity and feminine grace of this touching narrative by any introductory remarks of our own. Let the fatherless daughter tell the affecting tale of her revered parent's removal to glory and to God!

"On Tuesday, the 8th of May, he rose later than usual; I think it was twelve before he got into the study; and he was so weak that he had great difficulty in walking there, from his bed-room. His breath was short, and he looked very pale, but said he felt no pain. He sat on his reading-chair, with his head resting on a pillow: his countenance and manner was calm and peaceful. In the afternoon he could scarcely support himself; and I kneeled on a chair behind him, and he laid his head on my shoulder. Once he seemed VOL. II.--NO. III. 2 U

to be fainting, but he soon revived; and looking calmly at me, he said, Better now, love.'

"Mamma could no longer stay in the room, and I was left alone with him till five. He still said nothing, except to assure me he felt no pain. To the very last, it appeared to be his great desire to spare our feelings. We now persuaded him to go to bed, but we little thought death was so near. He could not walk, and we were going to ring for a servant, to assist him; but he said, I should like Henry to carry me.' He was wasted to a skeleton: Henry took him up with great ease, and we all followed. I shall never forget this most affecting moment: it was a moment of anguish to me, more than the last scene. He seemed to know that he was leaving the study, never to return to it: his look told me that he knew it. This was his favourite room, where for more than twenty years he had constantly carried on his pursuits. There he had written his books-studied his sermons-instructed his children-conversed with his flock, and offered daily sacrifice of praise and prayer. I watched him, as Henry carried him out: his countenance preserved the same look of fixed composure. He raised his head, and gave one searching look round the room-on his books—his table-his chair-his wife- his children ;and then the door closed on him for ever! He gave the same look round the gallery, through which we passed, as if he was bidding farewell to every thing. There was a peculiar expression in his countenance, which I cannot describe; it seemed to say, Behold, I die, but God will be with you!' Henry seated him in a chair; and he sat to be undressed, like a little dependant child, in deep silence, but without the ruffling of a feature.

"About nine, he seemed rather wandering; and made an effort to speak, but we could not make out his meaning; only we perceived he was thinking of his church, for we heard him say several times, It will be all confusion !' Mamma asked him what would be confusion. The church! There will be such confusion in my church!'

"About ten o'clock, he signified to mamma, in the gentlest whisper, that he wished to be left alone—to send us all away, and draw the curtains round him. "About half-past ten, Mrs. G., the kind and faithful nurse of Willy, tapped at my door. I was reading the Bible, and had just reached that verse, 'That ye be not slothful, but followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises.' I have thought the coincidence remarkable, at least I trust it will ever give a quickening influence to that passage, when I read it. She told me to come and look at my father. She said, she could hardly tell whether there was any change or not. I hurried to him. He raised his eyes to heaven, and then closed them. I put my cheek upon his; and I believe at that instant I felt, for I could not hear, his dying sigh. I thought he was sleeping, and continued looking at him, till Hannah said, Your dear papa is în heaven.' I did not think him dead; and I rubbed his still warm hands, and kissed his pale cheek, and entreated him to speak one word to me: but I soon found it was the silence of death. All turned to poor mamma, who was insensible; and 1 was thus left alone with my dear father, kneeling beside him, with his hand in mine. The same holy calm sat on his countenance, and seemed to say—' Thanks be to God, who has given me the victory!'

"The scene that followed was truly afflictive. The grief of the widow and the fatherless was unchecked; for he who had always comforted them, and bid them kiss the rod, was no longer with them. The contrast between the after-scene of Wilberforce's and our beloved parent's death, was peculiarly affecting to me. When my brother died, my father assembled us together, to implore resignation, and offer praise. But when he himself departed, all seemed gone. There was no one to collect us; and we were scattered in wild sorrow, with a feeling of desolation which was quite unutterable.

"We cannot, we ought not to forget such a father. Yea, I would add, 'when I forget thee may my right hand forget her cunning.'

"The hand of God is gone out against us-yet'the seed of the righteous is not forsaken.' He has cut off the stream which made us glad,'-but praised be his name, he invites us to the living fountain,' where our souls may drink and be satisfied.

pp. 608-612.

"Believe me, my dear Mrs. F., your very affectionate,

"F. R."

Reader! such was the life and such the death of Legh Richmond; a name which will be dear to the church long after his mortal body shall have mouldered into dust. It only remains that we "glorify God in him." Let us beware how we attribute too much to his refined taste, or well-stored mind, or natural loveliness of character. All these together could not have made him a holy man or a useful minister. Nay, more; but for the grace of God, they might have proved a snare and a trap and an occasion of falling. But for that grace Legh Richmond might have lived and died proud of his talents and acquirements, and too good in his own esteem to seek mercy through a crucified Redeemer. But for that grace his writings might have proved a curse instead of a blessing to the world; for had they contained error instead of " the truth as it is in Jesus," they had been doubly, nay, tenfold, destructive from their beauty and elegance. Look we, then, off from Legh Richmond, to the ever-blessed GOD, who made him what he was, and worked in him and by him. Not to Moses, or Isaiah, or Daniel; not to John the Baptist or John the Evangelist; not to Paul, the Apostle of the Gentiles, or to Peter, the Apostle of the Circumcision; not to Cyprian, or Ambrose, or Augustin; not to Wickliffe, or Luther, or Cranmer; not to Romaine, or Milner, or Robinson; not to Cecil, or Scott, or Richmond: but To GOD ALONE BE GLORY in the church by Christ Jesus, throughout all ages, world without end. Amen.

Ireland; its Evils, and their Remedies, &c. &c. By MICHAEL THOMAS SADLER. pp. lviii. 414.

THE title of this work may startle our readers; its subject may seem to them "more tedious than a twice-told tale;" and they may feel inclined to accuse us of some deviation from the prescribed line which we had undertaken to follow. We know the repulsive influence of the mention of Ireland's grievances; and