induce me to send you to college, if I did not rely on your maintaining, both outwardly and inwardly, a decidedly Christian walk and profession, regardless alike of the sneers of the scoffer, and the dissipating influence of undecided (however agreeable) companions. It should be observed that my name stands in a peculiar and somewhat conspicuous point of view; and my son's name would be in several ways connected with the publicity of his father's character. On these subjects I should endeavour to give you hereafter more detailed advice, if you were to become a collegian. In that case I must commit you to the grace of God, and pray for you night and day to be preserved blameless and pure. The second difficulty connected with a college education has been its expense.

"Remember that your religious attainments are my first object, your literary my second. May both go safely hand in hand together.

"And now, take my blessing. You are three sons in one to me. Accept a triple blessing, and may the great Three in One confirm it. Your welfare lies very close to my heart-your prospects in the ministry, if your life be spared, affect me greatly. I would far sooner hear you preach a gospel sermon from your heart, and visit the bed-side of a sick parishioner, with the language of experimental consolation, than see you senior wrangler and medallist, with a cold heart and unconverted soul. Think not that I undervalue useful or ornamental literature; for although I regret the monopoly of time and labour, which an artificial and very partial sort of literary acquirements occasion, in our collegiate courses; and while I still more regret the neglect of a theological and religious education, as so prominent a blot in our university plans; yet I wish every clergyman to be a well-informed man, having a mind stored with useful literature, every particle of which should be consecrated to the study of the Bible and the souls of men. It is a great comfort that, notwithstanding the paralyzing influence of sensuality and idleness on the one hand, and of mere human learn. ing and books on the other, God has a chosen people in the university, who are walking in the narrow way that leads to eternal life. If you should go to college, may you ever be found with such, and not with those who bring their fathers' gray hairs with sorrow to the grave; for such would soon be my lot, if you, my loved son, were to fall away from the earnest hopes which I have formed

concerning you. Be much in prayer-constantly study your Bible. Read daily some experimental and devotional books. Converse occasionally on the care and conduct of the soul. Remember the poor Christians, and when you can, visit and converse with them, as C. does. This is the true school of divinity. It was mine before you; may it be yours after me."

After the Norwich Anniversaries, Mr. Richmond proceeded to Cromer, a bathing place in Norfolk, for the benefit of his health. He had for some time laboured under an affection of the lungs, which no change of air or power of medicine had hitherto succeeded in removing; though he experienced a temporary revival of strength and spirits by his excursion, and returned home with improved health.

But the scenes of his former afflictions renewed the depression of his spirits. Amidst the affectionate welcomes of his family, he seemed to feel yet more keenly the absence of his departed son. He would say, "No time nor succession of events can wean iny affections from the chancel vault." Though increased tenderness marked his intercourse with his remaining children, his heart still wept over his beloved Wilberforce. There was a visible change in his appearance, and his family felt cause for alarm. He said little, but his mind seemed to be greatly exercised. He sometimes repaired to the grave of his son; remaining long, absorbed in his own reflections. The silence and solitude of this hallowed spot soothed and comforted his mind; "the waters of healing issued from the sanctuary," and he probably delighted to contemplate the blessedness of the eternal world, in such immediate connexion with his own dear child. On one occasion, accompanied by his daughter, he sat nearly an hour in deep musing, without lifting his eyes from the stone that covered the beloved remains. At length rising, he exclaimed-"Thanks be to God which giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ!"

The writer of this Memoir was requested by his family to converse with him on the subject of his sorrows. After a few expressions of cordial sympathy, "My dear friend," I said, "you are indulging a grief beyond its proper bounds, and consuming all your strength; you will unfit yourself both for present and future usefulness. You are in danger of forgetting the living, by a mournful recollection of the dead. God acts as a sovereign; he claims nothing but what is his own. You are still surrounded by many mercies. The past dispensation has been peculiarly blest to your

own family. You have another son, who will occupy, both in your heart and in the church of God, the place that is now made void. Your parish loves you; the cause of God prospers beyond former precedent; you have gained more than you have lost, and your child is in glory-would you wish to call him back again?" "All is well,” he replied, “ as it relates to these things; but there are times when we are led deeply to consider, not merely the trial itself under which we labour, but how far it has answered its appointed end. Whether it is sanctified to our own souls ;-what is the reality of our own hope;-the foundation on which we ourselves stand; the evidences of a renewed mind;-and whether we can appeal to the great Searcher of hearts, that all is right within.” "But you have this hope," I said; "why then does it not support you with its consolations ?"

66.

God," he answered, "is sifting me; he is weighing me in the balance of the sanctuary. I have been preaching all my life to others-how far am I myself interested in these great truths? Yes, God is searching me, and proving me, and seeing if there be any wicked way in me."

"He will do more," I said, "than this-he will lead you in the way everlasting."

"God grant it," he replied; "God grant I may have as assured a hope for myself, as I have for my beloved child."

The tears flowed down his cheeks during these few remarks, and his whole manner evinced the inward conflict and agitation of his mind.

The following interesting meditation, which was written in the privacy of his study, to which he was confined by indisposition, will further disclose the state of his feelings:

"I am this day staying at home, during divine service in the afternoon, owing to a cold-Mr. Ayre being here to assist me. The last Sunday afternoon on which I was similarly detained, was in December, 1824, with my dear Wilberforce; he was then within a few weeks of his decease. This day twelvemonth was the day preceding his death.

Dear, blessed boy! in the midst of our daily domestic cheerfulness of spirits, how my heart moans and mourns in tenderest recollections! I see the dear child in all his debilities of body; I hear him speak-I retrace the look of his eye-I hang upon his spiritual language-his affectionate expressions-his devotedness to Godhis faithful admonitions-his languid frame-his sweet countenance-his willingness to die.

"I lament my own want of more feeling; and yet I feel much. O blessed God! help me!-strengthen me!-save me! Make his death to be a source of life to me, through the death of Christ— sanctifying his memory to my soul! I want to see more deep and solemn seriousness amongst my children at this time; and yet I know they are not deficient in much good feeling on this subject. Lord, help, bless, and save them also!

"My Nugent, too, is since gone-or rather, I have since heard it; for he died some months before his brother, little as we apprehended it, when Wilberforce was so beautifully speaking about him, a few days previous to his own death.

"Oh, my dear boys! your memorials are most dear to my soul! "I tremble when I think how poorly I have profited by these parental warnings; yet I take some encouragement from the feelings which I am conscious I retain. Lord, increase their influenee! In the midst of life I am in death. Who may be taken away next? I sometimes have fearful forebodings-I look around my beloved little circle, and sigh. I check these feelings again, and am ashamed of my weakness. Lord, make Christ to be every thing to me -and then all will, all must be well. Oh! keep my Fanny in a serious frame. Let her not forget her past impressions! Bless my Henry, and preserve him in a steady mind, untainted by levities! Cherish my poor Legh, and let not my good hopes concerning him be blighted! Bless the little ones, and make them thine own for ever!

"Pardon my weakness, O God! and bless this whole meditation to my own soul!

"Turvey, Sunday, Jan. 15th, 1827.”

"L. R."

CHAPTER XVI

Closing Scene-Funeral-Remarks on his character, &c.

WE are now drawing to the close of the life and ministry of this excellent man, whose labours were singularly attended with the blessing of God to the end. The last two Sundays on which he preached were in the beginning of March, 1827. On the former of these occasions, a person attended the church, who, having taken

some offence, had secretly made a rash resolve never to enter it. He was both thoughtless and dissolute, and a bitter persecutor of religion in those who professed it; but on this day was constrained by circumstances that need not be mentioned, to alter his determination. The text of the sermon was taken from Psalm li. 10. "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." Sharper than a two-edged sword is the word of God: and in its application by the power of the Spirit to this poor man, it proved "to be the hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces." He confessed that immediately on his return home, he fell for the first time on his knees, and with crying and tears poured forth the strong emotion of his heart in the language of the publican, "God be merciful to me a sinner."

Should this record meet the eye or the ear of the individual so deeply interested in it, we would remind him of that hour of divine mercy, and of the day when he bore to the grave the body of him whose dying lips had conveyed the message of life to his soul. We would remind him of his bitter anguish, when he descended. the vault, and knelt, weeping, beside the coffin. We would exhort him to cleave with full purpose of heart to the Lord, and to continue faithful unto death; that in the day of Christ's appearing, he may be found among those who will be the crown and joy of him whose loss he now deplores.

The next Sunday, Mr. Richmond's sermons were particularly solemn. In the morning, he preached from Col. iii. 2. "Set your affections on things above." And this address was directed to the true disciple, for his comfort and confirmation. In the afternoon, he preached from Psalm cxix. 52, 53. "I remembered thy judgments of old, O Lord, and have comforted myself. Horror hath taken hold upon me, because of the wicked that forsake thy law." This sermon was an awful and solemn appeal to the consciences of unawakened sinners. It was remarked by a person going out of church, "this sounds as if it came from the lips of a dying man."

From this time, the disorder of Mr. Richmond visibly increased: He caught a fresh cold, and could only speak in a whisper. It was, nevertheless, with some difficulty that he was restrained from being carried to the church; but he never more left his house, and soon became sensible that his beloved flock would "see his face no more." A gloom of sorrow overspread the parish, and "prayer was made without ceasing of the church unto God," for his recovery. But the time was come when he was to enter into his