by a desire to know, and a disposition to do his will, and endeavours, under the influence of these motives, to live as much as possible to his glory; who, though he cannot arrive at the perfection he aims at, in his sentiments and feeling, affections and actions, yet uses his utmost efforts to come as near it as he can; and in the meanwhile sees and deplores and labours to correct his failings,—no such pious Christian as this will, I humbly conceive, be excluded from the kingdom of Heaven, and from some share, whatever that may be, of future recompense."

In this admirable answer to a perfectly unknown and anonymous correspondent, exclusively of the kindness of the motive, which could alone induce him to write it, there is such a total absence of the wildness of enthusiasm; the advice is so judicious, so truly sound and scriptural; and it offers so much substantial

consolation under the doubts and fears to which a religious mind is sometimes subject, that I could not hesitate in giving it a place in these memoirs. It will, I am persuaded, be read with universal interest, as the advice of a man eminently qualified to give it on subjects of the utmost moment; and I am not without the hope, that it may be the means, with God's blessing, of recalling many from error; of fixing them in right principles; and of rescuing them from a state, of all others the most comfortless and wretched,—a state of uncertainty and apprehension, as to what is really and strictly a Christian's duty.

It will doubtless excite surprise, that amidst the numerous and perpetual employments of so large a diocese, the Bishop should have found leisure for letters such as this; and, more particularly, for entering with such minuteness

of

of detail into the feelings and situation of a person, with whom he had not the slightest acquaintance. But to those, who knew him well, it is in no respect astonishing. His mind, naturally active and vigorous, required employment; and long habit had made it easy and familiar to him. He was besides a rigid economist of time. Unless illness prevented him, he rose constantly at six in the morning, and every part of the day had its proper, its allotted occupation. It was by this regular, methodical arrangement, from which he never deviated, that he was enabled to dispatch his public, official business, with the utmost accuracy and precision, and yet to perform other duties not less imperative, in his judgment, than those, which strictly attached to his episcopal station. He could never satisfy himself with the mere formal discharge of certain stated functions. In every

way

way that good could be done, he spared no pains to do it. He thought his hours well employed, his labour well repaid, if, by any exertion of his own, he could benefit a fellow-creature: if he could assuage the anguish of distress, lighten the pressure of calamity, calm the disquietude of a troubled mind, inspire the timid with hope, or lead the wanderer into the way of truth. For all these acts of love, of sympathy, of kindness, he never wanted time. Whatever else might require his attention, he still found opportunity for these. He considered them, as in fact they are, an important and indispensable part of Christian duty, and admitted no plea of business, no private gratification, no personal fatigue, to be an excuse for the neglect of them.

But it was not only in the grand feature of benevolence, that the Bishop displayed

displayed the power of religion over the heart and conduct. It was in him a governing and a ruling principle. It was the main spring, which constantly and uniformly regulated his thoughts and actions. He had indeed, and who has not, his foibles and infirmities. They were however few, and venial, and almost unavoidable. For instance, amidst the toil and hurry of a laborious station, and from great anxiety in what he was engaged in, he sometimes betrayed, in the latter part of his life, a slight impatience of manner. But he instantly checked it, and no one more lamented it than himself. His disposition indeed, with the exception of such occasional, transient interruptions, arising from the causes I have mentioned, was one of the mildest and the sweetest that can be imagined. It was the index of a heart warmed with all the charities and sympa