when he was aroused to do it. He asked for a cup of tea; but feeling worse, his medical attendant was called in. He was watched uninterruptedly during the night, the breathing still continuing loud and oppressive. The unfavourable symptoms proceeded, and increased. "Oh," he said, "if I could but get a little rest! Should it please God to take me away now, O that he would first give me a little rest, in order that I might be able to talk to you! Let us pray for it." Prayer was accordingly made by his devoted wife. But the unfavourable symptoms still continuing, Dr Alison was called in aid of Dr Henderson; and their assiduous attentions, with the further help of Dr George Bell, ministered to his relief all that earthly kindness and skill could accomplish. He was cupped, though at the expense of considerable personal suffering, in consequence of his debilitated state. At the close of the operation he most courteously thanked the cupper, as he passed his bed to go; telling the doctor with a smile, that there was a superstition in Ireland, that whoever was bled for the first time was certain to recover. Now," he added, "I never was bled before." All said, "Please God, may this be your case, Sir Andrew!"

No substantial relief coming, he said, "You see this baffles the skill of the doctors and all their medicines; I throw myself entirely on the mighty power of God:" and certain it is, that from that time he seemed perfectly calm and resigned to whatever might be the will of God, remaining thenceforth in a most peaceful and heavenly frame of mind. When distressed with difficult breathing, Lady Agnew often said to him, "But your mind is in peace!" yes! in perfect peace." "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee," was said by her. He responded warmly, and joined in blessing God for it. Alluding on another occasion to his never having had a refreshing sleep or rest since he signed the Sabbath paper, he said to her, "It is a mystery to me what could have given way when I signed that petition. It seemed to me as if something had given way about my heart. I have never felt right since. You tell me," he added, "that I am ingenious in finding out things to blame myself for. Could it be that God was displeased with me for signing that paper? Was it presumptuous in me to touch the cause of the Sabbath, who allowed a hot bath to be got ready for me last Sabbath evening?" "It was absolutely necessary," said Lady Agnew. "Yes," he said; "but my judgment was against it, and yet I yielded." "You could not have done otherwise, nor could we," 'it was answered, "after what the doctors said of its necessity." "Well," he said, "no blessing went with it; no good was got from it. Oh, doctors should be careful as to what they call works of necessity on the Sabbath-day! Without God's blessing, nothing can do any good; and missing a day would seldom do any harm. You will say so to them, will you?"

About noon, Dr Candlish came to see him, prayed fervently at his bedside, and rising up repeated some texts- This is a faithful saying," &c.; "The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin;"" Behold the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world." Sir Andrew shook hands affectionately with him; and on his leaving, desired that the texts might be repeated again to him, saying he had not heard them distinctly, though he had heard every word of the prayer. Having heard that the Rev. Mr Drummond at his Wednesday lecture had prayed fervently for him, he said, "My friends are too kind, too anxious about me, but it only humbles me to hear of it." "No wonder," said his affectionate wife, "they were anxious; knowing the work you have given yourself

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to, and what you have done." "Oh! do not flatter me," said he most touchingly; "do not flatter your old man! It is dangerous to speak of what we have done." "Yes," said she, "as a ground of justification it is dangerous, and I thank God you are on safer ground; but it is matter of thanksgiving to have been allowed to work for God as his instrument." "Oh!" he said, "the instrument is nothing; God is all in all; and He will raise up other instruments doubtless, now that I am laid aside."

Dr Bell sat up with him this night, and prayed, and read to him the 103d Psalm, a great favourite, being the last reading of the Bible he heard. When it was proposed that the Doctor should remain all night beside him, he said, "Is it not very selfish in me, Doctor, to allow you to be disturbed thus on my account?" thanking him courteously at the same time. In the morning, again thanking him, he pressed him to take something before he went, "Some chicken tea," said he, forgetting how early it was. The Doctor said he would on his return; and then Sir Andrew gave most particular directions to have it all ready for him, repeatedly asking if this was attended to; for he ever thought more of others than of himself. When asked if the noise of his breathing was not oppressive, he said, " No, I do not hear it; I have no pain whatever." It also was observed, that whenever verses were repeated from the Bible, but more especially when prayer was made, the attention he gave to hear seemed to cause the noise of the breathing to cease. Lady Agnew therefore prayed the more constantly, and he would join, and every now and then add words to hers. On one occasion he said, "O may we and all our dear children, all bearing our name, all belonging to us, all our race, meet us at the right hand! O may not one be missing! May they all be there!" She continued in the same strain, as he stopped for breath; and then he slowly and emphatically concluded, Yes, may we all be found there in that day when He maketh up his jewels. Goodness and mercy have indeed followed me all the days of my life." "And," added Lady Agnew, "you can say, 'I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."" About three, Mr Drummond called, and prayed with him. Thereafter the disease progressed with much rapidity. He had short and affecting interviews with his children, to whom he spoke in few but kind and gracious words. "Do you suffer, dearest ?" was her often-repeated question to him. "Not at all," was the answer; he the last time adding, "It is quite marvellous; I have no suffering." Nature, however, was now fast giving way. On the afternoon of Thursday the 12th, Lady Agnew, observing the change, desired the servant to keep near, so that she might call if help were wanted; and she continuing in fervent and devoted prayer, and he remaining all the while quite sensible, and appearing peculiarly to recognise the voice of prayer and unite in it, at length, between six and seven, he bent forward, and with one long sigh, laid his head back on the pillow which her arm supported, and rendered up his soul to God,

The voice of the public speedily called for a public funeral to one who had served it so well. "It took place," eloquently said Mr Hugh Miller in a contemporary print, "on the morning of Thursday the 19th; and, with the exception of that of Chalmers-which has never had any parallel in Scotland, and never again may-it was one of the most remarkable ever witnessed in this city. The streets, for a distance of at least two miles, were thickly lined with spectators; and the procession, which was of such imposing length that there were few points from which it could be viewed as a whole, was composed of the most respectable citizens of Edinburgh-members of

all the evangelical churches-who had taken this way of testifying their regard for the remains and the memory of a man who had stamped his name upon a great religious movement, unsurpassed in importance in the history of the Christian Church in Scotland. The morning, though the day darkened and roughened as it wore later, was clear and fine, and the sun shone brightly on the burying-ground, as the long array of the funeral entered, and defiled along the walks. It was an imposing spectacle. The surrounding eminences thickly streaked with snow-the sward still crisp with the morning frostthe distant city, enveloped in the calm, in its pale mantle of smoke-the trees still leafless and hoarand vegetation every where blanched, repressed by the chills of the ungenial spring-bore all a lighter and fainter tint than that which they usually wear, and imparted to the general groundwork of the landscape a dim and neutral tone, like that of an unfinished drawing. And on this blanched ground the numerous figures in black, which thronged the wide area of the cemetery, stood out in striking relief, like the shaded outlines of the limner on his tablets of paley grey. The long overhanging range of vaults was crowded with spectators: the place, too, in which the grave was opened was peculiarly suggestive; for the massive tomb of Chalmers, inscribed with true taste, as if in illustration of the striking Bentiment of the poet, with but the name of the illustrious dead, rose immediately over it. All served to show that the deceased, whose obsequies so many had assembled to honour, had been no common man, and had accomplished no common work."

He lies buried within the Grange Cemetery, on the north side; and measures are in progress for the erection, by public subscription, of an appropriate monument over his remains, though, to use the words again of the talented writer who has afforded us so picturesque a view of his funeral, "the best monument to the memory of Sir Andrew Agnew that his friends could possibly erect, would be the triumph on a national basis of those sacred priciples to the assertion of which his life was devoted."

Dr Candlish, in preaching his funeral sermon, says, with glowing eloquence, "Thus has gone to his long home one of Scotland's best aristocracy, in whom has been ennobled, through the record of it in God's book above, and in the grateful hearts of God's people and their seed for generations here below, a name already by ancestry illustrious. Of this man let it be allowed us to observe, that if a single eye, a simple aim, a sincere heart, be rare and precious blessings in this world of falsehood, selfishness, and strife, there is a loss mourned this day that cannot be soon repaired. No man of merely one idea was the standard-bearer who has now fallen his eye ranged over the whole field of the Lord's battle, and his ready affections went forth towards all who in any righteous cause were glorifying God or periling themselves. But a man of one idea he emphatically was in the he ever grasp held fast of the banner given him to unfurl, and the tenacity with which he refused ever to relax his hold for any other consideration whatever, whether of policy, or piety, or peace. Nor was his firmness marred by any vehemence of passion, or surly obstinacy of dogged selfishness and pride. Never was man of milder temper, more amiable manners, less irritating to enemies, more generously kind to friends, more uniformly courteous to all. None saw him ruffled, impatient, angry, resentful, yet none ever saw him yield; for he knew his own mind, or rather the mind of his God, and like a rock he stood amid whatever storms raged around him as calm and cool, yet as unmoved. What services he has

been enabled to render by raising the tone of Sabbath observance in the Church, securing attention to this neglected duty in high places, and stemming the tide of ungodly profanity setting in over the land, and how these services are connected with the channel through which grace reached his soul in the voice of the preacher, and what is the reward of glory hereafter to be bestowed on him by the Lord of the Sabbath, the great day will reveal. Let it only be remenbered now, that for peace or hope he leaned not in life or in death on any of those services for which Christian men justly honoured him. He owned himself saved by grace alone, and through grace alone looked for glory. Of him, and such as he, it may be said,-They are gone. They rest from much weary, thankless toil. They are with Christ in glory, hidden till the resurrection morn. But then it will be found that of all they ever did and suffered for Christ, however it might seem at the time toil and suffering thrown away, nothing has been lost."

Of any connection with such a man let it finally be said, in well-known words, "It is one of those things for which I shall have to answer at the bar of God. It makes life less sweet, and death less bitter."

"I bless thee for the quiet rest thy servant taketh now, I bless thee for his blessedness, and for his crowned brow; For every weary step he trod in faithful following thee, And for the good fight foughten well, and closed right valiantly."

1

OLD CHAIRS AT INTEREST. NOBODY in all the neighbourhood interested me like Mr ; I love to think of the dear old gentleman. How pleasant was it to run into his bright little parlour, and sit by his side, hearing him talk or talking to him, reading to him or hearing him read, asking questions or listening to stories of old times when he was a boy. Though his frame bore the frosts and infirmities of threescore years and ten, they had not chilled his heart; it was still young and fresh,' and brimful of kindness. It also held his pursestrings, so that from the little parlour streamed substantial blessings, as well as hearty love; and it happened that I had occasion to know how often they found their way to the humble lodging of a poor widow and her daughter.

These were the relics of a past generation, and they seemed to be almost strangers amidst the new one which had sprung up around them. They had, in a measure, outlived their connections, their property, their early friendships; and the poor make no new friends. Few cared for them, and they cared for few.

The only light that warmed or cheered them was the setting sun of days gone by. But if this warmed them, it could not feed or shelter them, or hinder the embarrassments of poverty, had not the old man's purse come to their aid; and so steadily did he eke out the scanty income of the widow, that I sometimes thought he was like to make her believe that her last days were her best days. I used often to wonder why he was so thoughtful of her wants; others were not; and what claim had she upon him.

One evening, in speaking of his early struggles, he said, "When Mary and I were married, we were young and foolish, for we had nothing to be married with; but Mary was delicate, and I thought I could

I attempted to hasten away from the scene which filled me with horror; but I could not escape. Wherever I went, the funeral was there; in every avenue, in every street, the same death-like order and stillness, and weeds of mourning and tolling bells, the same flow of a smitten people to their gravesto which abodes of silence the living were every where consigning their dead, as it seemed to me, past numbering.

I would have asked the meaning of a scene of woe so peculiar; but I could not ask to be told a story which I saw written in lines of anguish upon the face of the living. I hastened away, that I might find a place of quiet thought in the winter loneliness of that beautiful promenade, skirted with water on the west and south, wont of a summer's evening to be thronged by cheerful groups of young and gay in innocent recreation. But the funeral was there. The clear and transparent waters, gilded with the sun now hastening to set, showed not their ordinary display of craft of all sorts sporting by wind and steam as if to decorate a holiday. The shipping moored at the wharfs, or anchored in the stream, showed no other signs of living beings but colours at half-mast; save here and there scattered sail and steam boats covered with coffins, and dismally decorated with palls, and filled with mourners, apparently carrying their bewailing friends to be buried among grandsires, and parents, and kindred who were gone before; save here and there also a few vessels of larger size, from distant voyages with dead on board, now disembarking; how differently from their hopes when they went merrily to sea! I felt that there was no escape from the horrors by which I was surrounded; no avoiding this awful funeral, this universal knell, still sounding in softened and distant tones upon my ears; and I sat my self down to give vent to my sorrows in a flood of tears.

As I was weeping, I felt a gentle touch upon my shoulder, such as a kind friend might have given who had become an accidental spectator of my grief. I turned, and saw a face so lovely, so benignant, as seemed to be more than human-a countenance which could never have been ruffled with anger, or radiant with pride; surely, I thought, a ministering spirit, some holy angel, come to unfold the mystery before me, to soothe the anguish of my heart, and to aid me in learning some lesson of salvation.

"What you have seen to-day," said he, " you may be surprised to know is nothing new. All that is uncommon in the scene before you is, that, by my aid, the funerals of three hundred and sixty-five days have been clustered before your imagination into one. All that you have seen has passed before the people unnoticed and forgotten. The knell you have heard was the knell of five thousand, the victims of death's daily and common work. No other evil has befallen the city than its usual mortality of one hundred a week. No fearful pestilence, no overwhelming calamity has filled the city with mourning, or caused the universal knell. Health and prosperity have cheered the past year. The thousands whose obsequies have passed in vision before you, have met their death by the common varieties of human calamity and disease. When the sun cast the shadows last as you now see them, the greater part were in health, and had no reason to expect themselves to be the victims of death. Rapid fevers, and fluxes, and lingering consumptions, have wasted and destroyed multitudes of the strong, active, and blooming, who have gone to their graves, instead of the infirm and aged, whom they were expecting to follow. Some fell down dead suddenly amidst their walks, or con

versation, or daily toil, or were blasted by lightning or steam. Some alone, and without forewarning,

breathed away their lives amidst the quiet slumbers of the night, and heard not the lingering morning call, as it fell again and again upon their dead ear, nor the cry of astonishment and woe which burst from their friends at the sight of their lifeless corpses.

"Some, as they died, no matter where or how, were met by the angels. No shock came so suddenly, no blast so terribly, as to elude the care of those ministering spirits who have daily, nightly, charge of redeemed souls. Even in the storm and tempest, in darkness and alone, the charged angels covered! them with their shields, until they were fitted for their upward flight, then speeded and aided them to. the regions of purity and love."

I was waiting in anxiety approaching to agony to hear my heavenly guide speak of those unused to prayer, who had never accepted the offered covenant, of their Maker, nor welcomed the Spirit sent down by their exalted Saviour; but the foreboding awoke me. As I awoke, I found myself saying, “The living, the living, he shall praise thee." "Whatso ever my hand findeth to do, I will do it with my might; for I am hastening to the grave." I will be stedfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord; forasmuch as I know that my labour || shall not be in vain in the Lord."

ONE DAY BEFORE DEATH, RABBI ELIEZER said, "Turn to God one day before death." His disciples said, "How can a man know the day of his death?" He answered them, "There fore turn to God to-day. Perhaps you may die tomorrow; thus every day will be employed in turning."

FRAGMENTS FROM REV. MATTHEW

HENRY.

THE sight of sin either makes a man sad or guilty. If we see it, and are not sorrowful, we are sinful.

They do not truly nor acceptably repent or reform, who only part with the sins they loose by, but continue their affection to the sins they get by.

God sometimes permits his people, by their own improvidence, to bring themselves into distress, that the wisdom, power, and goodness of his providence may be glorified in their relief.

It would often be bad with us, if God did not take more care of us, both for soul and body, than we of ourselves.

Elijah, by prayer, obtained water from the clouds, but Elisha fetches it, nobody knows whence.—(2 Kings iii. 17.) God is not tied to second causes. As God gives freely to the unworthy, so he gives RICHLY, like himself, more than we ask or think.

The way to increase what we have is to use it; hoarding the talents, but trading with them, that to him that so hath, shall be given. It is not

doubles them.

We are never straitened in God, in his power and bounty, and the riches of his grace; all our straitness is in ourselves. It is our faith that fails-not his promise. He gives above what we ask; what supply every want. ever are our necessities, there is enough in God to

It is a fundamental law of the religion of Christ, little for ourselves; and this not of constraint, but that we pay every just debt, though we leave ever so willingly, and without grudging; not only for wrath They that are honest, cannot eat their daily bread (to avoid being sued), but also for conscience' sake. with pleasure unless it be their own.