But the parish was not suffered to remain long_destitute; for, in the year 1790, the Rev. Truman Marsh, having been previously requested, took the pastoral charge of the church, together with that of the Episcopal churches in New-Preston and Roxbury; and all things were again settled and conducted with order and regularity, and strictly upon the principles of the Episcopal Church. On the 4th day of September, 1793, the members of the congre gation requested the Right Rev. Bishop Seabury to consecrate their church to the service of Almighty God, by the name of St. John's Church; to which request the Diocesan acceded; and the vestry and congregation were highly pleased, and grateful to him for his fatherly care over them.

From this period to 1797, nothing transpired of a nature sufficiently important to be entitled to a place in the annals of the parish. But, in the spring of this year, a resolution was passed to sell the glebe house, and lot of land attached to it, consisting of about an acre and three quarters, and lying on the west side of the principal -street in nearly the centre of the town. How this glebe came into the possession of the church is now a matter of uncertainty; although report attributes it to the munificence of some unknown individual, and the sale of public highways, the proceeds of which were shared between the Episcopal and Congregational Societies. The glebe was sold for one thousand and thirty-seven dollars.

The Rev. Mr. Marsh continued in the pastoral superintendance of the parish till the autumn of 1799, when he applied to the Society to be released from the pastoral charge he held over them. The reasons which induced him to think of a removal were not founded on any misunderstanding between him and his flock, for they had lived in entire harmony during the whole of their connexion; but other circumstances rendered it highly expedient in his mind that their present relation should be dissolved. According ly, on the 1st of November, 1799, the Society voted, though with much reluctance, to grant his request, and at

the same time expressed their desire that he should visit them as often as possible.

Thus, with the consent and appro bation of the Bishop of the diocess, the connexion between them was dissolved, and their beloved shepherd removed the same year with his family to Litchfield.

Once more then had the parish become vacant; and in consequence of their pastor's removal the members were left in a discouraging condition. More than one year had elapsed before much effort was used to procure the services of a clergyman amongst them; and it was discovered by the more discerning members of the parish that such a course would tend to obliterate Episcopal principles, and rendered cold and indifferent many members who had heretofore been attentive on the worship and service of our primitive and apostolic Church. Considerations like these induced some of the members to become more active, and to make exertions to procure the services of candidates for holy orders, in the hope of finding one whose services were agreeable, and who would be willing to settle amongst them. They also made arrangements to secure the occasional assistance of neighbouring clergymen, to preach with them, and administer the ordinances of religion. Accordingly their desk was for some time supplied by several candidates, and they were often visited by the neighbouring ministers: but all this time they felt as sheep without a shepherd, and divine Providence did not seem to open a way for the settlement of a clergyman till the year 1806, when Mr. Benham, a candidate for holy orders, and who is their present rector, read prayers for them at their request, and was soon after desired to take the pastoral charge of the parish, as soon as he was ordained to the ministry. Pursuant to this request, Mr. B. entered into an agree ment with the committees from the three parishes of New-Milford, NewPreston, and Roxbury, to become their pastor, as soon as he should obtain holy orders, and to receive annually for his services the sum of five hundred dollars. Mr. B. accordingly commenced his ser

nily were by no means affluent, yet contentment smiled in all their looks. The brows of Robin and Mary were silvered over with age, and their furrowed cheeks bespoke their tarrying here was short. Robin had early impressed on the minds of his children the great importance of a religious life. This, as he observed, was to be their richest patrimony; this the greatest treasure their fond parents had to leave them.

I was gratified with the conversation of the cottagers. Though "alike unknown to fortune and to fame," yet methought here the great are not envied their greatness, nor could the mightiest monarch upon earth increase the happiness which dwells in the Cottage of Content. I was pleased to find the sentiments of Robin congenial with my own. We were agreed, that the religion of the Bible was the "pearl of great price," "the one thing needful." Gratitude beamed in the eye of my aged friend when speaking of our redemption by the incarnation, sufferings, and death of Jesus. His animated countenance gave joy and gladness to my heart.

What a moment was this! Happy man, I thought, thou wilt, as "a good soldier of Jesus Christ," finish thy war fare gloriously. Thou hast not been ashamed of thy Redeemer on earth; nor will he disown thee before the throne of his Father in heaven.

The hours had passed with a more than usual swiftness during my stay under Robin's roof. Some years had elapsed since I last visited this contented cot; but still it was the abode of some, but "a little lower than the angels." The offspring of Robin and Mary were also habituated to reverence the name of God, to remember the Lord's day, and regularly to attend where prayer was wont to be made : and now their parents saw them with satisfaction pursuing the ways of pleasantness and the paths of peace. Happy parents! happy children! Would that others would "go and do likewise!" But to return to our narrative. Family prayer was proposed. The stranger was requested to join in the devotions of the evening of course I consented. The youngest son observed

a look which said, "Bring the Bible.” The book was accordingly brought: tarnished were its covers-its better days were gone. Ah! how unlike the Bibles of many calling themselves Christians! This was daily used. Theirs, alas! remain untouched for years, or only handled to display their outward adorning and their pictured beauties. Not so was Robin's. Here could he say :

Here are my choicest treasures hid;
Here my best comfort lies;
Here my desires are satisfied,

And hence my hopes arise.

The chapters selected for perusal were Genesis xxii. and Matt. xxvi. To these portions of the sacred volume prayer succeeded: and did ever the oblations of a faithful soul come up acceptably to God, it was then. Simple yet comprehensive were Robin's requests, and unfeigned his praises for "the great things done for our souls.” If it is possible to foretaste the happiness of heaven, it is in such seasons when two or three are met together in the name of Jesus. Then do we rise superior to the world-the light of the divine countenance beams upon us, and ours is the hope blooming with immortality. I was then in the Cottage of Content.

I rose to depart, wishing Robin and his family farewell, and left them with the promise of another visit. In retracing my steps I had abundant food for meditation. I felt persuaded that contentment is the chief mean of hapness, and religion the only source of genuine pleasure.

Last Moments of William Lord Russell (From his Life, by Lord John Russell.) THE last week of his existence was spent in serious preparation. Burnet and Tillotson were much with him. On the evening before his execution, after dinner he received a few of his friends, and took a last leave of his children.

"On this occasion, the fondness of a father did not prevent him from maintaining the constancy of his temper. A little before he went to cat his supper,

he said to Lady Russell, Stay and sup with me; let us eat our last earthly food together.' He talked very cheerfully during supper on various subjects, and particularly of his two daughters. He mentioned several passages of dying men with great freedom of spirit; and when a note was sent to his wife, containing a new project for his preservation, he turned it into ridicule, in such a manner, that those who were with him, and were not themselves able to contain their griefs, were amazed. They could not conceive how his heart, naturally so tender, could resist the impression of their sorrow. In the daytime he had bled at the nose, on which he said, 'I shall not now let blood to divert this: that will be done to-morrow.' And when it rained hard that night, he said, 'Such a rain to-morrow will spoil a great show, which is a dull thing on a rainy day.'

"Before his wife left him, he took her by the hand, and said, 'This flesh you now feel, in a few hours, must be cold.' At ten o'clock she left him. He kissed her four or five times; and she so governed her sorrow, as not to add, by the sight of her distress, to the pain of separation. Thus they parted; not with sobs and tears, but with a composed silence; the wife wishing to spare the feelings of the husband, and the husband of the wife, they both restrained the expression of a grief too great to be relieved by utterance.

"When she was gone, he said, 'Now the bitterness of death is past. And he then ran out into a long discourse concerning her, saying, how great a blessing she had been to him, and what a misery it would have been to him, if she had not had that magnanimity of spirit, joined to her tenderness, as never to have desired him to do a base thing to save his life. Whereas, what a week he should have passed, if she had been crying on him to turn informer, and to be a Lord Howard! He then repeated to Dr. Burnet, what he had often before said, that he knew of nothing whereby the peace of the nation was in danger; and that all that ever was, was either loose discourse, or, at most, embryos that never came to any thing; so there was nothing on foot, to his knowledge.

He then returned to speak of his wife. He said there was a signal providence of God in giving him such a wife, where there was birth, fortune, great understanding, great religion, and great kindness to him; but her carriage, in his extremity, was beyond all. He said that he was glad that she and his children were to lose nothing by his death; and it was great comfort to him that he left his children in such a mother's hands, and that she had promised him to take care of herself for their sakes. Then he spoke of his own situation, and said, how great a change death made, and how wonderfully those new scenes would strike on a soul. He had heard how some that had been born blind, were struck, when, by the couching of their cataracts, they saw; but what, he said, if the first thing they saw were the sun rising?

"His servant requested he might sit up in his chamber while he slept. This he refused, and was locked up between eleven and twelve, leaving orders to be called at four. When his servant came at that hour, he found him as sound asleep as at any time in his life. As he awoke, he asked what o'clock it was; but whilst his servant was preparing his things for him to dress, he fell asleep again. Dr. Burnet coming in woke him, saying, 'What, my lord! asleep? Yes, Doctor," he said, 'I have slept heartily since one o'clock." He then desired him to go to his wife, to say that he was well, and had slept well, and hoped she had done so. He remembered himself kindly to her, and prayed for her. He dressed himself with the same care as usual; and said, he thanked God he felt no sort of fear or hurry in his thoughts. He prayed several times with Dr. Burnet, and af terwards with Dean Tillotson; and, at intervals, went into his chamber, and prayed by himself. Once he came out and said he had been much inspired in his last prayer, and wished he could have written it down and sent it to his wife. He gave Dr. Burnet several commissions to his relations; but none more earnest than to one of them, against all revenge for what had been done to himself: he told Burnet he was to give him his watch; and, as he

wound it up, he said, 'I have done with time: now eternity comes.'

"About half an hour before he was called on by the sheriffs, he took Dr. Burnet aside, and said that he meant to say something of the dangers of slavery as well as Popery; but on Dr. Burnet's telling him it would look like resentment, and begging him to let it alone, he smiled, and said he would do

So.

"As he came down, he met Lord Cavendish, and took leave of him; but remembering something of importance; he went back to him, and spoke to him with great earnestness. He pressed him anxiously to apply himself more to religion, and told him what great comfort and support he felt from it now in his extremity. Such was his last advice and farewell to his dearest friend. He went into his coach with great cheerfulness. Dr. Tillotson and Dr. Burnet accompanied him. As they were going, he looked about him and knew several persons. Some he saw staring on him, who knew him, and did not put off their hats. He said, there was great joy in some, but that did not touch him so much as the tears he observed in the eyes of others; for that, he said, made him tender. He sung within himself as he went along: and Dr. Burnet asking him what he was singing, he said it was the 119th Psalm; but he should sing better very soon. As the carriage turned into Little Queen-street, he said, 'I have often turned to the other hand with great comfort, but now I turn to this with greater.' As he said this, he looked towards his own house, and Dr. Tillotson saw a tear drop from his eye. "Just as they were entering Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, he said, 'This has been to me a place of sinning, and God now makes it the place of my punishment.' He wondered to see so great a crowd assembled. He had before observed that it rained, and said to his companions, This rain may do you hurt that are bareheaded.""

After his speech on the scaffold, and some time spent in devotion

"He then knelt down and prayed three or four minutes by himself. When this was done he took off his coat and

waistcoat. He had brought a nightcap in his pocket, fearing his servant might not get up to him. He undressed himself, and took off his cravat, without the least change of countenance. Just as he was going down to the block, some one called out to make a lane, that the Duke of Albemarle might see; upon which he looked full that way. Dr. Burnet had advised him not to turn about his head when it was once on the block, and not to give a signal to the executioner. These directions he punctually attended to.

"When he had lain down,' says Dr. Burnet, 'I once looked at him, and saw no change in his looks; and, though he was still lifting up his hands, there was no trembling, though in the moment in which I looked the executioner happened to be laying his axe to his neck, to direct him to take aim: I thought it touched him, but am sure he seemed not to mind it.' The executioner, at two strokes, cut off his head."

Patriarch Gregory.

THE recent insurrection of the. Greeks against their Turkish masters has given rise to the most dreadful atrocities at Constantinople and various other places. It is not easy to form any conjecture as to the final result; but it is to be apprehended, that the Greeks do not possess sufficient principle properly to use their liberty, even should they be so successful as to obtain it; while that success can only be obtained by scenes of bloodshed and horror from which humanity shrinks. Among the first victims of Turkish violence we have to record the death of the Patri arch Gregory, the enlightened and zealous friend of Bible Societies. Some difficulty will, we fear, be found in discovering another instrument so admirably fitted for the promotion of this great work as this lamented Prelate.

He was a native of Peloponnesus, and first consecrated to the Archiepiscopal See of Smyrna, where he left honourable testimonials of his piety and Christian virtues. Translated to the patriarchal throne of Constantinople, he occupied it at three distinct periods, for under the Mussulman des