with him about the same time, in the words he penned in his journal immediately after. Saw dear Mr. Glascott; he said he hoped the sickness had proved a spiritual blessing, that he had been in the near prospect of death;' then he lifted up his hands, and the tears started into his eyes, and he exclaimed, Then I found the value of the doctrines I have preached! that he had experienced some sweet and glorious consolations in his illness, and he left it to the Lord whether to die or live; he was desirous only that His will should be done. I wept like a child, and it was some time before I could recover self-possession." My friend tells me he never recollects a conversation that breathed so much of an atmosphere above that which is earthly. The same friend, who attended the funeral, says, "I knew the estimation in which he was held by his parishioners; that they had, unknown to him, subscribed for, and had presented to him, a piece of plate, in testimony of their veneration and regard: but it was at the funeral that I saw their deep. felt attachment most strikingly exhibited. To see all the shops closed as if it were a Sabover the town-to see almost the whole populabath--to perceive a mournful silence reign tion, as if inspired by one feeling, filling the church to pay the last sad tribute of their respect; and after the body was laid in the vault, to see them walk up the aisle, look on the coffin that enclosed the remains of their late beloved pastor, drop the tear of sorrow, pass on absorbed in painful reflections, and give place to others immediately following to take the last sad look, was inexpressibly affecting."

Thus was the revered and venerable pastor severed from his flock; but "the memory of the just is blessed."

A white marble tablet, surmounted with a neatly ornamented open Bible, on which are inscribed the first and the last texts he preached from in Hatherleigh church, was erected to his nemory. The inscription on the tablet is as follows:

Near the Communion Table in this Church
lie the Mortal Remains

of the REVEREND CRADOCK GLASCOTT, A.M.,
Forty-nine years Vicar of this Parish.

A Christian and a scholar, he consecrated all his talents to the work of the ministry. From the pulpit, with peculiar eloquence and fervour, he displayed the Father's everlasting love; the atonement, righ teousness, and full salvation of the Son; the sanctitying grace of the Eternal Spirit; and all the joys and triumphs of a purifying faith. In the active discharge of his pastoral duties, he lived and laboured only to exalt a Saviour's love, and to promote the salvation of sinners. Having uniformly evinced the purity and sincerity of his principles, from early life to the age of eighty-nine, he departed in full assurance of hope, and entered into glory, August 11th,

1831.

His grateful parishioners erect this monument.

THE WALK TO EMMAUS.

Ir happen'd, on a solemn even-tide,
Soon after He that was our surety died,
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclin'd,
The scene of all those sorrows left behind,
Sought their own village, busied as they went,
In musings worthy of the great event.
They spake of Him they lov'd, of Him whose life,
Though blameless, had incurred perpetual strife;
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
A deep memorial graven on their hearts.
The recollection, like a vein of ore,
The farther trac'd enrich'd them still the more.

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They thought Him, and they justly thought Him, one
Sent to do more than He appear'd t' have done-
Above all else; and wonder'd He should die.
T'exalt a people, and to place them high
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end,
A stranger joined them, courteous as a friend,
And ask'd them, with a kind engaging air,
What their affliction was, and begg'd a share.
Inform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread,
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell,
And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said,
Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well
That, reaching home, "The night," they said, "is near,
We must not now be parted-sojourn here."
The new acquaintance soon became a guest,
And made so welcome at their simple feast,
He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word,
Did not our hearts feel all He deigned to say?
And left them both exclaiming, ""Twas the Lord!

Did they not burn within us by the way ?"

Now theirs was converse such as it behoves
Their views, indeed, were indistinct and dim,
Man to maintain, and such as God approves.
But yet successful, being aim'd at Him.
Christ and his character their only scope,
They felt what it became them much to feel;
Their object, and their subject, and their hope,
And, wanting him to loose the sacred seal,
Found him as prompt as their desire was true
To spread the new-born glories in their view.
Well! what are ages and the lapse of time
Match'd against truths as lasting as sublime?
Can length of years on God himself exact,
Or make that fiction which was once a fact?

No; marble and recording brass decay,
And, like the graver's mem'ry, pass away:
The works of man inherit, as is just,
Their author's frailty, and return to dust:
But truth divine for ever stands secure-
Its head is guarded, as its base is sure:
Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years,
The pillar of th' eternal plan appears,
The raving storm and dashing wave defies,
Built by that Architect who built the skies.
Hearts may be found that harbour, at this hour,
That love of Christ in all its quick'ning power;
And lips unstain'd by folly or by strife,
Whose wisdom, drawn from the deep well of life,

Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows
A Jordan for th' ablution of our woes.
Oh, days of heav'n, and nights of equal praise,
Serene and peaceful as those heav'nly days,
When souls drawn upwards, in communion sweet,
Enjoy the stillness of some close retreat,
Discourse, as if releas'd and cafe at home,
Of dangers past, and wonders yet to come,
And spread the sacred treasures of the breast
Upon the lap of covenanted rest!

COWPER.

DEATH WITHOUT ITS STING.

RM was a young man who had always been highly esteemed for his great abilities and extensive intellectual attainments, but it was not till within a few months of his death that his character brightened up with all the graces of the Christian. He had spent several winters at one of the universities, where he distinguished himself as a student of extraordinary merit; but this very success proved injurious to him-it led him into company where his vanity was flattered, and too much encouragement given to the display of his social qualities. In con-sequence of this, he at length resolved entirely to leave college, and all the allurements of city life, that he might devote himself without interruption to the cultivation of his powers, and to the improvement of his fellow-creatures around him. This resolution was not the result of mere cool calculation. Revival meetings in the town where his home was, which were held shortly after the close of his last winter session, were the means of powerfully awakenng him to a serious retrospect of his past life. He nad never been altogether wanting in religious principle, but that principle had been weak; he had often wandered from the path of duty, so that his feelings now, on reviewing the past, were those of repentant contrition. At the time of this happy change, the subject of it was in good health; but it was not long till that fatal illness was developed, during the progress of which his spirit became so perfectly ripened for heaven, and which at length terminated in his removal.

During the continuance of the meetings alluded to, and immediately after them, M's Christian activity was unwearied. He set on foot and superintended two Sabbath-schools. Several prayer-meetings also owed to him their origin. Neither did the lapse of time damp his zeal or abate his energy. In the case of many others, the subsidence of the temporary excitement was accompanied by a return to their old ways. But his nature had been too deeply stirred to admit of its easily recurring to apathy. The truths which conscience had called up took a permanent position before him. Month succeeded month, but no cooling down of his ardent piety took place-no relaxing of his self-denying efforts for the spiritual benefit of his fellows. How different this from the ordinary results of serious impressions, so often like the morning cloud and the early dew!

Among all his plans of usefulness, he took most delight in a Sabbath evening school, which he had commenced at a little village about a mile and a-half' from the town. He visited every cottage in the village and neighbourhood; and besides collecting a number of children, he succeeded in bringing together a dozen or two aged individuals whose infirmities prevented their attendance at any regular place of worship. It was an interesting and a delightful sight to see this young man standing up before such an audience, turning the attention of the young to the concerns of religion-labouring to impart to them an interest in spiritual things, and then addressing the venerable individuals present, beseeching, with energetic and striking eloquence, those among them who might yet be unconverted to look where they were going, ere they stepped across the brink of time into the gulf of eternity-or consoling those who were already settled in the faith, by recalling to their memory the enduring promises of the gospel.

We remember the last occasion on which ne was able to attend this delightful scene of labour. It was a lovely Sabbath evening in the month of August. As we walked together by the river side to the place of meeting, his conversation was more solemn and spiritual than usual. He was sometimes wont to speak of poetry and sacred literature-of Milton and Cowper, of Bunyan and Jeremy Taylor. But now it was somewhat different. He looked up into the sky, and his thoughts seemed to take a tinge from the infinitude, and, as it were, the embodied spirituality that was there. All subjects of remark he viewed in a purely religious light. On the calm water beneath our feet the images of the trees and bushes by which its banks were clothed, were reflected in glassy stillness; but a cloud that floated across the face of the sun effaced the beautiful picture. "Even so," said M- "are many of the hopes of earthly existence. Even so is life itself. A mere cloud, driven by a stray wind, is sufficient to blast all worldly prospects; but there is a land in which no clouds gather-where there are no blights to cloud the purity of the soul." His services at the school that evening were peculiarly striking, and more especially his concluding address and prayer. He spoke literally as a dying man to dying men, and his words seemed to fall with great effect on the hearts of the grey-headed tottering men and women by whom he was surrounded. Among his last words were these: " Perhaps that sun which is now sinking beneath the horizon may never again shine on the present speaker, addressing those who now listen to him." The words with which be followed up this sentence were remarkably impressive. They were the last he ever addressed to his interesting charge.

In returning home, we passed through a little wood on the banks of the stream. This place had been one of his favourite resorts, and his gentle feelings were touched when he noticed that the axe of the woodman had been at work, and that many of the trees he had so long admired were now stretched among the grass. We sat down on one of them, and

Sinners and to believers, will it not be a great blessing?" These fragments of his conversation sufficiently evince how he delighted many of the latter class. To the benefit of the former, his attention was no less ardently devoted. To many individuals who, he feared, were not yet at peace with God, he addressed words of the most affectionate warning. We shall never forget the occasion on which he spoke his parting words to a number of his young friends. It was only two or three days before his death. More than a dozen of us were collected together in his chamber. It was a solemn and affecting scene. We all seemed to stand upon the confines of the other world. On his couch of sickness reclined poor M, poor in body, but rich in the consolations of the Spirit-his wan cheek flushed with the fading hues of earth-his eye glistening with unearthly lustre, as if he had been holding converse with the Unseen. Each individual on entering exchanged with him a sad greeting, and received from his lips the last syllables he was to hear from him in private. He then offered up a prayer to Heaven. And such a prayer! This was followed by his addressing us. He spoke for about a quarter of an hour. What he said we shall not attempt to repeat; but the import was so affecting, his tones so sepulchral, and his aspect so heavenly, that feelings were stamped on the hearts of all the listeners such as cannot be effaced till the day of dissolution. After some remarks and prayer by a clergyman present, we bade him good-bye-a long good-bye it was. We were returning to the cold, bleak, unspiritual world-he was on his way to Paradise. If there was any eye undimmed by tears, it must have been because of the overwhelming

nature of the emotions.

We saw him not again. He died on the evening

of the Sabbath following, exclaiming, in answer to

a dear relative who had asked him if he was happy in the prospect of eternity, relying on Jesus? "O yes! quite happy-HAPPY.'

"Like a spring rose just opened to the air

The cold March air-then closed again, as if The season of its life had come and gone On the brief sunshine of a short spring day." His age was only nineteen years and a few months. His body was carried to a distance, where it reposes among the bones of his fathers-his purified and happy spirit was carried by rejoicing angels into the presence of Jesus.

O death, where was thy sting? O grave, where was thy victory?

WHAT SHALL WE DO?

THERE was, some years ago, not far from this place, a very gifted preacher, who for several years preached with great earnestness and success the doctrine of the cross, but who on that very account was violently opposed. One of his opponents, a well-informed person, who had fora long time absented himself from the church, thought one Sabbath morning that he would go and hear the gloomy man once more, to see

whether his preaching might be more tolerable to him than it had been heretofore. He went; and that morning the preacher was speaking of the narrow way, which he did not make either narrower or broader than the Word of God describes. "A new creature in Christ, or eternal condemnation," was the theme of his discourse: and he spoke with power, and not as a mere learned reasoner. During the sermon, the question forced itself upon the hearer's conscience: "How is it with myself? Does this man de-i clare the real truth?" This thought took such a hold upon him, that he could not get rid of it amidst any of his engagements or amusements. But it became from day to day more troublesome, more and more penetrating, and threatened to imbitter every joy of his life; so that at last he thought he would go and see the preacher himself, and ask him, upon his conscience, if he were convinced of the truth of that which he had lately preached. He fulfilled his intention, and went to the preacher. "Sir," said he to him, with great earnestness, "I was one of your hearers when you spoke, a short time ago, of the only way of salvation. I confess to you that you have disturbed my peace of mind, and I cannot refrain from asking you solemnly, before God, and upon your conscience, if you can prove what you have asserted, or whether it was unfounded alarm.” The preacher, not a little surprised at his address, replied with convincing certainty that he had spoken the word of God, and consequently infallible truth. "What, then, is to become of us?" replied the visitor. His last word, us, and began to explain the plan of salvation to startled the preacher; but he rallied his thoughts, believe. But the latter, as though he had not the inquirer, and to exhort him to repent and heard one syllable of what the preacher said, interrupted him in the midst of it, and repeated, with increasing emotion, the anxious exclamation, “If it be true, sir, I beseech you, what are we to do? Terrified, the preacher staggers back. "We" thinks he, "what means this we?" and, endeavouring to stifle his in ward uneasiness and embarrassment, he resumed his exhortations and advice. Tears came into the eyes of the visitor; he smote his hands together like one in despair, and exclaimed, in an accent which might have moved a heart of stone, "Sir, if it be truth, we are lost and undone !" The preacher stood pale, trembling, and speechless. Then, overwhelmed with astonishment, with downcast eyes and convulsive sobbings, he exclaimed, " Friend, get down on your knees, let us pray and cry for mercy!"-They knelt down and prayed; and shortly after the visitor took his leave. The preacher shut himself up in his closet. Next Sabbath, word was sent that the minister was unwell, and could not appear. The same thing happened the Sabbath !! following. On the third Sabbath the preacher made his appearance before his congregation,

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We likewise read of Gaius, who is recorded to be a godly, wealthy citizen of Corinth, that he did usually in his house entertain, not only the Apostle Paul, but also all Christians resorting to that city. (Rom. xvi. 23.)

Abraham, the father of the faithful, as he was eminent in godliness, so was he eminent in hospitality, which is one of the noblest works of charity. For we read how Abraham stood at his tent-door, and no sooner saw strangers passing by, but called them in, and gave them entertainment. (Gen. xviii. 1, 2.)

As there was none like Job, in his days, for piety and godliness, of whom God himself giveth this testimony, that" there was none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feared God, and eschewed evil " (Job i. 8); so neither was there any like Job for liberality. Note what he saith of himself: "The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me;" that is, I had many good prayers and well-wishes from them whom I had relieved in their low and perishing condition: " and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy;" that is, "By my bounty and liberality to her in her necessity, I gave her great cause of hearty joy." (Job xxix. 13.) And afterwards Job declareth how he had not, according to the manner of covetous and churlish persons, eaten his meat alone, without giving part thereof to the hungry orphans. Neither had he seen any perish for want of clothing. (Job xxxi. 17, 19.) Under which expressions is implied, his readiness to feed the hungry, and clothe the naked, with other like acts of charity.

It is recorded, to the perpetual praise and commendation of good Obadiah, that, in the time of famine and persecution, he not only hid the prophets of God by fifty in a cave, from the cruelty of Jezebel, but that also, in that extreme dearth, he there sustained them with food, and supplied their necessities. (1 Kings xviii. 4.)

We read of Cornelius, who, as he was a godly and devout man, so he was very charitable; for the Spirit of God giveth this testimony of him, that he was a devout man, and one that feared God with all his house, which gave

The Apostle Paul, who was an holy, zealous Christian, was likewise charitable; for in his Epistle to Timothy, reckoning up some of his graces, as his faith, patience, long-suffering, &c., he mentions charity. (2 Tim. iii. 10.)

Yea, we read of Zaccheus, that though, before his conversion, he was a most covetous extortioner, yet, after his conversion, he gave the half of his goods to the poor; for, said he, "Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor." (Luke xix. 8.)

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as

But the most remarkable is the charity of the primitive Christians, who, being converted by the ministry of the apostles, and having embraced the Christian faith, it is said, that many as were possessors of lands or houses sold them, and brought the prices of the things that were sold, and laid them down at the apostles' feet: and distribution was made unto every man according as he had need." (Acts iv. 34, 35.)

Thus it hath ever been the property of a sincere Christian and true believer to be charitable. And certainly, whosoever, by a true and lively faith, are engrafted into Jesus Christ, cannot but be fruitful branches, bringing forth the fruits of mercy and compassion, of charity and liberality, towards their poor brethrenGouge.

If the world hath locked up thine heart, and congealed the bowels of thy compassion towards the poor; let the blaze of thine outward profession shine never so fair, manage the heartless representation of external holiness never so demurely, keep the times and tasks of daily duties with never so great austerity; nay, though thou be able to amaze weaker Christians with some affected strains and artificial fervency in prayer;-for all this, if the holy heat of brotherly love doth not warm thine heart, and upon occasion work affectionately and effectually, I dare say, thou art rotten at the heart-root; there is no true love of God in thee, no grace, no hope of salvation.

Let that terrible and flaming place against all covetous Pharisees, "Whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?" (1 John iii. 17); let it, I say, dissolve thy frozen-heartedness this way, and enlarge thy bowels of pity towards thy poor brethren of Christ Jesus; or else never look hereafter to look him in the face with comfort, or to find mercy at that day.-Bolton.