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when judiciously given, could not but be beneficial even in such cases as were daily placed before his eyes. Nor was that opinion without practical confirmation. He witnessed many happy instances, in which patients quitted the asylums which he conducted, not only healed in body, but carrying home to their families the spiritual lessons which they had received, teaching them to their children, and returning, with hearts full of gratitude, to tell their former friend and benefactor, that to their offspring, also, the Gospel of Christ had become "the power of God unto salvation." In the maintenance of these, and all his views, he was bold and uncompromising; and whether he stood forward as the advocate of the oppressed in the social circle, or in the public assembly, he was equally undaunted in his adherence to what he deemed to be the truth.

A larger sphere of action was at length providentially opened before him in the south; and, in the year 1830, he accepted an appointment to the asylum at Hanwell, in Middlesex, similar in its nature and objects to the one which he had held at Wakefield. Here, too, "through evil report and good report," he continued to maintain his plans, and pursue his indefatigable labours, for the benefit of that class of persons who appeared, in an especial manner, to be entrusted to his care. A few examples, kindly supplied by G. P. Button, Esq., M.D., (who writes from personal observation,) will serve still farther to illustrate that patient gentleness which he exercised towards the most refractory, and the stress which he practically laid on the importance of kindly and compassionate treatment in the case of unhappy lunatics :

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"One day a violent maniac kicked him severely. On his turning round, to see from whom he had received the injury, the patient threw the contents of a can filled with hot gruel into his face; upon which he, very coolly, and without manifesting the slightest degree of displeasure, took out his handkerchief, and wiped his face. On another occasion, a patient suddenly seized an iron foot-warmer, and threw it at him it knocked his hat off; but, providentially, did not injure him. In this instance, he neither placed the patient under coercion, nor in seclusion. A patient, with whom he was in the act of conversing, suddenly struck him a blow on the nose, which ruptured a blood-vessel. From the effects of this, in consequence of repeated hemorrhage, he did not recover for many months. His manner on this occasion, also, exhibited the utmost forbearance. He did not betray even a look of displeasure. A Magistrate, who was visiting the asylum, remarked to an officer, recently elected to fill an appointment in the institution, 'You must prepare yourself, Sir, to meet with many very disagreeable occurrences in the discharge of your duties in the asylum. I have just been accompanying Dr. Button round the wards, and I saw a very troublesome patient spit in his face!' 'O,' replied Dr. Ellis, if a man cannot bear that, and many more unplea

sant and irritating things, he is not qualified to hold a situation in this establishment.' No fault displeased him so much as unkindness to the patients. The only servant I ever knew him dismiss without notice, was one who had ill-used a patient; although, at the time, this servant was the most valuable one in the house to Dr. Ellis."

The services which he rendered, in his professional capacity, being brought before the notice of His Majesty King William IV., His Majesty was graciously pleased to signify his intention to mark the sense which he entertained of them, by conferring upon Dr. Ellis the honour of Knighthood. This token of the royal approbation was accepted, with a desire that the additional influence which it supplied might be used for the benefit of the insane; and that men of the highest eminence in the profession might be induced to devote their time and talents to the amelioration of the melancholy condition of those in whose welfare he was so deeply interested.

Circumstances transpired, in the year 1838, which induced Sir William to resign his appointment at Hanwell; and, after a short interval of much anxiety, disappointment, and bodily suffering, (in which, however, "patience" seemed more and more to have her "perfect work," he removed to Southall-Park, and there opened a private establishment for the insane of the higher classes. But life soon began to decline. The seeds of a fatal disease had been sown previously to his removal to Southall; and although, for some months, he struggled against it, and actively employed himself in his professional duties, yet the history of his days, from this period, is, for the most part, a detail of severe suffering, interrupted by gradually-diminishing intervals of ease. But neither sickness nor professional engagements caused any diminution of his delight in the ordinances of the Lord. He established a small class in his own house; and it is not unworthy of record, that, of the six members of that class, who met a short time before his death, two ascribed their conversion, under God, to his faithful advice and fervent prayers. Sickness and distance prevented that regular attendance on the public means of grace for which he had long been conspicuous; but his heart still loved the place where God's name was recorded; and often has he attended the house of prayer, when physical inability and acute suffering seemed to render the effort utterly impracticable.

From the time of his removal to Southall, he had many and strong presentiments of his approaching end. It was also evident, to all around him, that his graces were acquiring a richer maturity, and that he was in a course of swift preparation for a brighter world. He was accustomed to speak of his religious experience in the presence of his family, and generally accompanied his expressions of thankfulness to God, for his abundant mercies, with heart-felt acknowledgments of his own unworthiness. He had, for many years, been on terms of familiar intimacy with the late Rev. Richard Watson, and would often express

himself in language similar to that of his sainted friend: "I am a poor worm; but God is very good to me." Recovering, partially, from a severe attack, about two months before his death, and there appearing, at that time, a probability of his restoration to health, he said, “If my life be spared, I am determined it shall be spent for God: and I will begin by studying his word more carefully." He did so. He entered upon a devout and diligent re-perusal of that holy book, and the night before his death finished the last chapter of the Gospel according to St. John. From that blessed volume he drew constant supplies of comfort; and he gratefully felt that, while "all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass,”—while “the grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away," "the word of the Lord endureth for ever;" even that word "which by the Gospel is preached unto us."

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During his illness he sometimes endured severe and powerful temptation; but, through the goodness of God, the cloud which occasionally hung upon his spirits passed entirely away, and he experienced joy as well as peace in believing. The week before his death, he received a visit from his old friend, John Wood, Esq., accompanied by Dr. Hannah; and to them he spoke with the greatest freedom and unreserve. He gave a most vivid description of the temptations which he had suffered, and of his deliverance from them; and, among other things, remarked, "There are two passages of Scripture on which I can fix my foot, as on an immovable rock,- The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin;' and, 'My grace is sufficient for thee.' I am quite satisfied," he added, "with these. If that blessed book" (pointing to a Bible which lay on the table) " contained nothing more than these two texts, they would be quite enough for me. Indeed, after all my reading, my mind seems now as if it could rest on nothing else; and nothing else do I need. The first of these texts is enough for all that is past, and the second for present suffering; and, if it be permitted, for future suffering also." In another part of the conversation he observed, "The Apostle says, 'I have a desire to depart, and to be with Christ.' Well," he subjoined, musing on the subject, and looking most benignantly on Lady Ellis, as if afraid to give her pain, "I have that desire too. I think, if it is the will of God, I would rather go,-I would, I think, rather go; but, 'not my will, but thine, be done.' During the entire interview, which lasted, with a short intermission, more than an hour, his whole language was such as became a sinner saved by grace through faith, who felt that he stood on the immediate verge of that unseen eternity where all shall be undisguised and unchanging reality, and where the faithful disciples of Jesus shall more largely partake of "the hope which is laid up for them in heaven." He joined in prayer with the utmost fervour, and took a most affectionate leave of his two friends, who saw him no more.

But others were permitted to witness his faith, and hope, and love unfailing. He zealously and affectionately warned every one around him; and often, when exhausted by the earnestness with which he had been speaking, he would say, "Shall not every breath be spent in His service? What should I do, if I had religion to seek now?" For some days prior to his death, his "peace" was indeed He frequently requested his family to read the closing chapters of the Gospel according to St. John, together with some hymns descriptive of the heavenly world, especially the one beginning,―

"How happy every child of grace,

Who knows his sins forgiven!"

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as a river."

He would repeatedly say, "It cannot now be long before my Father sends to fetch me home." His treasure and his heart were already in heaven; and he often exclaimed, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." He would also refer to the two texts which he had named to Dr. Hannah and Mr. Wood, and say that they were his "sheet-anchors." When a passage of Scripture, or the verse of a hymn, was in the course of being repeated to him, he would take up and finish the quotation; and when prayer was offered by his side, he would exclaim, with an emphasis of feeling never to be forgotten, "Lord, answer that petition!" He would then faintly offer up a prayer, especially that his patience might not fail, generally concluding with expressions of wonder at the goodness which God was pleased to manifest towards him.

He had often led his class when physically unequal to such a duty; and it will long be remembered, by those who had the privilege of meeting with him, how he would forget his sufferings, while describing the happiness which he enjoyed, and urging the persons committed to his care, to press after the attainment of all the blessings which Christ had provided for them. But he had now united with his class in the holy exercises of prayer and praise for the last time. The tongue which had so often borne testimony to the goodness of God, was soon to be silent in the grave. His class met, as usual, on the Tuesday evening of the week in which he died; but it was met by his son. "It was my privilege," says his daughter-in-law, "to watch by him that evening, while my dear husband met his class; and to hear his testimony to the faithfulness of God just as he seemed entering the haven of rest. On being reminded, that the members of his class were praying for him, he was much affected, and spoke of the many blessings which he had received in answer to united prayer. 'My dear son, too,' said he, 'is leading the class. What a mercy, that he and you, my dear daughter, know and love the God of your fathers! Thank God, we are, as a family, of one heart and one soul: there is no jarring string.' After dozing a few minutes, he awoke, and called

on me to unite with him in praise, that he had once more been permitted to enjoy a little refreshing sleep; and then, alluding to his head's having rested on my shoulder, he said, that he should soon be reposing on the bosom of his Lord. He then referred to the severe temptations which had beset him in his illness, and spoke, with deep feeling, of the intense mental agony which he had suffered during those seasons: but,' added he, 'it is a cloudless sky now. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Christ is with me. His rod and his staff they comfort me. How blessed is the Christian's lot! My cup runs over. All whom I most love on earth are with me here; and there is the bright prospect of a speedy re-union with them in heaven. I feel that my time is short. Death, my Master's servant, will soon come and fetch me home.' After taking a little refreshment, he requested that each of the members of his class would come into his chamber. They did so; when he affectionately entreated them, one by one, to follow the Lord fully, and give him their whole hearts. 'You see me,' said he, 'a dying man. What should I do now without religion? without a clear sense of God's forgiving love, and a blessed assurance that I am going to be for ever with the Lord?' On taking leave of them, he gave to each a solemn charge to meet him at the right hand of God."

Though he frequently conversed with his family on the subject of his approaching decease, he never took a formal farewell of them. His attachment to them was unbounded; and to this may be attributed the omission of that hard task from which, in all probability, his deep and powerful feeling shrank. He could rarely, if ever, speak of Lady Ellis without the tears streaming from his eyes; nor could he ever bring himself, though he often attempted it, to give her any advice with respect to the future. The humility which he exemplified was very great; and he repeatedly begged that nothing might be said to exalt him; but that, if any mention were made of him, it might be with the simple design of declaring the goodness and faithfulness of God in keeping him. The night before his death, his son sat up with him; when he said, with a smile, " You may have seen a more suffering, but you have never seen a happier, father." A few nights previously, the glory of the Lord had been so manifested, that he felt as if on the confines of heaven; and was constrained to exclaim, “Lord, enlarge the vessel, or nature can hold out no longer."

It was his earnest prayer, that he might have an easy dismission from earth; and in this his desire was eminently granted. To those around him he appeared but little worse than usual; and he accompanied a prayer which was offered up by Lady Ellis, who had watched by his side through the night, with audible and hearty responses. But, about two o'clock in the afternoon, he sank into a doze, from which he never awoke; but, with one hand hold of Lady Ellis, and the other of his son, he fell asleep in Jesus so sweetly and gently, that they

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