moved: Mary, Thomas, and James, and now David; | beside my dear Charlotte." The life of this eminent servant of God had been chequered by many sorrows, and now that it was fast drawing to a close, he was not permitted to depart before he had drunk still deeper of the bitter cup of afflic tion. The health of his youngest and only surviving unmarried daughter sunk, under the attentions she had paid to her mother and brothers in their last hours. A severe and complicated disorder confined her to the house, and at length to her bed. Thus was her father, in his old age, deprived of the society of the only child that was now left beneath his roof; but though thus deeply afflicted, Dr Bogue was much comforted by the enjoyment of greater usefulness than usual; for in the last year of his life he received into the Church a greater number than he had ever before received in one year. His entrance upon the last year of his earthly pilgrimage is thus recorded: 'January 1, 1825.-God has mercifully spared me to see the beginning of another year. The past has been a year of sorrow. The death of my dear wife, and of my dear son David, have made it the most sorrowful year of my life. Two more dear could not have been taken from me. But it was thy will, O God, and I submit. The consolations of God were great with them both. Prepare me, Lord, to follow." In the following month he was called to add to the long list of his bereavements the loss of his sister, Anne. He was able to attend the annual meeting of the London Missionary Society in May. On the 7th of August, the Missionary Seminary having closed its session, he addressed his flock, previous to leaving home for the vacation. The text from which he preached was the apostolical benediction. One of the most aged members of the church, on hearing this text, and marking her pastor's spirit and manner, said,-" He will never preach in that pulpit again!" This saying proved prophetic, he never preached in his own pulpit at Gosport after that day. On Monday, August 8, he went to London, on his way to Warwickshire, through which he made a tour on behalf of the London Missionary Society. On his return to Gosport, he found his place of worship, which had been shut for repairs and enlargement, still unfit for public use; he therefore preached in the vestry for some Sabbaths. In accordance with an earnest invitation from the Rev. Mr Goulty of Brighton, he set out for the purpose of assisting at the meeting of the Sussex Auxiliary MisLionary Society. "It is singular,' observes Miss Bogue, that I should have tried to prevent his going to Warwickshire, from whence I feared he might never return, and yet have urged him to go to Brighton, where he finished his course. For, in consequence of my alarming illness in the beginning of October, he was unwilling to leave me, and did not decide on going, till after he saw how I was on Monday, when I again urged him to attend the meetings in Sussex. "I shall never forget the hour he spent with me on the evening of the day before he set out. We had much interesting conversation on his favourite themeour dear departed relatives. For scarcely a day passed that he did not speak to me of them. After he had deplored the loss we had sustained by their removal, he comforted our hearts by contemplating their bliss, and anticipating the joyful period when we should be reunited to them, and join in the glorious employ ments of the saints in light. It was a delightful season to me, and one that I shall ever feel pleasure in remembering. Had I foreseen it was to be our last conversation, I could not have wished it to be otherwise."" In the stage-coach, on his way to Brighton, he felt very unwell, and though, on his arrival, he was suffering severe pain, he still attempted to take his share in the public services of the occasion. In the evening he became seriously ill in the house of his friend, Mr Goulty. Medical aid was called in, but the symptoms held in different churches in Brighton, and at Gosport, became evidently worse. Special prayer-meetings were where the news of his illness soon reached. The prayers so earnestly and anxiously offered up were answered, not in the removal of the affliction, but in the His daughter, Mrs Parker, who had returned some consolation and support which he received under it. months before from America, came from London to see him, and to wait upon him during his illness. The account of the dying experience of one who had been so highly honoured of God, cannot fail to interest our readers. We may therefore quote the interesting statement which Mrs Parker drew up, in a letter to Dr Bennet : He "When I arrived about noon, I dreaded to ask after my father, having made up my mind that he was gone. You may judge of my delightful surprise when told he was better. This pleasure was increased when Mr Goulty came into his study, where I was seated, and then went and told him that I was come, at which he informed me that my father was decidedly better. seemed much pleased, but expressed his regret at the additional trouble it would give the family. I then went up to him, and was struck with the alteration in his appearance. He saluted me most affectionately; and, in reply to my inquiries, said he was better, and felt no pain. He asked me many questions about the friends I had seen, and the Sabbath I had spent in London. One question struck me as displaying his extreme benevolence of heart, in spite of the appearance of austerity which impressed strangers; it was about the worldly affairs of a friend, whose pecuniary embarrassments we had often talked of since my return to Europe. I did not remain long with him, as Mr Goulty came and took me away, for fear that the good effect of an operation, just performed, should be prevented by mental excitement. The rest of that day, therefore, I had no conversation with him, except occasional inquiries how he felt. He still said, 'Better, and I feel no pain;' and, indeed, his calmness and cheerfulness intimated that he felt none. Next morning Mr Fletcher came to me, and told me that it was no kindness to conceal the truth from me, and then, with much feeling and delicacy, told me all his danger. Every one seemed to think I ought to inform my father of his real situation, as he might have something which he would wish to say to me, when he knew in what danger he was placed As they intended at one o'clock to make an effort, which would probably be decisive, after which it would be necessary to keep him quite still, my task was to be performed before that time. I need make no comment on my own feelings. "I remained alone with him all that morning, till one o'clock. I attempted to begin with some circumlocution, asking him if he did not feel himself very ill, and if he had ever been in so much pain when he had the same malady before. But so unconscious was he of any thing peculiar, that I had to speak more plainly. He replied that he was now better, and that he had been much worse the last time he had an attack of the same complaint. In fact, he seemed surprised that I should ask him such questions. Finding it useless to spend the time, which was then so precious, in a strain that availed nothing, I told him that at one o'clock a last effort was to be made, and that the consequences would probably be fatal. But I had even yet to tell him more plainly his situation. I then imagined that he showed some slight agitation as he took my hand, and said, 'Well, my dear, the will of the Lord be done.' He gave me directions where to find his will, and about the disposal of some property. Two letters had come from my sister Louisa, one the evening before, and another that morning; and I had before asked him if I should read them, but he said, not at present. Thinking he never would hear them if I did not read them soon, I took the last and read it to him. "Some time after this, he asked me when I was going back. Not knowing what he meant, I asked him if he meant to America? He replied, 'No; to Gosport.' By this I inferred that he was afraid my staying would give trouble to Mr Goulty. I told him, I should not go till he was well enough to go too; when I should accompany him to take care of him. I then conversed with hiin on a subject that concerned himself and me; and on my expressing great perplexity, and referring to him for counsel, he took my hand, and said to me, in a tone of voice I never can forget, 'The Lord will guide you.' He seemed emboldened to come to this conclusion, from observing how remarkable it was that I only, of all his family, whom till lately he had never expected to see again, should be with him in his last illness; being brought, as it were, from the ends of the earth for that purpose. "I had, in the course of the morning, asked him if I should read to him, which he then declined; but he now desired I would read to him the thirty-second Psalm: Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered; blessed is the man to whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no guile,' &c. in the highest character;' alluding to the peculiarity in the original of that passage. To the question, 'Is your mind, my dear sir, still supported?' he replied, Yes, I thank you; I am looking to that compassionate Saviour, whose blood cleanseth from all sin.' 'It is encouraging to us, sir, to receive the testimony, and to witness the support of the Gospel, in those who have long been in the service.' He said, 'Yes, it is valuable; and I am able to say, "I know in whom I have be lieved." His state of exhaustion and disease rendered his subsequent words unintelligible, while his counte. nance beamed with almost celestial peace. Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his. Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace." Mrs Parker's letter goes on to narrate the solemn scene thus: "The last words my father spoke to me were in answer to the information I gave him, about three o'clock, that Dr Dodds was come. This seemed to rouse him with delight, for he replied, Is he?' But so fast was he now sinking, that though it could not be more than a second before the doctor came into the room, my father relapsed again into such a stupor, that he did not know his old friend, who was a mem ber and a deacon of the church at Gosport. "I sat up all that night with him, and felt a melan. choly pleasure in being with him entirely alone. He remained in the same state of composed sleep, or insensibility, all the night. Between four and five next morning, my brother John came, having arrived in London, from Dover, late the night before. He thought that my father returned the pressure of his hand, when he laid hold of it and spoke to him. "Having never witnessed death, I had no idea that its work was now begun, so calm and peaceful appeared to be my dear father's slumbers. About five I gave him his last draught; but it seemed to occasion him so much trouble to swallow it, that I could not bear to adminis ter the whole. "With difficulty I got through it; but, knowing his "About seven, the medical attendants came: I was aversion to any exhibition of feeling, I commanded my-sitting at the foot of the bed, when one of them, drawself more than is, perhaps, natural to me. After a short ing the curtain hastily on one side, looked in, and time had elapsed, he told me to shut the door, and he read in his looks all that I feared. He desired me to would pray with me. This prayer produced in me such leave the room; and I remained below for some moan agitation of mind, that I can give nothing but a faintments, in a state not to be described. When Mr outline of it. It consisted of distinct petitions for every Fletcher returned to me, and replied to my questions, member of our family, and of references to death and by informing me how near my beloved father was to his to eternity. He first mentioned me, and then my release, I returned to his bed-side. At a quarter past brother John and his wife, that they might be brought nine, while I and my brother John, Mr and Mrs Goulty, back in safety; then Louisa, that God, who could raise Mr Fletcher, Dr Dodds and his daughter, were standup from the very gates of death, would restore her. ing round in awful suspense, my dear parent drew his He prayed for Mr Parker, who was in the wilderness. last breath. So gentle was this transition from earth He then prayed for those of the family who were to to heaven, that I could not have supposed it dying. live the longest, in a tone and manner peculiarly touch- The expression on his countenance during his last moing. As this seemed to rest upon two of us, himself ments had become so peculiarly sweet, that it was not and Louisa being considered on the borders of eternity, difficult for me to imagine that he saw angels waiting it impressed me with a solemnity which I cannot de- to conduct him home. I stood near his head and closed scribe. He concluded with an expression of his hope his eyes. His frame was warm to the last, which was that we might all meet in heaven. one thing that deceived me during the night, for his extremities had never had the coldness of death." "He had repeatedly, in the course of the morning, asked me what o'clock it was; and, on concluding this prayer, he repeated the question. I remained with him till one o'clock, when, the medical men entering, I went down stairs. After they left him, I returned and asked him how he did? He replied, 'Very well.' As it was considered requisite he should take rest immediately, they had given him a powerful narcotic. A stupor was, however, even then commencing, and he felt little inclination to speak after that time." Mr Goulty says: "Soon after this, I spent a short time with him, which I regarded as peculiarly sacred. Endeavouring to comfort him, I repeated the promise, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee;' upon which, with an effort of his exhausted strength, but with a delightful energy, he said, Ab remember that stands Thus did this distinguished minister of the Lord Jesus rest from his labours, on the 25th of October 1825. As was well expressed by a Christian friend,"He died in his armour, and was found ready in the midst of his work!" "Servant of God-well done!, Printed and Published by JoHN JOHNSTONE, 2, Hunter Square, Edinburgh; and sold by J. R. MACNAIR & Co., 19, Glassford Street, Glasgow: JAMES NISBET & CO., HAMILTON, ADAMS & Co., and R. GROOMBRIDGE, London; W. CURRY, Junr. & Co., Dublin; Subscribers will have they copies delivered at their Residences, THE SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD, CONDUCTED UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF MINISTERS AND MEMBERS OF THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH. BELIEVERS WITHOUT THE JOY OF A FULL ASSURANCE. THE opinions held by some professing Christians, This, however, is a conclusion which does not seem to be warranted by the Word of God. The mere fact of any man's mourning is in itself no decisive proof that he is still in the gall of bitterness and in the bonds of iniquity. In certain circumstances it may be a proof of the very reverse. And provided the mourning be awakened by a right cause, that is, by sin itself, as exhibited in the cross of Christ, then so far from its being denounced as a thing unscriptural or unwarrant able, it is rather to be regarded as symptomatic of a state of mind which the divine Redeemer is disposed to countenance rather than condemn. For who are those of whom the Saviour speaks in his sermon from the mount as the heirs of a special blessedness? They are not the whole, who have no need of a physician, nor the confident, nor the light-hearted, nor the joyful in spirit. For the most part, they are the meek, the mourners, the persecuted, the poor in spirit, those who are deeply sensible of their spiritual destitution, and who are therefore hungering and thirsting after righteousness. These were the characters in whom he seems to have felt a peculiar interest, and whom he always addressed in language of the deepest tenderness. Of this we have many instances. The poor woman, for example, who followed him in silence, afraid even to prefer her No. 48. NOVEMBER 30, 1839.-1d.] complaint, and who had fortitude only to come behind him and to touch the hem of his garment, was assuredly received as tenderly by the Saviour, if not more so, than the blind man who cried out loudly, "Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me," and who, in defiance of the admonitions of the multitude, cried out the more vehemently, "Thou Son of David, have mercy on me;" for whilst it was said to the latter," Go thy way, thy faith hath made thee whole," it was said to the former, but in language certainly of a more compassionate tenderness, "Daughter, be of good comfort, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace." The same thing is evident in the deportment of the Saviour towards Martha and Mary. Both might be genuine disciples. Yet Martha, with the activity of her zeal, and the multiplicity of her preparations, was not preferred to Mary with her quiet demeanour, her simplicity of faith, and her lowliness of spirit. The reverse rather was the case. For whilst it was said to the one, in the language of gentleness, yet almost bordering on reproach, "Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things, but one thing is needful," it was said of the other, in the language of admiration and praise, “Mary hath chosen that good part which shall not be taken away from her." In like manner, Simon the Pharisee, with all his attention to the external comfort of the Saviour, his admiration of his character as a great prophet, and even his readi ness to receive the faithful admonition he addressed to him, might peradventure be a good man and a just, but not more attractive in the eye of the Saviour was his character than that of the humble penitent who stood at his feet behind him, washing them with her tears, and wiping them with the hairs of her head. To the one was addressed the language of admonition, teaching the lesson of charity; to the other the language of consolation, most soothing to the griefs of a broken spirit: "Thy sins are forgiven. Thy [SECOND SERIES VOL L faith hath saved thee; go in peace." And to | whom was it that our Saviour first appeared after his resurrection from the dead? Was it to Peter? Was it to the beloved disciple? Both of these are represented as running to the sepulchre with haste, and ardour, and impetuosity of spirit; and they did come to it, and looked in. But they saw not the Saviour. They beheld only the linen clothes and the napkin that had been about his head; and they were satisfied with the sight, satisfied with the empty sepulchre, satisfied with the mere traces of his humiliation; and the same spirit that brought them in haste to the sepulchre led them to go away again speedily to their own home. But not so the weeping, the downcast, the disconsolate Mary, out of whom seven devils had been cast. She was not so easily satisfied. She lingered at the sepulchre when the choicest of his disciples was away, seeking him whom her soul loved, and weeping because she found him not. And what was the result? Unto her was reserved the vision of the angels of God; yea, her's was the highest of all the privileges which beings in mortal flesh have ever been permitted to enjoy she was the first to listen to the voice of a risen and triumphant Redeemer, calling her familiarly by her own name, and prompting her, in the ecstasy of her spirit, to cry out, "Rabboni; my Lord, and my God." These examples may be sufficient to prove, that tho e states of mind are by no means of least esteem in the eye of the Saviour which some men are too ready to undervalue and contemn, whilst they are fraught with the richest encouragement to all sorrowful and desponding spirits, groaning beneath the weight of their burdens, and longing for the liberty wherewith Christ maketh his people free. Nor do we think that the men who are subjected for a season to such an experience are, after all, the least likely to be distinguished for the strength and stability of their Christian characters. We should rather be inclined to come to an opposite conclusion; for who was it, of all the disciples, who went in boldly unto Pilate and "craved the body of Jesus?" It was Joseph of Arimathea," who also himself waited for the kingdom of God," and in reality a believer, but "secretly, for fear of the Jews." And who assisted him in anointing the body of Jesus, and laying it in the sepulchre? It was Nicodemus, the same ruler of the Jews who "at the first came unto Jesus by night." At all events, with such instances on record, no man is warranted to conclude that his is a hopeless condition, because he has not yet risen to the higher attainments of the Christian life, and is occasionally brought into a low and dejected frame of mind. All may not be completely wrong, though it is possible enough that some things may be far from being right. There may be life in the spirit, though the spirit may seem to be in great heaviness; the eye may be adapting itself to the light, though for a while there may be little clearness in the spiritual discernment; and principles which it is the office of the Divine Spirit to produce, may be in vigorous oper ation in the soul, though the soul be loathing itself, and repenting as in dust and ashes. A man may be a stranger to the transports of spiritual joy, but it is well if he be not awanting in the broken-heartedness of Christian humility. He may shrink from the boldness and hastiness of a Peter, talking lightly of prison and of death, and, before the Saviour, loudly and pertinaciously protesting that though all men should forsake Him yet would not he, but, after all, lifting up the heel against Him, and basely denying Him; but there may be in his bosom the still, unassuming, inextinguishable, warm-hearted devotedness of a Mary, conducting her to the cross in the hour of overwhelming trial, when disciples of a bolder profession and a sterner character were away, and amid the scoffs of an infidel multitude, and the wild convulsions of nature, and the heart-rending horrors of the crucifixion, bearing her up,-feeble in frame, but strong in spirit,-stedfast, unshrinking, faithful, even to the very end. We would not, however, that any man should conclude, from the observations we have made, that a state of dejection or of mourning is one with which he ought to be satisfied, and from which he should make no effort to be delivered. We hold, indeed, that a man may be a Christian at the very time he is looking upon Him whom he hath pierced, and is mourning, and is in bitterness, "even as one mourneth and is in bitterness for an only child;" but we are far from affirming, that he will be a Christian in the most satisfactory state of mind. For aught that we can tell, he may find his way into heaven, but it can scarcely fail to be a dreary path upon which he is walking; nor is there likely to be any thing in his experience like the elevation of the spirit that is mounting up with wings, nor any large participation of the first-fruits and the foretastes of heaven. Every prospect that is opened up before him will be darkened with many heavy clouds, and every step that he takes will be attended with difficulties that seem fitted to startle and overwhelm. The very falling of a leaf will send fearfulness and trembling into his heart; and, in the prospect of the heavier trials that are before him, he will be yielding perpetually to the fears of a desponding spirit, and crying out, in the language of the prophet: "If I have run with the footmen, and they have wearied me, then how can I contend with horses? and if, in the land of peace, wherein I trusted, they have wearied me, then how will I do in the swelling of Jordan?" Instead of remaining in this state of bondage, would it not be desirable for the Christian to be rising to the higher and holier walks of the spiritual life, to be treading the paths which have been trodden of old by the feet of patriarchs, and prophets, and martyrs,-to be moving onwards into heaven with the ease and elevation of a spirit that feels itself to be an heir of everlasting glory? And if it be desirable, let it not be said by him that it is unattainable; it has been attained by multitudes already,-multitudes who were just as weak, and as dejected, and as unlikely to attain it as himself and if it has been attained by them, why may it not be attained by him? Therefore, let every Christian be persuaded to look for it, and to pray for it, and to strive for it; and though it may be the will of God to disappoint his expectations for a season, and, for the trial of his faith and patience, to suffer him to go mourning through many of the paths of his pilgrimage, yet, if he follow on to know the Lord, then of this he may rest assured, that he shall not be disappointed in the end. Feeble and disconsolate though he be in the earlier stages of his experience, there is every reason to believe that he shall ultimately rise to the comfort of a full assurance, and in that day be enabled to exclaim, "O Lord, I will praise thee; though thou wast angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and thou comfortest me. Behold, God is my salvation, I will trust, and not be afraid, for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song, he also is become my salvation. Therefore with joy shall we draw water out of the wells of salvation." THREE INQUIRING RABBIES IN JERUSALEM. [The following is extracted from a letter of the Rev. Mr Nicolayson, the Episcopalian Missionary in the Holy Land.] WHEN I wrote last, the crisis for our three convinced rabbies was fast approaching, and its probable consequences in immediate prospect. The crisis came on fully as soon as we had expected; but the manner of its developement was not just such as we had anticipated, neither have the results been such, so far as they have yet come to light; but much remains yet to be seen. On Thursday evening, the 31st of January, the three rabbies were discovered by spies placed on Mr Pieritz's house, where they had to remain locked up for a while. The next day, Mr Piritz came to me, to consult what course to take. After discussing several measures, we at last agreed upon this as the best, viz., he and I were both to call, with the three rabbies, on Rabbi Israel, who, though not the head of that party among the Jews to which they belong, is yet the most learned man, of an official character, among them. On this plan we would have acted immediately, had we had the men at hand; but they being absent, and it being Friday after. noon (the most inconvenient time for Jews to receive calls), and that being succeeded by the Saturday, equally unfavourable on the part of the Jews, and that again by the Lord's day, too sacred to us for such business, we were obliged to put it off till the Monday after. In the meantime, this plan was defeated by the men themselves. Late on the Saturday evening (after Sabbath), Rabbi Benjamin, one of the three, came to Mr Pieritz's, together with a brother-in-law of his, making a sort of recantation, probably the penalty imposed upon him by the Jews. Rabbi Abraham also sent by him for some papers he had lodged with Mr Pieritz; so that it was clear these two, at least, had yielded for the present to the Jews. No one of them has called since; and, on Monday, we heard that there was an excitement among the Jews, that even the regular service was suspended that morning in the Polish synagogue, in order to hold a consultation what to do. Learning nothing certain about them that day, and anxious to know, if possible, the real state of the case, especially of Rabbi Eliezer, I sent Simeon on the Tuesday into the Jewish quarter, to try if he could learn any thing about them. According to what he heard from the Jews, the two had recanted and resumed their studies at the Beth Hammedrash, but Rabbi Eliezer was still obstinate; and, according to all we have since been able to learn, he continues so. Fears are even entertained by the Jews of his prevailing still with his wife. Thus far, you see, the result has not been what we had anticipated. We had hoped that, with Joseph's case before them, they would all three have evinced more firmness; and that, by taking a decided stand from the first, they would have defeated all the machinations of the rabbies. It was, no doubt, hard for them to take such a step; but once taken, all would have been easy, had they only had the requisite decision, and on the first alarm betaken themselves to us. The rabbies would then have done nothing further, whatever other vain threat they may have held out to them, than cast them off from all resources from them, and ultimately make them divorce their wives. In that case, we would, of course, have had to maintain them (the men) for the present, as we had anticipated; and in anticipation of which, I already had written to you. As it is, the pressure of this difficulty has been postponed, but by no means removed. It is not to be believed that the arrow of conviction, which has been fixed in those three men's consciences, will be easily extracted or long endured, nor that the many who have already come to doubt the Talmud, and to regard the evidences of Christianity as such that they cannot resist them, on the ground of argument, will for ever go on in uncertainty, however likely it may be that some such may quietly leave the country. If the mission be continued here, some must sooner or later come out decidedly; and it may even be hoped that so many may be preparing for this, as that the only, or at least the main, difficulty in that case will be how to employ them, and to provide for them. It is yet to be seen how the case of Rabbi Eliezer will turn out. The subject, presented in my last letters, therefore, must by no means be lost sight of, nor can we cease to urge it upon the Committee's attention, till it be taken up in earnest. THE fierce barbarian king, On the steel-cased legions that round him stand, To the vassal-prince, and the crouching priest : "To Pethor wend your way, |