and Saturday; but was uncommonly drawn out in prayer. On Saturday night he was abundantly worse, and his fever appeared very strong. I begged that he would by no means think of going to church in the morning.

But he told me it was the will of the Lord; in which case I never dared to persuade."

The Rev. Mr. Gilpin (as he has informed us) "called upon him in the morning, with an earnest request, that he would permit him, if not to take the whole of his duty on that day, at least to share it with him. But this he would by no means be prevailed upon to suffer, assuring him, with an air of holy confidence, that God would sufficiently strengthen him to go through the duties of the day. This was his last appearance in public and several who were present upon this memorable occasion, were affected beyond all description, with the melancholy circumstances of the day. He opened the reading service with apparent strength; but before he had proceeded far in it, his countenance changed, his speech began to falter, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he could keep himself from fainting. Every eye was rivetted upon him, deep solicitude was painted on every face, and confused murmurs of distress ran through the whole congregation. In the midst of this affecting scene, Mrs. Fletcher was seen pressing through the croud, and earnestly entreating her dying husband no longer to attempt what appeared to be utterly impracticable. But he, as though conscious that he was engaged in his last public work, mildly refused to be entreated; and struggling against an almost insupportable langour, constrained himself to continue the service. The windows being opened, he appeared to be a little refreshed and begun to preach with a strength and recollection that surprised all present. In the course of his sermon, the idea of his weakness was almost lost in the freedom and energy with which he delivered himself. Mercy was the subject of his discourse: and while he expatiated on

this glorious attribute of the Deity, its unsearchable extent, its eternal duration, and its astonishing effects, he appeared to be carried above all the fears and feelings of mortality. There was something in his appearance and manner that gave his word an irresistible influence upon this solemn occasion. An awful concern was awakened through the whole assembly, and every one's heart was uncommonly moved. Upon the hearts of his friends, in particular, a most affecting impression was made at this season; and what deepened that impression was the sad presentiment which they read in each other's countenance, of their pastor's approaching dissolution.

"After sermon he walked up to the communion-table, uttering these words, I am going to throw myself under the wings of the cherubim, before the mercy-seat.' Here the same distressing scene was renewed with additional solemnity. The people were deeply affected while they beheld him offering up the last languid remains of a life, that had been lavishly spent in their service. Groans and tears were on every side. In going through this last part of his duty, he was exhausted again and again; but his spiritual vigour triumphed over his bodily weakness. After several times sinking on the sacramental table, he still resumed his sacred work, and cheerfully distributed, with his dying hand, the love-memorials of his dying Lord. In the course of this concluding office, which he performed by means of the most astonishing exertions, he gave out several verses of hymns, and delivered many affectionate exhortations to his people, calling upon them, at intervals, to celebrate the mercy of God in short songs of adoration and praise. And now, having struggled through a service of near four hours continuance, he was supported, with blessings in his mouth, from the altar to his chamber, where he lay for some time in a swoon, and from whence he never walked into the world again.

6

"After this, (proceeds Mrs. Fletcher,) he dropt into a sleep for some time, and, on waking, cried out with a pleasant smile, Now, my dear, thou seest I am no worse for doing the Lord's work. He never fails me when I trust in Him.' Having eaten a little dinner, he dozed most of the evening, now and then waking with the praises of God in his mouth. At night his fever returned, but it was not violent; and yet his strength decreased amazingly. On Monday and Tuesday we had a little paradise together. He lay on a couch in the study; and though often changing posture, was sweetly pleasant, and frequently slept a good while together. When he was awake, he delighted in hearing me read hymns, and treatises on faith and love. words were all animating, and his patience beyond expression. When he had a very nauseous medicine to take, he seemed to enjoy the cross, according to a word which he was used often to repeat, formity to the will of God;

His

We are to seek a perfect con

and leave him to give us pleasure or pain, as it seemeth him good.'

"I asked him Whether he had any directions to give me, if he should be taken from me? since I desired to form my whole life thereby. He replied, No, not by mine: the Holy Ghost shall direct thee. I have nothing particular to say.' I said, Have you any conviction, that God is about to take you? He said, No: only I always see death so inexpressibly near, that we both seem to stand on the verge of eternity.' While he slept a little, I besought the Lord, if it were his good pleasure, to spare him to me a little longer. But my prayer seemed to have no wings: and I could not help mingling continually therewith, Lord give me perfect resignation! This uncertainty made me tremble, lest God was going to put into my hands the bitter cup, with which he threatened my husband. Some weeks before, I myself was ill of a fever, and not without danger. My husband then felt the whole parting scene, and struggled for a perfect resignation. He said, O Polly, shall

I ever see the day, when thou must be carried out to bury! How will the little things which thy tender care has prepared for me, in every part of the house, wound and distress me! How is it? I think I feel jealousy! I am jealous of the worms! I seem to shrink at the thought of giv ing my dear Polly to the worms.'

"Now all these reflections returned upon my heart, with the weight of a millstone. I cried to the Lord, and these words were deeply impressed on my spirit, Where I am, there shall my servants be, that they may behold my glory. This promise was full of comfort to my soul. I saw that in Christ's immediate presence was our home, and that we should have our re-union, in being deeply centred in him. I received it as a fresh marriage for eternity: as such I trust for ever to hold it. All that day, whenever I thought of the expression, to behold my glory, it seemed to wipe away every tear, and was as the ring whereby we were joined anew.

'Awaking some time after, he said, Polly, I have been thinking it was Israel's fault that they asked for signs. We will not do so: but abandoning our whole selves to the will of God, will lie patiently before him; assured that he will do all things well.'

"My dear love,' said I, ' If I have ever done or said any thing to grieve thee, how will the remembrance wound my heart if thou shouldst be taken from me!' He entreated me with inexpressible tenderness, not to allow the thought, declaring his thankfulness for our union, in a variety of words written on my heart, with the adamantine pen of friendship deeply dipt in blood.

6

"On Wednesday he told me, he had received such a manifestation of the full meaning of those words, God is Love, as he could never be able to express. It fills my heart,' said he, every moment, O Polly, my dear Polly, God is Love! Shout! Shout aloud! I want a gust of praise to go to the ends of the earth! But it seems as if I could

not speak much longer. Let us fix on a sign between ourselves. Now,' said he, (tapping me twice with his finger,) I mean, God is love. And we will draw each other into God. Observe! By this we will draw each other into God.'

"Sally coming in,* he cried out, O Sally, God is love! Shout both of you! I want to hear you shout his praise!" All this time the medical friend, who attended him diligently, hoped he was in no danger: as he had no head-ache, but much sleep without the least delirium, and an almost

* Sarah Lawrence, whose genuine piety, and amiable manners endeared her to a large circle of Christian friends, departed this transitory life, at Madeley, Salop, Dec. 3, 1800, aged 44 years, and lies buried in the same vault with Mr. Fletcher. Her epitaph on the tombstone sets forth that she was the adopted daughter of John and Mary Fletcher. Sarah Lawrence, in her last sickness, observed to Mrs. Fletcher, "We have scarce ever been parted a day these 40 years: how many hundred miles have we travelled together, and if the cold hand of death should now tear us asunder, it will not be for long, we shall have a blessed meeting in glory!" Mrs. Fletcher replied, "Little did I think to see this day; but we are called to resign ourselves to all the will of God."

"For the joy that's set before thee,

Bear a momentary pain;

Die to live the life of glory,

Suffer, with thy Lord to reign."

The following remarks were made by Mrs. Fletcher, immediately after Miss Lawrence's death: "My loss in Sarah Lawrence is unspeakable. She was a friend of a thousand; a child, and more than a child: but no arm of flesh is lasting; this is the lesson I am called to learn, and my whole dependence is on those everlasting arms which cannot fail. In the beginning of her illness, two years ago, she thought, one morning, in a dream, my dear husband stood at her bed-side, and looking on her with tender sympathy, he said, 'The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed.' And I apprehend she alluded to that, when, a little before she expired, she so earnestly said, "Tis beyond compare;' meaning, that I might tell all her friends, the present display of glory was already incompara bly beyond all she had ever suffered. Well, on this I must fix my eyes, and pass my solitary days firmly anchored on that sure ground, Thy will be done,'

J. K.