raged with unabated fury; but the immediate distresses which it occasioned, were lost in the severer pains of an awakened conscience Such was the height to which his anguish arose, that his bed was shaken by the violent and united convulsions of mind and body. The parents were touched to the quick; and their unqualified submission to a sovereign God was put to the most rigorous proof; but God, in his infinite mercy, was at last pleas ed to hear the many prayers put up for the relief of the poor sufferer. His views of the lost state of man,-of the only means of salvation through the death of a Saviour; of the necessity of the inward regenerating grace, became clear and consistent. He now saw that salvation, which he had deemed almost or altogether hopeless to him, was possible. His mind became calm, and he attended to religious instruction and advice. In a short time he began to give as much evidence of a change of heart as a death-bed repentance (rarely to be greatly relied on) can easily afford. He sent for his companions in iniquity, and, notwithstanding his disorder, exerted himself to the utmost to address them, which he did in the most awful and impressive manner, as a person who, by the infinite mercy of a prayer-hearing God, had been delivered from a hell gaping to receive him. This happy change was a reviving cordial to the distressed father. His soul was overjoyed; his mind prepared to surrender the son of his advanced age to the God who gave him. After a few days more of severe suffering in body, but rejoicing in mind, the son was removed from time to eternity.

When Mr. Whitfield was last in this country, Mr. T. paid him a visit as he was passing through New-Jersey; and one day dined with other ministers, at a gentleman's house. After dinner, Mr. W. adverted to the difficulties attending the gospel-ministry; lamented that all their zeal availed but little; said that he was weary with the burdens of the day; declared his great consolation was, that in a short time his work would be done, when he should depart and be with Christ; he then appealed to the ministers if it was not their great comfort that they should soon go to rest. They generally assented, except Mr. T. who sat next to Mr. W. in silence; and by his countenance discovered but little pleasure in the conversation. On which Mr. W. tapping him on the knee, said, "Well! brother Tennent, you are the oldest man amongst us, do you not rejoice to think that your time is so near at hand, when you will be called home?"" Mr. T. bluntly answered, "I have no wish about it." Mr. W. pressed him again; and Mr. T. again answered, "No, Sir, it is no pleasure to me at all; and if you knew your duty, it would be none to you. I have nothing to do with death; my business is to live as long as I can,-as well as I can,-and to serve my Master as faithfully as I can, until he shall think proper to call me home." Mr. W. still urged for an explicit answer to his question, in case

the time of death were left to his own choice. Mr. T. replied, "I have no choice about it; I am God's servant; and have engaged to do his business as long as he pleases to continue me therein. But now, brother, let me ask you a question. What do you think I would say, if I was to send my man Tom into the field to plough; and if at noon I should go to the field, and find him lounging under a tree, and complaining, "Master, the sun is very hot, and the ploughing hard, I am weary of the work you have appointed me, and am overdone with the heat and burden. of the day: Do, master, let me return home, and be discharged from this hard service?"-what would I say? Why, that he was a lazy fellow; that it was his business to do the work I had ap pointed him, until I should think fit to call him home." The pleasant manner in which this reproof was administered, rather increased the social harmony of the company; who became satisfied that it was very possible to err, even in desiring with undue earnestness "to depart and be with Christ," which in itself is "far better" than to remain in this imperfect state; and that it is the duty of the Christian in this respect to say, "All the days of my appointed time will I wait till my change come."

About the end of February, 1777, Mr. T. was suddenly seized with a fever, attended by violent symptoms. He sent for his physician, who was in the act of setting off for the legislature of the state. He called, but could only spend a few minutes with him. He, however, examined carefully into Mr. T.'s complaints, and with great candour informed his patient, that the attack appeared unusually violent; that the case required the best medical aid; he feared that, at his advanced age, there was not sufficient strength of nature to overcome so severe a shock. The good old man received this news with his usual submission to the divine will; he calmly replied, "I am very sensible of the violence of my disorder, and that it is accompanied with symptoms of approaching dissolution; but, blessed be God, I have no wish to live, if it should be his pleasure to call me hence."

During his whole sickness, he continued perfectly resigned to the divine will, until death was swallowed up in victory, on the. 8th day of March, 1777. His body was buried in his own church at Freehold, a numerous concourse of people attending his funeral.

Mr. T. was rather more than six feet high; of a spare thin visage, and of an erect carriage. He had bright, piercing eyes. His general countenance was grave and solemn, but at all times cheerful with his friends. He appeared, in an extraordinary' manner, to live above the world. He seemed habitually to have such clear views of spiritual and heavenly things, as afforded him much of the foretaste of them. His faith was really "the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things unseen." Literally his daily walk was with God; and he lived as seeing

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Him who is invisible." The divine presence with him was frequently manifested in his public ministrations, and in his private conduct. His ardent soul was seldom satisfied, unless he was exerting himself in some way or other in rendering kind offices of friendship, both in spiritual and temporal things, to his fellowmen. Take him in his whole demeanour and conduct, there are few of whom it might more emphatically be said, that he lived the life, and died the death of the righteous.

EXTRACT FROM CHALMERS' DISCOURSES.

On the Folly of Men measuring themselves by themselves. "For we dare not make ourselves of the number, or compare ourselves with some that commend themselves; but they, measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise." 2 CORINTHIANS X. 12.

LET it not be said of those, who, in the more exalted walks of life, can look to few or to none above them, that they can derive no benefit from the principle of my text, because they are placed beyond the reach of its application. It is true of him who is on the very pinnacle of human society,that standing sublimely there, he can cast a downward eye on all the ranks and varieties of the world. But, though in the act of looking beneath him to men, he may gather no salutary lessons of humility-the lesson should come as forcibly upon him as upon any of his fellow mortals, in the act of looking above him to God. Instead of comparing himself with the men of this world, let him leave the world and expatiate in thought over the tracks of immensity,--let him survey the mighty apparatus of worlds scattered in such profusion over its distant regions; let him bring the whole field of the triumphs of his ambition into measurement with the magnificence that is above him and around him,-above all, let him rise through the ascending series of angels, and principalities, and powers, to the throne of the august monarch on whom all is suspended, and then will the lofty imagination of his heart be cast down, and all vanity die within him.

Now, if all this be obviously true of that vanity which is founded on a sense of our importance, might it not be as true of that complacency which is founded on a sense of our worth? Should it not lead us to suspect the ground of this complacency, and to fear lest a similar delusion be misleading us into a false estimate of our own righteousness? When we feel a sufficiency in the act of measuring ourselves by ourselves, and comparing ourselves among ourselves, is it not the average virtue of those around us that is the standard of measurement? Do we not at the time, form our estimate of human worth upon the character of man as it actually is, instead of forming it upon the high

standard of that pure and exalted law which tells us what the character ought to be. Is it not thus that many are lulled into security, because they are as good or better than their neighbours? This may do for earth, but the question that we want to press is, will it do for Heaven? It may carry us through life with a fair and equal character in society, and even when we come to die, it may gain us an epitaph upon our tombstones. But after death cometh the judgment; and in that awful'day when judgment is laid to the line and righteousness to the plummet, every refuge of lies will be swept away, and every hiding-place of security be laid open.

Under the influence of this delusion, thousands and tens of thousands are posting their infatuated way to a ruined and undone eternity. The good man of society lives on the applause and cordiality of his neighbours. He compares himself with his fellow-men; and their testimony to the graces of his amiable, and upright, and honourable character, falls like the music of paradise upon his ears. And it were also the earnest of paradise, if these his flatterers and admirers in time were to be his judges in the day of reckoning. But, alas! they will only be his fellowprisoners at the bar. The eternal Son of God will preside over the solemnities of that day. He will take the judgment upon himself, and he will conduct it on his own lofty standard of examination, and not on the maxims or the habits of a world lying in wickedness. O'ye deluded men! who carry your heads so high, and look so safe and so satisfied amid the smooth and equal measurements of society-do you ever think how you are to stand the admeasurement of Christ and of his angels? and think you that the fleeting applause of mortals, sinful as yourselves, will carry an authority over the mind of your judge, or prescribe to him that solemn award which is to fix you for eternity?

The fall of Adam is represented in the Bible, as that terribly decisive event, on which took place this deep and fatal unhingement of the moral constitution of our species. From this period the malady has descended, and the whole history of our world gives evidence to its state of banishment from the joys and the communications of paradise.. Before the entrance of sin did God and man walk in sweet companionship together, and saw each other face to face in the security of a garden. A little further down in the history, we meet with another of God's recorded manifestations. We read of his descent in thunder upon mount Sinai. O what a change from the free and fearless intercourse of Eden! God, though surrounded by a people whom he had himself selected, here sits, if we may use the expression, on a throne of awful and distant ceremony: and the lifting of his mighty voice scattered dismay among the thousands of Israel. When he looked now on the children of men, he looked at them with an altered countenance. The days were, when they talked

together in the lovely scenes of paradise as one talketh with a friend. But, on the top of Sinai, hc wraps himself in storms, and orders to set bounds about the mount, lest the people should draw near, and God should break forth upon them.

But we have an evidence to our state of banishment from God, which is nearer home. We have it in our own hearts. The ha bitual attitude of the inner man is not an attitude of subordination to God. The feeling of allegiance to him is practically and almost constantly away from us. All that can give value to our obedience, in the sight of an enlightened Spirit who looks to motive, and sentiment. and principle, has constitutionally no place, and no residence in our characters. We are engrossed by other anxieties than anxiety to do the will, and promote the honour, of him who formed us. We are animated by other affections altogether, than love to him, whose right hand preserves us continually. That Being by whom we are so fearfully and wonderfully made; whose upholding presence it is that keeps us in life, and in movement, and in the exercise of all our faculties; who has placed us on the theatre of all our enjoyments, and claims over his own creatures the ascendancy of a most rightful authority;that surely is the Being with whom we have to do. And yet, when we take account of our thoughts and of our doings, how little of God is there! In the random play and exhibition of such feelings as instinctively belong to us, we may gather around us the admiration of our fellows and so it is in a colony of exiled criminals. But as much wanting there, as is the homage of loyalty to the government of their native land; so much wanting here, is the homage of any deference or inward regard, to the government of Heaven. And yet this is the very principle of all that obedience, which Heaven can look upon. If it be true that no obedience is rewardable by God, but that which has respect unto God, then this must be the essential point on which hinges the difference between a rebel and a loyal subject to the supreme Lawgiver. The requirement we live under is to do all things to his glory; and this is the measure of principle and of performance that will be set over you: and tell us, ye men of civil and relative propriety, who, by exemplifying in the eye of your fellows such virtue, as may be exemplified by the outcasts of banishment, have shed around your persons the tiny lustre of this world's moralities; tell us how you will be able to stand such a severe and righteous application? The measure by which we compare ourselves with ourselves,is not the measure of the sanctuary. When the judge comes to take account of us, he will come fraught with the maxims of a celestial jurisprudence, and his question will be, not what have you done at the shrine of popularity,-not, what have you done to sustain a character amongst men,-not, what have you done at the mere impulse of sensibilities however amiable,. or of native principles however upright, and elevated, and manly,