comfort me.' We wish to set out anew for heaven. To-day I have been wonderfully strengthened to blow the gospel trumpet. Lord, let Israel hear, and come together unto thee !"

From these extracts it will be seen, that while generally honoured and caressed by others he was making it his habitual and diligent endeavour to be jealous over himself with a very godly jealousy; and that he was thus saved, in a great measure, from falling into the temptation of thinking of himself more highly than he ought. Notwithstanding the outward honour which his hearers put upon his ministry, he was very far from being satisfied, because comparatively few of them appeared to be so affected by his instrumentality as to be thereby converted to God. "If," says Mr. Beaumont, "the breath of popular applause could have satisfied, he might have been satisfied: but he sought to save them that heard him; and of any results of his labour which left them short of this important object, he made but little account. Travailing in birth for his hearers, that Christ might be formed in them, he had continual sorrow and heaviness of heart when he found that this, the main end of his ministry, was but partially accomplished. In an interview which I had with him in his last illness, during our conversation respecting Haddington, he admitted there was prodigious excitement, deep and wide impression, great expectation, and much lovely blossom. But,' he added, with much distressing emotion, 'there were no conversions; and it nearly broke my heart!' That is, they were so few, compared with the widespread, and apparently deep-struck interest, and rich promise created by his ministry, that he felt as if his labours there had been all but a total failure. Doubtless, however, he was of great use; and his labours were the

means of much good; much more than it was possible, or perhaps proper, for him to know; and certainly far more than his modesty and self-humiliation would have suffered him, had he known it, to acknowledge."

The following is his farewell notice of this his first, and, in many respects, most interesting station:

"August 19.-After a residence of three years at Haddington, my engagements are now closed. I rejoice to think that the charge of my flock has passed into other hands, who, I hope and trust, will be useful to them. I have laboured for their good; but neither to the extent, nor with the perseverance, zeal, and love, with which I might have done. To regret the past is in itself an idle task; and can only be productive of good as it leads to repentance and reformation. God of my mercies, grant me the former, and urge me to the latter of these!"

His next appointment was to Edinburgh; but, being the third preacher on that station, his residence was in Dalkeith. His labours were, therefore, limited chiefly to the latter place; as he had to preach in Edinburgh only one Sunday out of three, and on the week-day evenings not at all. He was, besides, very frequently prevented from going to Edinburgh by the situation of his amiable partner, whose increasing illness could not fail to ensure, as it demanded, his tenderest attention; and who continued gradually to languish until April the 15th, when she died in the faith and hope of the gospel. In consequence of these circumstances, though his ministry in Edinburgh was both popular and useful, he had no opportunity of exciting that general attention which had so remarkably characterized his ministry at Haddington. But in Dalkeith, where he resided, and where he exercised his ministrations regularly every

week, his talents and virtues exerted their appropriate influence, and were instrumental in producing the best effects. Here the same kind of interest was excited, and among the same classes of society as in Haddington; and his labours were made a special blessing to persons belonging to other religious denominations, as well as to the members of our own society. Some instances of this might be specified here, but it is unnecessary. The record of his labour is on high; and part of its fruit has already been gathered into the celestial garner.

The domestic affliction to which allusion has been made was to him a source of continual anxiety, and of the most exquisite mental suffering. The tenderness of his feelings on this subject is very affectingly displayed in the scrupulous minuteness with which he has recorded the general progress, and every apparent turn, of the affliction; and in the beautifully soft and melancholy touches in which he has depicted the sorrows of his heart. The following extracts will afford a specimen of the manner in which his entries on this subject were generally made, and of the anxiety which he felt in the midst of his affliction to keep himself in the knowledge and love of God:

"September 3, 1820.-This is the day of the Lord. The air is filled with light and heat, and hardly a sound sets it in motion. The fields stand thick with shocks of corn, and the country perspective is exquisitely beautiful. When I look into the street, only an occasional passenger is seen to step silently along, like an individual observed to pass hurriedly and impressed with awe, from within, and again into, the precincts of a court. Blessed are the courts of thy house! I am surrounded with spiritual privileges and temporal blessings; but

there is a worm at the root of every earthly gourd of protection and shade. My Ann is still on a bed of affliction, and her weakness is great. That, to all appearance, it is partially removed, is an occasion of gratitude. Lord, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me!'

"November 17.-In a week from this date, four months will have elapsed since it pleased God to lay his hand on the wife of my youth; and, alas! how very little have I profited by this long-continued affliction! Death has been the frequent subject of my thoughts, but that has not (as it should have done) attached me to Christ. I have frequently dwelt upon the prospect that my Ann, the light of my eyes, may be taken from me; but even that does not always affect me as it ought; and when it wrings tears of agony from me, does not always lead me to Christ. What a wonder is it, thou hast not, long since, cast me into hell! How has it been with Ann? She has not been able to read, and only now and then to hear reading. Yesterday morning, when telling me how her mind had been impressed by the remembrance of an encouraging passage of Scripture, her lip quivered, the tear stood in her eye; and, with greatly enfeebled powers of utterance she went on to speak of her past unfaithfulness to God. God of mercy! wilt thou take away

?

"March 13, 1821.-I have nothing that is good to record of myself, and not much that is hopeful of my dearer self; but there is One in whose infinite merits we may both be blessedly interested. Lately, in thinking how unprofitable I had been, both in my ministry to the souls of others, and to my own, I have been in a measure cast down, and have questioned my call to the pastoral office. It is a crying inconsistency, that I

should have made sacrifices to unite myself to what I deem a spiritual priesthood, and, after all, should be so little zealous, and so unwatchful: and it is affecting in these circumstances that I am so little useful. I know these are not reasons for deserting my work; but for redoubled diligence and prayer in the discharge of it. My dear Ann, in so far as her feeble frame will allow her, waits upon God. O for that prayer of faith by which the sick are raised up!

"April 2.-My beloved partner is, I think, greatly worse. To human appearance it is impossible she should recover, and unlikely that she should long survive. It would seem that she anticipates her change. But O, what a prospect have I before me! We have only been united eighteen months; and during the greater part of that time she has languished on a bed of pain, under hopeless disease; but I have greatly loved her, and her love has greatly exceeded the ordinary measure of human affection. But we must part, though the life of each was bound up in the life of the other. Sin, what hast thou done! What a state is mine! to wait in awful suspense the moment that is to bereave me of my most intimate friend! If I survive, it will be to new sufferings; to loneliness, and all the anguish of bereavement. While I write, she is beside me, and speaks with the tone of health. She will soon be removed; and I shall hear that voice no more, till it is enriched with the accents of angels. But shall I hear her then? O that I may !??

In the course of a few days, the fears expressed in the preceding paragraph were realized; and the object of his affection was no more. Under this bereavement his mind was deeply humbled; but still he was sustained and comforted, though it was long ere he fully