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perfectly sensible, and desired to see me. When I entered the room, he bade his attendant withdraw, and, taking my hand in his, as I seated myself by the bed, he exclaimed

Emerson, I am very miserable.”

“ And in truth, my dear friend,” replied I," it grieves me to the heart to see you in this condition.”

“ It is not that it is not that,” he said, with quickness : “ what is the pain I suffer—what even is the sorrow”. here his voice faltered-of my wife ? All this might be borne ; but do you know”-in the deepest tone of thrilling emotion—“do you know, I dread to die!"

“Let me beg you then,” I said, “ to look to that divine Saviour who has destroyed death, and him that had the power of death.”

Ay, there is my misery,” he rejoined, “ I have rejected the Saviour, and now he has rejected me.”

“O no," I cried, “ the sinner that cometh unto him, he will in no wise cast out.”

I tell you," repeated Sir William," that I have rejected him, and he has justly rejected me.”

He paused for a moment, then summoning his remaining strength, he added, “ I will tell you all. You know how, in years gone by, I disregarded religion, and maintained that any worship, if sincere, was acceptable to the Deity; and that we need only avoid grossness of conduct to possess all the virtue that could by possibility be required. This was generally my opinion, and I had almost forgotten that any one could entertain another, till about six months ago I was called to the death-bed of a near relation, my mother's sister. She showed me in what peace a true Christian could die, and earnestly entreated me to seek the favour of God in his Son. I was impressed at first with the importance of what she said ; but the impression has worn off; and, shall I speak the truth, I have striven to efface it. I have combated conviction till I have entirely extinguished it. It is true that from time to time unpleasant thoughts have risen in my mind, and perhaps you may have observed me occasionally dispirited--that was the reason; but I have persisted in neglecting the Bible and in disregarding prayer; I have forced myself to believe that my upright character was enough; I have in my prosperity rejected Christ, and now I feel that he, in my adversity, has rejected me. I now see that there can be salvation in no other; I now see the necessity of a change of heart, which, as a child, I was by a pious mother taught; but alas! alas ! I see all this too late." The agony of my unfortunate friend's mind was most distressing ; I endeavoured to comfort him with the assurance that the blood of Jesus Christ can cleanse from all sin, and that, if with simple confidence in him he would look to his cross, he would assuredly find relief. But he withstood every attempt to console him; and persisted that, after his resolute rejection of the Saviour, the Saviour had justly rejected him. I left the room in bitter affliction at the contrast I had witnessed. In the poor man's hut, where there was no earthly consolation, where poor Hopkins lay on a flock bed in racking pain, without a friendly hand to wipe off the chill dews of death as they gathered on his brow, there was peace and joy, a sure trust in the Redeemer's merits, a hope that was full of immortality. Death was welcomed as the gate of everlasting life. In the rich man's hall, where every hand was ministering to his necessities, and all that human power could effect was doné, in a splendidly furnished chamber, lay Sir William F

His bodily pains had almost ceased, but his heart was filled with disquiet, and his anticipations were misery. Death was dreaded as the portal of an unseen state, which he shuddered to contemplate.

I shall not attempt to describe the agonizing scenes of that night, and the next morning. Sir William slept little. Over his pallid countenance swept rapidly shade after shade of strong emotion, and his unresting eye glared by turns on each of those that watched beside his bed. Several times I offered up prayers for him, but prayer seemed to give him no

I read portions of the Scripture to him, but he fixed on every threatening rather than on a promise. Nature was now fast sinking, and at nine o'clock, Oct. 17, 184, William F. expired. His last words, as well as we could catch the low murmur of his voice, were-“O Son of God, would that I had not rejected thee till it was TOO LATE!" Over his grave a veil must be cast. It is not for us to know how far, even at his last hour, Christ might mercifully pluck this brand from the burning. But such an end does utter an awful warning to men to lay hold of, in their day, the things that make for their peace, before they be hidden from their eyes.

In the afternoon I was reminded of my promise to visit Hopkins, by a little boy from a neighbour's cottage, who brought me a message from the dying man, begging me to hasten down to him, that he might see me once more.

I crossed the park therefore immediately, and soon stood


Sir 6. Are you

beside him. Upon his features a heavenly peace seemed to rest.

“ I am a guilty sinner,” he feebly said, “ but my Saviour's blood, I can trust, has washed away my transgressions. O that I could glorify him more! I go where there will be ne more pain, no more poverty or sickness. Happy, happy lot!"

in much pain ?" I asked. “Oh yes, very much; but Christ helps me to bear it.”

“ And you are depending upon his merits only for ac, ceptance ?"

On him alone,” he answered ; “he is my only hope.” “ And he will not leave you, nor forsake you," I replied.

“ No, God is faithful-his promises in Christ are yea and Amen-O glory!” he said, with faltering tongue, and sunk into a lethargic doze. I waited his awaking. In about a quarter of an hour he slowly opened his eyes, stretched out his hand as if to grasp mine, and then feebly uttering some words of which I could only catch one

“ faithful !". after a short struggle, he fell asleep in Jesus. Happy art thou, I thought, my poor brother ; happier in thy low estate than the rich man in his wealth. Thou art, doubtless, now before the throne of God, " where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."

Sir William F. and John Hopkins were buried the same day, at church. A long train of carriages and many mourners accompanied the body of the baronet, as it was laid in the sumptuous tomb of his fathers. The bearers alone stood round the grave of Hopkins, as in a distant corner of the church-yard there was committed “ earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life.”

If this simple narrative makes the impression I desire on those who read it, they will see how far better it is to be poor in this world, and rich in faith, than to have their good things here, with no treasure secured on high. May they learn, when good and evil, when life and death are set before them, -may they learn, and be strengthened thereto by God's Spirit, to choose the good, that their souls may live for ever!”



J.&W. Rider, Printers, Bartholomew Close, London, 39



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My son, give me thine heart.”—PROVERBS xxiii. 26.

All kinds of false religion which have been practised in the world may be resolved into a vain attempt to supply the place of giving the heart to God. It is of the utmost importance to trace all religious conduct to its source, and to fix in our minds that this is the root of all piety which is acceptable to God, the giving him our heart. Let me propose


consideration a few of the reasons and grounds on which this duty is obligatory.

In the first place, God deserves our hearts. He is entitled to them by claims which it is impossible to resist. The favours we receive from God bind us by grateful attachment to give him our hearts. All the blessings we have enjoyed in the course of our existence, all we now enjoy, and all we hope to partake of, flow from the unmerited bounty of our heavenly Father. From him cometh every good and perfect gift, James i. 17. The care and tenderness bestowed by Providence

our earliest

years, it is evident, we had no share in procuring. It was God who poured that tenderness into the hearts of our parents, of which we received the benefit. It was God who conferred upon us all those blessings which have distinguished us in the subsequent years of our lives, who raised up all those connexions and friends, and endearing relations in life, from which our comforts have sprung. He is the Cause of all causes, the ultimate Spring of all good, though he uses second means; the Benefactor and the Author of all being. If, then, there be any claim which gratitude has upon our hearts, this claim is enforced by God.

Besides, the infinite excellences of the Divine nature themselves are such as challenge our highest regard. All that is excellent in the creature is derived from God. The lustre of his perfections eclipses every thing in heaven or on

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