"Grant

ed, by being reflected from their children. us this gift," said their united "and our prayers, satisfactions are crowned; we request no more." Alas! how blind are mortals to future events! how unable to discern what is really good! Give me children, said Rachel, or else I die! Gen. xxx. 1. An ardour of impatience altogether unbecoming; and as mistaken as it was unbecoming. She dies, not by the disappointment, but by the accomplishment of her desire. If children are to parents like a flowery chaplet, whose beauties blossom with ornament, and whose odours breathe delight; death, or some fell misfortune, may find means to entwine themselves with the lovely wreath. Whenever our souls are poured out with passionate importunity after any inferior acquisition, it may be truly said, in the words of our divine Master, "Ye know not what ye ask." Does Providence withhold the thing that we long for? It denies in mercy; and only withholds the occasion of our misery, perhaps the instrument of our ruin. With a sickly appetite, we often loathe what is wholesome, and hanker after our bane. Where imagination dreams of unmingled sweets, there experience frequently finds the bitterness of woe.

Therefore, may we covet immoderately neither this nor that form of earthly felicity; but refer the whole of our condition to the choice of unerring wisdom. May we learn to renounce our own will; and be ready to make a sacrifice of our warmest wishes, whenever they run counter to the good pleasure of God. For, indeed, as to obey his laws is to be perfectly free, so to resign ourselves to his disposal, is to establish our own happiness, and to be secure from fear of evil.

Here a small and plain stone is placed upon the ground, purchased, one would imagine, from the little fund, and formed by the hand of frugality itself. Nothing costly; not one decoration added; only a very short inscription; and that so effaced, as to be scarcely intelligible. Was the depository unfaithful to its trust? Or were the letters worn by the fre

quent resort of the surviving family to mourn over the grave, and revive the remembrance of a most valuable and beloved relative? For I perceive, upon a closer inspection, that it covers the remains of a father-a religious father, snatched from his growing offspring before they were settled in the world, or so much as their principles fixed by a thorough education.

This, sure, is the most complicated distress that has hitherto come under our consideration. The solemnities of such a dying chamber are some of the most melting and melancholy scenes imaginable. There lies the affectionate husband, the indulgent parent, the faithful friend, and the generous master. He lies, in the last extremities, and on the very point of dissolution. Art has done its all. The raging disease mocks the power of medicine. It hastens, with resistless impetuosity, to execute its dreadful errand; to rend asunder the silver cord of life, and the more delicate tie of social attachment and conjugal affection.

A servant or two, from a revering distance, cast many a wishful look, and condole their honoured master in the language of sighs. The condescending mildness of his commands was wont to produce an alacrity of obedience, and render their service a pleasure. Now the remembrance of both imbitters their grief, and makes it trickle plentifully down their honest cheeks. His friends, who have so often shared his joys, and gladdened his mind with their enlivening converse, are now miserable comforters. A sympathizing and mourning pity is all the relief they are able to contribute, unless it be augmented by their silent prayers for the divine succour, and a word of consolation suggested from the Scriptures.* Those

* Texts of Scripture proper for such an occasion, containing promises of support under affliction, Lam. iii. 32. Heb. xii. 6. 2 Cor. iv. 17.of pardon, Isa. i. 18. Isa. liii. 5. 1 John ii. 1, 2. Acts x. 43.-of justification, Rom. v. 9. Rom. viii. 33, 34. 2 Cor. v. 21.-of victory over death, Psal. xxiii. 4. Psal. lxxiii. 26. 1 Cor. xv. 56, 57.—of a happy resurrection, John vi, 40. 2 Cor. v. i. Rev. vii. 16, 17.

poor innocents, the children, crowd around the bed: drowned in tears, and almost frantic with grief, they sob out their little souls, and passionately cry, "Will he leave us? leave us in a helpless condition! leave us to an injurious world!"

These separate streams are all united in the distressed spouse, and overwhelm her breast with an impetuous tide of sorrows. In her, the lover weeps, the wife mourns, and all the mother yearns. To her, the loss is beyond measure aggravated, by months and years of delightful society, and exalted friendship. Where, alas! can she meet with such unsuspected fidelity, or repose such unreserved confidence? where find so discreet a counsellor, so improving an example, and a guardian so sedulously attentive to the interests of herself and her children? See! how she hangs over the languishing bed; most tenderly solicitous to prolong a life, important and valuable far beyond her own; or, if that be impracticable, no less tenderly officious to soothe the last agonies of her dearer self. Her hands, trembling under direful apprehensions, wipe the cold dews from the livid cheeks; and sometimes stay the sinking head on her gentle arms, sometimes rest it on her compassionate bosom. See! how she gazes, with a speechless ardour, on the pale countenance and meagre features! while all her soft passions beat unutterable fondness, and her very soul bleeds with exquisite anguish.

The sufferer, all patient and adoring, submits to the divine will; and, by submission, becomes superior to his affliction. He is sensibly touched with the disconsolate state of his attendants, and pierced with an anxious concern for his wife and his children-his wife, who will soon be a destitute widow; his children, who will soon be helpless orphans. Yet, "though cast down, not in despair." He is greatly refreshed by his trust in the everlasting covenant, and his hope of approaching glory. Religion gives a dignity to distress. At each interval of ease, he comforts his very comforters; and suffers with all the majesty of woe.

The soul, just going to abandon the tottering clay, collects all her force, and exerts her last efforts. The good man raises himself on his pillow; extends a kind hand to his servants, who are bathed in tears; takes an affecting farewell of his friends; clasps his wife in a feeble embrace; kisses the dear pledges of their mutual love; and then pours all that remains of life and strength in the following words: "I die, my dear children; but God, the everlasting God, will be with you. Though you lose an earthly parent, you have a Father in heaven, who lives for evermore. Nothing, nothing but an unbelieving heart, and irreligious life, can ever separate you from the regards of his providence, from the endearments of his love."

He could proceed no farther. His heart was full; but utterance failed. After a short pause, prompted by affectionate zeal, with difficulty, great difficulty, he added, "You, the dear partner of my soul, you are now the only protector of our orphans. I leave you under a weight of cares: but God, who defendeth the cause of the widow, God, whose promise is faithfulness and truth, God hath said, "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee;" (Heb. xiii. 5.) This revives my drooping spirits: let this support the wife of my bosom. And now, O Father of compassions, into thy hands I commend my spirit. Encouraged by thy promised goodness, I leave my fatherless

Here he fainted; fell back upon the bed; and lay for some minutes bereft of his senses. As a taper upon the very point of extinction is sometimes suddenly rekindled, and leaps into a quivering flame; so life, before it totally expired, gave a parting struggle, and once more looked abroad from the opening eyelids. He would fain have spoke; fain have uttered the sentence he began. More than once he essayed; but the organs of speech were become like a broken vessel, and nothing but the obstructing phlegm rattled in his throat; his aspect, however, spoke affection inexpressible. With all the father, all the husband, still living in his looks, he takes one more view of

those dear children whom he had often beheld with a parental triumph. He turns his dying eyes on that beloved woman, whom he never beheld but with a glow of delight. Fixed in this posture, amidst smiles of love, and under a gleam of heaven, they shine out their last.

Upon this, the silent sorrow bursts into loud laments. They weep, and refuse to be comforted, till some length of time had given vent to the excess of passion, and the consolations of religion had staunched their bleeding woes. Then, the afflicted family search for the sentence which fell unfinished from those loved, those venerable and pious lips. They find it recorded by the prophet Jeremiah, containing the direction of infinite wisdom, and the promise of unbounded goodness: "Leave thy fatherless children; I will preserve them alive: and let thy widows trust in me;" Jer. xlix. 11. This, now, is the comfort of their life, and the joy of their heart. They treasure it up in their memories. It is the best of legacies, and an inexhaustible fund: a fund which will supply all their wants, by entailing the blessing of heaven on all their honest labours. They are rich, they are happy, in this sacred pledge of the divine favour. They fear no evil; they want no good; because God is their portion and their guardian God.

No sooner turned from one memento of my own, and memorial of another's decease, but a second, a third, a long succession of these melancholy monitors crowd upon my sight. That which has fixed my observation, is one of a more grave and sable aspect than the former. I suppose it preserves the relics of a more aged person. One would conjecture, that he made somewhat of a figure in his station among the living, as his monument does among the funeral marbles. Let me draw near and inquire of the stone, "Who, or what is beneath its surface?" I am informed he was once the owner of a considerable estate, which was much improved by his own application and management; that he left the world in the busy period of life, advanced a little beyond the meridian,