holy a place-so unworthy, so sinful, so polluted; and I thought of his great mercy to me-how much he had done for me; and I had such glorious views of the atonement by Christ-his sufferings and the glory that should follow-that my soul was filled in a wonderful manner. I have served God more than fifty years; I have generally had peace; but I never saw such glory before—such light, such clearness, such beauty! O, I want to tell it to all the world! O, had I a trumpet voice,

Then would I tell to sinners round,
What a DEAR SAVIOUR I have found.""

Here his emotion overcame him, and choked his utterance for a moment. . . . "But I cannot. I never shall preach again—never shall go over the mountains and through the valleys, the woods, and the swamps, to tell of Jesus any more. But, 0, what glory I feel! it shines and burns all through me; it came upon me like the rushing of a mighty wind, as on the day of Pentecost." Alas!" says the narrator, "the pen can never represent this scene-the broken accent, the laboured effort, the deep feeling, the holy fervour, the uplifted and radiant countenance, the eye that gleamed with unearthly lustre, the tears choking the utterance, and the whole frame shaking with emotion; these cannot be represented, but will never be forgotten. I retired, resolved to be a better Christian and a more faithful minister."

The suffering days of the revered man of God were now drawing to a close. His sufferings gradually abated; his breathing became less difficult, and he was able to lie down and rest with some degree of comfort. His quietude, however, was not that from which the system rallies to victory and triumphs over disease; but that in which its exhausted powers, fully spent in the conflict, sink to rally no more. He was not merely calm, but cheerful; and often exhibited flashes of that genial sprightliness, humour and wit, so characteristic of him in earlier days. Yet a heavenly atmosphere reigned around him. His work was done; he was tarrying for a moment on the bank of Jordan, waiting permission from his Master to pass over.

That permission was not long delayed. About three o'clock on the morning of the 9th of April, a change took place, betokening the near approach of death. Early in the morning his sufferings were great; but his intellectual powers-consciousness, perception, memory, reason-were unaffected. Several Christian friends witnessed his dying struggles and the glorious triumph of his abiding faith. When asked if his prospect was clear he replied with great emphasis: "O, yes, yes, yes! I have been wonderfully sustained

of late, beyond the usual degree." After a pause, he continued:

"My suff'ring time will soon be o'er;
Then I shall sigh and weep no more;
My ransom'd soul shall soar away,

To sing thy praise in endless day.'

I trust in Christ, and he does not disappoint me. I feel him, I enjoy him, and I look forward to an inheritance in his kingdom."

He looked at his hands, and calmly marked the progress death was making. Feeling that death was fast approaching, he made repeated efforts to straighten himself and to adjust his limbs in the bed. Then, after remaining quiet a few moments, summoning all his strength and elevating his voice, he said: "I trust in God and feel safe!"

It was then remarked to him that he was almost over Jordan. He looked up and answered: "Yes;" then raising both hands, he shouted, scarcely above a whisper, "Glory, glory! Glory to God! Glory to God! Glory to God! Glory!" When asked if death had any terrors, he replied: "No, none whatever; my peace is made with God. I do not expect to live till sunset; but I have no choice; I leave it all with God." Then, placing his hand upon his breast, he said: "I am happy-filled."

After shifting his position several times without finding relief from his sufferings, he broke out :

"When pain o'er my weak flesh prevails,

With lamb-like patience arm my breast;
When grief my wounded soul assails,

In lowly meekness may I rest.""

Subsequently, he said: "My God is my best friend, and I trust in him with all my heart. I have trusted in him for more than fifty years. Then, after pausing for breath, he added: "Because I live, ye shall live also.' What a promise!" Soon after this his powers of speech failed; his breathing grew tremulous and short; life ebbed gradually away, and at last its weary wheels stood still.

Thus passed away one of the purest and noblest spirits of our earth. He died as might have been augured from his character and life; he died as the Christian only can die. Up to the last moment of earthly communion, he was calm and serene. Eternity was breaking upon his view, but he knew in whom he had believed. To see the Christian, who, with the intellect of a philosopher and the wisdom of a sage, had scanned the evidences and the doctrines of the gospel to their very depths; to see such a one maturing for

the skies, going forth to the last conflict with no misgivings of spirit -calmly, firmly, constantly trusting in the atonement of his Saviour; to mark his trembling humility, the low estimate he placed upon his services in the Church of Christ, and upon his Christian piety-these were privileges of no ordinary moment, and afforded lessons of indescribable value. We have often visited the dying couch of the saint of God, and there witnessed the triumph of the Christian faith; but never before did sickness and feebleness seem to enshrine such loveliness, or death such beauty. The full significance of that couplet of Coleridge seemed to be realized:

"Is that his death-bed, where the Christian lies?
No! 'tis not his; 't is death itself there dies!"

Bishop Hedding, in his life and in his death, has left to the Church of Christ one of the richest legacies; his life was a triumph of goodness, his death a triumph of faith. The benedictions of the Church rest upon him, and future generations shall rise up to bless his memory. Devout men, with great lamentation, bore him to his burial. He rests from his labours; his works do follow him. The memorial of virtue is immortal, because it is known with God and men. When it is present, men take example at it; and when it is gone, they desire it; it weareth a crown and triumpheth forever."

ART. II.-INCOMPETENCE OF REASON IN MATTERS OF

RELIGION.

Γραφὴ θεόπνευστος—ὠφέλιμος πρὸς διδασκαλίαν.—Paul.

In our inquiries after religious truth, we are prone to turn from what God has revealed, to what man has studied and reasoned. The propensity to err in this respect is innate, and to be controlled only by divine grace. Not that we are to be denied the exercise of this noblest faculty of the mind. To reason well is a divine gift, and creates in the breast a sense of native dignity, which allies the spirit, though fallen, to its great original. But this feeling, which may be reckoned a godlike quality of soul, is near akin to a pride which is diabolical. And the more difficult the problem, the more recondite or abstruse the subject on which the reason is exercised, the more is its curiosity stimulated, the more is this pride fostered, and the more keenly is it gratified at any plausible show of success. More labour has probably been wasted in vain attempts to square

the circle, than to demonstrate the properties of all geometric forms besides; more perplexing study to invent a perpetual motion, than to perfect the steam-engine.

So in religious truths: it is just when we come to those which lie beyond the scope of human faculties, and are, therefore, made the subject of revelation, that reason becomes rampant for the field, and is most elated with her fancied achievements. And it is this spirit of self-sufficiency, in discrediting God alike in his word and in his providences, against which we would utter a caution.

We have, first, this general consideration :-That if man be able, by his own studies, to settle the great questions of religious concern, then has he no need of a higher instructor. Reason may be his inspiration; Logic should frame his Decalogue, and Philosophy constitute his Gospel.

But a second preliminary thought. We have an a priori process, from the conclusion of which we cannot escape. And to present it distinctively, we observe that we find societies distinguished into two grand classes-the one, stationary; the other, progressive. The latter of these divides itself again into two subordinate classes, by certain well-marked features which characterize the nature of the progression as physical or metaphysical; that is, advancement in the arts which minister to man's physical comforts, or advancement in intellectual culture. These two, totally distinct, are for the most part concomitant, though not always in equal degree; and states are found in which the one or the other has greatly predominated. We put now the question:-What will be the moral and religious tendency of society in either of these states of progression, apart from the saving knowledge of divine truth? Our premiss is furnished by the word of revelation. From the doctrine of human depravity, we learn that man has a natural aptitude to evil, and inaptitude to good. We are, indeed, authorized to make the proposition yet stronger, and to say, that man has a natural aversion from good, and a natural appetency for evil. Place human nature then on this basis and set the moral elements in commotion, and what results? Society is acquiring new ideas, new feelings, new modes of thought; devising new doctrines, new theories, new systems. With new-felt wants and new desires, and growing strength of passion, comes increased facility of gratification. And in all these evolutions, the heart, like a human magnet, attracts upon itself whatever is congenial to its nature, and repels whatever is averse. Nay, with a power of human alchemy, it analyzes whatsoever it touches, and seeks out latent affinities. The result must be then, that advancement in the arts of physical life tends to moral degeneracy; advancement in intellectual culture, to

error in doctrine. The one ends in abasement and total corruption; the other, in the subtilties of speculation, which dissipate religious faith, and lead, if not to atheism, to the worst forms of scepticism.

Such is a conclusion derived, we think fairly, from known and certain premises. But what say the facts? For the efforts of reason in this direction are no longer matter of experiment, but of history. And what has she done, or what does she now profess to do, towards demonstrating religious truth? From among many, we select a few examples.

We take, first, that which may be considered the starting-point in metaphysical inquiries of this kind-the a priori argument for the existence and attributes of a God. The first form of the argument which we notice is this:-We can form an idea of a Being of infinite perfection; or, in other words, the existence of such a Being is possible. But, secondly, such an idea were not possible, if it had not a corresponding reality. By these two premises, therefore, we are conducted to the logical necessity of the existence of an absolute and infinite Being. This was substantially the form of the argument in the eleventh century, as propounded by Archbishop Anselm, of Canterbury. Descartes may be reckoned its chief patron in more modern times. Its first obvious defect is in the major premiss; which, after all the qualifications and studied supports it has received, resolves itself ultimately into the old question of the Nominalists and Realists. Establish the doctrine that every idea must have its archetype in nature, and the proposition is valid. With that it stands or falls. In this process, then, we simply conclude from the possible to the actual; from the nominal to the real; from an idea to the necessary existence of a corresponding reality. By such reasoning we make Oberon and Puck, old Kronos and Dis, every bugbear of the nursery, and every chimera of the heated brain, real and necessary existences. equally with the infinite God.

But when the question is, what reason can accomplish independent of revelation, we push the objection still further, and we question the minor premiss of this argument. What? Shall the mind of man, without any ray of celestial light, raise itself to the sublime conception of the idea of an Eternal, Self-existent Being, infinite in all perfections? And yet, it is that which philosophy assumes when she asserts her independence in such a demonstration. That which may be regarded as the ultimate end to which Christianity would lead us, is here assumed as the starting-point, by unaided reason. And if this, which has been a popular form of the argument, will not suffice to establish the existence of a God, much less