the virtuous might be happy after death; but beyond this plausible conjecture unenlightened reason had no power to aspire. To allay the tortures of conscience there was no "blood of sprinkling ;" they knew of no "fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness." They had never heard the consolatory promise, "though thy sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they be like crimson, they shall be as wool;" or been taught "the blessedness of that man whose iniquities. are forgiven, and whose sins are covered." That Jesus Christ "came into the world to save sinners," was a mystery hid from their knowledge, and that the kingdom of heaven is opened for all believers," was a truth far beyond their utmost powers of investigation. But, cheered by the doctrine of the atonement, the meanest Christian learns to " depart in peace," believing that, notwithstanding his frailties and his transgressions, his omnipotent Redeemer is still able and willing to save to the uttermost all that come unto God by him."

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It appears then, from the foregoing observations, that death-beds in general, may be reduced to four descriptions. The first is the case of those persons who die in tranquillity, but who ought, alas! if scripture be true, to have died far otherwise. Here we may discern the infidel, the hardened sinner, the ignorant, the selfrighteous, and various other kinds of characters; in all of whom, however, want of knowledge, or want of faith, must have tended to produce this false security; for, would these unhappy persons have understood as they understand now, would they have believed as they now believe, assuredly no human artifice whatever could have lulled them to so fatal a repose.

The second class is the exact converse of the first, including numerous individuals of characters variously modified, but the hopes of all of whom, being really fixed upon a right foundation, ought to have been, we might have conceived, brighter and more satisfactory

than in the actual trial they perhaps appeared. Instances of this kind will sometimes occur, (as in the case of the poet Cowper,) for which it is not easy to account. We may, indeed, oftentimes discover, without much difficulty, the immediate cause; we may ascertain, for example, the existence of some malady or incorrectness of apprehension, but the ultimate design of the Almighty in so distressing an event, and the beneficial effect intended to be produced upon the sufferer, may not be quite so apparent.

But since it is evident, both from scripture and experience, that the death-bed of a consistent Christian is usually rendered a scene of comfort and composure, if not of positive delight, we may oftentimes discover, when an apparent exception occurs, that there existed some obvious cause quite adequate to the production of the effect. The Almighty does not contend with the Christian without reason. There had possibly been frequent or notorious lapses from the right path; some favorite sin had been indulged, some incorrect doctrine had been harbored, some secret fear of man, or dread of temporal disadvantage had prevented an explicit avowal of Christian principles. There had, perhaps, existed a culpable degree of ignorance respecting some important part of the gospel dispensation, especially those parts which relate to the believer's privileges and the freedom of salvation. Or, perhaps, repentance had not been sufficiently deep; self-renunciation was not impartial and unreserved; the flesh had not been sufficiently mortified; self-denial had not been duly practised; reliance by faith on Christ had not been sufficiently simple and implicit. There was some latent inconsistency, some unsubdued temper, some daily-besetting sin, some undue adherence to the world, some secret feeling of rebellion against God, to intercept the light of the divine countenance, and to blot out the fair face of the celestial world. Conversion, though genuine, was, perhaps, as Dr. Johnson remark

ed of his own, late; the Holy Spirit had been often grieved; his influences had been long resisted; Christian virtues had dwindled and decayed; while earth-born principles and feelings had sprung up in all their native luxuriance, and impeded the growth of every heavenly implanted grace.

Still, however, in the majority of those cases in which faith, though weak, is really genuine, a light is at length seen to " spring up in darkness;" some indication occurs to prove that the last moments of such a person, though checquered with anxiety and distress, are yet, (even independently of the final result,) infinitely more blessed than those of the impenitent and unbelieving.

The third class consists of persons who have died unhappily, and who had apparently no scriptural ground for dying otherwise. It includes in its vast scope an indefinitely varying range of characters, from the ordinary sinner, who, dying, " makes no sign," to the Antichrist of Ferney himself, whose agonizing groans and execrations spoke-though how imperfectly !—the tortures of his departing soul. Here we may place also skeptics of that more common class, who fear eternity without believing in the scriptures, and who tremblingly expect a future state of rewards and punishments, without any trust in Him who alone "hath the keys of hell and of death." Infidelity may, indeed, boast that some of its disciples have met death with composure, and even cheerfulness; but, alas! who shall so balance between rival horrors as to decide whether the death of a Hume or a Voltaire is to be preferred; whether to quit the world in false repose, and "in hell to lift up one's eyes," be a better or a worse lot than to foresee and to shudder at the destruction which it is too late to avoid!

The fourth class consists of those who die happily, and whose happiness is well-founded. Of such persons several instances have been already brought for

ward, nor is even the present age destitute of numerous witnesses to the power of the gospel in the hour of dissolution. There are, indeed, many motives for the true Christian's meeting death, not merely with acquiescence, but even with pleasure. The pious and amiable Melancthon was accustomed to console himself with the following reflections, which he recorded as some of the reasons why he himself should not be sorry to quit the present world : "Thou," said he, "shalt bid adieu to sin. Thou shalt be freed from cares, and especially from the rage of controversialists. Thou shalt enter into light. Thou shalt see God. Thou shalt behold also his Divine Son. Thou shalt comprehend all those wonderful secrets which thou couldst not understand in the present life. Thou shalt know why we are framed as we are. Thou shalt learn also the mystical conjunction of the divine and human natures in Jesus Christ."

This holy man might have been justly mentioned among the preceding examples of persons who in their last moments, deeply felt and penitently confessed the guilt of their nature and their conduct, but who, amidst all, blessed God that Christ had become their Saviour and Redeemer. The passages of scripture which gave Melancthon most delight and comfort upon his death-bed, and which he was accustomed frequently to repeat, were chiefly those which speak of faith in Jesus Christ. The three following were among the number: "God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." "Whoso seek the Son and believeth on him, hath eternal life.” "Being justified by faith, we have peace with God."

Thus fixing his hopes upon an immutable foundation, his aspirations after immortality became daily more fervid and intense. He appropriated to himself the words of St. Paul, "I have a desire to depart and be with Christ;" and so completely was his mind en

grossed by scriptural ideas, that he is said to have chaunted in his sleep, in the manner then customary at public worship, those affecting words of our Lord before his last supper: "With desire I have desired to eat this passover with you before I suffer; for I say unto you, I will not any more eat thereof until it be fulfilled in the kingdom of God."

Resembling our own Hooker in many important respects, he resembled him in this also, that the word peace dwelt upon his lips even in death. He adopted, as many pious men in every age have done, the exclamation of Simeon : "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation." Like Hooker, he had "lived to see the world made up of perturbations," and though both of these excellent men sacrificed much, and indeed every thing but their conscience, for peace, yet from the nature of the controversies in which they were engaged, neither of them had been permitted to enjoy it upon earth. But Melancthon was now about to enter that state"where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest." He was at peace with God through the reconciling blood of his Redeemer; he was at peace with his own conscience; and, as for the world, he was quitting at once its pleasures and its cares for evermore. He possessed all that he had long sought; his heart was full; and when asked by a friend if there were any thing more to be desired, he replied in that brief but emphatic exclamation,

ALIUD NIHIL-NISI CŒLUM!