enlarge this sketch, to enter into details in respect to each Circuit. Besides, he was not at all a man of change: what he was, and what he did, in one Circuit, that he was and did in all. He never chose an appointment for himself, but by prayer and supplication made his request known unto God, and then left himself entirely to the disposal of the Conference. He used to say, "The great Head of the church knows his vineyard, and the labourers whom he employs ;" and that, in the wide extent of the Wesleyan Connexion, there was a Circuit for each Preacher. He did not seek great things for himself, nor was ever known to indulge any anxiety about his future destination. When he went into a Circuit, all his energies of body and mind were put forth for its temporal and spiritual benefit, while he remained in it. He sometimes found the societies embarrassed in their temporal concerns, and met, in consequence, with many trying and painful occurrences; but he endeavoured to see the will of God in them all. For years his income was indeed limited; but no Quarterly-Meeting could have prevailed upon him to have it increased, till the Circuit was relieved of its burden. In him, however, this was no new feeling. When in the West Indies, and obliged to draw bills upon Dr. Coke, or the Committee at home, it was sometimes painful to see him; and when reasoned with, he would reply, "Ah! you do not know with what difficulty every shilling of that money is obtained." Purity of intention was truly a prominent trait in his character; selfishness, that disease of our nature, was blessedly subdued in him.

His views on the subject of becoming a Supernumerary he had often expressed. "As soon as I feel unable properly to do the full work of a Circuit, I shall think it right to become a Supernumerary. I should consider it a sin in the sight of God, to stand in the way of an efficient man, to the injury of a Circuit." In accordance with these views, as soon as he perceived a failure in his sight and mémory, he made known his intention in the proper quarter. To his family this was a painful exercise. They knew his life had been one of no common labour, and they feared that the rest which he sought would shorten his days their fears have been painfully realized. The same patient resignation to the divine will, which they had so often seen manifested, was on this occasion exercised not less decidedly than on former occasions.

At the Conference of 1835 he came to reside at Cheetham-Hill. His brethren can bear witness, how cheerfully, on all occasions, he afforded them the help of such services as he was able to perform, till within two months of his removal to a better world. His views of himself as a Christian, and of his talents as a Minister, were always self-abasing and humiliating; indeed, his friends thought too much so: so that he felt no difficulty in obeying the apostolic precept, "In honour preferring one another."

The Conference never had a member more ardently and sincerely

attached to Wesleyan Methodism than himself. Its doctrines he believed, and well understood; and, both in the pulpit, and out of it, he diligently laboured in explaining and enforcing them. He loved its discipline, and maintained it; though this sometimes exposed him to painful exercises: but he never acted rashly; he was always calm, recollected, and kind; but, at the same time, firm as a rock: he knew 66 no man after the flesh," when God and his cause were concerned : his principles were as pure, as his integrity was inflexible. He had no sympathies "with them who are given to change," or to cause divisions. He freely confessed, that he owed his all, under God, to Methodism; and thought it the greatest honour the great Head of the church could have conferred upon him, to have placed him in its ministry. To the leading active members of the Conference he bore the most grateful affection, for their disinterested labours for the benefit of the Connexion.

A short time previous to the Centenary Conference, there appeared a failure in his strength; but not so much as to occasion his absence from Liverpool at that memorable season. On his return home he had frequent attacks of indisposition: still he apprehended no danger, and refused to have medical aid. On October 20th he walked to Blackley, about three miles, and held a love-feast there. Some friends who were present say, that he gave a delightful account of his own experience, which was attended with a gracious unction; and that he concluded by saying, he believed his heavenly Father was preparing him for his heavenly mansion. When he came back, referring to the service in which he had been engaged, he said, “I think I never was at a better." But this was his last public service of any kind. He continued to go out a little; but the paroxysms of pain, and shortness of breath, became more frequent; and, on November 21st, medical aid was found to be absolutely necessary.

Before proceeding with the account of his last sickness and death, it may be proper to observe, that such were the views he had of himself, that not a word could be said to him on the subject of a funeral sermon, or of any notice of his life and labours; and the fear, lest he should hear the pen move on the paper, and inquire, "What are you doing?" and put an interdict upon it,-prevented us from recording many of the gracious words that fell from his lips. What is recorded, will only convey a faint idea of his happy state, and of the power of that grace which was so richly shed upon him by the God of boundless love. It will want the divine influence, the life and energy, with which he spoke; the heavenly, smiling countenance, which more than once appeared irradiated with rays of glory; and the uplifted hands, so often raised in wonder, adoration, and triumph.

He was favoured in being under the medical care of a gentleman eminent in his profession, in whose skill himself and family had the greatest confidence, and to whom they feel a deep sense of gratitude

for his kind and unremitting attention by day and night. On his first visit he said, he feared that Mr. Pattison's constitution was giving way. When he had left the room, Mr. Pattison inquired what he had said; and, when told, replied, "Well, I am not going to be cut off prematurely. I have lived the life of man. It is a wonder this heart has beaten so long and you know that, forty years ago, I was borne from Road-Town, in Tortola, upon the shoulders of Negroes, to a mountain, for coolness and change of air; and did not know whether I should come down again alive." He then expressed his gratitude to God, for the patience and long-suffering exercised towards him all those years, and especially for his providential care, and the abundant blessings conferred upon him. For some time after this, his family were kept alternately hoping and fearing. Occasionally a favourable change would take place; but then the symptoms would again return with greater violence, and darken the prospects they had ventured to anticipate.

On Wednesday, December 11th, between one and two o'clock in the morning, he called for me, and said, "I think this is come to bring me to my end. You know I have told you, for some time, I thought I should not live long. I have had my mind so deeply impressed with eternal things; and just now I have received such a manifestation of the divine love, as I never before enjoyed." He then broke out in a delightful strain of praise. He gave glory to the Father, for the gift of his Son, for himself and for a world of sinners: he gave glory to - Jesus, for his love, and the shedding of his blood: and O! how he expatiated on the virtue of that precious blood, and its efficacy in cleansing from all sin! He then gave glory to the Holy Ghost, as the great Agent in the work of regeneration, in language which seemed as though prompted by that blessed Spirit himself. His views of Christ's atonement, of its extent and sufficiency, of his interest in it, of the amazing love manifested in bringing him to participate in its benefits, of the patience and long-suffering exercised towards him, the blessings. bestowed upon him,—so vile, so mean, so unworthy, so unfaithful,— were expressed with an energy which nothing but actual experience could have inspired. O, it was all wonderful, and filled the heart of her who now mourns his loss with unutterable praise to God and the Lamb! He then, in the most solemn, fervent, triumphant manner, repeated these verses :—

"O Love, thou bottomless abyss,

My sins are swallow'd up in thee!
Cover'd is my unrighteousness,

No spot of guilt remains on me;
While Jesu's blood, through earth and skies,
'Mercy, free, boundless mercy,' cries!

"With faith I plunge me in this sea;
Here is my hope, my joy, my rest:
Hither, when hell assails, I flee,

I look into my Saviour's breast:
Away, sad doubt, and anxious fear,
'Mercy' is all that's written there!

"Fix'd on this ground will I remain,

Though my heart fail, and flesh decay :
This Anchor shall my soul sustain,

When earth's foundations melt away;
Mercy's full power I then shall prove,
Loved with an everlasting love."

The last stanza he repeated over and over again, with eyes and hands lifted up to heaven: but this exercise was followed by such exhaustion, as brought him apparently to the gates of death.

At five o'clock, on the morning of the 12th, he requested his son and the servant might be called up, and expressed a wish that his friend and neighbour, Mrs. Gibson, should be with him, as he supposed himself near his end: however, during the day he appeared to revive; but the night proved one of the most painful and solemn ever experienced by his attendants. To him it was one of indescribable sufferings the paroxysms of pain, and want of breath, quickly followed each other, and were indeed agonizing. When a little relieved from one of them, he looked at Mrs. Gibson, and said, "It was with great propriety that the Church of England placed that petition in her Prayer-Book: 'Suffer us not at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee."" Three times did he request we would pray for him; and we asked, if consistent with the will of God, that He would smooth his passage to the grave. To the petitions he responded with great earnestness, and, to our astonishment, began to pray, first, for himself and his family, then for the Church and for Wesleyan Methodism, that it might continue in its life, power, and purity, while sun and moon endured; then for the world. He seemed almost in an agony, when praying for the souls lying in the wicked one. When he had finished praying, he solemnly pronounced the usual benediction. Several times during the night he said, with great feeling,

"O the pain, the bliss of dying!'

Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly." That night can never be forgotten. Such a sense of the divine presence rested upon all who were in the room, that though it was the chamber of mortal suffering, yet it seemed as though full of the divine glory.

Notwithstanding these paroxysms, he so far revived as to continue with us a fortnight longer, though he was yet called to endure strong pain. Early in the morning of the 13th, his son and daughter were

called up. He entreated them, with tears, to give their hearts to God, and to be kind to their mother when he was gone. He told his son to write to his brothers, and give his dying love to them, and say, that he charged them to meet him at the right hand of God. He then took an affectionate leave of all in the room, supposing himself to be dying; but he revived again, asked to be raised, and said, with a degree of surprise, "The messenger seems to have been interrupted. I was waiting, as I thought, at heaven's gate, without any particular pain, expecting every breath to be my last, to be ushered into glory, to see Jesus as he is, and to see things as they are."

The succeeding night was one of great suffering, which continued till within three days of his death. It called forth the sympathy of his friends; but he never uttered a word of complaint. Unable to say much at those seasons, he seemed engaged with God.

On the morning of Saturday, the 14th, as soon as I entered his room, he said, "O what a night of wonders! What sinkings of nature! What humbling views I have had!" I reminded him of those which that devoted man of God, the late Rev. Richard Watson, had of himself. He replied by lifting up his right arm, and saying, (alluding to Mr. Watson's language,) "A crawling worm indeed!" and, resting awhile, he threw up both his arms, and exclaimed, "Christ must reign till he hath put all enemies under his feet;" and, soon after, "For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.' 'Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly,' and take thy exile home!" But then, as if correcting himself, he added,

"O what are all my sufferings here,
If, Lord, thou count me meet
With that enraptured host to' appear,
And worship at thy feet?

Give joy or grief, give ease or pain,

Take life or friends away,

I come to find them all again

In that eternal day."

About this time his mind began occasionally to wander. Aware of this, when he was quite collected, he wished to know if he had said anything improper; and, when assured to the contrary, he appeared very thankful, and said,

"I the chief of sinners am,
But Jesus died for me."

During the night he appeared to suffer more than ever; but his consolations were likewise more abundant. He appeared in the morning almost like an inhabitant of another world, permitted to bear testimony to the power of divine grace. The love of Christ filled him. He wept, and all who were surrounding his bed wept with him,