in his subsequent intercourse with literary men, he made high attainments in useful knowledge, especially in theology. To this sacred science his own pious dispositions, in connection with the profession to which he early devoted himself, naturally pointed his primary attention, and assiduous study.

After having served God in the gospel of his Son with all good fidelity eighteen years, among a people, who were affectionately attached to his person, and fondly delighted, as well as instructively edified, by his ministry; he was called forth to a higher and more extensive sphere of action. The rare assemblage of virtues and talents, which he possessed, and the celebrity of character, as a theologian, which he had now acquired, attracted the attention of Harvard University; and by the legislature of this Seminary he was chosen its Professor of Divinity.

More than ten years, he statedly performed the arduous duties of this very important office. With what ability and fidelity he discharged them, it were difficult for me to recite, and superfluous for you to hear. My voice can add nothing to his eulogium. His praise is in all the churches. Within the University he has left a memorial of his worth, more durable and more honorary than the monumental marble. Let it simply be remarked, that he was singularly diligent and laborious in the composition of his theological Lectures; that these Discourses embraced the entire body of divinity; that the order of them was natural and lucid; that the manner of their composure was a happy union of the argumentative and persuasive; that, together with convincing demonstrations of truth, they contained judicious refutations of error; that both their matter and form were discreetly adapted to the youthful and inquisitive

auditory, to which they were addressed; that they were pronounced with a seriousness and energy, which evinced the sincerity of the speaker; and that they were admirably calculated to form enlightened divines, and practical Christians.

As a preacher, his talents and character are too well known, to require elucidation. I cannot forbear however from remarking, that his discourses in the pulpit were uniformly such, as became a Christian minister. They were evangelical discourses, not moral essays. The great truths, which they contained, were derived, not from the philosophy of Plato, of Epictetus, or of Seneca, nor from the boasted oracle of human reason; but from the deep fountains of that grace and truth, which came by Jesus Christ. He taught the depravation of the heart; the necessity of its renovation by the Spirit of God; together with the utility and importance of the instituted means of religion. He greatly insisted on the divine character and mission, on the death and mediation, on the atonement and intercession, of Jesus Christ the Saviour. He often inculcated the duties of faith in Christ, repentance for sin, and a holy life, as essential to salvation. While he addressed religious truth to the understanding, he closely applied it to the conscience. The disguises of the heart he skilfully detected; its latent foldings he admirably penetrated. He reduced the sinner to such dilemmas; he so glaringly exposed the treachery of the false professor of religion, and the inconstancy of the true believer; that it was difficult for either to suppress the consciousness of guilt, and the confusion of shame. On retiring from this temple, after attending his ministrations, the address of Louis XIV. to the eloquent bishop of Clermont, after hearing him preach at Versailles, has often occurred to me: "Father, I have heard many great orators in this, chap

el; I have been highly pleased with them; but for you, whenever I hear you, I go away displeased with myself; for I see more of my own character."

While he thus alarmed conscious guilt, and confounded hypocrisy and impiety; he with wonderful facility encouraged the sincere, though feeble, tendencies to virtue, and poured the balm of comfort into the contrite heart. In conformity to the example of his great Master, a bruised reed did he not break; and the smoaking flax did he not quench. He took peculiar delight in preaching good tidings to the meek; in binding up the broken hearted; in proclaiming liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them who are bound. He was a Barnabas, a son of consolation.

While his public ministrations were uniformly interesting and impressive; his devotional exercises and discourses, on special occasions, were truly admirable. He intuitively discerned, and promptly seized, what would create in his auditory the deepest interest, and give to his discourse the liveliest impression; and employed the imagination and the senses, as handmaids to devotion and virtue. The weight and importance of his doctrines; the fertility and justness of his thoughts; the pertinency and beauty of his metaphors; the vigour and elegance of his style; the simplicity and pathos of his elocution; commanded the profound attention of his auditors. But he possessed one advantage, incomparably superior to all these combined excellencies, an advantage, which rendered his discourses irresistibly commanding and persuasive; He was a good

man.

With such rare qualifications for the ministry, and with a heart filled with philanthropy, and animated with zeal to do good, it was natural for ministers, and for churches, in their afflictions or exigencies, to solicit his

solace and his aid. Such solicitations he knew not how to resist. To his power (I bear record), yea, and beyond his power, he was willing of himself. Alas! To this benevolent and pious charity he made the costly oblation of his last service. It was in the church at Brattle-Street* that he performed his last labour of love. Previously debilitated, he was inadequate to the public services of religion in that large edifice, and in a great assembly. The administration of the Lord's Supper increased the labours of that solemn day. From the sanctuary of God he repaired to his own home; retired to his chamber; sickened, and expired.

During his illness, he bore plenary testimony to those great truths of religion, which had been the chosen subjects of his ministry, and the sacred rule of his life. In an early stage of his sickness, his "hope," to use his own language, "was intermingled with overwhelming confusion, sorrow and shame." In its later stages, his disease was less spasmodic than it had previously been, and his mind was more tranquil. Among other interesting observations, he said; "The doctrines of grace, which contemplate men as sinners, and as requiring an infinite atonement, are the doctrines, which I must live and die by." On the morning of the day previous to his death, he had intimation of his danger.†

* In Boston, vacant by the death of the Rev. Dr. THACHER.

↑ He asked me, Whether I was able to collect any thing special from the physicians concerning his case. I told him, that I had not seen his physicians that morning; but gave him my own opinion of his danger, and advised him, if there were any thing on his mind, relating to his temporal or spiritual concerns, that he wished to disclose, to disclose it. He thanked me for the suggestion, and said, he would avail himself of it. ingly, during the day, addressed religious advice to his children, and took leave of his family.-His relapse from a hopeful progress toward recovery

He accord

Having, in a conversation that ensued, expressed his Christian hope; he was asked, Whether he did not build that hope on the cornerstone laid in Sion, elect and precious. "If I do not trust there," he replied, "I know not in what I do trust. I have nothing else to trust in. Lord! to whom shall I go? Thou hast the words of eternal life." He was able to speak but little, during the day. After a prayer with him in the evening, he was more collected, and more capable of conversing, than he had been since the morning. In this conversation (alas, the last!) he said; "I believe the necessity of a conformity of heart to the truths of the gospel." On being asked concerning his hope, he replied, "My hope is, that I possess the Christian temper;" then pausing a little, he added, "All my hopes are founded on the infinite mercy of God, and the perfect character and atonement of Christ. The next morning, he knew not his earthly friends; but he seemed still to know in whom he believed. At the close of prayer by his bedside, his eyes were steadfastly directed toward heaven; his lips gently moved-in that act his immortal spirit departed.

Shall they, who are wise, shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they, who turn many to righteousness, as the stars forever and ever? Such, we believe, will be his everlasting splendour. Does one star differ from another star in glory? Of the first magnitude, and of the

was surprising to others; and the intimation of his danger was apparently unexpected to himself. The manner, in which he received it, furnishes occasion for stricture on that false tenderness, which conceals from the sick their danger, and from the dying the approach of death. If the sick person be prepared for death, he may, by being seasonably apprized of his danger, have opportunity to impart useful counsels, and to show "in what peace a Christian can die." If he be unprepared, how spurious is that friendship, which steals away the remnant of his time, by deceptive artifices, until there is no place of repentance, though he seek it carefully with tears!