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him not; he passeth on also, but I perceive him not.' (Job ix. 11.) There are few people, but the most careless and profligate, who caa recollect the occurrences of their lives, but will in some of them see reason to acknowledge providential interpositions, by which they have been rescued from dangers and temptations. 'God speakelh once,yea twice, but man perceiveth it not. In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth on man, in slumberings on the bed; then he openeth the ears of men, and sealeth their instruction, that he may withdraw man from his purpose, and hide pride from man. He keepeth back his soul from the pit, and his life from perishing by the sword.' (Job xxxiii. 14—18.)

"The doctrine of supernatural suggestions, which may be considered as proceeding from a special providence or special grace, is established by various passages both in the Old and New Testament. In the latter we read, that when our Saviour sent forth his Apostles to preach to the lust sheep of the house of Israel, he warned them that they should be brought before kings and governors for his sake, for a teatimony against them and the Gentiles: he instructed them at the same time to take no thought what they should speak, for it should be given to them in that hour what they should speak; adding, ' For it is not ye that speak, but the Spirit of my Father which is in you.' From the Acts of the Apostles we further learn, that Paul and Timothy 'were forbidden of the Holy Ghost to preach the word in Asia;' and that •when 'they essayed to go into Bithynia, the Spirit suffered them not.' And in the case of temptations or trials, St. Paul tells the Corinthians, 'God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able, but will with the temptation also make a tray to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.'

"But the capacity to distinguish supernatural suggestions from the dictates of our own understanding, is not inherent in us, nor always imparted. Neither is it necessary: a pious mind will feel the deepest gratitude to the Almighty, for every danger escaped, or temptation resisted, or blessing received, whether it be owing to that prudence •which is the daughter of religious fear and knowledge, or to the immediate act and inspiration of the Deity; in either case, he knows that the security or the enjoyment proceeds from the care and appointment of his heavenly Father.

"The incapacity of man to distinguish special from ordinary operations of Providence, occasions the principal difficulty attending the doctrine, and has led some to impiety, and others to superstition. Some pious men deeply impressed with the truth of the text, that 'not a sparrow falls to the ground without our heavenly Father,' not only consider themselves, and justly so, under the guidance of Providence, but expect a special and extraordinary assistance and direction in the most common and trifling occurrences. There are others of a very different character, who conceive all events to be linked together by the indissoluble chain of cause and effect, and thus, in fact, deny the existence of Providence altogether.

"It is not uncommon to read in the writings of some pious men, instances of particular interpositions of Providence on the most trifling occasions;—thus, in an account published by some of the earliest religious emigrants to America, it is presumptuously stated, as a remarkable passage of Providence in their favour, that 'God was pleased to sweep away great multitudes of the natives by the small-pox, before they went thither, to make room for them.'

"These misconceptions, on so awful a subject, must be imputed to the deceitfulness of the human heart. If, on the one hand, it be absurd to admit the operation of chance—if it be irreligious to forget for a moment our dependence on God, and impious to exclude or limit his interference in human affairs, or to suppose that any events can happen •without his knowledge and permission; it seems, on the other, arrogant to appropriate to ourselves, as special, dispensations which, for aught we know, may take place in the ordinary course of his natural or moral government; or, even supposing them special and extraordinary, may proceed from motives which we cannot penetrate, and may be referable to causes or consequences distinct from our concerns.

"It is nevertheless undeniably true, that those who make the Scriptures the rule of their conduct, and pray constantly and devoutly for the guidance of the Holy Spirit, may be said to enjoy the Divine protection in an especial manner. They are less exposed to the common temptations and accidents of life; and they have strength in time of need to oppose them. They have an inward monitor to direct them— a conscience enlightened by the word of God, and by his Spirit which dictated it; and they will escape a variety of seductions, which involve others in worldly and criminal embarrassments: Ч Wisdom dwell with Prudence.' All this, however, may be considered as falling within the ordinary rules of Providence—God blessing the means which he requires us to use for enjoying his protection; and in this sense it is most true, that godliness is profitable unto all things, having the promise both of this life and that which is to come.

"But if, by a mistaken notion of their dependence on God, pious men should expect the laws of his natural or moral government to be suspended in their favour; if they should presumptuously expose themselves to dangers and temptations, from which they can only escape by a miraculous exertion of his power, they adopt an extravagant opinion for which there is no warrant in Scripture, and may be said to tempt the providence of God. It is at the same time true, that they may yet be saved by it.

"We must also remember, that as the Almighty causes the rain to fall and the sun to shine both on the just and the unjust, so good men as well as bad are exposed to the usual accidents of life, and must adopt equal vigilance and precaution against them. Although God keepeth the feet of his saints, he has no where promised them an exemption from common calamities. Pain, infirmity, and disease, are the lot of all the children of Adam. The tempest which overwhelms the vessel in the ocean, the hail which mars the labours of the husbandman, the earthquake which destroys the city, and the pestilence which depopulates whole provinces, comprehend in their devastations the just and the unjust."

From the Christian Observer.

"Absent from the bodyprêtent laith the Lord."
"Carried by angels into jibruham's boiom."
Where am I? gentle strangers, say; A bitter pang my bean oppressed ;—

I pray you apeak me fair. I can recall no more.

Thi« brightneei, is it earthly day? i ]„ft the mourners round my bed;

Thi« fragrance, mortal air? My children too were near;

My coach wai dark, disturbed my reit; My gentle wife, who thought me dead, But now all pain in o'er: Will joy to find me here.

For all thing« here thrice-happy seem,

And beautiful to view.
I« it a dream? Yet 'tis no dream

That I am happy too.
I could not emile, I could not ipeak,

I could do nought bat feel:—
This gala hath Tanned my hectic cheek

These balms my spirits heal.

I hanger not; no more I thirst,

Nor feel the scorching ray;
I lave where living waters burst;

My tears are wiped away.

Some cherub seems my soul to wall;

Cooled is my parched brow;
No more I taste the nauseous-draught;

I can breathe freely now.

Where am I? gentle strangers, tell;

And who are ye, I prsy?
Ib this the palace where ye dwell?

What king do ye obey?

Why do I see before yon throne

Those radiant Spirits seven? On eaith such brightness u аз unknown;

-—Sure I roust be in heaven! I left of late a restless scene

Of falsehoods and of snares; Bat here, this andistarbed serene

No hollow aspect wears.

Ye would not mock your stranger guest:

That soft and heavenly smile Tells me this is a place of rest,

A world unknown to guile. These robes of white, this wand of palm,

The crown that decks my brow, All, all, are real ;—no baseless charm,

No phantom cheats me now.

Seraphs who bask in realms of light—

That name I sure may say— The world I left was sometimes bright,

But, oh! it smiled to slay.

My vest was Roiled with mortal blame,

My eyes wept many a tear; But I have doffed those robes of shame;

I feel no sorrow here.

Weeping, long ere the cause I knew

Why infant tears abound,
I early felt that sorrow grew

On sin's unhallowed ground:

And a« in childhood's budding years
Guilt quailed at conscience' voice,

A thousand new mysterious fears
Forbad me to rejoice.

Then manhood came, with cares o'erfraught,

And girt with Passion's train; And all one painful lesson taught,—

That earth, though fair, is vain.

"To make it thy repose forbear," A voice this heart addressed;

"Come unto me with «very care, And I will give the* rest."

Thus guided to the Saviour's сто«,
Pardon and peace were mine;

And I could smile at worldly loss,
If God propitious shine.

A few short years on earth I toiled,

Then laid me down to die; —Ye know the rest: from death aaaoiled

Ye bore me to the sky.

For well I now view where I am;

Unveiled all heaven I see; There is the Throne; and there the Lamb;

Angels and saints are ye!

Souls of the just, I know you all :—

Martyrs, and holy men,
Abraham, and David, John, and faul,

And many a friend, I ken.

For friends I had, who trod on earth
The path that leads to heaven;

To whom to share this second birth,
And joy this joy, 'tis given.

But 'tis not seraph, friend, or saint,

Can make a heaven to me; All other glories are but faint;

My Saviour would I see.

Though rich your crowns, though bright your files,

And sweet the strains ye sing,
I ask for more than angel smiles ;—

Oh lead me to your King.
Him while on earth unseen I loved;

Awaiting this blest place,
Mortality's dark veil removed,

To view Him face to face.

But hark! what descant greets my ear!

What strains seraphic flow!
To join those notes I need not fear,

Preluded oft below.

"Worthy the Lamb" was then my song,

As tearfully I wended; And shall I not the «train i

Now all my toils are ended!

To Him that sitteth on the throne,

And to the Lamb, for aye,
Who did create, who did redeem,

My grateful song I'll pay.

On earth, when vexed with anxious cares.

Or worn with restless toil, Exposed to warring passion's snare«,

Or chafed with life's turmoil;

Maligned by Falsehood's subtle pen,

Too strong for truth alone; Grieving o'er sins of holy men,

More grieving o'er my own;

'Midst worldly frowns, or anguish sharp,

Or dangerous wilds untrod,
Twas sweet to seize the sacred harp,

And commune with my God.

And if on earth such joys war« mine,
Though jarred too oft ¡te tone,

Those melodies shall I resign
Where discord« are unknown'

Here, ever-toned, the joyful shell "Worthy the Lamb" was erst my theme

Resounds one deathless theme,— A« on towards heaven I wended;

Hi« love who from the depths of hell No other strain would I prolong

Did captive man redeem. Now all my toile are ended.

s. c. w.




During his most arduous employments Lord Teignmouth never neglected'his domestic duties. In the bosom of his family, and among the numerous branches of his relatives and connexions, he was known, beloved, and venerated, as the husband, father, brother, friend, whose looks, words, and actions, indicated steadfast, unvarying attention, and judicious friendship. His servants regarded him as a parent, and the poor as a kind and constant benefactor. The eminent consistency of Lord Teignmouth in the course of public and private virtue, must be ascribed to that faith in his Saviour, and to that humble dependence on the assistance of the Holy Spirit, which he diligently sought during the period of his highest elevation in India, and which constituted his strength, his solace, and the mainspring of his exertions and of his excellence in the severe domestic afflictions with which it pleased God to visit him, no less than in the difficulties in which his public proceedings were occasionally involved. As his sphere of active usefulness contracted, his mind became gradually concentrated in the pursuits of religion, in the duties of prayer, meditation, and the study of the Scriptures. His theological reading was extensive, and gradually, in part, supplanted the pursuit of general literature. He was alive to passing events, and his remarks on their bearings and probable results were characterized by singular sagacity. His health had much improved during the latter part of his life; but at the close of the year 1832 it received a shock from illness from which it never' recovered; and during the following spring his Lordship suffered considerable internal pain, apparently produced by indigestion. This was happily removed by the remedies employed; and the pure and invigorating air of Hampstead, whither he temporarily removed during the following summer, restored his strength, when a severe attack of illness nearly terminated his existence. He believed that his end was at hand, and gave directions respecting his funeral, and the disposal of part of his personal property. But it pleased God to spare his life till the fourteenth of February of this year, the forty-eighth anniversary of the day of his marriage; during which period his mind was habitually employed in preparation for his approaching removal to his everlasting rest, in humble and entire dependence on the mercies of his Saviour. An occasional depression of spirits, produced by bodily languor, of which he complained, disappeared during the few last weeks of his life: his state was that of calm, peaceful, blessed hope. At length, surrounded by his family, on whom he had bestowed again and again his affectionate benedictions—retaining till nearly the last moments a clear and tender remembrance of all his relatives—he resigned his spirit, without a sigh or struggle, into the hands of his Creator and Redeemer. His mortal remains were interred on the twenty-first, in a family vault under Marylebone Church. And here we might close the curtain around that peaceful bed; for, knowing how such a man lived, it is of little comparative importance to inquire how he died, since the languors and agonies of dissolving nature often weigh down the immortal spirit, and afford no certain index of the addictions of character, and no sure presage of the destinies of the soul; but, remembering his Lordship's own remark respecting the dying hours of his friend, Sir William Jones, and the mournful interest with which the public would have listened to the affecting recitals of the parting scene, we will not deny ourselves or our readers the interesting record of his Lordship's death-bed, as disclosed by his relative, the Rev. Mr. Anderson,in the discourse delivered on the Sunday after his funeral, and which has been published at the request of his congregation; more especially as the statement incidentally includes some very interesting particulars respecting his Lordship's religious character, which more than confirm all that we have stated in the preceding narrative.

Mr. Anderson mentions, in the first place, that Lord Teignmouth was accustomed to offer up his prayers at the Throne of Grace with much fervour and importunity. For many years of his life he was known to be engaged three hours every day in the exercise of private prayer; and it was his custom to retire for his evening devotions at five o'clock in the afternoon, in order that he might perform those holy exercises before a sense of weariness or fatigue should oppress his bodily powers, and thus impede the aspirations of his soul towards the gates of heaven. From these secret communings with God he always came forth into his family, like the Jewish lawgiver of old, with brightness in his face, as well as with the law of God in his heart; and showing, by that heavenly-mindedness which marked his whole conversation, how earnest had been his prayer that the same "mind might be in him which was also in Christ Jesus."

Mr. Anderson mentions, in the next place, that lively faith in the Lord Jesus Christ which formed the groundwork of his obedience, and which he laboured to cherish by such earnest, persevering prayer. On the second day after Mr. Anderson's arrival at his house, in the course of a long conversation at the close of his morning devotions, he expressed some apprehensions as to the reality of his faith, because he was unable to perform his devotions with that entire collectedness of mind, and that sustained attention, which it had been his privilege formerly to enjoy. Mr. Anderson observed to him, that the feeble state of his bodily frame was obviously unequal to that intense exertion, both of mind and body, which his devotional exercises demanded; and then, with the view of enabling him to judge for himself whether the distraction of which he complained arose from weakness of faith or only from languor and debility of body, he entreated him to consider what was the view which he habitually entertained of his own natural condition, of the Divine holiness, and of the infinite mystery of redeeming love. In reply to these questions, he spoke with great energy and earnestness of his deep and abiding conviction of the utter misery of our fallen state, and of the strength of indwelling sin in his own heart. He then described his ardent longings after higher degrees of that holiness which is only another name for true happiness. And he said, in conclusion, with solemn emphasis; "It is my continual prayer that I may always be looking to Him who of God is made unto me wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption; and that, delivered from the guilt of sin by His atoning blood, clothed with the robe of His righteousness, and partaking of the blessed and sanctifying in

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