record that was preparing in order to a future judgment; of the imperative necessity of repentance and faith in the Friend of sinners. This occupied but two or three minutes; but the few words that he spoke were striking and pithy. They seemed to solemnize and impress the youthful circle. I know they were long remembered, and I trust their effect has not yet passed away.

The following day we took leave of our friends, and pursued our journey.

"Oh," said my uncle, as the carriage for the last time rolled over the bridge, "it is a solemn thought when we take our departure from a place, that in all probability, we have left behind us good or evil influence, that will operate when we are seen and, perhaps, remembered no more. Lord, forgive my neglect of opportunities of usefulness; prevent, by thy grace, any ill effects that might result from my example or my spirit and conduct; and crown with thy rich blessing, my feeble attempts to do good!"

The last time I saw old Anthony, he said and did several things, which though they seemed nothing particular at the time, afterwards came fresh to my mind, and left a lasting impression there. The old man had been evidently failing in strength for several months. He was not insensible to the fact, nor unwilling to admit it. At nearly fourscore years of age, Anthony had been enabled to say, almost as Moses did, and he said it with a like feeling of humble gratitude and entire consecration, My eye is not dim, neither is my natural force abated." There was no vain glorious boasting of what he could do; but my uncle often observed that Anthony still did a better day's work than many a young man; better than a dozen mere eye servants. A liberal provision for old age had long been secured to Anthony by his considerate master, and it had been repeatedly proposed to him to relinquish work, and retire to enjoy repose and leisure. But Anthony loved work, and felt himself happier in his regular employment, than in altogether abandoning it. He loved reading; but he could not read all day long. He had a few neighbours on whom he liked occasionally to call, and by whom his calls were highly valued; for he never failed to say something pithy and in

structive; but he could not spend all his time in visiting. These things he had been accustomed to regard as recreations, and to find leisure for them in the shreds and patches of time which by early rising, and methodizing his work, he contrived to afford; and it seemed to him that he could both gain more good, and do more good, by adhering to his old allotment of time, giving his days to work and his odd minutes to other pursuits, than, as he expressed it, "setting up for a gentleman, and not knowing what to set about next."

So the old man still remained at his post, my kind uncle taking care to slip in such additional subordinate assistance as secured him against being overburdened with work.

was

a successor

But, unwilling as Anthony had been to relinquish work for the sake of personal repose, he no sooner began to feel himself unable fully to discharge his accustomed duties, than he anxiously desirous that should be engaged, and that his master's work should neither be neglected, nor he continue to receive a salary which he did not earn. It was really affecting to hear the matter debated between the generous master and the faithful servant, each party discovering equal honour and delicacy-so opposite to the too-prevalent spirit of selfishness commonly displayed.

"I had better give up, sir," said Anthony, "lest my example should do harm. If there is nobody properly to look after them, the youngsters may get into a habit of slighting their work; and if they see me do but half a day's work, and yet receive my pay and satisfy my master, they may think half a day's work is enough for them to do. I had better do nothing than do harm."

"You will not do harm to others, Anthony, I am quite certain," replied my uncle: " my only concern is that you do not over exert yourself. You fully meet my wishes if you just look round, and give orders, and indoctrinate the rising hands into your methods which have been so successful and satisfactory; and while you cannot help manifesting to them the regard you feel for my interest and gratification, there is no danger whatever of their learning from you, either indolence or eye ser

vice.'

From that time, it was an understood thing that Anthony was still to retain his post as head gardener, his duties being almost entirely transferred from actual labour, to superintendence and instruction. He could not help now and then taking the spade or the hoe out of the hands of a young man who held it awkwardly, or plied it lazily, and just showing him how men used to work when he was young; but he was more frequently found explaining to the men the best methods of performing the main operations of gardening, recommending the best sorts for propagation, and pressing upon them the importance of watching opportunities in the weather, and observing stated times for particular performances. I have heard him say if certain seeds were sown earlier or later than such a time, the plants would be sure to run; if some things were not set between such and such days, they would be destroyed by the wire worm, with many similar observations, the results of long experience; and he often enforced his injunctions with the remark, "Now do pay attention to this; for perhaps it may be the last time that I shall be here to remind you of it." I have known the young men laugh at old Anthony's whims, as they called them; but I have also known that the failures he predicted, actually resulted from a neglect of his directions; and when they could no longer appeal to him, I have heard them regretting that they had forgotten the times he specified.

Anthony was not less assiduous in pressing on those to whom his influence might be supposed to extend, attention to greater matters than the successful cultivation of a garden; integrity, fidelity, truth, temperance, choice of companions, observance of the sabbath, present decision in religion. He would speak of the happiness resulting from a right course of conduct in these particulars, and the misery inseparably connected with the way of transgressors. These addresses too, he would wind up with some such sentiment as this, Now my dear young master, (or my lad, as the case might be,) do not forget this. Through the course of a long life, old Anthony has proved the truth of this; and if this should be the last time of his speaking to you, as it very likely may, he would wish to leave

the impression on your mind that it is true, and so you will surely find it, if you should live as long, or twice as long as he has done. Take this for old Anthony's last saying, 'The way of transgressors is hard; but wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace,' Prov. xiii. 15; iii. 17. The old man kept about as usual. On a Saturday evening, he paid all the men. They afterwards remarked that that evening he took special care to see that all the frames were properly closed, and all the tools put away. It might be so, though he could hardly be more careful than he habitually was; but people are apt to notice things afterwards. And that night he gave to each, a word of exhortation which seemed particularly solemn, and took leave of them with good wishes that seemed particularly tender and earnest, when it proved that that time was the last. For soon afterwards, he retired to his chamber, and next morning was found dead upon his knees, with his Bible open before him. On hearing of the old man's death, I recollected that the last time I saw him, my uncle and he were talking together of the happiness of being found ready, whenever the summons of death might come. I believe the conversation originated in some instance of sudden or accidental death that had recently occurred. Anthony mentioned the strong confidence and triumph expressed, by a friend of his who habitually prayed when he went to rest at night, that if it were the will of God he might wake in heaven. "If that," said Anthony, "is essential to readiness for death, it has never yet been attained by me; but I know whom I have trusted, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed to him against that day. Let that day come how and when he please, I hope then to be found in Him; nothing else I have, or depend on, or desire; and more than this I cannot say."

Nor need you desire to say," returned my uncle. "Preparedness for death and heaven does not consist in rapturous frames and feelings, but in simplicity of dependence, and sanctification of heart. The soul that relies on Christ alone for pardon and acceptance, and that lives far above the highest possessions and pleasures of this world, while not disdaining its humblest

man by removal; and those offices they have, to the present day, filled with mutual harmony and great efficiency. Their intercourse has grown into cordial friendship, in which their families participate with mutual advantage. No one of the parties has relinquished his previous opinions and practices; but all have learned to admit the conviction that there are some things on which we may safely and conscientiously agree to differ. Hearty consecration of energy to the interests of one great and good Master, has a happy tendency to unite all the

servants.

The last sermon my uncle heard, was from the words, "Now is our salvation nearer than when we believed," Rom. xiii. 11. He entered into the subject with deep and lively interest; and it apparently gave a tinge to his meditations during the short remainder of his days. There was no particular reason, at the time, to imagine that that was his last sermon; for he was then in ordinary health, much as he had been for several months: but so it proved. I have often thought of it since, and endeavoured to realize the solemnity with which we should listen to a sermon, if we knew that it was our last. How ought we to attend to every sermon, since we never hear one, of which we can know that it will not be our last!

On the following Monday evening, my uncle wound up his favourite clock for the last time. It was a curious and valuable piece of mechanism that had been in the family for several generations. The servants had never been permitted to wind it up, even when my uncle became nearly blind. That night, as he wound it up, he said, in evident allusion to the subject that had been so recently and so interestingly presented to his mind,

"On all the wings of time it flies,
Each moment brings it near;
Then welcome each declining day,
And each revolving year.

"Not many years their rounds shall run,
Nor many mornings rise,
Ere all its glories stand revealed
To our admiring eyes."

When next the evening came for winding up the clock, it was forgotten; for the venerable master was confined to the chamber of sickness, and concern for him engrossed all the household. Next day it was observed that the

clock was down; Mrs. Rogers said she could not have the heart to touch it, nor was she willing that any other person should. She hoped, or rather she wished, that her dear master might be able to do it himself, and then she thought he would be better pleased to find it left undone. He never again came down stairs to do it.

The last business in which my uncle was engaged, was an effort to effect a reconciliation between two beloved friends, who had long been at variance. He was dictating a letter on the subject, when seized with alarming faintness, which proved the harbinger of fatal illness. The letter was never finished; but the conciliatory sentiments breathed in the fragment, and the views it expressed as entertained by one so near an eternal world, of the vanity of earthly possessions, and the sinfulness and folly of making them objects of contention, fell with due force on the parties. The matters in dispute were fairly and amicably adjusted through my uncle's instrumentality, though he did not live to see it; and, as far as I know, the harmony then established has not since been interrupted.

My uncle's last will did honour to his judgment and to his heart. Not a relative was forgotten; not one aged person who had long been a pensioner on his bounty, was left to bewail, together with the loss of a venerated benefactor, the loss of those comforts which age and feebleness rendered necessary, and which his kindness had rendered attainable. To his faithful housekeeper was entrusted the charge of continuing to them their stated allowances and occasional gifts, for the remainder of their lives; while for herself, and every other servant, was made a liberal provision, according to the nature and duration of their services. The will bore date many years before my uncle's death; and the only alterations made, were for the sake of expressing his good will to some of the noble societies which had more recently sprung into existence. I never heard any person, interested or otherwise, censure my uncle's disposition of his property.

For

My uncle's last attack did not at first appear more formidable than several from which he had recovered. some days, those around him hoped that he would again recover. I do not think he expected it himself; but he seemed