stayed there a fortnight, and her aunt with her. The doctor was very attentive and kind to her, and we still hoped she might recover. During this fortnight, I went two or three times to see her; and one evening, being with her alone, she asked me to pray for her. 'What do you wish me to pray for, my dear?' said I. She answered, 'That God would bless me, and keep me, and save my soul.' 'Do you think then, that you are a sinner?' 'Yes, father.' Fearing lest she did not understand what she said, I asked her, What is sin, my dear?' She answered, 'Telling a story.' I comprehended this, and it went to my heart. 'What then,' I said, 'you remember, do you, my having corrected you once, for telling a story? Yes, father.' And are you grieved for having so offended God?' 'Yes, father.' I asked her, if she did not try to pray herself. She answered, 'I sometimes try, but I do not know how to pray; I wish you would pray for me, till I can pray for myself.' As I continued to sit by her, she appeared much dejected. I asked her the reason. She said, 'I am afraid I should go to hell.' 'My dear,' said I, 'who told you so?' 'Nobody, (said she,) but I know if I do not pray to the Lord, I must go to hell.' I then went to prayer with her, with many tears.

“After her return to Kettering, we soon saw, with heartrending grief, evident symptoms of approaching dissolution. Her mind seemed to grow, however, in seriousness. She had some verses composed for her, by our dear friend Mr. Ryland.* These, when we rode out for the air, she often

* Lord, teach a little child to pray,
Thy grace betimes impart,
And grant thy Holy Spirit may
Renew my infant heart.

A helpless creature I was born,
And from the womb I stray'd;
1 must be wretched and forlorn,
Without thy mercy's aid.

But Christ can all my sins forgive,
And wash away their stain,
And fit my soul with him to live,
And in his kingdom reign.

To him let little children come,
For he hath said they may;
His bosom then shall be their home,
Their tears he'll wipe away.

For all who early seek his face.
Shall surely taste his love,

Jesus will guide them by his grace,
To dwell with him above.

M

requested me to say over to her. She several times requested me to pray with her. I asked her again if she tried to pray herself: I found by her answer that she did, and was used to pray over the hymn which Mr. Ryland composed for her. I used to carry her in my arms, into the fields, and there talk with her upon the desirableness of dying and being with Christ, and with holy men and women, and with those holy children, who cried,' Hosanna to the Son of David.' Thus I tried to reconcile her, and myself with her, to death, without directly telling her she would soon die. One day, as she lay in bed, I read to her the last eight verses of Rev. vii. 'They shall hunger no more, nor thirst,' &c. I said nothing upon it, but wished to observe what effect the passage might have upon her; I should not have wondered if she had been a little cheered by it. She said nothing, however; but looked very dejected. I said, My dear, you are unhappy.' She was silent. urged her to tell me what was the matter. Still she was silent. I then asked her, whether she was afraid she should not go to that blessed world of which I had been reading. She answered, 'Yes.' 'But what makes you afraid, my dear?' 'Because, (said she, with a tone of grief that pierced me to the heart,) I have sinned against the Lord.' 'True, my dear, (said I,) you have sinned against the Lord, but the Lord is more ready to forgive you, if you are grieved for offending him, than I can be to forgive you, when you are grieved for offending me; and you know how ready I am to do that.' I then told her of

I

the great grace of God, and the love of Christ to sinners. I told her of his mercy in forgiving a poor wicked thief, who when he was dying, prayed to him to save his soul. At this she seemed cheered, but said nothing.

"A few weeks before she died, she asked her aunt to read to her. 'What shall I read, my dear?' said her aunt. 'Read,' said she, 'some book about Christ.' Her aunt read part of the 21st chapter of Matthew, concerning the children who shouted 'Hosanna to the Son of David.' As her death drew nigh, I was exceedingly affected, and very earnest in prayer for her soul, having now no hope of her life. I used frequently to anticipate her death, when I could think of nothing but the language of Reuben-The child is not : and I, whither shall I go!' I thought at that time, if any thing were said at her funeral, it must be from some such passage as this. In short, I am sure I was affected to excess, and in a way that I ought not to have been, and, I believe, should

not have been, if I had loved God better. About this time I threw myself prostrate on the floor, and wept exceedingly, yet pleading with God for her. The agony of my spirit produced a most violent bilious complaint, which laid me quite aside for several days. I then reflected that I had sinned, in being so inordinately anxious. From this time I felt a degree of calmness and resignation to God. On the morning of the 30th of May, I heard a whispering in an adjoining room. I suspected the cause, and upon inquiry found that the child had expired about six o'clock, with a slight convul. sive motion, without a sigh or a groan. I called the family to me, and, as well as I was able, attempted to bless a taking as well as a giving God; and to implore that those of us who were left behind, might find grace in the wilderness. The words of the Shunamite were at that time much to me-'It is well.' These words were preached from at her funeral, by Mr. Ryland. My affliction had prevented my seeing her the last few days of her life; but I just went and took leave of her body, before the coffin was fastened down; though that was almost too much for me in my weak and afflicted state. She was very patient under her afflictions, scarcely ever complaining, even when her bones penetrated through her skin. If ever we were obliged to force her medicines upon her, though she would cry a little at the moment, yet she would quickly leave off, and kiss us, saying, 'I love you, I love you all; I love you for making me take my medicines, for I know you do it for my good.' Her constitution was always rather delicate, her temper amiable, and her behaviour engaging.

66

'Surely, it will now be our concern to flee from idolatry, and to hold all created comfort with a loose hand; remembering the counsel of the apostle-'The time is short: it remaineth, that those who have wives be as though they had none; and those that weep, as though they wept not; and those that buy, as though they possessed not; and they that use this world, as not abusing it; for the fashion of this world [or, this world, which is but a figure, fashion, or form, without substance-] passeth away."

The following extract of a letter from Mrs. Fuller to the Rev. Dr. Ryland, will sufficiently explain what to many might appear inconsistent with his true character.

"I cannot forbear adding my testimony to my late dear husband's conduct in his domestic character; which, so far as his mind was at liberty to indulge in such enjoy

ments, I must testify to have been, ever since I had the happiness of being united to him, of the most amiable and endearing kind. But to so great a degree was he absorbed in his work, as scarcely to allow himself any leisure, or relaxation from the severest application; especially, since of late years, his work so accumulated on his hands. I was sometimes used to remark, how much we were occupied ; (for, indeed, 1 had no small share of care devolved upon me, in consequence;) his reply usually was, 'Ah, my dear, the way for us to have any joy, is to rejoice in all our labour, and then we shall have plenty of joy.' If I complained, that he allowed himself no time for recreation, he would answer, 'O no; all my recreation is a change of work.' If I expressed an apprehension that he would soon wear himself out, he would reply, 'I cannot be worn out in a better cause. We must work while it is day;' or, 'Whatever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might.'

"There was a degree of bluntness in his manner; which yet did not arise from an unsociable or churlish disposition, but from an impatience of interruption in the grand object of his pursuit. In this sense, he seemed not to know his relations or nearest friends. Often, when a friend or an acquaintance, on a journey, has called, when they had exchanged a few words, he would ask, 'Have you any thing more to say? (or something to that effect;) if not, I must beg to be excused;' at the same time asking them to stay,and take some refreshment, if they chose. Yet, you know, dear Sir, he had a heart formed for the warmest and sincerest friendship, with those whose minds were congenial with his own, and who were engaged in similar pursuits; and I never knew him to be weary of their company. I am fully persuaded, that my dear husband fell a sacrifice to his unremitting application to the concerns of the Mission; but I dare not murmur. The Lord has done as it pleased him ; and I know that whatever he does is right."

CHAPTER VII.

Review of Mr. Fuller's Doctrinal and Practical Writings-Sermon on walking by Faith-Ordination Sermon at Thorne-Funeral Sermon for Mr. B. Wallis-Association Sermon at St. Albans-Collection Sermon at Edinburgh-Memoirs of the Rev. S. Pearce-Sermon at the Bedford Union-the Backslider-Ordination Sermon at Birmingham-Remarks on Church Discipline-Sermon on Christian Patriotism-Vindication of Protestant Dissent-The great Question answered-Discourses on the Book of Genesis-Sermon on the pernicious Influence of Delay.

THE universal interest and importance attached to religious subjects have called into existence a greater number of writers in this department than in almost any other, and therefore might naturally be expected to furnish a larger proportion of an inferior description. To write on other subjects, learning, genius, taste, or science of some sort, is generally thought requisite; but on theological theses, piety alone is too often deemed a sufficient qualification. Here also every man who becomes the leader of a party, however insignificant; or the abettor of a creed, however inconsistent or absurd, thinks himself called upon at some time or other to appear as an advocate, if he can but manage to hold a pen; besides innumerable others, who from less suspicious motives, and with much better pretensions, are induced to offer themselves to public notice.

Amidst such a crowd of disputants, theologians and retailers of divinity, a writer of real merit would not easily be distinguished; and for such a writer as Mr. Fuller, especially, more than ordinary ability would be demanded. For though he possessed a deep and penetrating judgment, and a mind capable of a mighty grasp, there was a certain negligence and coarseness in his style, a grotesque familiarity and quaintness of expression, especially in his earlier publications, which was far from being inviting even to readers of moderate taste. There was also an inflexibility in his religious system which could never coalesce with any other, or adapt itself to the size and dimension of human prejudices. With him all was inexorable truth and justice; he had no idea whatever of religious accommodation, and but cautiously admitted even that of forbearance. Buttoned up and laced in a plain puritanic garb, he makes his appearance as an Author, and is soon recognized as one of former times; as a man who lived with Owen,