you shall be sure to have them, and I doubt not our dear Lord will not only excuse but accept such an office of love in such sacred moments too. But my heart is pained while I undertake it, when I consider in what circumstances I am writing to you. Good Mr. Fawcett had prepared me for that shock which the latter part of your letter was to give me, by acquainting me with your illness, your dangerous illness. And O! what a wound was it to my heart, to mine which loves you as a tender parent, and more than a parent, if that can be possible, to me who look upon you as eminently my joy, and my crown. Must the residue of your days, my dear friend, be cut short in the midst? must the world and the church lose you? Alas! it is almost like a sword in my heart. 'Tis what I hardly know how to bring my mind to submit to, and acquiesce in, with that humble deference which we owe to that infinite wisdom which is to determine the affair. But I would fain say, “Father, thy will be done!" I would give you up to him whose claims to you are so much greater than ours; not without a secret hope that he would give you back again to our humble prayer, and will make your life the sweeter, and your labours yet, if possible, more acceptable and useful in consequence of this threatening illness; of this, at least, I am sure, he has stirred up my spirit,

and that of several others, to pray earnestly for you, and to plead almost as for our own soul. And I cannot but think that the consequence is, he will spare you a little to recover strength. If our dear Lord who hath redeemed you by his blood should, however, lead you immediately to him. self; O happy man that you are! O favourite servant, so soon to be called home! so soon ripened for heaven, and brought thither! “ Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.” Blessed will you be in that holy society in which you will then be fixed; in that perfect state free from every evil of mind or of body, full of everlasting, uninterrupted, ardent love, love like that which fills the breasts of cherubim and seraphim. You will see our dear Lord. I did but dream awhile ago that our Lord Jesus Christ was come into the room in which I was, and gave a signal that he was opening the door; and my heart sprung with such a joy that I immediately awoke as in an extacy; and I can truly say, I never felt a joy in my whole life that seemed to equal it. It seemed to be a ray of heaven, and it seems, though it happened before I saw you last, to have left something of a trace of heaven on my soul to this moment. What then will your waking raptures be? your substantial joys ? you will forget this poor body; perhaps forget the dearest of all your relatives, or if you

remember them, it will be to adore God who keeps' and blesses them, and will undoubtedly magnify his mercy to them. If you should see them even in affliction, your heart will rejoice, in that you will view their afflictions in the light of heaven. You will think what benefit you yourself have received from chastenings which were not for the present joyous but grievous, and will see the interval of time that hinders the embrace of the perfect spirits in glory but as a moment, and the twinkling of an eye. Away then, my dear friend, with every mournful view. Begin, begin upon earth the songs of heaven. Tell all that are around you what God hath done for your soul, and what he is still doing. Open the inward joy of your heart to them, and let them see what that gospel you have preached does for you, that they may envy your dying bed, if yours be so, and may, amidst all their sorrows, rejoice that you are going to your Father. Look, my dear brother, look to Jesus, our rising, ascending, Lord. Behold him pointing upward amidst the raptures with which he was leaving this poor world of ours; pointing upward, and saying, “ I ascend to my father and to your father, to my and to your God.” O happy man that you are, quickly to ascend after him. Receive in this case not my condolence, but congratulation; my pity is not yours but dear Mrs. Darracott's. Howshall I name that amiable woman in such a circumstance? The Lord support her, the Lord spare her, and lay not this trial upon her. But if she must bear it, may he himself who alone can do it, make up the loss, and be a better husband to her than that very delightful one he may take away. Commit her to his Pro vidence and his grace, without a suspicious thought; her and her dear child. O my dear friend, be assured God will take tender, constant, generous care of them both. Had God given me possession proportionable to my love to you, I would say, she should be as my sister, and the little one as my daughter, and greatly should I think myself honoured and blessed in supplying the wants of both. But of this be assured, that I will watch over them according to my ability. They shall want no counsel, no assistance that I can give or procure for them, shall stand foremost in the list of those whose necessities, if they should be in any necessity, I will remember, and to the utmost of my power exert myself to help. But I rather pray, if it be the blessed will of our dear and gracious Disposer and Lord, that you may be spared to show kindness to my widow and orphans, than I to yours. But farewell! you see to what the line or two which you asked of me is grown up. My overflowing heart would have made it much longer, would

my time, my paper, and my business have allowed it. For alas! it seems to me that I do but now begin to learn with how much tenderness I am,

“ Dear Sir, “ Your affectionate brother and friend in ever. lasting bonds, which death instead of dissolving will tie the faster,

- “ P. Doddridge.” “ He that watereth others shall be watered also himself. Give and it shall be given to you; good measure pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom ; for with the same measure that ye mete withal, it shall be measured to you again.” These promises were most strikingly verified in the history of Doddridge. The letter which has now opened to the reader the kindness, sympathy, and piety of the doctor's heart, was requited and surpassed by one which was sent to him in his last illness by Mr. Barker, minister of Salter's Hall, London. It must be well known to every reader of Doddridge's life by the following senténce, with which it commences. « Lessingham, Neal, and Barker are too nearly interested in that precious life which now appears in danger of being cut off in the midst of its days, to hear of its waste and languishing without great concern, and fervent prayer to God." It then proceeds in such a strain that no one can wonder

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