"I do believe in Him," replied the Rector, "and enjoy the influence of that belief, in the calm placidity of my mind. I do believe that he is preparing a place for me amongst the mansions of the blessed, and I enjoy the influence of that belief in the sublime anticipations of hope. Yes, I shall soon see him in all the glory of his majesty, and in all the tenderness of his compassion; and with the rest of the redeemed I shall soon bow down in his presence with mingled emotions of astonishment and delight! With astonishment, that he ever condescended to love me, and to employ me in his service; and with delight, at the scenes which I shall then behold, and the voices which I shall then hear. Then shall I be satisfied when I am assimilated to the Divine likeness." "You have then no doubt of your final salvation?" "No, Sir; I wait for it as an event of absolute certainty." "I perceive," rejoined Mr. Stevens, "that you now make no reference to the opinion which you have so often expressed respecting the 'different degrees of glory which the righteous will have conferred on them in the heavenly world.'" I am too deeply anxious on the more important point of getting into heaven, to bestow even a moment's consideration on the degree of my future happiness. I know I shall have infinitely more than I deserve; even if I should have less than the least of all saints; and I am perfectly willing to take what portion my Lord may assign me, under a full conviction that "The man who dwells where Jesus is, 66 that you had "I once heard you say," remarked Mrs. Stevens, no doubt but we should know each other in the heavenly world. Have you, Sir, on more mature deliberation, been induced to change that opinion?" "No, Madam. When I enter heaven, I shall not forget that I was once an inhabitant of earth-that I once lived in a state of rebellion against God-that he was pleased to bring me to repentance and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ-that he employed me in the ministry, and assigned to me the parish of Broadhurst as the scene of my labours-that I associated in the days of my pilgrimage, with you and your husband, your nephew and his wife, and other Christian friends—and that in the exercise of social communion I once enjoyed some tokens of the Divine favour If then we shall retain a distinct recollection of places and occurrences connected with our earthly sojourn, we shall surely not forget the persons who gave to those places and occurrences their chief interest and importance. Suppose I should now, while you are sitting by my side, steal out of life, and enter heaven, should I on my passage lose a remembrance of the room in which I expired, or the events which have transpired this day? Impossible! And could I remember these things, without remembering you and my other pious friends? And when you arrive, and are presented faultless, will you not be presented faultless in the individuality of your person, with all your remembrances of places, of persons, and events fresh upon you? And will it be possible for us to associate with each other without making some reference to the former state of our existence, which will necessarily lead to a discovery of who we are, and from whence we came, even if there should be no more direct method of gaining a knowledge of each other? But apart from this general reasoning, we may appeal to the Scriptures, which, I think, give their decided sanction to these views. Hence we find the apostle, when writing to the Thessalonians, who had through his instrumentality been converted to the faith of Christ, says, 'For what is our hope, or joy, or crown of rejoicing? Are not even ye in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ at his coming? For ye are our glory and joy.' I cannot affix any meaning to this passage, unless I believe, that each apostle, and every minister in every succeeding age of the church, will know the persons who have been converted to God through their instrumentality; and that from this knowledge will arise some peculiar degree of glory and of joy." "Then, Sir," said Mr. Lewellin, "doubtless you can now antici pate a high degree of felicity from this source, as God has been pleased to make your ministry very useful?" "I have no doubt but I shall partake of this source of happiness; but I am not now anticipating it. My mind is too deeply occupied by the important question of getting into heaven, to bestow one solitary thought on the minor questions of our speculative belief. I am nearing the borders of the holy land of promise; living now in the anticipation of soon seeing the King in his beauty, and of undergoing that transformation which I shall feel when I see him." "Then, Sir, you think you will 'shortly put off this tabernacle,' and enter that 'house which is not made with hands, eternal in the heavens?'" "Yes, Mr. Lewellin; and I can put it off with as much composure as I can throw aside a worn-out surplice. The time of my departure is near." "But," said Mrs. Lewellin, "what shall we do when you are taken from us? We shall be like the sheep, when the shepherd is gone!" "No, my dear friend, the great Shepherd may pitch another fold, and lead you to another pasturage; but he will still 'feed his flock; he will gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom. and will gently lead those that are with young." His friends now left him to repose. He slept through the greater part of the night, but towards the morning became very restless--often complaining of a strange sensation in his head. He took a light breakfast, and as he felt rather drowsy, requested that he might not be disturbed. About noon he awoke; but felt no disposition to rise. He again took a little nourishment, and again fell asleep, and slept till near five o'clock. When he awoke he asked the hour, but he paid no attention to the reply which was made to him. His physician now gave it as his decided opinion that he would not live through the night. "He is in no pain; and if I judge from the state of his pulse, I should suppose that his life will gradually depart from him; perhaps when he is asleep." But about seven o'clock he suddenly revived, sat up in his bed, and requested to have his hands and his face washed. When this office of kindness was performed for him, by Mrs. Lewellin, he looked on her for some moments without uttering a word; and then stretching out his hand he said, "My dear, I thank you. You have not anointed me against my burial; but you have refreshed me to encounter the last enemy. Death is upon me, but he does not come in a terrific form. No; he is changed from the king of terrors into an angel of deliverance. I will thank you, Sir," addressing himself to Mr. Lewellin, "to read the eighth chapter of Paul's Epistle to the Romans, and then pray for me; and pray that I may be favoured with a sense of the Divine presence when passing through the valley of the shadow of death." Mr. Lewellin having complied with his wishes, the venerable pastor then gave his friends his blessing; exhorting them to cleave to the Lord with full purpose of heart. After remaining silent for some minutes, during which time he appeared to be in the solemn act of commending his soul to God, he looked round with great benignity of countenance, and said, "Why, my children, do you weep?" "Is it possible, Sir," Mrs. Lewellin replied, "for us to lose such a pastor and such a friend without weeping?" 'Well, I will forgive your tears, because I know you love me; but I cannot weep with you. Though I have not before me that scene of martyrdom which presented itself to the great apostle of the Gentiles, when addressing his son Timothy, yet I can adopt the triumphant language which he then uttered, and with an equal degree of confidence:-'I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing." And having uttered these words he reclined his head on his pillow, and gently breathed his last. THE RECTOR'S FUNERAL. PON the report of the pastor's death being spread through the village, a sudden shock was felt by almost every one, though the event itself did not excite much surprise. He had lived so long amongst his parishioners, and had endeared himself to them by so many acts of kindness, that they wept for him, as an affectionate child mourns for the loss of his father; and even the worldly and indifferent concurred in paying a just tribute of respect to his memory. On the day of his funeral, an immense concourse of people assembled. The instructions which he had given to his friend, Mr. Stevens, respecting his funeral, were minutely attended to; and they were in strict accordance with the chaste simplicity of character which he had maintained through life. There was no hearse with its nodding plumes-no hired mourners; he had selected twelve of the senior members of his church to carry his body to the tomb, and fixed on the spot where the bier was to rest while they relieved each other from the fatigue of carrying his mortal remains. The procession moved from the rectory about ten o'clock in the morning, preceded by the Rev. Mr. Guion and two other clergymen-followed by a few of his relations and a long train of friends, walking three a-breast, in deep mourning-many of his poorer parishioners, having only a piece of crape on their hats, fell into the rear, which was closed by the children of the Sunday-school, who wore a similar badge of grief. Immediately as the procession began to move, the bell, which had been tolling for more than an hour, ceased till the bier stopped at the appointed resting-place, when it again commenced to send forth its melancholy sounds. On entering the churchyard, the Rev. Mr. Guion began the solemn service by repeating the animating words of Jesus Christ-"I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he II. 2 L |