I had formed; I have no rapture, but uniform peace; not a cloud: I long to be gone. "O that the happy hour were come ! That faith were changed to sight! He dwelt on his favourite theme, free grace! unmerited mercy. Oh! distinguishing kindness! How little should we talk of the creature; how much of the grace of God! "Grace taught my roving feet, To tread the heav'nly road; And new supplies each hour I meet, While pressing on to God." Friday, 14. His views became still brighter. One of his friends remarked, that he seemed to have pierced the veil: and as visions of the heavenly state appeared before him, he longed to depart and take possession of it. When he could not speak aloud, he whispered, "I long to speak, and tell you the happiness I feel, which is greater than I can give you an idea of." Yet he knew, and acknowledged the source from which his joy was derived. He said once, Though I am thus favoured, without one cloud or doubt, yet I feel myself the same sinful being as ever; and should be equally undeserving the happiness in store for me, were I to live fifty years from this time, wholly conformed to the will of God. It is all grace, free grace!" 66 Several friends were sitting near him, at a time when his voice failed him for a little season, who were all struck with the appearance of his countenance and manner, which had a sublimity of expression not to be described; indicating delight and adoration, as though he was conversing with heaven! When this rapture, as it appeared to be, abated, he endeavoured, by his significant looks, and the clasping of his hands, to inform them, that something extraordinary had passed, but could only just utter the word "Praise ;" though after some time, he recovered the power of utterance. This morning he gave directions respecting his funeral sermon, expressing his wish that very little might be said of himself he considered himself an unworthy, guilty creature, and was sure that if he were saved, it was entirely of grace, through Jesus Christ. He expressed, to the same friend, a wish to depart; and being told, in reply, perhaps he had more work to do, and then he would go and receive his wages on which he exclaimed. "Wages! wages! but mark, the gift of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord." This day his kind physician called on him, and was struck, upon entering the room, with the change that had taken place in his appearance. His countenance, however, assumed a beautiful expression, while he held out his hand to him, and bent his head. His friend was overcome, and turned his face a little aside. "Why," said he, "you are not grieving for me!" "Not for you," he replied, "but we may grieve a little for ourselves." After examining his pulse, and the beating of his heart, Mr. Vernon said, "I hope your opinion is not different from what it was at your last visit?" He was told it was not. He pressed his hand, while his countenance was illumined by a radiant smile; and presently he asked, if he thought it might end soon? At this time he was so much sunk, speaking with some difficulty, that the doctor replied, he thought it would. He then lay a little while, and said, "Is this dying? Am I, do you think, dying? Am I in the valley? If this is the valley, there is no darkness over any part of it: none at all." After the doctor and other friends had withdrawn for a time, he appeared restless, and much exhausted. A friend, who remained with him, remarked, that he was agitated. He repeated the word with emphasis-" Agitated! agitated! what odd words you use! I have no such word in my book. I call this good dying." Upon her saying, she meant that he had seen too many persons, he replied, "Well, if the body suffers a little, (intimating that was of no consequence,) you will not have me to talk to you long." The doctor had intended only a short visit this day; but on his return to take leave of him, Mr. Vernon appeared so unwilling for him to go away, that he was easily prevailed upon to continue with him. Mr. Vernon seemed strongly impressed with a persuasion that he should be released in the course of that night; which at one time appeared by no means improbable. A gleam of sunshine happening to come into the room that evening, he exclaimed, "Oh! I shall see a brighter sun to-morrow-then I shall see the Sun of Righteousness!" At another time, expressing his sense of obligation to the kindness of friends by whom he was surrounded, he said, "How much I owe you all!" One, who then held his hand, replied, “And what do you think I owe you?" He replied by an affectionate smile, and a pressure of the hand. But this having led to some other topics of commendation of him, he exclaimed with more energy than he had shown before, and indeed with the only accent approaching to impatience that his friend had witnessed during the whole struggle, "Oh! do not talk about the creature: the difference between human character is so small; talk of grace and mercy." The expressions of hope and confidence continued uniform: there was no enthusiastic elevation, and no depression—all was calm and cheerful. In the afternoon and evening, he saw the young ladies of the school, and also the servants, who appeared much affected by the pathetic addresses he made to them. During the night, his two medical friends sat up with him by turns: he revived a good deal about midnight, and entered into an interesting conversation with one of them on various religious topics, which lasted nearly an hour and a half. On every subject he was as clear as in the time of his health. Once or twice his friend checked him, fearing he was talking with too much animation, and begged him not to exert himself. On this being repeated, he turned round with a smile, and said, "Why what harm will it do me? will it make me live longer?" Soon after the morning dawned, he was raised, and placed in his easy chair. He then appeared much more sunk than in the night, and two or three times called for the looking-glass, to see whether he had the impress of death on his countenance. He would have several friends breakfast in his room, with whom he conversed cheerfully concerning his approaching dissolution; when the subject of weeping being mentioned, one remarked, that a minister had lately specified on what occasions Christians might be allowed to weep: "Yes," said Mr. Vernon, but I must be excused now, I cannot weep." Being informed that some of his friends were below, and asked whether he would see them, he turned to his doctor, who told him, that really his conversation was so desired by his friends, and might be so useful, that he was willing to spend him for the good of others. He smiled, and they were admitted, as several others were in the course of the day. As one friend entered the room, he said, "They have a little disappointed me-they gave me hopes that I should not have seen this day light." He asked another, if she had ever seen any one die? and added, “This is not much like dying! The Lord has dealt very graciously with me." One remarking, that not all true Christians were so favoured; he replied, "It is very different from what I expected. I expected it would have been a dark passage, but it is all light: I am passing through the valley, but Christ is with me." Again he said, "I expected, at this hour, my sins might have risen up against me, or the enemy have been let loose upon me; but it is all light, not one cloud. I have peace. It is all of grace, free grace." He then inquired if any signs of death were perceptible? and being told that some change had taken place, he said that was encouraging. He then spoke of the state on which he was about to enter, and said, “It will be all one song there. With joy they sink to nothing there, before the Eternal All." Taking leave of one of his flock, he said, “Farewell: Count all things loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ." After this, at a time when he hoped, and his attendants feared, that the hour of his departure was near, he said to a young friend, "Oh! it is pleasant dying; Christ being present with me, the bitterness of death is past. What a privilege to be brought to know and trust the Saviour! Cleave to him: he will not disappoint you. You may be in this happy situation Oh! if he does such things for us now, what will he do hereafter!" Once, when a friend remarked to him, "You must not be impatient to be gone:" he replied, "Is it, then, a sin, to wish to be where there is no sin?" He repeatedly quoted those lines— soon. "O glorious hour! O blest abode ! I shall be near and like my God!" Lord's-day, February 16, the little he was able to say in dicated that he continued to be kept in perfect peace. The doctor found him more sunk than he had seen him before, unable to articulate sufficiently to be heard, unless the ear were placed over his mouth. On his leaving him, Mr. Vernon once more asked his opinion of the possibility of his becoming materially better: who replied, that to all human appearance that was impossible: he did not expect to see him again. In the evening, he said, in broken accents, to one who told him his end was near, He said to his sister, "I have a blissful prospect before me; I long to realize it." At another time, "O what a scene! what a scene! I shall be with Jesus! and I shall be like him! I am fallen into the hands of Him, who is the way, the truth, and the life. All joy, all one song, for ever." To the surprise of every one, the flame of life still lingered in the socket. Tuesday, the 18th, a relation asked him the state of his mind; he answered, "Quite happy." A friend said, "I hope resigned to live or die?" He answered, "Not quite resigned to live." Wednesday, the 19th, his physician saw him for the last time; his countenance wore more strongly than ever the character of death, but it was still illumined by the same heavenly smile; and he grasped his hand with the same warmth of affection. Thursday, the 20th, the night preceding his departure, he was restless, and rather wandering, (through the influence of an opiate,) but still knew those around him, and at intervals his conversation was delightful. Whilst rather dilirious, he appeared to be addressing his little child. "Walk," said he, "in the light of God's countenance." Mrs. Vernon answered, "That would be delightful: I wish I could do so." He answered, "Grace will enable you.". He then added, "Avoid even the appearance of evil; the atmosphere of it is corrupting." One hinted to him, that he had but a few hours to live; when he said, "Is Is it really so? You have disappointed me so often." She answered, "It never appeared so likely before." "Oh!" said he, "that is animating!" "that is animating!" He often said, |