233 DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN. ON the morning of Christmas,—a day by some wholly set apart for devotion, by others for amusement, and by not a few divided, in nearly equal portions, between them,a morning of fasting, and an evening of festivity,-a morning spent in commemoration of Him whose people are not of this world, and an evening dissipated amid worldly pleasures and worldly men,-on that morning, a message, at an early hour, summoned me to visit my young friend, The hand of Death was upon her. Breathlessness and pain were hastening the dissolution of the earthly tabernacle, but all within was calm. The "grace of God" was there. His love, from whom neither life nor death can separate, sustained her soul. "I have sent for you," said she, "but I trouble you for the last time; my journey is nearly ended. You know, parents often send for their children home at Christmas, I trust I have the spirit of a child, I am waiting to be sent for." After reading that portion of the Divine word, which contrasts the perishing nature of man with the enduring nature of the truth,-the life derived from a corruptible, with that which is derived from an incorruptible principle, 1 Pet. i., we joined in prayer to God, in the name of Him who is "the resurrection and the life." She afterwards told us, that she could now speak but little, but she could hear, and wished us to speak of Him, "the forerunner, who for us is entered within the veil ;" and that she felt how the "strong consolations" of the Gospel were more fully experienced, as the afflictions of life became more accumulated. The difficulty of breathing, at times, increased almost to suffocation, even though the windows of the chamber were open. After much agony, she observed that the length and acuteness of her sufferings, sometimes, led her to fear that she had been mistaken, as to her state of acceptance with God;-that, she thought, his chastenings were designed to humble the proud, or to reclaim the wandering, or to direct our inquiries to some secret sin not yet mortified, and that she felt discouraged by their long continuance. It was said, by one present, that disease was often sent to wean us from this world, and make us willing to be gone. "But," said she, "I have long been willing." Or to teach us patience. "I fear," she replied, "I may be wanting there, but I pray that patience may have its perfect work in me." Or to undermine our strength gradually, and make the last struggle less severe-she seemed thoughtful-or to make our friends willing to part with us, and glad to see us at rest." It has effected that, at last, and most probably was sent for that purpose." Or to render the contrast the greater, between the weariness of the journey, and the sweetness of the rest which follows it. "Yes! the journey that remains may well be endured, and rest is sweet to the weary." Or as we are sometimes conducted through a dark avenue, to behold to advantage the effects of a splendid illumination. “The valley is not altogether dark, though Death has cast his shadow over it" were among the observations and replies. As her sympathising relatives stood round her bed, she looked earnestly to one after the other, and at last said, "I feel grateful for the kindness which you have shown, and still do show to me, and I have been thinking how to repay it. Perhaps, the best way is to show you how to die. To show how little man can do for man in the dying hour. You are all around me, and yet you cannot relieve one pang, or purchase one moment's ease for me, even now while I am with you on this side the grave.—In`a little while, even the look of affection cannot reach me. Oh! then seek that friendship which cheers in life, supports in death, and blesses through eternity." A little after, she asked her sister what opinion Dr. of, had formed of her state last summer, when she consulted him. Her friends had wished for his advice, and her sister had remained in the room with him when she retired, and of course knew his opinion, so far as he disclosed it. Being now told that it had been very unfavourable, some one present expressed surprise that it should be only now that she made the inquiry. She replied, "because I thought as much, my own mind was made up, I needed no information, and I did not like to ask any questions, I thought you might represent his judgment as more favourable than it was, or might give me an evasive answer, and I did not wish to tempt you to say any thing that was not altogether true." About three o'clock, she became very weak, and requested me to feel her arm, if her pulse had ceased: on being told that it was no longer perceptible at the wrist, she said hastily, "well, feel my temples." There it throbbed strongly, and the stream of life still flowed. She expressed her expectation, that it would, most probably, hold on till night, and that she should take some food, not because she felt hungry, but because it might strengthen her when the last hour came. Food being brought, she tasted, but could not swallow it, and said with a faint smile, "that is my Christmas dinner, I have now done with the manna, I shall soon eat the fruit of the land." LIA In about an hour after, she inquired if it would be consistent with the spirit of Christianity to pray, that God would in mercy hasten her release-adding, that she wished His will, not hers, to be done. It was observed, in reply, that a Christian should strive to be ready to go when called, and willing to stay till called; yet, that an apostle was willing rather to be "absent from the body, and present with the Lord ;" and that Simeon had prayed, "let thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation," and that a wish to be gone, not from the troubles of time, but to the joys of eternity, is not forbidden. After prayer, such as is meet for the chamber of sickness, earnest but short, she, for a time, seemed composed to rest. After a little while she was heard speaking, in a whisper, as if to herself. Being asked, by her sister, what she was saying, she replied, "that she was wishing that, like Mary, she were seated at his feet, and listening to his words." "You'll soon, then, I trust, be there: shall I wet your lips for you?" “You need not now," was the answer; "the wished for hour is come." She raised her trembling hand to close her own eyes.-The eye, on which her fingers rested, was quite closed, the other partially. In a few seconds, the hand had sunk upon her face, and the sanctified spirit was flown to the assembly of the just. There was a solemn pause-all, for a time, gazed upon the face of the dead, as if the halo of immortality, already, rested upon the clay, or the angel spirit still lingered in its earthly tenement. The silence was at last broken, by the question, "What would an Infidel say to that?" put by a young person then present, but of whom, as he is still in this world, the writer refrains from saying more. We shall here let the veil rest upon the face of the mourners, and sacred be the chamber of sorrow! This much of the scenes of private life, and unobtrusive piety, would not have been presented to the public eye, but from the hope, that it might be useful to others-and from the recurrence of the question, "What would an Infidel say to that?" The sorrow accompanying such recollections is not that which knows no hope, and admits of no consolation, but rather the solemn impression which is embodied in the prayer, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his." B. THE BROKEN TOMB-STONE. "Charity-thinketh no evil."-1 Cor, xiii. 5, No class of men put forth such confident claims to charity as the modern Arians, They have adopted it as the distinguishing-nay, as the exclusive badge of their party. But when we look for it, characterizing them as individuals, we are often wofully disappointed. When any one of these charitable men has occasion to speak or write respecting his Orthodox brethren, it is most commonly in very abusive terms. Bigots, persecutors, infidels, are some of the least offensive of the epithets that are applied to us. And, in almost every case where a base motive can, by any perverse construction of our words or actions, be attributed to us, we are pretty certain to hear it urged against us in the most charitable manner possible. A melancholy, though otherwise a rather ludicrous instance of this propensity to "think evil" of their brethren, we have now to notice. It has reference to the statement of a most trifling matter of fact made by us in a former number of this work; which is alleged by an Arian Minister, to be not only erroneous, but evidently designed to insinuate the blackest charges against his character. Had our statement been erroneous, a charitable man would have attributed it to ignorance or defective information, and at once corrected the error. Nor would he have put upon our words an unfavourable construction, much less the culpable one that is preferred against us, unless it had been so obvious as to preclude all possibility of mistake. But our Arian commentator pursues a very different course. Without the slightest hesitation he pronounces our state ment to be erroneous, and designedly so. With all the confidence of omniscience, he specifies the very idea we had in view; though never truly was an idea farther from the mind of a writer than the discreditable one he so charitably suggests. And, in a statement which has now been four months before the public without a single individual, we will venture to assert, besides our kind friend, ever dreaming that it conveyed or was designed to convey a reflection injurious to any human being, he has absolutely amazed and astounded us by the plenitude of malignity and baseness which he has detected in our simple and inoffensive narrative. But to the point. In our second number, (page 61,) we inserted a brief account of the last moments of three of the fathers of the Presbyterian Church in Ulster. This account consisted principally of extracts. It referred exclusively to "the olden time;" and the recent schism and existing disputes in the Synod were not once alluded to. In narrating the death of Josias Welsh, Minister of Templepatrick, we used these words: "He was buried in Templepatrick, where his humble grave was formerly marked by a tomb-stone, bearing appropriate epitaphs in Latin and English verse. The stone, being accidentally broken, as we are informed, is not now to be found." We added that tradition had preserved a portion of the English epitaph, which we subjoined for the information of our readers. Such was our plain unvarnished tale of the Broken Tomb-stone, with the Latin and English epitaphs. We mentioned its loss as a simple matter of fact, without designing, in the most remote degree, to impute it to any thing but that negligence which reigns proverbially in almost all our country burialgrounds. Now, let the public read the following mild and charitable comment on this statement, which the Rev. Robert Campbell, Minister of the Arian Congregation of Templepatrick, has ventured to give to the world:·- "The writer should have made due inquiry. The stone is neither broken nor lost. He has offended against truth; and when design is conjoined with the offence, he merits rebuke. The idea he wishes to convey is, that my predecessors in the ministry and their hearers, or that I and mine, have inculcated and imbibed such baleful sentiments, as to lead us to cast aside all veneration for that great and good man, and to violate the sanctuary of the dead; that so abomin |