a shock, which, in some respects, it had not felt for years before. When we thought, from Mr. C.'s age, vigour, and importance, that his splendid lamp would shine for many years to come, and when it was not even known that he had been ill, it was said, "He is dead." Such, indeed, was the shock to myself and other of his intimate friends, that lamentation could only give place to reflections like these: "Who, after this, can plan upon years to come, from present health or importance of station? Or who can pretend to be the interpreter of a Providence that often defies even conjecture? What is the value of that hope, which could make such a man willing to depart! and, what an admonition to us all to work while it is day!"

His last moments, however, are of too decisive and interesting a nature to be slightly marked; and, therefore, after having compared the account published in the sermon preached at his funeral, with the remarks made by those who attended him, I shall conduct the reader to a scene always affecting, and sometimes highly instructive.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate,
Is privileg'd beyond the common walk

Of virtuous life; quite in the verge of heav'n.
You see the man: you see his hold on heav'n.
Heav'n waits not the last moment; owns her friends
On this side death; and points them out to men.

Mr. Robinson, his curate, having business from home, Mr. C. undertook the whole duty of his church, on Sunday, January 7, at which he read prayers, and preached three times. It was a severe day; and, after his evening duty, he walked out to baptize a child. By these exertions he appears to have been injured.

On Thursday evening, January 12, he was seized, after preaching upon Psalm lxvii, 1, with an inflammation in his bowels; medical assistance being called in, he was considerably relieved.

On Tuesday, the 17th, about one o'clock in the afternoon, he relapsed, and seemed persuaded that

VOL. I.

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he should not recover; saying, "This is for the grave." Upon his going to bed, Mrs. C. asked him if he could pray: he said, "Yes." She said, " Are you happy in your soul?" He said, "Yes, happy, happy, happy! all is safe: but bring me the Bible and read." "Where," said she, "shall I read?"" He replied, "Where you will." She opened at the eighth chapter of Proverbs; and, when she came to the words, whoso findeth me findeth life, he said, "Stop, stop; that is enough for me." Soon after, she read to him the twenty-third Psalm, when he began to doze.

About two o'clock he said to his medical attendant. "I shall die; but I bless God, all my affairs, temporal and spiritual, are settled." Through the afternoon he continued in great agony, but without the least appearance of impatience.

At eight, he called Mrs. Cadogan, and said, "I don't think I shall recover;" and, after speaking to her about some temporal concerns, he blessed her. She then lay down by him, and he put his arms round her, and said, "I cannot return to you, but you shall come to me. Set the Lord before you in all your ways, and that will bring you peace at the last."

In the evening he grew easier, and thought himself better; but, at ten o'clock, he felt himself so much worse, that he said to his medical attendant, I am going-I am dying-it is well-I die in the faith of the Lord Jesus, and in love with all mankind;" and concluded with an expression of peculiar affection toward all Christian brethren; but, as his voice faultered and was very low, the precise words could not be ascertained.

About twelve o'clock, he said to the same gentleman, (pressing at the same time his hand very affectionately as he sat by the bed side,) "Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not to thine own understanding: in all thy ways acknowledge Him, and he shall direct thy paths."

During his illness, he was continually uttering passages of Scripture. At one time he said, with exultation, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me:" and, probably recollecting the last words of the venerable minister whom he was following to glory, he cried, "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, blessed for ever and ever," and added “AMEN!" with an energy that surprised the hearers.

To one, who stood weeping at his bed, he said, "Grieve not for me: I am taken away from the evil to come:" and soon after added, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation."

His deeply afflicted partner, who incessantly watched him with her arm under his head, about two o'clock on the Wednesday morning, begged him to pray for her, particularly, that she might follow him whither he was going: he said, "Seek the Lord, and be resigned to his will, and you shall.”

Perceiving his departure near, he called for a servant who had lived many years with him, and said, "I thank you for all your faithful services: God bless you." From a difficulty of breathing he suffered much, but was observed to be continually praying; repeating, at times, "Not my will, but thine be done;" and, praying, departed to begin his work of eternal praise, January 18, 1797, aged 46.

I heartily join the sentiment of my excellent friend and brother, from whose sermon I extract some of these particulars, that, "the multitude who attended his funeral with their sighs and tears, yielded a far more real honour to his memory, than all the empty pageantry of this world could possibly afford."

I

It may seem unnecessary to enlarge on a character, which has been already sufficiently described. shall, however, indulge myself, and the friends of the

deceased, in marking more expressly some features that have been but slightly touched, and noticing others which it had not before lain in my way to mention.

To begin with his domestic and familiar habits. He was at all times the affectionate husband of a wife, whose tender health needed great attention, but not greater than she received:-a kind master :—a warm and hospitable friend; to which many besides myself can bear ample testimony. He had early contracted a scowling sort of aspect, which might have led a stranger to doubt of his being so amiable and benevolent as he really was: and he spoke sometimes with a kind of bluntness, heightened by a rough and deep-toned voice, which concealed, at the moment, a humility which was sterling, and quite distinct from that affectation of meekness-that counterfeit lowliness, which crawls and drivels to be admired, but ~ which, when opposed and detected, fumes and stings.

But though a man of his plainness, simplicity, and ardour of pursuit, could never stoop to "study the graces," he had that dignity of manners, and attention to the decencies and decorums of good breeding, which might be expected in the son of Lord Cadogan.

Some, however, who were intimately acquainted with his habits till within a few years of his death, thought his temper warm; though grace had greatly corrected these defects. I cannot say that I never observed any thing which might give occasion to such a remark; but I can safely say, that I never observed any thing, which tended to invalidate that general character of him given in the present Memoir. Had it passed under his own eye, he doubtless would have added humble confessions of many other defects. I also am ready to acknowledge, that I cannot help writing con amore on this subject. It is the fault of every memoir I have seen written by a friend. Impartial biography is to be found only in the Scrip

tures. After, therefore, telling all I know of his defects as well as of his excellencies, and that as I am able, I must be content to fail where others in accounts of their friends could not succeed. I shall only add, that he must possess no common share of malignity, who is capable of abusing such a concession.

Viewing him as a MINISTER, he had set out with all the advantages which one of the first schools and universities could afford: but he seems to have soon discovered how miserably deficient that minister must be, who stops at the learning of the schools. While he could have distinguished himself as a scholar, the following remark, which he makes upon Mr. Romaine, in his funeral sermon, will as strictly apply to himself: "The errors and vices of the heathen, however ornamented by rhetoric or poetry, were disgusting to a heart purified by faith: he therefore turned from profane to sacred literature."

The simple fact is, that, what he once counted gain, he learned afterward to count but loss for Christ. I remember hearing him say, "I have no patience now to read Homer, Virgil, or Horace, whom I used to idolize. To a man who enters into the views of the Bible, they become not only insipid, but often disgusting. In genius, taste, and elegance they never have been excelled; but," as Dr. Horne also remarks, "in almost every thing else worth knowing, they were as ignorant as the beasts that perish."

The Scriptures, indeed, he had studied day and night in their original languages: he had studied them critically, and in their connection, till he was familiar with them beyond most of his contemporaries. His mind was a concordance and harmony of Scripture. He quoted with amazing facility (not at random, as some do, who distinguish not sound from sense, but) whatever tended to explain or illustrate the point before him. To this may be added, that his diction,