From a child, he gave evidence of possessing a constitution of peculiar delicacy, and which was, therefore, liable to be affected, both mentally and physically, by many causes, which do not operate powerfully on persons of a robust and hardy temperament. The symptons of hypocondriasis, which appeared during the summer of 1826, were only, I apprehend, the harbingers of the fatal attack, by which he was appointed to be removed from this world. I fear it was not discovered in time, that the brain was the origin of his complaints; the intense and unceasing action of the mind, proving too powerful for his delicate bodily frame. In the mysterious arrangements of Providence, it would seem, that whatever arrives very early at perfection, is destined to be soon cut off.

Pre

mature growth, is generally followed by a premature end. The case of Urquhart, is very similar to those of Durant and Kirke White; and the inimitably beautiful lines which Lord Byron applies to the latter, are, I conceive, equally applicable to my young friend. It is singular, that the passage to which I refer, was transcribed by him into a scrap book, entitled, "Extracts in Poetry, from various authors," only a short time before his death.

"Oh! what a noble heart was here undone,
When Science' self destroy'd her favorite son.
Yes! she too much indulged thy fond pursuit,
She sowed the seeds, but death has reaped the fruit.
'Twas thine own genius gave the fatal blow,
And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low.
So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain;
No more thro' rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft which quiver'd in his heart.
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel,
He nursed the pinion, which impelled the steel:
While the same plumage that had warmed his nest,
Drank the last life drop of his bleeding breast."

The last entry in his journal, describes the commencement of the attack, which terminated his earthly career, and gives a most delightful view of the state of his mind. "The ruling passion," his devoted attachment to the missionary cause, appears strong even in death. To be withdrawn from this work, was the only thing which excited his regret, or extorted the expression of painful feeling; yet, even in regard to that, his mind appeared perfectly subdued.

December, 1826. Wednesday, 13. An excessive languor and weakness have prevented me from studying regularly this week-Had a long conversation with the gardener, last night, whom I find to be a very shrewd man. He is quite a Scotchman. The contrast, in point of intellect, and acquired knowledge, between him and the English servants in the family, is very striking. Yet they have travelled a good deal, and have nearly one-third of the day at their own disposal. His knowledge has been picked up in his own cottage, and those around it. He argues well on the doctrines of Christianity; but, I fear, as is the case, alas! with many of our countrymen, the head is engaged more than the heart.

14. Rose to-day at a quarter to eight.—Read half a chapter of the Greek Testament.--Second chapter of Joshua in Hebrew.-Dr. Cokely called to-day, and pronounces my illness an affection of the liver. This has distressed me a good deal, as it may unfit me for the East, which I have long contemplated as the scene of my labors.-But the Lord knows what is bsst.-If he hedge up the way, I may not walk in it. I would not, if I might. I

begin a course of medicine on Friday, which, I pray God may bless, for the restoration of my health; that my body may be fitted for his service. If this be not his will, I know, that the destruction of this body will perfect the soul, and fit it for a higher, and a holier service, in the heavenly temple.

"O most delightful hour by man,
Experienced here below;

That hour which terminates his span,
His sorrow and his woe."

14th. Not so weak this morning, but able to accomplish little in the way of study.-Prepared and attended my meeting.-This is always a refreshment.-I was enabled to speak with earnestness and feeling on the mercy and the justice of our God.-My breathing a good deal affected to-night in walking.--Though the night is wet, I feel better since I have been out.

How delightful it is to find, that to the very last, he labored in his Master's service, and seemed to derive fresh strength from doing the will of God.

To his friend Tate, he wrote the following interesting letter, on the 19th of December :

My dear Brother;

Tennoch Side, December 19, 1826.

This world, through which we are passing, is a desert, and no wonder that its dreariness should depress our spirits. Our souls too are suffering under a loathsome disease; and if we are sensible

abhor our ownselves. But the desert through which we travel, leads to our home, and we have an all-powerful remedy for the disease that preys upon our souls. True, sin will struggle on, and the old man will fight for the mastery, as long as he may, but we shall soon leave the wilderness, and all its sufferings, behind us. Strange that we should ever wish to linger. You remember that beautiful hymn;

"There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
"There everlasting spring abides,
And never-with'ring flow'rs:
Death, like a narrow sea, divides,
This heav'nly land from ours.

"Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dress'd in living green:
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
While Jordan roll'd between.

"But tim'rous mortals start and shrink
To cross this narrow sea,
And linger, shiv'ring on the brink,
And fear to launch away.

"Could we but climb where Moses stood;
And view the landscape o'er;

Not Jordan's stream,-nor death's cold flood
Should fright us from the shore.

I had a letter from our dear Craik, a few days before I received your last. He talks of being a missionary.-Brown and he think of Ireland. Ĭ should think them well fitted for debate, especially Henry. I fear some one must be found to supply my place among the number of intending missionaries. You know that I have not been bent from what I thought the course of duty, by the argu

ments of men; but now God has spoken in a way which I think, (but I am not sure,) is decisive. I have been sickly for some weeks, and it turns out to be inflammation of the liver. I have been taking the usual course of mercurial pills for some days, and the Doctor orders the side to be blistered to-morrow. I wished to write before I am quite laid up, chiefly to request you to tell me all about St. Andrew's when you return. I hoped to have visited it soon, but the Lord has determined otherwise. Pray for me, that whether death or life be in this cup, the Lord may enable me to drink it with cheerfulness. Remember that I am literally in a land of strangers. Not a single christian friend to whisper consolation,none to whom I can pour forth the feelings of my soul. Remember me very affectionately to my dear Rentoul, in whom I feel a very peculiar interest. My old companion, William Adam, I expected to have heard from. I have others, in my mind, but I am wearied. My chief pain is in my right arm and side. Do not speak of my illness at St. Andrew's, as the report might reach home, and I have not yet written.

Whether the means resorted to, were those best suited to his case, I pretend not to say; but while a partial recovery was effected, the disease would seem still to have gone on. To his esteemed friend, Craik, at Exeter, he wrote at different times, the following letter:

Tennoch Side, December, 1826. I have to thank you, my very dear brother, for two affectionate letters, since I wrote last. Your