ples for their irregular zeal in his cause. This discourse was printed at the request of the hearers.

I experienced the kind care of Providence in giving me a pleasant interview with many agreeable friends, in preserving me through the journey, and bringing me safely to my family.

August 25, 1816. This day concluded the 60th year of my ministry. It was Lord's day. I requested the attendance of my people, and preached to a large audience from Prov. ii. 38. Application was made for a copy, which was granted.

September 1. An unusual attention to religion in the parish within the year past, is matter of joy-fifty-five have been added to the communion since the preceding September, and the attention still continues.

Concluded by another hand.

From the last mentioned period, the publick stated ministrations of Doctor Lathrop were continued without interruption until the last sabbath in March, 1818, the day which completed the sixty-second year from the commencement of his labours as a candidate. In consequence of the increasing infirmities of age, and especially, of the great imperfection of his sight, he, at that time, notified his society of his determination to decline the public services of the sabbath, and requested them to provide for him an assistant, or colleague. On this occasion, he addressed them in a kind of valedictory discourse, giving them seasonable counsels and cautions, and affectionately commending them to the benediction of Heaven. Though the defect of his sight was so great as to prevent him from reading even the productions of his own pen, he continued, for some time, as a pleasant intellectual exercise, to write about one sermon a week, which was read by another person as a part of the publick exercises of the sabbath. He also occasionally delivered an extemporaneous discourse, both

in the church on the sabbath, and in remote parts of his congrega tion during the week. Though he had never been much in the habit of public extemporaneous speaking, these discourses were uniformly heard with the deepest interest, particularly as they were regarded by his people as the last efforts of one to do them good, whose long and useful services had created so powerful a claim upon their gratitude and affection.

On the 25th of August, 1819, the sixty-third anniversary of his ordination, he attended the ordination of his colleague, and took part in the publick solemnities. His venerable appearance, and the devout and pertinent address which he offered at the throne of grace, made an impression upon the audience which will not soon be forgotten. It seemed as if he had come before his God, to give back his commission, while he was on the eve of going to give an account of his stewardship.

On the following week, he was attacked by a disease,* to which he had before been occasionally subject, and which now threatened to terminate his life. While his friends were anxiously waiting the event of his illness, and expecting that the profound sleep into which he had fallen, would terminate in the lethargy of death, he unexpectedly revived, and after a few days, was restored to his usual health. He spake of his recovery in a manner which indicated the most unqualified resignation to the Divine will, as well as the most grateful sense of the Divine goodness.

From this period, the recurrence of his disorder was more frequent, and seemed at times to abate, in a considerable degree, his intellectual vigour. His friends who were in the habit of conversing with him daily, have often been pained to find a train of animated and interesting remarks suddenly interrupted by the failure of his recollection. But notwithstanding the inroads which

A comatose affection.

his disease was evidently making, both upon his constitution and intellect, he was an almost constant attendant on publick worship, and occasionally took part in the service, until about two months before his death. The last publick exercise which he ever performed, was a funeral service in a case of uncommon affliction. It was remarked that his manner on this occasion was unusually paternal and affectionate. The prayer which he offered was replete with impressive sentiment, and seemed like the breath of a soul that was panting for heaven, while the trembling limbs and the quivering voice seemed to proclaim that it would soon be there.

On the sabbath next succeeding the 25th of August, (the sixtyfourth anniversary of his ministry,) he attended publick worship and heard a discourse on the responsibility of a christian minister. The subject made a deep impression upon his mind, and as he afterwards remarked, led him to another review of his own ministry. To a friend with whom he returned from church, he made, in substance, the following remarks: "I have been a steward for a long time, and shall have a large account to render. I often think of it. When I look back upon my ministry, I find great cause for humility. I have been an unprofitable servant, and my only hope is in the glorious Redeemer. If I do not come short at last, it will be not on account of any worthiness in me, but on account of the all-sufficiency of Christ. I think I can say with another, that if I ever arrive in that blessed world, I shall have had so much forgiven me, that I will sing the praises of Redeeming love in as loud strains as any saint or angel there."

The last day of October following completed his eighty-ninth year. He observed it as a day of solemn recollection and selfexamination. In the course of the day, he paid a visit to one of his neighbours, apparently with a view to give him an opportunity of rejoicing with him in the divine goodness. In conversation

with a friend, he remarked that he had been reviewing his life, and he found that it had been crowded with blessings. He then said with a profusion of tears, that it overwhelmed him. "I have endeavoured," he added, "to exercise some degree of gratitude, particularly for the blessings of the past year, but I have not yet asked God to add to my life another year, and I have not determined that it is my duty to make such a request.

In the early part of December, his health began more sensibly to decline, though there were still occasional intervals, when he conversed with great freedom and vivacity, and manifested no small degree of his native energy of mind. But it was evident to himself and his friends that his earthly house of this tabernacle was soon to be dissolved; and he spake of it with as little agitation as if he had been only laying by his garments for the repose of the night. He often remarked, that he had not the assurance of hope, but that his confidence in the Redeemer was so strong that he was not afraid to die. A few days before his death, one of his friends remarked to him, that it must be a source of great satisfaction to reflect that his life had been distinguished by such eminent usefulness. "Oh no," said he, "I find little consolation from any thing which I have done. I believe I have endeavoured to be diligent in my profession, but every step of my course has been marked by imperfections. I have consolation, I trust, in the prospect of death, but it is all derived from the hope which I have built on the atonement of my Redeemer." His humility and resignation, which had long been prominent features in his character, became still more conspicuous, the nearer he approached the grave. It was impossible to be in his presence without an impression that he certainly possessed the genuine graces of the christian—that his religion was not assumed merely to quiet a cor roding conscience, or to disguise the terrours of death; for instead of manifesting any of that gloomy restraint, which the pros

pect of death usually imposes upon those who are not prepared to meet it, his conversation was cheerful, occasionally brilliant and innocently humorous, and always like himself. Every one perceived that religion had taken firm hold of his affections, and that there was no effort to bring into operation à principle which had never been implanted. To the last, he united with the submission of the humble christian, the dignity and courtesy of a gentleman, and the affectionate tenderness of a friend. On the day preceding his death, a neighbouring minister who had called to take his final leave of him, expressed to him the hope that he enjoyed consolation in the prospect of death; to which he replied with animation and emphasis, "Yes, I do." Soon after this, his speech entirely failed, and he sunk into a state of apparent insensibility, and afterwards gave no indications of reason, except by fixing himself in the attitude of devotion for a few moments, during a prayer which was offered by his bed-side. On Sabbath morning, the 31st of December, 1820, having lived eighty-nine years and two months, he exchanged a world of pains and tears, for a world of happiness and glory.

The following account of Doctor L's character, is extracted from the discourse delivered at his funeral.

The character of Doctor Lathrop, as a MAN, was made up of a rare assemblage of interesting qualities. Perhaps it is not too much to say that he possessed an intellect of the first order. If the cast of his mind was less bold than that of some other great men, there are few whose intellectual operations are equally rapid, distinct, and original. His discernment of character seemed almost intuitive. In the investigation of truth, his mind was accustomed to range through the whole field of evidence, and finally arrive at its conclusion by a path so luminous, that few could trace it without perfect conviction. Multitudes can testify, with what delight they have listened to his conversation, when his mind has