INTRODUCTION.

FROM the earliest ages the dying expressions of men have excited peculiar attention, and been preserved with peculiar care. Even the sacred Scriptures give their sanction to that feeling which would hallow the last words of the departed. How emphatic the record of the dying expressions of Abraham, Jacob, and Joseph; of David, Elijah, and Elisha; of Simeon, Stephen, and Paul; and, above all, the dying expressions of our Lord himself! From whatever cause this desire to receive and to treasure up these dying expressions may arise, whether from the promptings of natural sympathy, from a simple desire to know their state of mind at the last moment, or from a presentiment that the dying receive a clearer revelation of truth and a supernatural insight into the future, it is scarcely necessary for us to inquire. Certain it is, that the patriarchs at that season were gifted with the divine power of prophecy, and foretold the destinies of their posterity. It seems, indeed, to have been a sentiment prevalent from the earliest antiquity, that the nearer men approach to their dissolution, the more spiritual do they become, and the greater insight do they have into the future. Thus the dying Socrates is represented as saying, that he is desirous of prophesying to the Athenians what should afterwards happen; "For," says he, "I am now arrived at that state in which men prophesy most, viz., when they are about to die." Xenophon, the Grecian historian, also represents

Cyrus as declaring, when at the point of death, "That the soul of man at that moment appears most divine, and then also foresees something of future events." Diodorus declares this to have been the opinion of the wise men of his, and of preceding ages. He also says, that "Pythagoras, the Samian, and others of the ancient naturalists, have demonstrated that the souls of men are immortal, and, in consequence of this opinion, that they also foreknow future events, at the time they are making their separation in death." Shakspeare, in the language he ascribes to the dying Percy, gives utterance to the same sentiment:

"O, I could prophesy,

But that the earthy and cold hand of death
Lies heavy on my tongue."

Schiller, a little before his death, with a reviving look, said, "Many things are becoming to me plainer and clearer."

The idea that departing spirits, and especially the spirits of good men, receive supernatural manifestations, must often occur to those who are called to witness dying scenes, and who are accustomed to meditate thoughtfully upon them. Nor does any high improbability attach itself to this idea. The dying linger for a moment upon the confines of both worlds; and why may they not, when just leaving the one, catch some glimpses of the other?

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view
Who stand upon the threshold of the new."

The

In death the natural and the supernatural meet. two worlds here bound upon each other. The saints of God are divinely prepared for their exit. Heaven was opened to the vision of the dying Stephen. Angels gathered around the dying Lazarus. It was divinely revealed to Peter, that he was shortly to put off the mortal tabernacle; and to Paul, that he was shortly to

be offered up, and that the time of his departure was at hand. And is there not a large class of facts-some of which are recorded in this volume-which have a most obvious connexion with this general thought, and a most distinct and impressive bearing upon the relation that exists between the present and the eternal world and the revelations that may be made to the soul while in its transition state? Said a dying Sunday-school scholar from my flock, while in the very article of death, but with perceptive and reasoning powers still unimpaired, "The angels have come." The pious Blumhardt exclaimed, “Light breaks in! Hallelujah!" and expired. Dr. McLain said, "I can now contemplate clearly the grand scene to which I am going." Sargent, the biographer of Martin, with his countenance kindled into a holy fervour, and his eye beaming with unearthly lustre, fixed his gaze as upon a definite object, and exclaimed, "That bright light!" and when asked what light, answered, "The light of the Sun of righteousness." The Lady Elizabeth Hastings, a little before she expired, cried out, with a beaming countenance and enraptured voice, “Lord, what is it that I see?" and Olympia Morata, an exile for her faith, as she sank in death, exclaimed, "I distinctly behold a place filled with ineffable light!" Dr. Bateman, a distinguished physician and philosopher, died 'exclaiming, "What glory! the angels are waiting for me!" In the midst of delirium, Bishop Wilson was transported with the vision of angels. Not unfrequently the mind is filled with the most striking conceptions of the presence of departed friends. A most affecting instance of such "spiritual recognitions" is given in the subsequent pages of this volume. Most touching is the story of Carnaval, who was long known as a lunatic wandering about the streets of Paris. His reason had been unsettled by the early death of the object of his tender and most devoted affection. He could

never be made to comprehend that she was dead; but spent his life in the vain search for the lost object of his love. In most affecting terms he would mourn her absence, and chide her long delay. Thus life wore away; and when its ebbing tide was almost exhausted, starting as from a long and unbroken revery, the countenance of the dying man was overspread with sudden joy, and stretching forth his arms, as if he would clasp some object before him, he uttered the name of his long-lost love, and exclaiming, "Ah, there thou art at last!" expired. The aged Hannah More, in her dying agony, stretching out her arms as though she would grasp some object, uttered the name of a much-loved deceased sister, cried "Joy!" and then sank down into the arms of death.

We are far, however, from thinking, with the poet philosopher, Young, that

"Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die."

For instances are not wanting which afford striking illustrations of Pope's "ruling passion strong in death." Thus the dying warrior, when life and animation are almost extinct, may exclaim, "One charge more, my braves," and then sink in the conflict with his last foe. The cold speculatist, whose very heart has become seared and frozen by the ungenial abstractions that have puzzled and bewildered the intellect, dying, may still be absorbed in the thought, "I am now going to satisfy my curiosity on the principle of things, on space, on infinity, on being, on nothing." The drunkard, brought by dissipation to life's last hour, may resolve with his latest breath to 66 curse God and die drunk." The miserwho can better describe his "ruling passion" than Pope, himself?

"I give and I devise,' old Enclio said,

And sigh'd, 'my lands and tenements to Ned.'