respects tears of sorrow. I have no tears to shed now, but those of love, and joy, and thankfulness.”

Oct. 16th. To his daughter" You will avoid much pain and anxiety, if you will learn to trust all your concerns in God's hand. Cast all your care upon him, for he careth for you.' But if you merely go and say that you cast your care upon him, you will come away with the load on your shoulders. If I had the entire disposal of your situation, and could decide how many scholars you should have, and what success you should meet with, you would feel no anxiety, but would rely on my love and wisdom; and if you should discover any solicitude, it would show that you dis trusted one or the other of these. Now all your concerns are in the hands of a merciful and wise Father; therefore, it is an insult to him to be careful and anxious concerning them. Trust him for all abilities, success, and every thing else and you will never have reason to repent it." At one time, he was heard to break forth in the following soliloquy: "What an assemblage of motives to holiness does the gospel present! I am a Christian-what then? Why, I am a redeemed sinner- a pardoned rebel- all through grace, and by the most wonderful means which infinite wisdom could devise. I am a Christian - what then? Why, I am a temple of God, and surely I ought to be pure and holy. I am a Christian what then? I am a child of God, and ought to be filled with filial love, reverence, joy, and gratitude. I am a Christian-what then? Why, I am a disciple of Christ, and must imitate him who was meek and lowly in heart, and pleased not himself. I am a Christian what then? Why, I am an heir of heaven, and hastening on to the abodes of the blessed, to join the full choir of glorified ones, in singing the song of Moses and the Lamb; and surely I ought to learn that song on earth."

To Mrs. Payson, who, while ministering to him, had observed, "Your head feels hot, and seems to be distended," he replied, "It seems as if the soul disdained such a narrow prison, and was determined to break through with an angel's energy, and, I trust, with no small portion of an angel's feeling, until it mounts on high."

Again "It seems as if my soul had found a pair of new wings, and was so eager to try them, that, in her fluttering, she would rend the fine net-work of the body to pieces."

At another time" My dear, I should think it might encourage and strengthen you, under whatever trials you may be called to endure, to remember me. O! you must believe that it will be great peace at last.'

At another time, he said to her: "After I am gone, you will find many little streams of beneficence pouring in upon you, and you will perhaps say, 'I wish my dear husband were here to know this.' My dear, you may think that I do know it by anticipation, and praise God for it now."

"Hitherto I have viewed God as a fixed Star, bright indeed, but often intercepted by clouds; but now he is coming nearer and nearer, and spreads into a Sun so vast and glorious, that the sight is too dazzling for flesh and blood to sustain." This was not a blind adoration of an imaginary deity; for, added he, "I see clearly that all these same glorious and dazzling perfections, which now only serve to kindle my affections into a flame, and to melt down my soul into the same blessed image, would burn and scorch me like a consuming fire, if I were an impenitent sinner."

He said he felt no solicitude respecting his family; he could trust them all in the hands of Christ. To feel any undue solicitude on their account, or to be unwilling to leave them with God, would be like "a child who was reluctant to go to school, lest his father should burn up his toys and playthings, while he was absent."

Conversing with a friend on his preparation for his departure, he compared himself to "a person who had been visiting his friends, and was about to return home. His trunk was packed, and every thing prepared, and he was looking out of the window, waiting for the stage to take him in.'

When speaking of the sufferings he endured, particularly the sensation of burning in his side and left leg, he said that, if he expected to live long enough to make it worth while, he would have his leg taken off. On Mrs. Payson's uttering

some expression of surprise, he replied, "I have not a very slight idea of the pain of amputation; yet I have no doubt that I suffer more every fifteen minutes, than I should in having my leg taken off."

His youngest child, about a year old, had been under the care of a friend, and was to be removed a few miles out of town; but he expressed so strong a wish to see Charles first, that he was sent for. The look of love, and tenderness, and compassion, with which he regarded the children, made an indelible impression on all present.

At his request, some of the choir, belonging to the congregation, came a few days before his death, for the purpose of singing, for his gratifications, some of the songs of Zion. He selected the one commencing, "Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings;" part of the hymn, "I'll praise my Maker with my breath;" and the "Dying Christian to his Soul."

Sabbath day, October 21st, his last agony commenced. This holy man, who had habitually said of his racking pains, "These are God's arrows, but they are all sharpened with love" and who, in the extremity of suffering, had been accustomed to repeat, as a favorite expression, "I will bless the Lord at all times," had yet the "dying strife" to encounter. It commenced with the same difficulty of respiration, though in an aggravated degree, which had caused him great distress at intervals, during his sickness. His daughter, who had gone to the Sabbath school, without any apprehensions of so sudden a change, was called home. Though laboring for breath, and with a rattling in the throat similar to that which immediately precedes dissolution, he smiled upon her, kissed her affectionately, and said, "God bless you, my daughter!" Several of the church were soon collected at his bedside; he smiled on them all, but said little, as his power of utterance had nearly failed. Once he exclaimed, "Peace! peace! Victory! victory!" He looked on his wife and children, and said, almost in the words of dying Joseph to his brethren-words which he had before spoken of as having a peculiar sweetness, and which he now wished to recall to her mind "I am going, but

God will surely be with you." His friends watched him, expecting every moment to see him expire, till near noon, when his distress partially left him; and he said to the physician, who was feeling his pulse, that he found he was not to be released yet; and though he had suffered the pangs of death, and got almost within the gates of Paradise-yet, if it was God's will that he should come back and suffer still more, he was resigned. He passed through a similar scene in the afternoon, and, to the surprise of every one, was again relieved. The night following, he suffered less than he had the two preceding. Friday night had been one of inexpressible suffering. That, and the last night of his pilgrimage, were the only nights in which he had watchers. The friend who attended him through his last night, read to him, at his request, the twelfth chapter of the second epistle to the Corinthians; parts of which must have been peculiarly applicable to his case.

On Monday morning, his dying agonies returned in all their extremity. For three hours, every breath was a groan. On being asked if his sufferings were greater than on the preceding Friday night, he answered, "Incomparably greater." He said that the greatest temporal blessing, of which he could conceive, would be one breath of air. Mrs. Payson, fearing, from the expression of suffering in his coun-tenance, that he was in mental as well as bodily anguish, questioned him on the subject. With extreme difficulty he was enabled to articulate the words, "Faith and patience hold out." About mid-day, the pain of respiration abated, and a partial stupor succeeded. Still, however, he continued intelligent, and evidently able to recognize all who were present. His eyes spoke, after his tongue became motionless. He looked on Mrs. Payson, and then his eye, glancing over the others who surrounded his bed, rested on Edward, his eldest son, with an expression which said- and which was interpreted by all present to say, as plainly as if he had uttered the words of the beloved disciple-"Behold thy mother!" There was no visible indication of the return of his sufferings. He gradually sunk away, till about the

going down of the sun, when his happy spirit was set at liberty.

His love for

His "ruling passion was strong in death." preaching was as invincible as that of the miser for gold, who dies grasping his treasure. Dr. Payson directed a label to be attached to his breast, with the words: Remem ber the words which I spake unto you while I was yet present with you; that they might be read by all who came to look at his corpse, and by which he, being dead, still spake. The same words, at the request of his people, were engraven on the plate of the coffin, and read by thousands on the day of interment.

ELIAS CORNELIUS.

THE subject of the following sketch was born at Somers, New York, July 30th, 1794. His father was a pious physician of extensive practice, and both parents were especially faithful in inculcating, by precept and example, the value and necessity of good morals and experimental piety, upon the youthful mind of their only son. In 1810, at the age of sixteen, with an intelligent and peculiarly active mind, and with a superior preparation, he entered the sophomore class in Yale College. He remained in college, pursuing his regular studies with great success, a thoughtless, impenitent and somewhat reckless young man, until in his senior year, in a revival in the institution, he was powerfully convicted of sin, became sincerely penitent, experienced a clear and evident change of heart, and connected himself with the church. His subsequent life tested the genuineness of the work of grace upon his heart. Upon his graduation, he