however, unknown to me, and to every one in my family, till after his death, which did not happen till four years afterwards. The form of self-dedication was then found in a small port-folio, which had been observed to be often in his hands during his sickness. It contained the following postscript after the signature." At my father's house.—Signed and sealed this day of-(on which day I am twenty-one years of age,) after full consideration and serious reflection, I do purpose to read over and renew this covenant every return of this day, as also every Christmasday, and every Good-friday or Easter-day. From the age of twenty-one to twenty-three he spent his time in London, in a diligent pursuit of those studies to which his profession called him. The great quantity of manuscript observations which he made there, afforded me a clear proof of his industry. At the same time he was diligent in his attendance on the means of grace. I found in his port-folio, after his death, a scrap of paper, on which he had written a set of rules for regulating the manner of spending his time while in London. The following extract of a letter which he wrote to me from thence will manifest the temper of mind, which at that time happily influenced his conduct. It was written on the occasion of a disappointment, which he had just experienced, relative to his future prospects in life: - "No doubt our merciful God, whose most darling attribute, if I may so speak, is love, has seen perfectly wise reasons for ordering it. We may perhaps come to see how merciful a dispensation it is. But be that as it will, I know I am his creature, and therefore he may with strict propriety do with me whatsoever he pleases. But, dear father, I have solemnly given up myself to serve him, and to be disposed of as he sees fit; and he has graciously promised, that if I seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, all other needful things shall be added. Must I not then rest contented? Shall I not rather rejoice that he condescends to order any of the circumstances of my life? Yes, father, and blessed be his love, he does at this moment enable me to admire his goodness." After his return home, he continued to enjoy a good state of health, till he caught cold by being exposed in the duties of his profession. The disease which proved fatal to him, came on in the most gentle manner, so that it was probably confirmed before he seemed to have any serious ailment. His physician assured me, that he never before saw such a case; that is, where the distemper proved fatal when accompanied with such mild and favourable symptoms. I first learned that he had a cough, by inquiring why he left off the use of animal food, which I had observed him to do. After the disease was fully confirmed, he was frequently out of bed for seven or eight hours without coughing at all; his pulse, at that time, being frequently as calm as in health: yet under the existence of these mild symptoms, a fatal abscess was formed in his lungs. During a considerable time in the disease he spake little, as speaking was judged to be an improper exercise; but when it appeared that no rational hope of his recovery could be maintained, I informed him of his situation, and we then talked freely together. He received my information of his danger with perfect composure, as far as I could judge. No expressions dropped from him, but of submission to God's will. He arranged his little affairs and divided his books among his nearest friends. He seemed sensible of the goodness of God to him, in granting him so much ease in his disorder, and, indeed, he had little to complain of but his emaciation. This proceeded to such a degree, that he could sometimes scarcely bear the pressure of his bed. Yet he sat up about eight hours daily in his chair, till within two days of his death. When confined to his chamber, he spent his time chiefly in reading the word of God, unless when conversing with us. He requested me to pray with him night and morning, as he could not attend our family worship. When reading by himself became too fatiguing to him, he requested his sisters to read to him select passages of the Bible. He addressed his younger brothers, and other young friends who visited him, with great seriousness. He begged that I would contrive, if possible, to sit with him a little every day, that he might open his heart to me; and that I might instruct, and comfort him in his affliction. No communion I had ever before had with him was so pleasing, as were these private conversations. When his departure approached, the tranquillity of mind which he before possessed, (without much sensible joy) rose up to a state of great consolation. On the two last days preceding that on which he died, his mind seemed more strongly comforted, and his hope was full of immortality. I wrote down, as soon as I had left his chamber, some of the things which he then said to me. 66 Wednesday. He told me he had long since dedicated himself to God's service; and that although his heart had too often grown cold, he trusted he had never relinquished his purpose. He said, "I have sinned greatly against God, but I trust I have sincerely repented of all my transgressions." He lamented the depravity of his heart in strong terms, and said, "O this foul heart!" adding, But it is the grace of God that reigns." He said, "he hoped he did not deceive himself; but he looked forward with joy, trusting that he should shortly see God in his kingdom." He begged of me to read to him that passage in the Epistle to the Philippians,— "To me to live is Christ; and to die is gain. I am in a strait between two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better." He seemed much delighted with these words. He begged I would tell him, if I thought he deceived himself. He spoke with great feeling of the sufferings of our Redeemer, as described in the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, and said, "That was his joy, that the blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin." Thursday. Upon my asking him in the morning how he did, he replied, "I grow weaker; perhaps my departure is not far |