I ever saw.

Her devout and tender eye was sweetly fixed on heaven. Her countenance was serene, and illumined with a heavenly smile.

CHAPTER XVI.

Death-bed of the Believer.

The

WE have arrived now, at a very solemn part of our subject. The writer feels that it is so to himself, as he knows that he must soon be called to travel the road which leads to the narrow house, appointed for all living. If after having gone through this scene, he were permitted to return, and finish these papers on Religious Experience, by narrating what the soul suffers in passing the gate of death; and more especially, what are its views and feelings, the moment after death, he would be able to give information which at present no mortal can communicate. thought has often occurred, when thinking on this subject, that the surprise of such a transition as that from time to eternity, from the state of imprisonment in this clay tenement, to an unknown state of existence, would be overwhelming even to the pious. But these are short-sighted reflections. We under take to judge of eternal things, by rules only suited to our present state of being, and our present feel ings. That the scene will be new and sublime, beyond all conception, cannot be doubted; but what our susceptibilities and feelings will be, when separated from the body, we cannot tell. Is it not possible, that our entrance on the unseen world, may be preceded by a course of gradual preparation for the wonderful objects which it contains, analogous to our progress through infancy in the present world? That knowledge of future things will be acquired gradually, and not instantaneously, we are led to believe

from the constitution of the human mind, and from all the analogies of nature. The soul may therefore have to go to school again, to learn the first elements of celestial knowledge; and who will be the instructers, or how long this training may continue, it would be vain to conjecture. Whether in this gradual progress in the knowledge of heavenly things, our reminiscence of the transactions in which we were engaged upon earth, will be from the first vivid and perfect, or whether these things will at first be buried in a sort of oblivion, and be brought up to view gradually and successively, who can tell us? But I must withdraw my imagination from a, subject, to which her powers are entirely inadequate. Though I have been fond of those writings of Dick, Taylor, and Watts, which give free scope to reasonings from analogy, in regard to the future condition of the believer, yet I am persuaded, that they add nothing to our real knowledge. Their lucubrations resemble the vain efforts of a man born blind to describe to his fellow sufferers, the brilliance of the stars, the splendours of the sun, or the milder beauties of a lovely landscape. While he seems to himself to approach nearest to the object, he in fact is most remote from any just conceptions of it. This brings to recollection, what has often appeared highly probable, in regard to the developement of our mental powers; that as in infancy some of our most important faculties, as for example, reason, conscience, and taste, are entirely dormant, and gradually and slowly make their appearance afterwards; so, probably, this whole life is a state of infancy in relation to that which is to come, and there may exist now, in these incomprehensible souls of ours, germs of faculties never in the least developed in this world, but which will spring into activity as soon as the soul feels the penetrating beams of celestial light; and which will be brought to maturity just at the time when they are needed. The capacity of the beatific vision may now be possessed by the soul, deeply enveloped in that darkness which conceals the internal powers of the mind even from itself,

except so far as they are manifested by their actual exercise. How shallow then, is all our mental philosophy, by which we attempt to explore the depths of the human mind! But are these conjectural speculations for edification? Do they bring us any nearer to God, and to our beloved Redeemer? I cannot say, that they do. At the best, they are no more than an innocent amusement; and in indulging them, we are in great danger of becoming presumptuous, and even foolish, by supposing that we possess knowledge, when in fact our brightest light is but darkness. Vain man would be wise. Let us then cease from man-let us cease from our own unsubstantial dreams, and lay fast hold of the sure word of prophecy as of a light shining in a dark place. "To the law and to the testimony; if they speak not according to these, there is no light in them," or as some render the passage, "light shall never rise to them." One simple declaration of the word of God is worth more to a soul descending into the valley and shadow of death, than all the ingenious and vivid imaginings of the brightest human minds.

Considering the absolute and undoubted certainty of our departure out of life, it seems passing strange that we should be so unconcerned. If even one of a million escaped death, this might afford some shadow of a reason for our carelessness; but we know that "it is appointed unto men once to die." In this warfare there is no discharge, and yet most men live as if they were immortal. I remember the foolish thought which entered my childish mind, when my mother informed me that we all must die. I entertained the hope that before my time came, some great change would take place, I knew not how, by which I should escape this dreaded event. I have nothing to do with the death of the wicked at present. The dying experience of the believer is our proper subject, and we read that one object of Christ's coming into the world was "to deliver such as were all their life time in bondage through fear of death." Death, in itself considered, is a most formidable evil,

and can be desirable to none. The fear of death is not altogether the consequence of sin; the thing is abhorrent to the constitution of man. Death was held up in terror to our first parents when innocent, to prevent their transgression, and having entered the world by their sin in whom we all sinned, this event has been, ever since, a terror to mortals-"THE King OF TERRORS." Man instinctively cleaves to life; so does every sentient being. sentient being. There are only two things which can possibly have the effect of reconciling any man to death. The first is, the hope of escaping from misery which is felt to be intolerable: the other, an assurance of a better, that is a heavenly country. The captain of our salvation conquered death, and him that had the power of death, that is the Devil, by dying himself. By this means, he plucked from this monster his deadly sting, by satisfying the demands of God's holy law. "For the sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law." All those, therefore, who are united to Christ, meet death as a conquered and disarmed enemy. Against them he is powerless. Still, however, he wears a threatening aspect, and although he cannot kill, he can frown and threaten, and this often frightens the timid sheep. They often do not know that they are delivered from his tyranny, and that now he can do nothing but falsely accuse, and roar like a hungry lion disappointed of his prey. There are still some who all their lifetime are subject to bondage "through fear of death." Their confidence is shaken by so many distressing doubts, that though sincerely engaged in the service of God, they can never think of death without sensible dread; and often they are afraid, that when the last conflict shall come, they will be so overwhelmed with terror and despair, that they shall prove a dishonour to their Christian profession. I recollect a sickly, but pious lady, who with a profusion of tears, expressed her anxiety and fear in the view of her approaching end; and there seemed to be ground for her foreboding apprehensions, because, from the beginning of her profession, she had enjoyed

no comfortable assurance, but was of the number of those who, though they "fear God, and obey the voice of his servant, yet walk in darkness and have no light" of comfort. But mark the goodness of God, and the fidelity of the Great Shepherd. Some months afterwards I saw this lady on her death-bed, and was astonished to find that Christ had delivered her entirely from her bondage. She was now near to her end and knew it, but she shed no tears now but those of joy and gratitude. All her darkness and sorrow were gone, and her heart glowed with love to the Redeemer, and all her anxiety now was to depart and be with Jesus. There was, as it were, a beaming of heaven in her countenance. I had before tried to comfort her, but now I sat down by her bedside to listen to the gracious words which proceeded from her mouth, and could not but send up the fervent aspiration, "O let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like hers." Then I knew that there was one who had conquered death, and him who has the power of death; for Satan, to the last moment, was not permitted to molest her.

No arguments have ever so powerfully operated on my mind, to convice me of the reality and power of experimental religion, as witnessing the last exercises. of some of God's children. Some of these scenes, though long past, have left an indelible impression on my memory; and I hope a salutary impression on my heart.

Another lady, and a near relative of the former, I had often observed passing along her way, humble, gentle, silent, evidently not seeking to be conspicuous, but rather to remain unnoticed and unknown. She had a few chosen female friends, with whom she freely communicated, for her heart was affectionate, and her disposition sociable-to these she poured out her inmost soul, and received from them a similar return. She was crushed under a habitual feeling of domestic affliction; but not of that kind which freely utters its complaints, and engages the sympathy of many; but her sorrows were such as her delicacy of feeling did