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the study would be delightful. But the development of the Divine mercy in carrying on the work of salvation-the exposure of the artifices and snares of Satan-the vindication of the great and good from the calumnies of the day in which they lived the illustration of the main commanding doctrines of vital Christianity, as the grand means of blessing mankind-the confirmation of our faith when we see the same Gospel, and the same doctrines, and the same efficacy of grace, and the same objections of the wicked, and the same perversions of the unstable prevail, are additional sources of benefit. The vindication of Melancthon in the last volume of our author, and of Zuingle and Calvin in this, is of eminent service to the cause of Scriptural truth. How much is there to edify in this study of ecclesiastical annals thus impartially conducted; how much to quicken, how much to humble, how much to instruct, how much to keep one stable and moderate, and to guard against the extravagancies into which so many run on every side. We more than ever value that which has stood

the test of ages. In reading the history of such men as are presented to us in these volumes, we see how much more is really required for the decision of important questions than modern smattering self-sufficiency ever imagines. We rise above the times in which we happen to be cast, and the fashion of the day, and imbibe the scriptural, broad, universal, permanent beatifying truths which the saints in all ages have in substance held, and which alone God blesses to the awakening, the consoling, and the saving of mankind.

Our second reflection was, the admirable succession of eminent men whom God is pleased to raise up for different services in his church. Calvin was only one; but what a man, take him for all in all! Abating a little for a severity which undoubtedly ran through his character, and for that overstatement of a particular doctrine to which we have

adverted, what a majestic mind did he display; what vigour of thought; what genuine force of intellect; what a commanding, leading spirit of deeply-rooted piety; what self-denial; what superiority to petty ends; what wisdom, almost oracular, in his counsels; what noble, dignified, and simple disinterestedness under poverty; what love to the Saviour and for the souls of men. We quite agree with Mr. Scott, that he was not, like Melancthon and Ecolampadius, one of those attractive, loveable characters which seduce an historian to pourtray them in the most favourable light. But neitherMelancthonnorEcolampadius, no nor Luther, could have done what Calvin, at the particular moment of his labours and in the peculiar sphere in which he moved, and, we may add, in the period at which the Reformation had arrived, achieved. Each filled his assigned post. From Luther's noble magnanimity we would detract nothing; from Melancthon's learned sweetness, and Ecolampadius' mild perseverance, and Zuingle's heroic boldness, we would detract nothing; rather we would recognise and admire that succession of men of various powers and endowments prepared for the different scenes of service to which they were brought. Two things were common to them all-a profound reverence for the Holy Scriptures soundly interpreted, and deep personal piety. They had all emerged from the darkness and uncertainty of human traditions into the light and authority of the word of God; they had all tasted of the bitter cup of superstition, idolatry, and torment of conscience, which the antichristian harlot had put to their lips, and had found peace in the arms and grace of Jesus Christ, the one and only Sacrifice for sin, the one and only Mediator between God and man. To them Protestantism was the holy Book, and the Holy Spirit applying it profoundly to their own hearts. The cause they opposed was human error and opinion, and Papal formality and superstition. They rested on God

and his inspired word and the holiness it taught; and they resisted sin and vice, whether under the guise of Popery, or in the more plausible form of a pretended Protestantism. May God raise up such men in our own day: and the Gospel will flourish yet again; error and folly

will be put to shame; missions and Bible Societies will be more largely diffused; the Christian church will be purified from its secular spirit, from torpid orthodoxy and fanatical excesses; and God our Saviour will be known, trusted, loved, and adored, from the rising to the setting sun.

OBITUARY.

RIGHT REV. J. M. TURNER, D.D.

BISHOP OF CALCUTTA. THE painful intelligence, announced at the close of our last Number, of the decease of the Bishop of Calcutta, proved, as we feared, too true. His lordship expired at the metropolis of his see on the 7th of last July, at the early age of forty-five, worn down with the anxious responsibilities of his important office, and the fatigues of his late laborious visitation of his diocese. We have before us various notices respecting this much beloved and excellent prelate, which we should have been glad to have detained till another month, that we might have added to them a few more passages from his lordship's letters and journals, and a fuller account of his episcopal tour; more especially some extracts indicative of the secret feelings of his mind and the intimacies of his religious character. But our readers will probably prefer that we should present them promptly with a few particulars; and we are the more anxious to do so, not only from our affection for the memory of this much-lamented man, but for the sake of urging upon all who honour our pages with their perusal, the great importance of using their utmost efforts at this moment in their several spheres to awaken public attention to the solemn and urgent duty of increasing the number of bishops in India. We shall recur to this topic in the sequel of our remarks. It is no new topic in our pages; and we believe that, in every notice in them relative to Bishop Turner, we have touched upon it.

Our first allusion to him was in Feb. 1829, where we remarked, that "Dr. James, the much respected Bishop of Calcutta, has followed Middleton and Heber, as a victim to the labours and anxieties of a diocese that ought to be divided into four [that is, so as to have an archbishop and three bishops, which, in case of the death of one bishop, would leave three to consecrate a fourth, who might be previously fixed upon from among the chaplains by the government, without the year and a half's delay and

inconvenience which now take place between the death of one bishop, and the appointment of another]. He is to be succeeded by a clergyman of exemplary piety and aptitude for the office, the Rev. J. M. Turner, examining chaplain to the Bishop of Chester." The last time we alluded to Bishop Turner was last July, in a note which we appended at p. 421, to the paper of a correspondent, on the urgent need of bishops in India. We subjoin the note, which, so far as we can remember, was written on the very day, or about it, of the bishop's decease.

"Our correspondent's suggestion is of great moment at the present time, in reference to the approaching question of the renewal of the East-India Company's Charter; and we trust that the friends of religion in the Church of England will strenuously exert themselves, whether by petitions or otherwise, to secure so important an object. Our correspondent would find his arguments from Mr. Le Bas's Life of Bishop Middleton greatly strengthened by Mr. James's interesting memoir of his brother, the late Bishop James of Calcutta. We need not add the name of Heber: and may we never have occasion to add, as another victim, the name of that much loved and respected prelate, Dr. Turner.”—At the very momer when we were writing these lines, at the distance of half the globe, our painful apprehension was being verified; and this faithful servant of Christ was being translated to the joy of his Lord, or had just entered it.

We have not in our possession, at this moment, many memorials of his earlier years. He was not indebted to any adventitious circumstances of birth or property, but, under the blessing of God, to his own diligence, talent, and integrity for all his prospects; for his father died while he was young, and left his family ill provided for: but the ability, perseverance, and exemplary conduct of young Turner secured him friends, who took a warm interest in his success. He was educated at Christ Church, Oxford, where

he received kind notice and encouragement from the venerable Dean Jackson; and he was distinguished in his academical examinations. Immediately after taking his degree of B. A., which he did at an earlier age than usual, he became private tutor in the Marquis of Donegal's family, and was afterwards at Eton for many years with Lord Belfast and Lord Chichester, and subsequently with the present Lord Castlereagh; and was very much in the confidence of all his lordship's numerous connexions, especially of his grandfather the old Lord Londonderry, and his father, the present, with whom he spent some time at Vienna, and was deputed by the family to convey to him the melancholy intelligence of the last Lord Londonderry's death. We may just remark, though not in the order of date, that it was this connexion which made him known to Lord Ellenborough, who without hesitation, when the see of Calcutta became vacant, offered him the appointment, as the person best fitted for it whom he knew.

In 1823 he was presented to the vicarage of Abingdon, whence he removed in 1824 to the rectory of Wilmslow, in Cheshire, to which he was presented by the late Lord Liverpool. On settling there he married Miss Robertson, a sisterin-law of the present Bishop of Chester, to whom he had been long attached. It pleased God to take her from him a few months before his appointment to Calcutta. They had no children. How tenderly and affectionately he cherished her memory, is well known to all who enjoyed the privilege of his intimate society or correspondence; and she is stated to have been a woman well worthy of his highest esteem and attachment, and to have greatly assisted and comforted him in his pastoral labours. This excellent woman, on her death-bed, in reply to an inquiry whether he ought to accept the bishopric of India in case it were offered him, as probably it might be, entreated him by no means to decline it. She urged him at whatever sacrifice of ease, or health, and favourable prospects at home, to go out in the spirit of a martyr to that distant land; not counting his life dear to himself, if by any means he might promote the glory of his Redeemer and the welfare of immortal souls for whom he died. She had before her eyes the names and early loss of Middleton, and Heber, and James; but she bid him let none of these things move him, but in the faith and strength of his Lord go wherever his sacred vows of fidelity as a servant and ambassador of Jesus Christ impelled him. It was this her dying injunction which determined him, when the appointment was offered, not to refuse it; though he still lingered from better motives than personal peril, and would much rather have preferred a less conspicuous and responsi

ble station in his Saviour's vineyard. On the morning of his wife's funeral, he put into the hands of a friend a slip of paper with the following text written on it: "Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God" (2 Cor. i. 3, 4). His whole deportment, exhibiting great affliction yet wonderful support, shewed how blessedly he was himself experiencing the consolation pointed out in this sacred promise.

We have not immediately at hand any letters or extracts from his private memoranda, by which we might accurately trace the development of his religious character to that degree of the fulness of the measure of the stature of Christ which he ultimately attained; and we believe we may add, with perfect truth, that such were his extreme reserve and humility in regard to the expression of his religious feelings, that nothing that he has said or written would do full justice to his real character. Those religious friends who knew him at Eton, some fifteen or twenty years ago, considered him at that time as chiefly an acute and able scholar; for, though highly respectable in his whole conduct, religion did not seem to form at that period a prominent feature in his character. His intimacy with the present Bishop of Chester, whose published works shew the earnest assiduity and conscientiousness with which he was addicting his mind to the study of sacred truth, doubtless contributed to his subsequent advancement in the same blessed course with his surviving friend. Without endeavouring to retrace the stages of this perhaps gradual development, we know that for many years Dr. Turner has been cordially united in Christian sentiment and practice with those who have been led to embrace and love "the truth as it is in Jesus." From his family letters, sermons, and private papers, very interesting relics of his religious progress may without doubt be collected: but these we have not now before us; and it were superfluous to quote from his occasional letters of business, though even these were always indicative of true piety, simplicity of purpose, and devotedness to Christ. We pass on therefore to his setting out for India.

His friends remarked with much concern that his state of health did not promise a very extended career in the important station to which he had been appointed. There was observed in him before his departure a remarkable mixture of solemnity, yet cheerfulness, with a subdued tenderness, affection, and spiritual mindedness which were peculiarly engaging. He seemed like a man who felt the greatness of the work he had

undertaken, and his own weakness of body and mind for its performance; and not unfrequently would his thoughtful yet tranquil eye, his meek address and subdued spirit, speak rather the silent struggles of the martyr ready to be offered, and the time of whose departure appeared to him nigh at hand than the far different feelings which by vulgar apprehensions might be thought to attach themselves to his newly acquired worldly dignity and elevation. At a friend's house, just before his embarkation, while one of the family was playing Handel's tender air of,

"And if to fate my days must run,

Oh righteous Heaven, thy will be done!" every person present was much affected on observing this affectionate man with his hands and eyes uplifted, evidently as if anticipating the probable termination of his earthly course in India, and with an expression not to be forgotten of devotion and pious resignation to the will of God.

From Portsmouth, July 11, 1829, in sight of the vessel which was to bear him from his native land, his attached relatives and friends, and all that was dear to him on earth, never probably to return, we find him writing to a friend: "You will be satisfied to hear that I am quite well in health, and as to spirits much as my kindest friends could desire. I believe myself to be in the path of duty, and I do not allow a doubt that I shall be guided and supported in it. The pang of separation from all I love, and all who love me, is indeed most bitter; more so than I could have conceived possible when I recal that moment when every thing this world could offer seemed taken away at a stroke, as I sat by my beloved wife's dying bed, and witnessed her peaceful departure. The prayer which I then offered up seems to have obtained its answer: it was, that I might never forget that moment, or lose the earnest desire I then felt to follow her good example, that, whether my appointed course were long or short, it might be one of active usefulness. The prayer is thus far answered that the opportunity of usefulness is given me pray for me, my dear friend, that I may not fail to improve it."

We copy the following passages from a familiar account which he sent home to some of his relatives, of the commencement of his voyage. It will shew the character of the man and his communication more pleasingly than any thing we could write. There are a few names and personal allusions, but we scarcely know how to detach them; and, as they do neither the writer nor the parties any discredit, we insert them. He continued this sort of epistolary journal to the end of his voyage, and, we believe, during his episcopal

tour.

"Wearied with the noise and vexations of Portsmouth fair, I determined, on CHRIST. OBServ. App.

Tuesday July 14, to cross over to Ryde, having concerted with Captain Fitz-Clarence that a signal should be made, and full time allowed us to get on board, if the wind should come round so far as to admit of our sailing. The evening was spent quietly and satisfactorily."

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"On Wednesday, word was brought that the Pallas had hoisted her signal. Not a moment was to be lost; a boat was in waiting all our baggage had been sent on board the day before; cloaks and portmanteaus were quickly made ready, and in five minutes we were on our way to the ship. The admiral's barge, with Lord Dalhousie and his party on board, could be seen coming from Portsmouth: we slackened sail to give them time to arrive before us, so that we might escape the noise of the salute and the bustle of the reception. It was an interval well suited for reflection: the sense of all I was leaving, and of all which I must be ready to encounter, was strong upon my heart; the feeling I can with much thankfulness declare, though solemn, was not intensely painful. Some natural tears were dropped; and before faith and hope could have their perfect work our boat was alongside, and my foot was on the frigate's deck. The bustle of weighing anchor, the leave-taking from some Portsmouth acquaintance who had come out to say farewell, the hurried recognitions of the members of the Dalhousie party, then formed a succession of distractions, so that it was not till the ship had rounded St. Helen's, and was cutting her lonely track through the quiet waters, that my senses seemed to rouse to the realities of my moral position. At five o'clock we were summoned to dinner; and as we were thus about to commence an inter

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course which we might expect to be carried on without intermission for more than three months, it became a matter of considerable interest to ascertain on what "terms it was likely to be conducted. party consists of eight." With much delicacy the bishop, after mentioning the names, adds, "of the individual members composing this party, I do not feel warranted to speak; you have the outline of the group, and however you might desire to be presented with portraits of the several persons composing it, I hold it would be a breach of the privilege of social intercourse if I were to undertake to be the artist. It is sufficient to say, that all I had previously heard and observed was abundantly confirmed by this evening's experience; and I was quite satisfied that my place was fixed amongst those to whom the feelings and habits of the best society were familiar."

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division towards the deck is filled with Venetian blinds, and as there is a porthole and the gun has been taken away, 1 shall have the great advantage of a free circulation of air. Lengthways in this cabin the cot is slung high enough to be clear of the table and other furniture, the lines being shortened so as to prevent it from striking against the side when the ship rolls. To this cot I, with some difficulty, betook myself, and passed the night as snugly as the incessant noise of the ship would allow. We were what seamen call beating to windward, and it was necessary, therefore, for the ship to tack very often. Now the business of tacking a frigate is much too complicated an operation, and demands too many hands, to admit of its being effected silently. Every half hour, therefore, I had the tramp of a hundred men immediately over my head, sounding like thunder immediately along the deck, beneath which, at the distance of about two feet I was suspended. This was bad enough but at day-light the whole of the deck was to be washed and scrubbed with what the sailors call the holy stone;' a process which the combined exertions of all the knife-grinders and all the housemaids in London could not easily surpass. At seven o'clock I turned out of my cot, which was immediately taken away, and the sleeping-place became in an instant a neat and comfortable dressing-room or study. A very refreshing walk on deck brought us to the breakfast hour (nine o'clock), and would, but for other causes, have brought with it a good appetite for breakfast. These other causes were soon in full operation: ten minutes after breakfast I was obliged to retire to my cabin; and the whole day was spent not so much in positive suffering as under a sense of expected evil and an utter incapacity to accomplish, or even to begin, any thing. The wind was contrary, blowing what the sailors called a fresh gale, and the ship laboured greatly; so there was good reason to be disquieted. From the sofa I soon transferred myself to my cot, in which I swung throughout the whole of the next day; occasionally very sick and sometimes very sleepy, but never in that state of violent exhaustion which I have sometimes experienced in short passages. The wind had increased considerably, and all matters looked so little encouraging that it was resolved by our captain to put into Plymouth. About noon we anchored within the breakwater: Lord Northesk sent off his barge, and the whole party very gladly set foot on firm ground about three o'clock. It was not easy, at first, to persuade ourselves that the ground was firm; the very granite pavement of Plymouth streets seemed dancing under our feet, and all around us was in a whirl. Within an hour after our arrival our friend Mr. Bickersteth called with the vicar of

St. Andrews, Mr. Hatchard: their immediate purpose was to invite me to preach the next evening at the great church, for the Church Missionary Society. This, however, was impossible, as, if my head had been steady enough, I had brought nothing on shore with me: notwithstanding great urgency on their part, I was obliged to decline their proposal. It was very gratifying to have this unexpected opportunity of seeing and hearing Mr. Bickersteth : he preached very admirably."

The bishop goes on to mention spending the evening at the house of a physician, whose wife had been well known and highly esteemed by Mrs. Turner. We allude to the passage for the sake of the expression of feeling which accompanies it.

"We jumped at once into intimacy, agreeing to cut short all intermission, and to commence at once where our common feelings placed us. Her conversation, turning as it did to the delight and profit she had derived from the correspondence and society of that blessed one, was most acceptable and refreshing."

"The day was closed in a quiet Christian manner; the seventy-second Psalm afforded some useful matter for improvement; and the very peculiar circumstances under which our meeting took place could not but give occasion for much excitement of spirit in prayer. I believe it was a favoured season, an occasion much to be remembered by every one of our little party. It seemed not improbable, this evening, that our stay at Plymouth might be prolonged, and we looked to this with no feeling of dissatisfaction. The place and neighbourhood I had long wished to visit; and what I had seen, as well as what we heard of the people, was very pleasing. Then the Church Missionary meeting would bring together a large number of the neighbouring clergy, and we were disposed, like Jonah, to be 'exceeding glad of the gourd.' However, we held ourselves ready for a start at a moment's notice; and that notice came the next morning, while we were at the Church Missionary meeting. I had taken the first motion, and spoke shortly and feebly, followed by Mr. Carter, with considerable force and propriety in a concise but very striking address; when word came that all was ready. We left Bickersteth speaking; hastened down to the landing place, and in a short time were again under sail, with a pleasant favourable breeze. We passed quite close to the Eddystone lighthouse with a smooth sea, and before night had made considerable way towards the Atlantic."

"Bear in mind that our whole appointments are as complete as possible; that the dining-room is as well supplied, the drawing-room as well furnished, as the most luxurious taste could desire; and you will begin to perceive that the diffi

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