cess. had been since his return from India. As the duty of lieutenant-governor did not require his constant attendance at Pendennis, he removed, in the end of the year 1810, to London, and took a house at Islington. To his benevolent and active mind, the metropolis opened up an ample field for exertion. In Bible and Missionary Societies, but particularly the Naval and Military Bible Society, he took a lively interest, and endeavoured, by every means in his power, to promote their sucSome business at Pendennis requiring his presence, he left his family to proceed thither on the 20th of August 1811. He arrived safely at Falmouth, and in rather better health than when he set out on his journey. This, however, was but of short duration. In the course of a few weeks, and before he had completed his arrangements for returning home, he was seized with a nervous fever, which soon degenerated into a typhus or fitrid fever. The symptoms assumed a very dangerous character, and the surgeon thought it prudent to write Mrs Melvill, stating, in the gentlest terms, the illness of her husband. The whole family were alarmed by the intelligence; but every succeeding day brought more favourable accounts, until at length a letter was received from the lieutenant-governor himself, announcing his recovery. But, alas! these bright hopes were soon blasted. On the 16th of October letters arrived from the surgeon and a friend, conveying the melancholy tidings that he had been attacked by a disease of another kind, which had called for the perforinance of an operation, the consequences of which could not be ascertained. In these circumstances, Mrs Melvill deemed it her duty to proceed, without delay, to Falmouth, where she continued to the last to watch by his dying couch. He gradually sunk; but during the few remaining days of his life, he evinced the resignation of a sincere follower of Jesus. The following account, from the pen of his pious and affectionate partner, will be read with interest : · the tenth verse of the fifty-fourth chapter of Isaiah,For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed, but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord, that hath mercy on thee.' He asked me if I did not remember a farewell sermon preached by Dr Hawker from that text? He then again repeated the verse with delight. I began the hymn, Jesus, I love thy charming name,' he proceeded, and went through the whole of this, his favourite hymn, with great emphasis. Hearing us say, In my father's house are many mansions;'Yes,' he subjoined, if it were not so, I would have told you.' Christ,' he said, is the good shepherd; he knows his sheep, and they know him; none shall ever pluck them out of his hand.' I am of his fold.' He quoted also the thirteenth verse of the forty-first chapter of Isaiah,- For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, fear not, I will help thee;' and this passage, Though an host should encamp against me, mine heart shall not fear;' also, When my heart and my strength fail, the Lord is the strength of my heart and my portion for ever.' Addressing himself to me, in a very particular manner, he said, In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he will direct thy paths.' He remarked, that all our sufferings are nothing to what our Lord suffered, and not worthy to be compared with that eternal weight of glory which shall be revealed, concerning which it is said, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.' Expressing his trust in God's watchful care over him, he said, The angels of the Lord encamp round those that fear him;' For he shall give his angels charge concerning them.' I said, Jesus is the friend of sinners.' He eagerly took up the words, and said, friend of sinners, able to save to the uttermost, and casteth out none who come unto God by him.' He says, 'Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart. "In the morning, observing my tears, he said,- Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, God will protect the widow and the orphan.' He and take my yoke upon you, and you shall find rest for frequently laid his hand upon his breast, and said he your souls.' He also quoted that sublime passage,felt a very unpleasant sensation. I asked him if hisI know that my Redeemer liveth,' and particularly mind was comfortable? He replied, Yes, quite dwelt upon the twenty-seventh verse, whom I shall comfortable; the Lord is my refuge.' I began to quote see FOR MYSELF, and mine eyes shall behold, and not the third verse of the twenty-sixth chapter of Isaiah. another.' He added, I can say,' with St. Paul, I He took up the words and said,- Thou shalt keep know in whom I have believed, and that he is able to him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, be- keep that which I have committed unto him.'' All cause he trusteth in thee.' I said, 'You experience power is given unto him, both in heaven and earth; this now?' He replied, I do.' Soon after, the fifty- therefore the believer can always triumph in Christ third chapter of Isaiah was read. He listened with Jesus, who is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.' visible pleasure, and said, when it was finished, O│I remarked, that we had not an High Priest who could that is a delightful chapter!-it deserves to be written not be touched with a sense of our infirmities, but was in letters of gold.' He then desired the seventh verse in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.' of the seventeenth chapter of Jeremiah to be referred He heard me with pleasure. I then observed, that we to, Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and were not sufficient of ourselves.' He exclaimed, 0, whose hope the Lord is.' He added, But cursed is no! none but Christ! none but Christ!' the man that trusteth in man.' We remarked that his hands were cold. He said, If I have cold hands, I have a warm heart.' Yes, truly! his heart was full of divine love. The "These, I believe, were nearly his last words. Just then a thought struck me, that as he had held out so long, there was still ground for hope. I left my place on the bed, and, going into the next room, I communicated my thoughts to the nurse. She was of the same opinion, and mentioned an instance of one who had been rescued from death by the aid of restoratives. Though I knew the cases were widely different, I could not part with the flattering suggestion of my mind. I returned, and offered my dear husband a cordial. with difficulty, swallowed a spoonful, but declined the next. I took his hands into mine. The pulse had been scarcely perceptible for the last hour. The nurse came in, and said the physician was below. After hesitating for a moment to admit him, I said, 'Let him come in.' Just as he entered the room, at that instant the dearest, best of men, turned his head to one side, and, after two or three breathings, without the He, least struggle, resigned his pious, precious soul into the bosom of his adored Redeemer. Solemn, solemn scene! May it never be effaced from my heart!" Yes! the death-bed of a Christian is a solemn, but it is also a soul-elevating scene. He dies, but death is to him a messenger of peace, sent from on high to convey his soul to a holier and happier abode. When a Christian departs,-when he shuts his eyes upon the dim and flickering objects of time, there burst upon his view the glories of eternity. How sudden, how transporting the change! THE BENIGHTED PILGRIMS. No. I. BY THE REV. LACHLAN MACLEAN, Chaplain to the Lunatic and Blind Asylums, Edinburgh. "To the poor the Gospel is preached," formed the affecting conclusion of the Redeemer's answer to the message of the imprisoned Baptist. Other glorious facts were stated, but the Saviour's interest in the heirs of wretchedness was brought forward as the last and strongest proof of his divine character; it was also adduced as a circumstance calculated, above all others, both to manifest the condescension of the Son of God, and to visit with comfort those who were the objects of that kind attention. Nor is it merely on this solitary occasion that such a statement was made; it is the distinguishing, the all-pervading character of the Gospel of peace, that it is addressed to the poor in spirit, the destitute, the grieved, the broken-hearted children of men. To exclude, then, from the exercises of religion, such as can, in the slightest degree, comprehend the importance of these duties, merely because they are afflicted, would be to withstand the gracious purposes of Him who invited the weary and heavy laden to draw near to him, that they might find rest to their souls. The weary and heavy laden form, alas! a numerous family, but in that suffering family, it may be safely stated, the insane are pre-eminent in wretchedness. Yet, although such is the case, these poor mourners, until lately, were left in solitary sadness to brood over broken ties and withered hopes; their fellow-men did nothing to convince them that they were still the objects of Christian solicitude,-still dear to Him who forgets not his creatures, though grovelling in the dust of misery. The ominous word "unclean," in ancient times, left to the cheerless outcast from his brethren an uninterrupted path; no eye recognised, no voice welcomed the unhappy pilgrim. So was it with insanity; its existence, under any modification, where restraint was necessary, was deemed sufficient to warrant the offers of mercy being directed to some other quarter, sufficient to exclude the dark, the troubled mind from Gospel consolation, at the very time when such consolation was most of all required. This proceeded, however, not from any indifference to the condition of the insane, but from a mistaken idea as to their capacity for receiving instruction. Because the case of some was hopeless, it was rashly concluded that all afflicted with insanity, in any form, were incapable of appreciating the advantages of religious worship, or joining with respect in religious duties. Little were those who entertained such an opinion aware of the real condition of many of the inmates of an Asylum. Father, mother, wife, the first-born, the beginning of strength, the youngest, the child of old age, may fall upon the ear as unmeaning words, and in vain appeal to the desolate heart for a place in its affection; yet the heart that is thus dead to the world and its dearest ties, may be tremblingly alive to the interests of an eternal world; the heart in which the fire of insanity has seared every cord of earthly sympathy, may yet retain, in undying strength, the cords that bind it to its heavenly Father. Frail man may behold no channel through which he can direct the streams of consolation to the wounded spirit, but the day of man's weakness is the day of God's power; he can bestow upon his afflicted ones comfort of which the world is ignorant, and open, even in the waste and howling wilderness of insanity, streams of uncreated goodness. Let the Christian, then, persevere, and look to Him for a blessing who has under his control the warring elements of the mind as well as those of the material world; let him remember that although the seed may be sown in the season of tears, joyful, nay triumphant, may be the time of harvest. It need scarcely be observed, however, that in an Asylum some are to be found to whom, in general, it would be in vain to carry the message of peace, for whom prayer and supplication ought, no doubt, unceasingly to be made, but with whom the Christian teacher can seldom join in the services of the sanctuary. To this class belongs the frenzied, the ever excited lunatic. He lives in a visionary world of his own. The fancied elevation of rank which he has attained, or the storm and tempest in which he continually moves, engross his every thought; unconscious of his wretch. edness he demands no sympathy, and expects neither consolation nor instruction; his brethren pity him, but their pity is rewarded with contempt. Such cases are too frequently hopeless; the light of reason either returns not at all to point out to the sufferer the sadness of his condition, or, if its blessed ray once more appears, it is, perhaps, only to gild the last hours, and soothe the last struggles, of the benighted wanderer. In an Asylum, also, we meet with those whom insanity has reduced to all the helplessness of infancy, without its cheering promise of future excellence; the living sepulchres of a buried intellect; wrecks of humanity, having little more than the mere form of man, to prove that they, too, partake of immortality, To them the past is as a forgotten dream, the future lives not in anticipation, and even the present is only acknowledged, in so far as it ministers to their limited feelings of sense or appetite. The mind, oppressed by the contemplation of so melancholy a scene, clings for relief to the reflection, that if dethroned reason has left the poor sufferers ignorant of the joys and consolations, it has also saved them from being conscious of the miseries and cares of life; they feel not their wretchedness, for they are scarce aware of their existence. To neither of these classes of sufferers, in general, we admit, can the cheering prospects and promises of the Gospel be advantageously pointed out. Still, at times, among the former, in milder cases, or when, from favourable circumstances, they are visited by calmer intervals, and even among the latter, exceptions have occurred, thus manifesting the power of the Most High to accomplish that which frail man would pronounce impossible. But there are others, varying in number of course, according to circumstances, (in the two Institutions with which the writer is connected, amounting to, at least, one-half of the patients,) to whom Gospel privileges are dear, and to whom, it is believed, subsequent statements will prove that these privileges have not been extended in vain. These are the partially or occasionally insane. Repeatedly individuals of the latter class have addressed the writer in the most affecting terms, deploring the wretchedness of their condition, and apologizing for what, they imagined, he might have seen or heard when the lamp of reason was obscured by midnight darkness. The poor sufferers remembered not what had occurred,-memory, dead for a time, retained no traces of the wild, the maddening tumult. Still they were conscious, from exhaustion and other circumstances, that they had been visited by a paroxysm; for deliverance from it, and the blessing of being once more permitted to worship with their brethren, they expressed themselves deeply grateful, but comfort for the future | was what the imploring eye and supplicating voice above all demanded. And where can such sufferers be directed for comfort but to a pitying Saviour,-where confidently assured of unbroken repose but in his unsuffering kingdom? The condition of such persons, during the intervals of sanity, is infinitely more distressing than can be conceived by those holding no intercourse with them. They have waked from a forgotten dream of horror, but, alas! they cannot shake off their overwhelming load of sadness with the morning light, for that fearful dream will again return; they have escaped from the wild conflict of a tempestuous sea, but theirs is no secure haven; they stand, without the power to move, trembling, lest every wave should plunge them once more into the boiling surge, where all will be forgotten amidst the deadly struggle. The remark of a patient, when alluding to the day of darkness, could the writer but describe the look and manner of the speaker, would more powerfully affect | the feeling heart than any language he can use; "Alas, | Sir, it will again return.' The remark was brief, but it was fearfully comprehensive. And what comfort could man, independent of revelation, offer under such circumstances? The cold maxims of worldly prudence might be eloquently urged, and every arguinent might be used to convince the sufferer of the propriety of yielding, with a good grace, to that from which he could not escape. Still such treatment, though it might produce either stoical apathy or despairing sullenness, (from both of which it is the object of every endeavour to save the unhappy patient,) could never beget either the Christian's blessed hope, or the Christian's filial resignation. But when consolation is drawn from the mourner's Gospel, when its glorious promises are dwelt upon, and, above all, when the distresses of a pitying Saviour, the storms that beat with ceaseless fury upon the only guiltless human form,-are pointed out, then, while the writer has witnessed the folded hands, and heard, with the acknowledgment of guilt, the words of a subdued yet loving heart, "Thy will be done," he has almost wished that one who denied the Lord that bought him had been present, that with triumph he might have asked him, "Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no Physician there?" After what has been stated, it need hardly be remarked that the partially insane are, in general, quite competent to join in religious exercises; indeed, such exercises, by engaging their thoughts in sound and profitable inquiries, must of necessity either afford, at least, temporary relief, or by banishing for a time from their remembrance the dominant feeling, tend to shake, if not to dissipate, the hallucinations of fancy. The approach of insanity is frequently first marked by the sufferer's thoughts and words being exclusively directed to one particular ob ject; every thing is indifferent, unless having an actual or imaginary reference to the all-engrossing pursuit. This undivided attention to one subject frequently marks, as has been stated, the commencement of insanity; the same peculiar bias accompanies, or to speak more correctly, determines the continuance of the dis ease. If, then, we can for a short time cause the maniac to forget the object of delight or terror that ever meets the mind's eye, a victory has been gained; for during this period of a new mental engagement, reason has resumed its sway; the disease has been indirectly attacked, the only way in which the patient can be thrown off his guard, for direct argument in such cases seldom fails to awaken every prejudice, and to bring into the field every angry feeling. Having once experienced the happiness arising from a new line of thought, into which he was unconsciously led, the maniac yields more readily to cach attempt that is made to draw him away from his wild reveries, until at last he willingly aids the kind intentions of others, by using every effort to break the fatal spell that binds him to some unearthly vision. In these last remarks, the advantage of weaning the mind from the wedded object of every thought has been alone considered, without referring to the peculiar fitness of Gospel truths, under the divine blessing, for accomplishing a purpose so important to the insane. Yet, even in that abstract view of the question, it is evident, from reason and experience, that the principle laid down is just, and that the cou clusion drawn from it is legitimate. When both these are tried by the effects of preaching to the insane, their correctness will appear still more evident. The inmates of an Asylum have thus been divided into four classes. It is not, however, meant, that all of one class strictly resemble each other; the general outline is the same, but when we examine it minutely, the insanity of one individual, like the human counte nance, is found to differ in detail from that of all others. But this distinction of features, if we may so speak, is alluded to merely to avoid misconception; for however diversified the particular characters of insanity may be, yet where reason, even to a limited extent, remains, the sufferer will be found more or less fitted to receive religious instruction; and let his case be what it may, if able to comprehend their nature, Gospel truths will meet his circumstances. From what has been stated, it must, we apprehend, be self-evident, that what the unhappy lunatics most of all require is to be soothed and comforted. In our next paper we shall consider the nature of the religious exercises in which the insane are now called to engage, and how far these are calculated to produce such effects. BY THE REV. G. B. BRAND, "Jesus wept."-JOHN xi. 35. THIS is a most affecting fact in the history of our blessed Saviour, and presents us with a peculiarly amiable and interesting view of his character. The sisters, Martha and Mary, on whose account he had come to Bethany, were placed in circumstances of painful bereavement. They had lost an affectionate and beloved brother, and they keenly felt their loss. His death had plunged them into the deepest sorrow, and it could not be otherwise. The suddenness with which, as appears from the narrative, he had been taken from them; the remembrance of his worth and excellence; the recollection of the happiness they had enjoyed in his society, and in the mutual endearments of virtuous friendship; and the hope they had entertained of his sharing with them, and enhancing, by his presence, their joys in prosperity, and lightening their burden of sorrow in the season of adversity, hope which was now cruelly disappointed,— would all seem to aggravate and increase the amount and bitterness of their grief. But in this hour of trial and of suffering they were not left unaided and alone. closer than a brother," and knew what they sufThe "Friend that sticketh fered, was present, and felt for, and sympathised with them. And, oh! how soothing the thought that this friend is present to every suffering Chris tian; although not, as in this instance, perceptible to the bodily eye, he is nevertheless, by his Spirit, and in his Word and ordinances, present in their every season of distress, and what he did to Martha and Mary he does to all and every one of his people. The tears which he had shed shewed how deeply he was interested, and indicated the sympathy, and compassion, and pity, which possessed his soul. Often had he signally exercised his divine power in deeds of beneficence, and often had these excited, amidst all the meanness of his outward condition, the feelings of admiration and love. They had displayed the Son of God, and impressed with wonder and astonishment the minds of those who beheld them. But never, if we except his own passion, when he poured out his soul unto death an offering for sin, and the circumstances more immediately connected with this unparalleled display of mercy and love, was he exhibited in a more interesting and engaging light than on the present occasion. Here, laying aside all the dazzling glories of his character, with a tenderness and pity becoming the Son of Man, and with a sympathy and compassion which marked him out as the friend of the human race, he mingled his tears at the grave of Lazarus with the mourning sisters and their weeping companions. "Jesus wept." This, my friends, is a scene at which almost no heart can remain unaffected and unmoved, and which no mind that has the least pretensions to Christian principle or feeling can contemplate without the liveliest feelings of interest, and admiration, and love. But, besides exhibiting the character of the Saviour in the most amiable and interesting aspect, it is fraught with instruction, and to direct your attention to some of the lessons which it inculcates, is the object which I have in view in the following discourse; and may the Holy Spirit of God dispose and enable us to attend to, and improve them, for his glory and our good. I. Then, I observe, that as Jesus wept at the grave of his friend, it is perfectly innocent, and lawful, and proper, that we weep at the death of our friends. to the presence and tribunal of God. In a word, it unalterably fixes their eternal state, whether of weal or woe; for "as the tree falls so it must for ever lie:" there is no repentance after death; all is fixed and immoveable beyond the grave. And, as it respects those who are left, oh! how painful are the effects, and how numerous and affecting are the changes which it produces! It is the tearing asunder of the finest feelings of the human heart; it is the cruel disappointment of the hopes which, of all others, we have most fondly cherished; it cuts off at once, and for ever, one of the sources of our most delightful and satisfying enjoyments. It separates from our society those who had long participated our joys and sorrows; who were endeared to us alike by every fond recollection of the past, and every pleasing prospect and anticipation of the future. In a word, it makes a blank in our hearts, and in all we have been accustomed to look to for happiness, which at the time nothing that this world can afford can fill up, and of which the very thought is distressing. And, oh! how painful and severely felt the changes which it makes in our friendly or domestic circles! Go where we will, at every turn we miss our departed friends: at the family board, and the family devotions, and in the house of God, we see their places empty. Almost unconsciously, where we were wont, we expect and look for them, but we no longer meet them; no longer does their eye, kindling with affection, meet ours, and no longer does their voice, breathing forth the accents of tenderness and love, sound in our ears. They have disappeared from the place of living men, never to return; and every day, and every hour, circumstances are occurring to recall them to our remembrance, and make us feel the loss we have sustained. Our In these circumstances, we would not be men, did we not weep. Oh yes! when an affectionate and beloved father or mother, or husband or wife, or child, or friend or brother, is snatched away from us by the ruthless hand of death, hard would be the heart which did not grieve, and arid indeed would be the eye which did not weep. first parents, although there is no express record, we can have no doubt, from the language of Eve at the birth of Seth, wept and mourned for the pious Abel: Abraham mourned the death of the venerable and beloved Sarah: Jacob wept for his beloved Rachel, and for Joseph when he thought him dead: David wept for Absalom, though his death was the consequence of his own base and unnatural treachery: The devout men who carried Stephen to his burial, made great lamentation over him; and our Lord wept at the grave of Lazarus. And when we are called to suffer the be Death, whether we consider it as it respects those who are taken away, or those who are left, is an event of all others the most interesting and solemn, and which it is impossible to contemplate but with feelings of the deepest emotion. As it respects those who are taken away, it is awfully affecting. It for ever closes their connection with this sublunary scene, and all its enjoyments and pursuits; it dissolves all the tender and endearing relations in which they stood to their fellow-men, and it removes them for ever, as to this world, from the society and embrace of those to whom they were united by the strongest ties of friend-reavement of those whom we have tenderly loved; ship and of love. But this is not all it for ever puts a period to all their opportunities of grace and salvation; it terminates all their preparations, and, if we may use the expression, it makes up their account for eternity; and, without the least change in their moral condition, it introduces them when the desire of our eyes has been cut off with a stroke; or when our children, the objects of our fondest affection, and solicitude, and hope, are removed into darkness, or when the friend and brother of our soul, with whom we had often taken sweet counsel, and walked together to the house of God, is cut down by our side, if we have | fore when we are called to bereavements let us have recourse to those principles which the Gospel inculcates and recommends, and to those hopes which it teaches and encourages us to entertain. Let us never lose sight of that better country, that glorious rest which remains for the righteous, and when our hearts are pierced through with many sorrows, let us raise our thoughts to heaven; let us look forward to that perfect state, where all the former things shall have passed away, where God shall wipe away the tears from every eye, and where there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain. But we observe, II. That the fact here recorded of our Lord's weeping at the grave of Lazarus teaches us, that in order to our improving and obtaining the sanctified use of the trial, we ought to weep when we are called to the painful and afflicting bereavement of friends. There is no fact more clearly inculcated in the Word of God, than that all the afflictions which he sends us, whatever be their character, are intended for our benefit. Even in the case of the unregenerate, the calamities which befall them are intended, on the part of God, to rouse them to serious religious consideration, and it is their fault, and an aggravation of their guilt, that they do not improve them for this purpose. But with regard to his own people, we can have no doubt that all the trials and bereavements to which they are subjected, are intended for, and will ultimately and effectually promote their best, their spiritual and everlasting interest, for he does not afflict them willingly, and it is not for his pleasure, but for their profit, that they may be partakers of his holiness. The furnace of affliction, is an instrument which he often and successfully employs, both for reclaiming to himself the objects of his grace, and for quickening and animating the diligence and spirituality of his people. Numerous and affecting instances are recorded in the sacred volume of afflictions having been the means of leading to God. Manasseh, after he had long forgotten, and acted contrary to the instruction and example of his pious father, "when he was in affliction, besought the Lord his God, and humbled himself greatly before the God of his fathers." The woman of Canaan never thought of coming to Christ until her daughter was grievously vexed with a devil. The nobleman and the Jewish ruler never thought of applying to Him, who is the great physician both of soul and body, till the only son of the one, and the only daughter of the other, were at the point of death. And the prodigal son, though he knew all the time of the abundance and plenty which abounded in his father's house, never thought of returning to it, till he was sunk to the very depths of poverty,-till he was forced to fare with the swine which he fed. In like manner, in all ages, the furnace of affliction has been instrumental in accomplishing God's gracious purposes towards his chosen. Often he has brought them into the wilderness-that is into circumstances of |