CHAPTER VI.

HIS LAST DAYS.

A COLD caught in December, 1750, as he was going to preach Dr. Clark's funeral sermon, laid the foundation of Doddridge's fatal illness. He recovered considerably and then relapsed; pulmonary disease appeared, and he was more and more indisposed. The end of his exemplary labors now rapidly approached. The last ordinance came, and the holy man, having preached about the general assembly and church of the First Born, talked very sweetly at the table of Him who holds the stars in his right hand and walks among the golden candlesticks, expressing confidence in his care and love, and dropping hints relative to his own dissolution, so that those who listened to his voice feared they should soon see his face no more. Then came the last sermon at Northampton, from that glorious text, "Whether we live, therefore, or die we are the Lord's," full of sanctified thought and elevated feeling, exactly such as might have been expected from one who seemed conscious he was just entering under death's dark arch

way,

but saw that city, which is ever suffused with divine sunlight, lifting up its gates on the other side. And then came the last service of all, at the ordination of the Rev. Mr. Adams, at Bewdly. Next came the parting visit to the loved and faithful Orton, at Shrewsbury, when Doddridge received from Barker the wonderfully impassioned letter, which surely no one can read without mingling his tears with those in which Doddridge bathed it as he read the burning lines:"Consent and choose to stay with us a while longer, my dear friend, if it please God. This is not needful to Northampton and its adjacent towns and villages, but desirable to us all, and beneficial to our whole interest. Stay, Doddridge, oh stay, whose shadows grow long.

and strengthen our hands, Fifty is but the height of Don't take leave abruptly.

vigor, usefulness and honor. Providence hath not directed thee yet on whom to drop thy mantle. Who shall instruct our youth, fill our vacant churches, animate our associations, and diffuse a spirit of piety, moderation, candor, and charity, through our villages and churches, and a spirit of prayer and supplication into our towns and cities when thou art removed from us? Especially who shall unfold the sacred oracles, teach us the meaning and use of our Bibles, rescue us from the bondage of systems, party opinions, empty, useless speculations and fashionable forms and phrases, and point out to us the simple, intelligible, consistent, uniform religion of our Lord and

Saviour? Who shall but I am silenced by the voice of Him who says, 'Shall I not do what I will with my own? Is it not my prerogative to take and leave as seemeth me good? I demand the liberty of disposing of my own servants at my own pleasure. He hath labored more abundantly. His times are in my hand. He hath not slept as do others. He hath risen to nobler heights than things below. He hopes to inherit glory. He hath labored for that which endureth to eternal life,-labor which, the more it abounds, the more it exalts and magnifies its objects, and the more effectually answers and secures its end. It is yours to wait and trust, mine to dispose and govern; on me be the care of ministers and churches. With me is the residue of the Spirit. Both the vineyard and the laborers are mine. I set them to work, and when I please, I call

With these thoughts

them and give them their hire.' my passions subside-my mind is softened and satisfied. I resign thee, myself, and all to God, saying, 'Thy will be done." Then came the visit to Bath and Bristol, and the ineffectual use of the hot-wells, amidst expressions of sympathy and proofs of delicate attention from persons of high rank; friends at Northampton all the while meeting three times a week to intercede for him with the only Preserver of men. But it was in vain. The hoarse cough, the low voice, were unmistakable premonitions. But his mind was peaceful. "I bless God," he says, "that I have the powerful supports of

Christianity; nor is it any grievance of heart to me, but, on the contrary, an unspeakable pleasure, that I have spent my life among the Protestant Dissenters, and sacrificed to honor, liberty, and conscience, those considerations which persons devoted to avarice and ambition think great and irresistible."

Not to neglect the last hope, it was resolved he should go to a warmer climate. Then came the journey to Falmouth, to embark for Lisbon. As fancy sees the falling leaves and rain, and hears the autumnal wind of that year, just a century since, how they seem to drop and sweep with sad prophetic significance round the old-fashioned chariot and four which bears the languid frame of our dear Doddridge through the rough wet roads of Devonshire! We feel, as we ride along with him, as if the hearse were not far behind. Violent symptoms at the place of embarkation suggest the proposal, "Shall he return?" He answers, "The die is cast, and I choose to go." We go with him on board the commodious packet-boat secured for him by his friend Warburton; and, as we are touched to the heart by the patience of the sufferer, we are equally affected with admiration at the heroism and tenderness of the brave-hearted woman his faithful wife. The last letter is dispatched :-"Let us think of this as a momentary state, and aspire more ardently after the blessings of that. If I survive my voyage, a line shall tell you how I bear it. If not, all will be well, and (as good Mr.

Howe says) I hope I shall embrace the wave, that, when I intended Lisbon, should land me in heaven. I am more afraid of doing what is wrong than of dying." The vessel looses from her moorings, and sails out to sea, when the soft air and fresh breeze revive the sufferer. Sitting in his easy chair, as the September sun plays on the water, and comes pouring in at the cabin window, he whispers to his wife, "I cannot express to you what a morning I have had. Such delightful and transporting views of the heavenly world is my Father now indulging me with as no words can express." And then the rapture of his countenance seems to utter the lines of his own hymn

When death o'er nature shall prevail,
And all its powers of language fail,

Joy through my swimming eyes shall break,
And mean the thanks I cannot speak.

After being becalmed some days in the Bay of Biscay, where the intensity of the heat threatens his speedy dissolution, he reaches the coast of Portugal. The heights of Cintra, the church and light-house of Nossa Senhora de Guia, the convent of St. Antonio, and the town of Cascaes come in view. A rare scene of beauty and grandeur is the entrance to the Tagus :-" Convents and quintas, gray olive yards, green orange groves, and greener vineyards; the shore more populous every moment as we advance, and finer buildings opening upon us; the river, bright as the blue sky, swarming with