influence of Heaven, by the augmenting illness, which gradually brought upon him the conviction, that his stay on earth was approaching to a close. I think it probable, that his mind must have been occupied with the most serious subjects even before he came to that decided conviction: for the state of his sentiments when he became communicative, about two months since, appeared to me such as must have been preceded by a process not very short.

Thus there is a termination of all the cares, solicitudes, and apprehensive anticipations, concerning our son and your pupil. He is saved from entering on a scene of infinite corruptions, temptations and grievances; and borne, I trust, to that happy region where he can no more sin, suffer, or die; safe, and pure, and happy for ever. In such a view and confidence, I am (and my wife too, though for the present more painfully affected) more than resigned to the dispensation; the consolation greatly exceeds the grief.

Indeed, I believe, that to me, the consolatory considerations have much less to combat with than in the case of parents in general. Probably I may before have expressed to you, that I have such a horror of this world, as a scene for young persons to be cast and hazarded into, that habitually, and with a strong and pointed sentiment, I congratulate children and young persons on being intercepted by death at the entrance into it, except in a few particular instances of extraordinary promise for piety, talent, and usefulness. . . . . If, as in our case, parents see their children, in an early period of life, visited by a dispensation, which, in one and the same act, raises them to piety and dooms them to die, so that they receive an immortal blessing at the price of death;—oh! methinks it is a cheap cost, both to them and to those who lose them! In one of my first conversations with John, on his irrecoverable situation, when I said, "We shall be very sorry to lose you, John," he calmly and affectionately replied, "You will not be sorry, if you have cause to believe that I am beyond all sorrow."

While I was writing the above, yesterday, your kind letter came to mand. We are most truly grateful to you for the deep and friendly interest you have taken in John's welfare, and now take in our mourning for his departure. He was very cordially gratified by your letter, both for the kind personal regard, and the religious suggestions and consolations which it conveyed. I can perfectly enter into your feelings respecting the dispersion of your children. This has always appeared to me one of the most melancholy circumstances in life. In my own case, I have anticipated it as a grievous circumstance, on supposition I should live long enough to experience it. But I hope you will have the satisfaction of seeing and hearing that your children prosper in temporal interests; and God grant them and you, that they may, above all, prosper in the infinitely more important ones.

I am, my dear Sir, yours,

With the highest respect and esteem,

J. FOSTER.

CXLII. TO. MRS. SAUNDERS.

Stapleton, 1826.

My dear MadaM,-Your very kind letter could not fail to be extremely welcome. Most truly you have been taught to understand to the utmost the feelings which are caused by such an event. But it has been granted to you to enjoy the most animating consolations; and we. have to thank the Almighty that such consolations are granted to us also.

Though the final hour of the late dear youth did arrive considerably sooner than, some weeks since, we had expected, the event itself had, for four or five months, been regarded as inevitable. Before he went to the sea, at Midsummer, a judicious and pious physician (a relative of ours) plainly signified that the symptoms were of the most decisive character, and that he advised the expedient rather because it might afterwards be a subject of painful reflection not to have tried it, than from any hope that this or any other means could be efficacious. He returned very evidently feeble, more emaciated, and suffering more than at the time he went. Had he stayed but a few days longer, his return would have been impracticable, which would have been a distressing and melancholy circumstance. His decline was so sensibly progressive, that after a very short time he was confined entirely to his bed.

With a small exception of those very slight faults (very slight in his case), so naturally incident to youth, his conduct had always been good. But we remained painfully in doubt respecting that deeper interest of the soul. And a habitual reserve of character, beyond any instance I have ever known, had always made it impossible to bring him to any satisfactory communication on the subject. Before his return from the coast, it was strongly intimated to him, rather than plainly and pointedly declared, that the malady was decidedly fatal. But even this, which he received with perfect calmness, did not draw him into any disclosure of his silent thoughts. A short time after his return home, I felt it my painful duty, and reproached myself for having so long deferred it, to inform him in the most express terms, with a view to the great subject of religion and eternity, that his life was infallibly drawing to a close. I never shall forget the delight, not unmingled with a degree of surprise, which was caused by his reply.

With the most entire calmness, and easy simplicity of manner, he said he had for a good while past been convinced in his own mind that he could not recover; that his thoughts had been deeply exercised with his solemn prospects, and that he had an humble hope in the divine mercy. He talked with perfect freedom; his long and invincible reserve seemed to have left him all at once, without an effort; and it appeared as if a new, or hitherto latent character were suddenly developed before me. He expressed a tranquil resignation to the divine disposal, and a willingness to yield up his life; only a wish that if it should so please God, there might be permitted him a little protraction of the remaining

period for preparation; but this with submission. Neither then, nor at any subsequent moment, did he betray any regret at his irrecoverable situation,--any clinging to life, or reluctance to surrender it.

Through the succeeding weeks his mind remained in the same peaceful state, while he was sensible that at the end of each few days his little feeble strength was still more diminished. And this peace was founded avowedly on the merits of Christ alone. His expressions of hope were sometimes mingled with self-condemning recollections of negligence and sin.

His decline was very gradual till within about a week of the end.. He did not suffer all the distressing symptoms of the disease: but had enough for the exercise of patience, in laborious short breathing, cough, and oppressive debility and languor. These were greatly aggravated in the concluding week, and in the last few days he complained of an almost insupportable illness and weariness throughout his whole frame. But he never uttered a murmur at the severe discipline; fearfully solicitous, however, sometimes lest his patience should fail under the trial. The last day but one he took great interest in a conversation respecting the probable manner of the future separate state of existence. His longing for the final deliverance became very earnest, especially in the last day; which we did not, however, at the beginning of it, by any means expect to be the last.

About eight o'clock he was so evidently sinking fast, that we were drawn (four of us, and the two old faithful servants) into his room. He then spoke a considerable time continuously, with wonderful composure, and clearness of thought and language. . . . He was sensible till within the very last hour. When I thought his mind was finally withdrawn from us, and his eyes finally closed, I touched his face, and spoke to him, and he instantly looked up, and with evident intelligence spoke one word in reply; and a few moments after, looking at his mother, he, in an affectionate tone, said, "Mamma!" the last word he uttered. A little afterwards he sunk into sleep, and, as far as could be discerned, passed from sleep into death; I believe without any sense of suffering. There was a perfectly distinct last breath, followed, at an interval, by several ineffectual efforts of the oppressed lungs to inhale yet once more; but I felt sure, from the perfect quietness of his countenance and his frame, that this was no more than a mechanical action of the subsiding principle of life. We have seen his pale and insensible form now for the last time; for while I have been writing this account, the lid of the coffin has been fastened down.

religion on his mind But as in the case of the memory of whom

The previous and commencing operations of can now never be certainly known in this world. that ever dear young friend (Sarah Saunders), can never fade, so I believe in this instance too, that long illness, growing into a settled anticipation of approaching death, was made the instrumental discipline for bringing the soul effectually and decidedly tc

God. Thus our two dear young relatives had the noblest, best gifts under the sun conferred upon them at the cost of life! It was Heaven's gracious will that they should attain to the soul's true welfare; but they were to die for it! And, my dear madam, was not this a cheap cost of so divine an attainment? Could we for the world wish them back in a state of the most vigorous health, but without that which they gained in the very process of losing it? No! no! In beholding this world, overspread with all manner of evil, and thinking of the fearful hazard of young persons entering upon it, to pursue their course through it, what an animating consolation is it to see these two by a sovereign act of the great Disposer, carried at once beyond the entire sphere of evil, and secured safe and happy for ever! . . . . My dear wife feels the full value of this consolation, while the separation more painfully affects, for the present, her extreme sensibility, rendered, as it is, more pensive and deep by habitual feeble health.

VO Th

CHAPTER VII.

THE SERAMPORE CONTROVERSY-MR. HALL'S SETTLEMENT IN BRISTOL -DISSENTERS' ORDINATION-CATHOLIC EMANCIPATION—THE REFORM BILL.

1827-1832.

MR. FOSTER'S mental structure and habits obviously led him rather to be a meditative observer of human life and character, than to engage with ardor in practical concerns. Technical punctilios and formalities were his aversion; and it costs no effort to believe, that "he never had the least curiosity to inquire into the official affairs of societies and committees."* In one important instance, however, he was not satisfied with being a 66 quiet looker-on," but maintained a course of strenuous exertion on be. half of what he deemed to be a meritorious cause, when he saw it exposed to desertion and obloquy. "I am afraid," he said to a friend in 1826, "we most amiable and liberal-minded Baptists shall be getting into something like war about the matters relating to Serampore.' To persons familiar with the proceedings of religious institutions in the present day, an allusion will readily be understood to be here made to the differences that arose after Mr. Fuller's death (in 1815), between the Serampore missionaries (Carey, Marshman, and Ward), and the committee of the Baptist Missionary Society, and issued in their acting for some time as separate bodies. It was not till Dr. Marshman's arrival in England, in 1826, that Mr. Foster took a particular interest in the business. Previously,† according to his own candid avowal, he had shared in the prejudices that had been gradually prevailing against this member of the Serampore fraternity, and which had implicated, also, the character of the whole union. But the statements and explanations made by Dr. Marshman, convinced him that these prejudices were mostly founded on gross misrepresenta. tions. This conviction was subsequently corroborated during Dr.

* Missionary Discourse, p. 499.

† Introductory Observations to Dr. Marshman's Statement, p. viii.