enough, God knows! The old man was taken ill and confined to his room. It was winter; he was unable to divert his mind. His complaint was a painful one, and there was every probability that his illness might be of long continuance. A neighbour suggested that his little grandson should read to him. He listened at first languidly and carelessly; by and by, however, with some interest, till at length he became deeply concerned for his soul; convictions of guilt flashed upon his mind, and he expressed an earnest desire to see Mr. Heber. Immediately on its being made known to the rector, he paid him a visit. The old man lay upon his bed in a corner of the room, near a trellised window. His features were naturally hard and coarse, and the marked lines of his countenance were distinctly developed by the strong light which fell upon them. Aged and enfeebled as he was, he seemed fully alive to what was passing around him; and I had," says the narrator of this anecdote, "leisure to mark the searching of his eye, while he gazed with the most intense anxiety on his spiritual comforter, and weighed every word that fell from his lips. The simple phraseology in which Heber clothed every idea, the facility with which he descended to the old man's comprehension, the earnestness with which he strove not to be misunderstood, and the manner in which, in spite of himself, his voice occasionally faltered, as he adverted delicately, but faithfully and most affectionately, to the fundamental points of our holy religion, struck me forcibly; while Philip stood on the other side of the bed, his hand locked in his grandfather's, his bright blue eye dimmed with tears, as he looked sadly and anxiously from one face to another, evidently aware that some misfortune awaited him, though unconscious to what extent. Not long afterwards the old man died, in a state of mind so calm, so subdued, so penitent, and resigned, that 'I feel myself cheered in my labours,' says Heber, whenever I reflect upon it."" Heber officiated at the funeral; and, says our narrator, "I shall never forget, I never wish to forget; if I were cast to-morrow on a desert island, it is one of the few things I should wish to remember of the world I had left behind me, the air, the manner, the look, the expression of hope and holy joy, and steadfast confidence, which lit up Heber's countenance, as he pronounced the passage in the ritual, 'O Father, raise us from the death of sin into the life of righteousness, that

when we shall depart this life we may rest in thee, as our hope is this our brother doth.'

[The Life of Bishop Heber.]

THE DYING NAVIGATOR.

T. W., who died a few weeks since in my parish, was a poor man, by occupation a navigator, by which term is meant, a man who works in the construction of railroads. These navigators, working in gangs, and corrupting each other, are for the most part a depraved set of men. And such was T. W., when first met with by a lady who visited in a part of the district. This lady's age gave her an advantage with T. W., whose manner, when spoken to, though not surly or rude, was far from encouraging. He had a scornful leering way; and when exhorted to go to church, he laughed, and said he should be called a Tom fool. The visitor, however, persevered; and when he excused himself as to his not going to the house of God, by saying he read the Testament at home, she desired him to let her procure for him a Testament, as he had only a borrowed one. He consented, and she got one from the " Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge," for which he cheerfully paid his half-crown. He then began to go to church, and soon found his want of a Prayer-book, and readily paid for a large one.

His manner of life now became changed. He regularly attended church, and regularly read his Testament when he returned in the evenings from his work. The letter of the visitor, which I enclose, is encouraging, because it shows in a distinct, and I hope not solitary instance, that the blessing of God has been on our society, and that the conversion of a sinner from the error of his way, and the saving of a soul from death, may (as far as we can judge) be traced to its instrumentality.

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"My dear Sir,-Though I have not submitted my Journal to your inspection during the year, yet I have from time to time noted down any circumstance of interest which occurred district; and I have found it of use to review these little records. Reflections which then passed through my mind have been recalled, whether of humiliation for neglecting precious opportunities of benefiting my poor friends, or of

my

my

thankfulness for having been enabled to make any little exertion in their behalf. With some of them my connexion has for ever ceased as regards this world. Four heads of families have been called hence. A few months ago T. W. and his wife came to reside in my district. On first visit to his cottage, I was struck with the clean and orderly appearance of all that met my eye. My pleasing impressions were confirmed, when, on entering into conversation with his wife, she gave me a gratifying account of her husband. She said they had resided previously in Mrs.'s district, and when there, received from her a church Prayer-book and a Testament, which were greatly prized by her husband, who was in the regular habit of reading to her (she being unable to read herself) every evening after returning home from his day's labour. I found they attended church regularly, and were in every respect a most exemplary couple. As I generally avoid visiting my district during the hour of any meal, I had but once an opportunity of seeing T. W., until the time of his being taken ill. There was a frankness and civility in his manner, and a kindly way to his wife, which pleased me. It was toward the end of November, that Mrs. W. called to tell me her husband had been taken suddenly ill at his work. She received a ticket for the dispensary, and I soon after went to see him. He was in bed, and seemed to be suffering acute pain. At my next visit he seemed to have obtained some relief, and appeared desirous to give me an account of his past life. And very affecting was the detail given, with much simplicity and many tears. He was a native of a distant county, and belonged to a class of labourers denominated navigators. The wickedness of these poor neglected beings he sadly mourned over, and said, 'If I had a son, I'd rather transport him, than see him a navigator.' He told me that it was about two years since he had come to Carlisle: previous to that time he had led a most dissolute life-to use his own words, 'I was a sheep going astray: no one cared for my soul, or asked me to go where I might hear good.' Soon after his coming to Carlisle, Mrs. called at his room in the capacity of a district visitor. "Oh,' he said with earnestness, she it was who first led me to think of my soul, and I shall never cease to pray for her whilst breath's in my body.' After procuring for him a New Testament, Mrs. urged him to go to church, 'but,' he said, 'it was the big proud

thought of my heart, that I could be as good at home with my books.' He was also ashamed of his poor attire. But his scruples being overcome by the kind lady, he consented to go; and he ever after attended regularly with a comfort and advantage he could not describe. The kind of attention he gave when in the house of God, may be gathered from one circumstance he mentioned. Being but an indifferent reader, and being very anxious to improve himself, that he might understand his Testament better, he noticed the manner in which the minister pronounced the words in the lesson of the day; and when he returned home, he read over the chapter before the impression escaped his memory. By persevering in this plan, he greatly improved himself in reading. The pleasure he took in this employment was very great. He said he never felt so happy as with his book in his hand. "Those little histories (the Tracts) often make the tears run down my cheeks.' When T. was first taken ill, I hoped, though his illness was severe, it might please God to restore him. But the disease did not yield to the remedies, and he soon became too weak to leave his bed. Though his sufferings were often very acute, yet no murmur escaped him. His deepest groans were for his past transgressions: and observing this, and referring one day to his straitened circumstances, I remarked to him that his pain and poverty did not appear to be the cause of his deepest suffering. 'Oh,' he replied with energy, ‘it is neither my pain nor my poverty, but the thought of my sins, that breaks my heart in two.' The tears rolled down his cheeks as he mourned for the sins of his former years. It was a tender godly sorrow for sin, and not the fear of punishment, which he never mentioned, that caused his anguish of mind.

"Observing him at one time greatly oppressed in his breathing, and lamenting it, he said, 'I'm most sorry that I have not wind (breath) to pray to my Almighty God.' And when told that the Lord looked on the desires of the heart, when the lips could not express them, he said, 'I try all I can, and would be always praying.' The anxiety he manifested during his illness to hear the Scriptures read was very great: even when in pain, he still urged it, saying, 'I want to have all the lessons I can whilst here.' On one occasion, when I was taking leave after reading to him, he said, looking at me mournfully, 'Now, I shall hear no more to-night.'

"Yes,' I said, 'if you wish it,' and he expressed himself most gratefully. Another time, alluding to the visit of a dear friend, who had been reading and talking with him, he said, 'How grandly she read to me! the more she read the sweeter it grew, and I could have listened while morning.' When told that one had esteemed the Word of God more than his necessary food, he replied, 'I love every part of God's Word, but most that which speaks of my blessed Saviour.' The fourteenth chapter of John, was a favourite portion with him. He said he loved all the Gospel of John, there were so many of the Saviour's own words in it.

"During the greater part of his illness, the prevailing tone of his mind was deep sorrow for sin, but with a less vivid apprehension of the atonement through Jesus; but during the three last days of his life, his faith in his Saviour seemed to strengthen. He often said he felt perfectly happy in the prospect of death; and expressed a wish two days before he died to receive the sacrament. With reference to this ordinance, he said he never dared before to partake of it; but now he believed that Jesus died for all, and he felt that he could rely upon him entirely. After receiving, he said he felt lightened and comforted, Jesus seemed to smile on him.' His tender solicitude for his poor afflicted wife was very touching. He requested a friend who was going to their native country to take charge of her home. He begged her never to part with the two books (Testament and Prayerbook), adding, "Thou cannot read thyself, but some kind neighbour will be found to read to thee.' Hearing her sobbing at a distance, he called her to him and said, 'Why dost thou not pray to thy God? Oh! if thou would pray to God, He would bear thy trouble for thee.' Observing him lying in an uneasy posture, I suggested a little alteration: but he called out, 'Read first, read first,' apparently fearful his strength, which was fast ebbing, might be exhausted. The last day of his life he slumbered a good deal, but towards evening he revived. When I went to see him he held out his hand to me, with an expression of affection I cannot forget. I sat by him a while, and repeated some texts of Scripture, which he seemed fully to apprehend, and often raised his hands in prayer. He was perfectly collected, and able to speak a little; but the dimness of his eyes, slight quivering of his frame, and struggles for breath, denoted that the hand