the tomb which is about to receive his mortal remains has no warning voice for us; whether the GOD and SAVIOUR, before Whoin his immortal soul has appeared, will not be likewise to us a GOD, a SAVIOUR, a Judge.

In saying, therefore, a few words on the demise of the late lamented warrior, I propose to touch,-first, on his Life; secondly, on his Death; and thirdly, on his Grave.

And here I must premise that it is not my intention to deal with the personal character of the illustrious dead, and least of all to sit in judgment on his defects and errors; for who but GOD has a right to call man to an account? who but the Holy One dares presume to sit in judgment upon His creatures? If we reflect for a moment on our own moral wants, on our depraved nature and shortcomings, we shall find enough to put us to shame and confusion of face, and, to say the least, to convince us of our own incapacity for judgment. Seeing, then, that it is not for us to blame the living, how much less is it for us to blame the dead? As beings made in the image of Him Who is Perfect Love and Perfect Mercy, it behoves us not so much to inquire into what a fellow-mortal has left undone, as into what he may have done. Faults and errors are common to all men, virtues are the prerogative of the minority; vice is common to all of us alike, the nobler qualities belong to the chosen few. As in mercy we hope to be judged ourselves one day, so let us ourselves judge in mercy.

1. The life of the Duke of Wellington.

In what place and in what year the British hero beheld the first ray of light, may be learnt from any well-authenticated historical work; an inquiry into this point is beyond the limits of our present undertaking. All we desire to know-in fact, all we need know-is, how he lived after he had entered this sphere of existence. His mortality it is that concerns us most, and what we have to deal with; and to this we shall confine ourselves. His long, and honourable, and glorious career, should teach us our duty to our neighbour; his moral and religious life should enforce on us our duty towards our Maker, and his sudden death should constrain us to consider our " latter end."

It is admitted that there never lived man whose position was so high as that of the late Duke of Wellington; whose conduct and gallantry were more admired; whose influence upon the welfare of his country, and of the world at large, was so extensive; whose power was so much felt wherever it reached; whose life was such a model of consistency, probity, and honour; and, finally, whose sole motive of action was comprised in the single word-duty. Indeed, his whole life shows an example of the most unfeigned reverence for this principle. Hence, wherever

it commanded him to speak or to act, its law was with him absolute. He followed where duty pointed, heedless as to the consequences which might result from his resolve; and hence he braved alike the cannon-ball in the field, and the ill-will of the multitude in the city. Glory and fame had no part in his enterprises; they were never sought for, and were merely the accidents accruing from the faithful performance of his duty. They flowed upon him in proportion to his fidelity. To win Princehood and Earldom, Marquisate and Dukedom, was not his purpose; if he won them, they were the consequences of his deeds, never the motive of his exertions. Duty was his business, duty his pursuit. Honour and reward came, as a matter of course. We have heard it stated, that there never lived man less selfish than the illustrious dead; and that his unselfish devotion to his country was personified to him as a soldier, in that country's sovereign. Hence some one has not ill said, that if he could be imagined at a conference even in another world, he would be carrying out his sovereign's interest there to the utmost of his power.

The Duke of Wellington was anything rather than an effeminate and sentimental hero. Whenever he undertook a task, it was under the obligations of morality and honour. Despair and fear were alike unknown to him. Like almost all great minds, his was not an intellect which indulged in many words. Neither was he given to a mere outward show of courtesy. Nay, and this is but fair to state,-under certain circumstances, he could even be abrupt and distrustful. Yet underneath all this there were secret springs of great tenderness and affection; a heart full of sympathy for the welfare of his fellow-man.

Such, then, was the "iron" duke as a soldier, a statesman, a citizen, a Christian. As a soldier, how far superior to those of whom the pages of history speak in terms of glowing rapture! How humane and truly great in all his military transactions and engagements! If he advocated war, it was there only where it was unavoidable,-where the state and welfare of society imperatively demanded it at all other times he was averse to it. If there be any doubt upon this subject, let us recall to our minds the memorable words he once uttered in the House of Lords. "My Lords," he said, on that occasion, "I am one of those who have probably passed more of my life in war than most men, and principally, I may say, in civil war too; and I must say this, that if I could avoid, by any sacrifice whatever, even one month of civil war in the country to which I am attached, I would sacrifice my life in order to do it." Here is a sentiment which would have immortalised a name less renowned and honoured than that of the departed warrior. And so it should be, seeing that the

weapon the Christian soldier has to wield is the sword of the Spirit, and no other.

Such, then, is the man for whom a great nation at this moment mourns,―from her who wears the crown, to him who plies the spade. Nor, indeed, is this sorrow confined to our own shores; for foreign courts and foreign cabinets, throughout the whole civilised world, sympathizing with us, have manifested a seemly grief and regret for our loss.

Christian reader, if I have touched at some length on the life of the departed hero, this was to call your attention to the bright example here set to us by the soldier, who faithfully served his earthly sovereign, and who, let us in charity hope, as faithfully served his Heavenly Master, the only King of kings, and Lord of lords, considering that he went to confess, for a long period of his life, that he had "done that which he ought not to have done, and left undone that which he ought to have done,"-that. in the business of heaven you might "go and do likewise."

But " England's Duke," as the world delighted to call him, for whom we mourn, is no more with us; and this melancholy thought brings us to his death.

2. The death of the Duke of Wellington.

How forcibly the death of the departed hero recalls to the Christian's mind the old but faithful saying, that Death is no respecter of persons. Time has ever been mocked by eternity, mortality by immortality. As the measured tones of the muffled bell, that, tolling for a mortal gone to his rest, die upon the ear, so does man die, as soon as his breath is taken from him. (Ps. civ. 29.) These are thoughts which the pen hesitates to commit to writing,-which half unconsciously colour the cheek, moisten the eye, and make the voice tremulous. Death, indeed, is no respecter of persons. And great is the contrast between the outward magnificence and glitter of this life, and the gloomy squalor of the charnel-house, which is ever open to receive the remains of man's earthly greatness,―between the obsequious homage of the world, and the stern equality of remorseless death,-between the smiling flatteries of society, and the dread presence of him whose coat-of-arms is a skull with two cross-bones, surmounted by an hour-glass, and, perchance, a wreath of faded rosemary. Death is no respecter of persons. In death we no longer speak of rank, of fashion, of glory. There is no difference in death between him who wears the crown and him who plies the spade; the prince, the duke, and the humblest labourer stand on a footing of equality. The inhabitant of the palace and he of the hovel, although by different roads, go to the same narrow house,-a house appointed alike for all born of woman. Hence it is that the man, upon the

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tissues of whose brain, under GOD, hung suspended the destinies of the civilized world; who gave peace to our homesteads, and ornaments of gold to our apparel;" is at this moment as stiff in death as though he had been an every-day mortal. Yes, our mighty captain has fallen, his weapons of war are perished." He, the most perfect and illustrious impersonation of the British character, manliness and valour, is no more; "the mighty man, the man of war, the cunning counsellor and the eloquent orator," is numbered among them that were. And is there no lesson for us to be derived from this? Have the dead ceased to speak? have they no voice for poor mortality? Is there no need for us to remember that our days are but few ?-that they are as grass, and as a shadow that passeth away?

But I must hasten onward; and so I come to the Duke's last resting-place-his grave.

3. The grave of the Duke of Wellington.

Grave-what terror that word possesses for the profane and worldly mind! how many a heart it has caused to quake! Where is the man that can hear or utter it without some fear and trembling? And yet how much it teaches! What a world of knowledge and happiness it discloses to those who know how to avail themselves of its teaching! Where can man-where will man learn so much wisdom as on the brink of the grave? Where can man learn to understand the commandments and the will of GOD so well as at the foot of the hillock, which contains the mortal remains of those that were once dear to him in the land of the living? Where will man learn to "know himself," and to understand the meaning of the word RESURRECTION, but at the grave, which sooner or later must become the receptacle of his own mortality? And where can man expect to make himself so thoroughly acquainted with the fleeting and perishable nature of life, as over the yawning grave, which is but the stepping-stone to eternity? And at the grave we learn, in addition to all this, to love and to forgive; to set small value upon earthly greatness, and--to die!

We are supposing, then, the late Duke of Wellington's mortal remains to have been consigned to the tomb, with all the pomp and splendour which his earthly station would exact, or the wish of a grateful people could command. Surely his burial will have taught us, that our sojourn on earth is but short, and that there is a life beyond the grave as well as here. And remembering this, O let us act upon the suggestion of the inspired writer, who says, "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave whither thou goest." (Eccles. ix. 10.) Let it be our one aim in life to render ourselves worthy of being finally numbered with those blessed ones who enjoy the privilege of dwelling

in the presence of the Lamb, by our faith, our integrity,—by the calm and unostentatious performance of our daily duty. So let us press "towards the mark for the prize of the high calling of GOD in CHRIST JESUS, and endeavour earnestly to attain to the resurrection of the Just."

Yet one word more. The great warrior who has departed from among us was emphatically the faithful soldier of his sovereign; her banner, beneath his auspices, floated ever safe and high, the signal of certain victory. So may it be with us in a yet higher service; our sovereign is the LORD CHRIST JESUS, and under His banner we are enrolled to fight against the world, the flesh, and the devil. Bitter and long may be the warfare; our one master-sin may claim the empire of our soul, as he whom Wellington subdued, sought to render himself the lord

of Europe. But let us be of good courage. Clad in the panoply of salvation, let each Christian warrior take the field. This is a conflict which engages countless heavenly sympathies; yea, myriads of angelic eyes are gazing downward, to discern, in the rightful bearing of the Cross, the winning of the crown. May ours be the calm, enduring valour, the tempered zeal, the unalterable wisdom, the unswerving rectitude and loyalty, in our spiritual strife, of that great warrior who has departed from among us; so that, when the consummation of all things is accomplished, we may be able to join with him, as we humbly and sincerely trust, in the final burst of triumph,-" Thanks be to GOD Which giveth us the victory, through JESUS CHRIST our LORD."

The Editor's Desk.

CHURCH NEWS.

NEXT month Parliament meets. There is enough, and to spare, of matters secular to occupy its attention; and therefore we may hope that the ensuing Parliament will not have any time to fill up by the consideration of cases which do not come within its province. A great portion of the last session was positively wasted by the Horsman and other debates, and that too when the country seemed to be little anxious about such questions being considered in such an arena. And we hope this the rather, inasmuch as simultaneously with the meeting of Parliament, the Convocation of the Church is summoned by the Queen's writ. A body of able and energetic proctors has been elected; men who have the confidence of their brother Clergy, some of whom are names well known to the Church at large. The men are there, and good men too. Nor are fitting subjects of debate wanting. There are some few cases of double election, and dis