94 MRS. LAVINGTON. "But I behold him in light above, Dying Hours. Rev. Samuel Lavington. VERY applicable to Mr Lavington was the character of Barnabas-"He was a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost and of faith." In the year 1752 he undertook the pastoral charge at Bideford, where he laboured with great acceptance, comfort and usefulness, until 1807. His was a good old age, because he was good and did good in it, and till the last two or three years he enjoyed the usual comforts of life: his strength then gradually declined. He continued his public services generally once on the Lord's day; and when his trembling frame could no longer totter over the ground, he was wheeled to the house of God in a Bath chair. About ten months before his death, he engaged in his last service, having then entered on his eightyfirst year. His parting address was delivered at the Lord's Supper. Like his blessed Master, he drank with the weeping disciples of that fruit of the vine of which he was to drink no more with them, till he should drink it new with them in the king dom of God. The powers both of body and mind from that season rapidly declined, and he no more quitted his habitation. When however he saw his flock passing before his door in their way to the sanctuary, he deeply lamented his absence from that "dear place," as he termed it, "the house of God." In this declining state, gradually descending to the grave, he quietly waited for his dismissal to the church triumphant. Sometimes a few clouds obscured his prospects for eternity, but they were the natural effects of age and infirmities, and were soon dispersed. As his life for nearly parts of a century had been a living epistle known and read of all men, the additional evidence of his dying testimony was not necessary. The last moments of Mr. L. where almost wholly spent in silence; and when the period of dismissal arrived, or, according to his own language, when he should leave to die, without a sigh or struggle, he closed his eyes, and a convoy of angels wafted his disembodied spirit to that world where they that turn many to righteousness shall shine as the stars for ever and ever. A handsome marble monument has been erected immediately opposite his pulpit, with the following inscription: Sacred to the Memory of the Reverend SAMUEL LAVINGTON, who for fifty-five years was the affectionate, evangelical and faithful Pastor of this church. On the 18th of April 1807, he entered into the joy of his Lord, aged eighty-one years. "Blessed is that servant whom his Lord, when he cometh, shall find so doing." Mrs. Lavington. MRS. LAVINGTON, wife of the late Rev. Samuel Lavington, of Bideford, was the daughter of Thomas Shepherd, Esq., of Braintree, in Essex. She was a woman of most amiable temper, of great humility, modesty and delicate feeling; but her exalted piety was the diamond in the ring that shed around its sparkling lustre. It might with truth have been said, "this woman was full of good deeds which she did,” but they were performed not ostentatiously but secretly. She was the concealed violet, known by the sweet perfume she shed around. The time, however, at length arrived, when this lovely flower was to be transplanted to the paradise of God, where it will for ever bloom in all the fragrance and vigour of the heavenly world. It might naturally be expected that a life such as her's, exhibiting so much of the meekness of Jesus, so much self-denial, holiness, and exalted devotion, should have a peaceful close; and such expectations were not disappointed. Though her pains were exceedingly acute, not a murmuring word, fell from her lips. All was calm composure, sweet serenity, meek submission, firm confidence, and lively hope. She often expressed her devout affections in the admired stanzas of Watts and Doddridge, and especially repeated with much delight, the following lines as peculiarly descriptive mercies I eat, mercies I drink, mercies are of her happy feelings. "When on the verge of life I stand, Where Jesus dwells my soul would be, To a friend who enquired how she was, she replied, here I am God's prisoner, and let him do as he pleases-but I do not wish to live." However though she desired to be gone, she took thankful notice of present mercies, and at one time her grateful heart burst forth in these words: "I want for nothing; I have nothing but mercies; my daily food." As the time of her departure drew near, with heart and eyes lifted upward, she thus gave vent to her glowing feeling: "Oh for a sight, a pleasing sight, Of our Almighty Father's throne; And spread the triumphs of their king. That I shall mount to dwell above; She had, however, at the same time, the "A guilty, weak, and helpless worm, On thy kind arms I fall; She then closed her eyes, and quitted the body without a sigh or a groan. Temperance Advocate. A Sermon. THE sight of a drunkard is a better sermon against that vice, than the best that was ever preached upon it.-Saville. An Exception. years ago I was a hard drinker. I had wasted my property, beggared my family, and from shame, destitution and want had moved them off, far into the woods, and set them down in a miserable log cabin I had constructed for them. I was accustomed to go out every day, get drunk at the nearest tavern, fill my bottle, and come On a certain occasion several gentlemen home at night. One cold blustering evenwere conversing together in a temperance ing in December, I started very drunk house, telling of the evils that rum had from the tavern, for my poor, miserable done, and that it had never as a common home. It was snowing and blowing very drink or beverage done any good. A well hard. As I crossed the lots through the dressed man stepped forward and said, field, I came in contact with such terrible that he knew of an exception to this remark, for there was one case within his own knowledge and experience, in which it had done good, indirectly, and had saved a poor drunkard's life. Said he: "Some drifts as almost forbade my proceeding. I finally lay down on one of them to die, despairing that I should ever get home. As I lay there, stupefied from drink, and benumbed with cold, I remembered that I had a bottle of rum in my pocket. I concluded that I would drink up this before I died, and so enjoy my last moments the best a drunkard could. But I was so drunk, and my hands and arms were so stiff with cold, I could not get it from my pocket. Vexed at this disappointment, and a little warmed up with passion and the struggle, I determined if I could not get my bottle I would not die so. Accordingly I made desperate plunges through the snow, and after wallowing, and craw ling, and staggering about, I succeeded in reaching my cabin door. I entered comfortably warm and sober. I took out my bottle, and set it up on a shelf, resolved never to taste of the precious liquor that had saved a drunkard's life, because he could not get it! I have kept my pledge. I have not drank a drop of intoxicating liquors from that day to this. I now own a fine farm, and have a very happy, and I think intelligent and respectable family. So here is one exception, in which rum has indirectly done good." In all like cases, its disuse, whether from necessity or choice, will do a vast amount of good. It will save life, restore property, character, and respectability, under proper influence. Varieties. Lines written in an old Bible. Some moment on this faithful guide bestow, "Twill point the way to heaven a Christian ought to go, To seek a Saviour in the realms above, Whose words are glory, and whose looks are love. The Best Christian.—If I was qualified to search out the best Christian in the kingdom, I should not expect to find him either in a professor's chair, or in a pulpit. I should give the palm to that person who had the lowest thoughts of himself, and the most admiring and cordial thoughts of the Saviour; and perhaps this may be some bed-ridden old man or woman, or a pauper in a parish workhouse.-Rev. J. Newton. A Lovely Sight.-There are many lovely sights, but there are few so lovely as a little child reading the Bible. It is beautiful to see a bee sucking the honey out of a fragrant flower, but it is far more beautiful to see a little child reading the Bible. It is beautiful to see a little bird sitting upon a lovely tree, and to hear it singing a sweet song, but it is far more beautiful to see and hear a child reading the Bible. The Best Fruits.-These are produced by the Holy Spirit; and, where they appear, they are indications, and even evidences of a vital principle of holiness, through faith, which God alone can work in the heart. Christian Duties.-The aggregate amount of Christian duties may be reduced to these three things-faith, obedience, and patience: and the vital principle which animates them all, is submission. Faith is a submission to the oracles of God; obedience is a submission to the commanding will of God; patience is a submission to the chastisements of God.-Dr. South. The Word Eternity.-A lady having spent the evening in gay company and cards, when she came home, found her servant reading a pious book; she looked over her shoulder and said, "Poor melancholy soul, what pleasure canst thou find in reading that book." That night the lady could not sleep, but lay sighing and weeping very much. Her servant asked her what was the matter. At length she burst into a flood of tears, and said, "O! it was one word I saw in your book that troubles me; there I saw the word eternity. O, how happy should I be, if I was prepared for eternity." The consequence of the impression was, that she laid aside her cards, forsook her gay company, and set herself seriously to prepare for another world. A Religious Gem.-It is no great matter to live lovingly with the good natured, with humble and meek persons: but he that can do so with the immoral, with the wilful and ignorant, with the peevish and perverse, he only hath true charity. Guilt upon the conscience will make a feather bed hard; but peace of mind will make a straw bed soft and easy. should always be unfolded, and, especially Principle in Little Things.-Principle in connection with little things; for if there be no principle in things which are small, sure we are, there will be none in things which are great. Printed by JOHN KENNEDY, at his Printing Office, 35, Portman Place, Maida Hill, in the County of Middlesex, London.-June, 1850. 66 Theology. "Our Iniquities."-Moses. THIS passage of Holy Writ brings before us nothing which, in itself, can give us one moment's pleasure. It forces on our notice subjects of painful, but yet of tremendous interest: things which make devils tremble, and angels wonder: evils which have cursed this once happy world and will soon destroy it: enemies which, even if conquered, will turn us into dust, and which if yielded to, will cast us into hell. And what are they? Nothing more than the things we so often regard as trifles—our iniquities. We all know what is meant by iniquity. It is another name for sin. And what is sin? Not merely what we think wrong, nor what our neighbours think wrong, no, nor what ministers tell us is wrong-it is what the Lord of all thinks wrong. The scripture gives us this plain account of it; "Sin is the transgression of the law." Whose law? The great God's. One thing then is already clear-we are all sinners. We have all broken God's holy law. The Bible tells us so. "All we like sheep have gone astray," says Isaiah. "All have sinned," says Paul. "In many things we offend all," says James. "There is not a just man upon the earth" says Solomon, "that doeth good and sinneth not." Our ignorance must be fearfully great, if our own conscience also does not tell us the same. How many offences we may have crowded into our short lives, none but a heart-searching God can tell. Moses takes it for granted that they are more than our most suspicious neighbours or than even our own hearts suppose. He goes on to speak of secret sins," and he speaks of them as though they were sins of which we are all guilty. And is he not right? Is there a man on earth whose conscience does not accuse him of many such sins as these, yea whose hidden transgressions are not his heaviest, his worst? Many of them are unknown even to ourselves. We are sunk very low. One sin is enough to ruin our souls. We often hear this: we profess to believe it, and yet we go on sinning every moment we breathe, without being conscious perhaps, for hours or days together, that we are sinning at all. You know where this sad work is carried on;-our own wicked hearts are the authors of it all. Within their dark recesses, all our secret faults are committed. They consist partly in the want of right feelings towards the Being who made us. But these are not the worst of them. We cherish wrong feelings towards God and towards men. Their number is consequently past all conception. It is increasing continually. "Who can tell how oft he offendeth." We can number our pulses as they beat, we can number the moments as they fly, we might number even the hairs of our heads; but we cannot count the movements of our ever restless minds. And every movement is a crime. God regards it. "Every imagination of the thoughts of man's heart," says he, "is only evil continually." What follows? We cannot number our own sins. -Their guilt too is unspeakably great. Perhaps you have doubts on this point. You are ready to say, "What can we be guilty and yet not know it? Can there be guilt in an error of which we are not conscious?" If we put this question to our fellow men, many of them will answer, "No;" but what have men to do with this matter? It lies between us and our God. Let us however hear the So testimony of some of the best of our race. "Cleanse thou me from my secret faults," says David. But David was wrong perhaps; feeling might mislead him. No. In the fourth chapter of Leviticus, we find the great God himself appointing a special sacrifice for these sins. And how does the following chapter end? With the most express and repeated declarations of their guilt. "If a soul sin H and commit any of these things which are forbidden to be done by the commandments of the Lord though he wist, or knew it not, yet he is guilty and shall bear his iniquity. He hath certainly trespassed against the Lord." Observe, also how Moses brings home these iniquities to us all. There is no escaping from his language, by saying, I am pardoned and justified. My sins are blotted out; he himself was pardoned. He is styled in the title of this very psalm, "A man of God." And yet he numbers himself among the transgressors. He includes his own sins among these which God so closely beholds. None then must say "This passage concerns not me." The holiest man on the earth, is as much concerned in this declaration as the most abandoned sinner. It is as true of Moses as of Pharoah: of Peter as of Judas: of Paul as of Satan. It comprehends us all, and all in an equal degree. And not only so-it comprehends all the iniquities of us all. We have been applying it perhaps to some of our more heinous and daring sins, but it reaches further. It includes not only those things whereof our conscience is afraid, but innumerable transgressions which we have long ago forgotten, and which perhaps never gave us one moment's disquiet. The follies of our childhood, the iniquities of our youth, the misdeeds of our riper years; the sins of our hand, the sins of our lips, the sins of our hearts; our sins in company, our sins alone; our sins in our business, our sins in our pleasures; our sins at home, our sins abroad; our lightheartedness and pride in our prosperity, and our impatience, and murmuring, and rebellion in our troubles; our stifled convictions, our forgotten resolutions, our broken vows; our contempt of the wrath of God, our abuse of his mercy: above all, the little value we have set on the great salvation of his dear Sonit is of all these, in all their multitude and all their enormity of which Moses here speaks. He calls them ours. Not satisfied with laying them on our heads, he bids us look on them as our property, and ourselves as their sole owners and lawful proprietors. If we have any spiritual thought or feeling within us, this truth will call them both into exercise. We shall not be able to treat it with indifference. It will, it must, give rise to many serious reflections. And this will be the first of these-How thoughtful ought I to be of my sins. To forget them is ruin to my soul. They are not like my silver or gold which lie harmless in my purse. They are like the torrent in my fields, which must occupy my care and my labour, or it will lay every thing waste. They are like the disease in my veins, which will carry me to the grave if I let it alone. And then follows a second reflection-How anxious ought I to be to dispose aright of my sins. But what can I do with them? With their guilt, their criminality, you can do nothing. It is inseparable from you. It will cleave to you for ever. May it ever deeply abase you! But there is resting upon guilt of another kind. Your sins not only render you deserving of Jehovah's righteous displeasure, they subject you to it. They bring down on you the sentence, the curse of his broken law. You are therefore in a state of legal as well as of moral guilt; condemned, as well as sinful; not like a malefactor who is out of the reach of the law which he had violated-guilty but yet safe;-you are like a criminal who has been apprehended, tried, and sentenced. Now this is a guilt which is capable of being removed from you; from which too you must be delivered, or be undone. But where can you place it? Who can deliver you? There stands unseen, at your right hand, one who has long been waiting to release you from the heavy load. "Behold the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world." He "bare |