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MRS. LAVINGTON,

“But I behold him in light above,

Where no cloud that light can dim ;
He will never come back to us, my love,
But we may go to him.”

Dying Hours.

Rev. Samuel Layington. turn many to righteousness shall shine as

the stars for ever and ever. Very applicatle to Mr Lavington was the A handsome marble monument has been character of Barnabas—“He was a good erected immediately opposite his pulpit, man, and full of the Holy Ghost and of with the following inscription:faith.” In the year 1752 he undertook the

Sacred to the Memory of the pastoral charge at Bideford, where he laboured with great acceptance, comfort and

Reverend SAMUEL LAVINGTON, usefulness, until 1807. His was a good old

who for fifty-five years age, because he was good and did good in was the affectionate, evangelical and it, and till the last two or three years he faithful Pastor of this church. enjoyed the usual comforts of life: his

On the 18th of April 1807, strength then gradually declined. He continued his public services generally once

he entered into the joy of his Lord, on the Lord's day; and when his trembling

aged eighty-one years. frame could no longer totter

over the

“ Blessed is that servant whom his Lord, ground, he was wheeled to the house of when he cometh, shall find so doing." God in a Bath chair. About ten months before his death, he engaged in his last

Mrs. Lavington service, having then entered on his eightyfirst year. His parting address was deli- MRS. LAVINGTON, wife of the late Rev. vered at the Lord's Supper. Like his Samuel Lavington, of Bideford, was the blessed Master, he drank with the weeping daughter of Thomas Shepherd, Esq., of disciples of that fruit of the vine of which Braintree, in Essex. She was a woman he was to drink no more with them, till he of most amiable temper, of great humility, should drink it new with them in the king. modesty and delicate feeling; but her exdom of God. The powers both of body alted piety was the diamond in the ring that and mind from that season rapidly declin- shed around its sparkling lustre. It might ed, and he no more quitted his habitation. with truth have been said, “ this woman When however he saw his flock passing was full of good deeds which she did,” but before his door in their way to the sanctu- they were performed not ostentatiously ary, he deeply lamented his absence from but secretly. --She was the concealed violet

, that “dear place," as he termed it, “the known by the sweet perfume she shed house of God.” In this declining state, around. The time, however, at length gradually descending to the grave, he arrived, when this lovely flower was to be quietly waited for his dismissal to the transplanted to the paradise of God, where church triumphant. Sometimes a few clouds it will for ever bloom in all the fragrance obscured his prospects for eternity, but and vigour of the heavenly world. they were the natural effects of age and It might naturally be expected that a life infirmities, and were soon dispersed. As such as her's, exhibiting so much of the his life for nearly parts of a century had meekness of Jesus, so much self-denial, been a living epistle known and read of all holiness, and exalted devotion, should have men, the additional evidence of his dying a peaceful close; and such expectations testimony was not necessary. The last were not disappointed. Though her pains moments of Mr. L. where almost wholly were exceedingly acute, not a murmuring spent in silence; and when the period of word, fell from her lips. All was calm dismissal arrived, or, according to his own composure, sweet serenity, meek submislanguage, when he should leave to die

, with- sion, firm confidence, and lively hope. She out a sigh or struggle, he closed his eyes, often expressed her devout affections in the and a convoy of angels wafted his disem- admired stanzas of Watts and Doddridge, bodied spirit to that world where they that and especially repeated with much delight,

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the following lines as peculiarly descriptive mercies I eat, mercies I drink, mercies are of her happy feelings.

my daily food.” As the time of her depar“When on the verge of life I stand,

ture drew near, with heart and eyes lifted And view the scene on either hand,

upward, she thus gave vent to her glowing My spirit struggles with its clay,

feeling: And longs to wing its flight away. “Oh for a sight, a pleasing sight, Where Jesus dwells my soul would be,

Of our Almighty Father's throne; It faints my much-loved Lord to see;

There sits our Saviour crowned with light, Earth twine no more about my heart,

Cloth'd in a body like our own. For 'tis far better to depart.

Oh, what amazing joys they feel, Come, ye angelic envoys, come,

While to their golden harps they sing, And lead the willing pilgrim home;

And sit on ev'ry heavenly hill, Ye know the way to Jesu's throne,

And spread the triumphs of their king. Source of my joys, and of your own. When shall the day, dear Lord appear, That blessed interview, how sweet!

That I shall mount to dwell above; To fall transported at his feet,

And stand and bow amongst them there, Rais'd in his arms to view his face, And view thy face, and sing, and love." Thro’ the full beamings of his grace.

She had, however, at the same time, the As with a seraph's voice to sing, fullest sense of her entire dependence, and To fly as on a cherub's wing,

the deepest humility of soul. A little bePerforming with unwearied hands, fore she breathed her last, being in great A parent Saviour's high commands.

pain, she lifted up her eyes, and with peYet with these prospects full in sight,

culiar earnestness said, “Help, Lord,” I'll wait thy signal for my flight;

twice repeating these words, “Mine eyes For while thy service I pursue,

are unto thee, from whence cometh my I find my heaven began below.” help."

To a friend who enquired how she was, “A guilty, weak, and helpless worm, she replied, here I am God's prisoner, and

On thy kind arms I fall; let him do as he pleases—but I do not wish Be thou my strength and righteousness, to live.” However though she desired to My Jesus and my all." be gone, she took thankful notice of present mercies, and at one time her grateful She then closed her eyes, and quitted the heart burst forth in these words: “I want body without a sigh or a groan. for nothing; I have nothing but mercies;

Temperance Advocate.

A Sermon.

years ago I was a hard drinker. I had

wasted my property, beggared my family, The sight of a drunkard is a better sermon and from shame, destitution and want had against that vice, than the best that was moved them off, far into the woods, and ever preached upon it.—Saville.

set them down in a miserable log cabin I

had constructed for them. I was accusAn Exception.

tomed 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 drifts as almost forbade my proceeding. I remark, for there was one case within his finally lay down on one of them to die, own knowledge and experience, in which despairing that I should ever get home. it had done good, indirectly, and had saved As I lay there, stupefied from drink, and a poor drunkard's life. Said he: "Some benumbed with cold, I remembered that I

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had a bottle of rum in my pocket. I con- bottle, and set it up on a shelf, resolved cluded that I would drink up this before I never to taste of the precious liquor that died, and so enjoy my last moments the had saved a drunkard's life, because he best' a drunkard could. But I was so could not get it! I have kept my pledge. I drunk, and my hands and arms were so have not drank a drop of intoxicating stiff with cold, I could not get it from my liquors from that day to this. I now own pocket. Vexed at this disappointment, a fine farm, and have a very happy, and I and a little warmed up with passion and think intelligent and respectable family. the struggle, I determined if I could not So here is one exception, in which rum get my bottle I would not die so. Accord- has indirectly done good." ingly I made desperate plunges through In all like cases, its disuse, whether the snow, and after wallowing, and craw. from necessity or choice, will do a vast ling, and staggering about, I succeeded in amount of good. It will save life, restore reaching my cabin door. I entered com- property, character, and respectability, fortably warm and sober. I took out my under proper influence.

0 Varieties.

Lines written in an old Bible.

submission to the commanding will of

God; patience is a submission to the chasSome moment on this faithful guide bestow, tisements of God.—Dr. South. 'Twill point the way to heaven a Christian

The Word Eternity. --A lady having ought to go, To seek a Saviour in the realms above,

spent the evening in gay company and Whose words are glory, and whose looks

cards, when she came home, found her

servant reading a pious book; she looked are love.

over her shoulder and said, “Poor melanThe Best Christian.—If I was qualified choly soul, what pleasure canst thou find to search out the best Christian in the in reading that book.” kingdom, I should not expect to find him That night the lady could not sleep, either in a professor's chair, or in a pulpit. but lay sighing and weeping very much. I should give the palm to that person who Her servant asked her what was the mathad the lowest thoughts of himself

, and the ter. At length she burst into a flood of most admiring and cordial thoughts of the tears, and said, “O! it was one word I Saviour; and perhaps this may be some saw in your book that troubles me; there bed-ridden old man or woman, or a pauper I saw the word eternity. O, how happy in a parish workhouse.—Rev. J. Newton. should I be, if I was prepared for eternity.

A Lovely Sight. There are many lovely The consequence of the impression was, sights, but there are few so lovely as à that she laid aside her cards, forsook her little child reading the Bible. It is beau- gay company, and set herself seriously to tiful to see a bee sucking the honey out of prepare for another world. a fragrant flower, but it is far more beauti- A Religious Gem.-It is no great matter ful to see a little child reading the Bible. to live lovingly with the good natured, It is beautiful to see a little bird sitting with humble and meek persons: but he upon a lovely tree, and to hear it singing that can do so with the immoral, with the a sweet song, but it is far more beautiful wilful and ignorant, with the peevish and to see and hear a child reading the Bible. perverse, he only hath true charity.

The Best Fruits.—These are produced Guilt upon the conscience will make a by the Holy Spirit; and, where they ap- feather bed hard; but peace of mind will pear, they are indications, and even evi- make a straw bed soft and easy. dences of a vital principle of holiness, through faith, which God alone can work should always be unfolded, and, especially,

Principle in Little Things.-Principle in the heart.

in connection with little things; for if Christian Duties.—The aggregate amount there be no principle in things which are of Christian duties may be reduced to these small, sure we are, there will be none in three things-faith, obedience, and patience: things which are great. and the vital principle which animates them all, is submission. Faith is a submis- Printed by JOHN KENNEDY, at his Printing Office, 35,

Portman Place, Maida Hill, in the County of Middlesex, sion to the oracles of God; obedience is a

London.-June, 1850.

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,” say James. “ There is not a just man pon 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. So 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 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

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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 soit 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 stified convictions, our forgotten resolutionis, 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 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 reflectionHow 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

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