Mr. Darracott's death, "Of all the deathbeds I ever attended, I never saw such an instance of holy resignation and triumph."

About three weeks before he died, on a Lord's day morning, he said to one that was standing by, "I am going to that Jesus whom I love, and whom I have so often preached. Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly, why are thy chariot wheels so long a coming?" He then said, "I charge you, see to it that you meet me at the right hand of God at the great day." At another time he exclaimed, "O, what a mercy it is to have such a rock to build upon as the Lord Jesus Christ! I have found him to be a firm rock that will not fail. What a mercy it is to have a covenant God, a covenant that is so well ordered in all things and sure, that is all my salvation, all my desire! I have found him to be a covenant keeping God." He said to his wife, "My dear, do you speak of the goodness of God towards me, for I want a tongue but not a heart to praise him."

A friend said, "I hope your tongue will be loosed again to praise him in this world:" he answered, "if not, we shall praise him in heaven together; how good God is, he is all love, all goodness." He then said to some of his flock that were by him, "hold out and hold on. I trust I have begotten you both in Christ Jesus, may the Lord pour down a plentiful effusion of his spirit upon you." "What attendance have I got," he exclaimed, "Jesus is with me, angels are my guardians, the blessed Spirit is my comforter and supporter, and you, my dear spiritual friends, waiting on me, and my dear wife, the best of women: but don't think highly of me, for if you have seen a measure of grace in me, you have seen a great deal of corruption; a little longer and the Lord will release me." To a friend who said, "I hope he will restore you again," he replied, "no, that is not to be expected." Just afterwards he said, "my eyes fail, I am going."

To Mrs. Darracott he said, "I want a new tongue to praise God here, but if not here, I shall have a new heart and tongue to praise him in heaven." When taking some refreshment, he exclaimed, "Blessed be God for this meal," and a friend coming in, he observed to him, "I have often sat with you at the table of the Lord here, I am now going to sit around his board above; these have been days in which I have taken great delight, when I have gone to the house of God in company with you." To a friend who came to visit him, he said, "how do you do, my dear friend? I have fought the good fight, and have finished my course, and kept the faith," &c. He said to his wife, "I must leave you without any formality:

when will the day dawn, and the shadows flee away?" When she asked him whether he was warm, he answered, "he had a general warmth over his body and a ge neral calm over his soul."

Two days before he died, waking in a very delightful frame, he desired that the apothecary might be sent for, that he might know what he thought of his case; when the apothecary came, he gave but little hope. Mr. Darracott answered, "all is well, blessed be God I know in whom I have believed, and can rely on the promises, they are all mine; especially that, 'I will never leave nor forsake thee.' 'I am sure he will not." He desired that the church might be called together to pray for him and to give him up to the Lord: afterwards, when symptoms of recovery appeared, he called on those in the room with him to bless God for it, and said, "when thou wilt call I will hear and an.. swer. O blessed promise, I have found it made good to me. Should the Lord raise me up again, surely praise will become this house."

The night before he died, he said, "O what a good God have I in Christ Jesus, I would praise him but my lips cannot. Eternity will be too short to speak his praises." He earnestly desired his tongue might be loosed to speak the praises of God, and it was granted. The night before he died, he was in a delightful frame, full of heavenly joy, with his intellectual faculties as strong as ever. When the apothecary came in, he said, “O Mr. K. what a mercy it is to be interested in the atoning blood of Christ. You tell me I am dying, how long do you think it will be first?" It was answered "that is uncertain to a few hours." "Will it be tonight?" said he; it was answered, “I believe you will survive the night.” “Well,” he exclaimed, "all is well, I am ready.” "This, sir," addressing the apothecary, "is agreeable to the doctrine I have at all times preached, that I now come to the Lord as a vile sinner, trusting on the merits and precious blood of my dear Redeemer. O grace, grace, free grace!" He desired to see some of his flock, but when they came, his spirits were exhausted by talking nearly three quarters of an hour. He said to them, however, "in the faith of that doctrine I have preached to you, I am going to die." He then related his experience of the goodness of God to him in his sickness, and said, "if I had a thousand lives to live I would live them all for Christ; I have cast anchor on him, and rely on his blood, and am going to venture my all upon him.” then took his leave of each in a very solemn manner, and said "watch your hearts and keep them with all diligence, for out of them is the issue of life." When he

He

saw Mrs. Darracott weeping, he said, "weep not for me, nor yet for yourself, for you are a child of the covenant. I am going to see Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and all that are got to glory. Yet," said he, "should this be a delusion? but it is not, for I have the roll in my bosom to be my admittance into heaven, and the testimony of conscience within: my evidences are clear." He then repeated these verses of Dr. Watts.

"My God, and can a humble child
That loves thee with a flame so high,
Be ever from thy face exil'd,
Without the pity of thine eye.
Impossible! for thine own hands
Have tied my heart so fast to thee,
And in thy book the promise stands,
That where thou art thy friends must be."

He adored the riches of free grace, and said, "the Lord had been just if he had sent me to hell; it was free grace that has saved me, and it was free grace that I have preached to others." To one who said, "sir, you are going to receive the fruits of your labours;" he answered "no, it is all free grace, grace."

He took the apothecary by the hand, and said, "farewell, my dear friend, I thank you for all that care, trouble, and kindness, you have taken with and for me. Blessed be God, all is well, all is well. I am now going to see dear Williams, Doddridge, and the rest of the glorified saints; farewell, my friend, a good night to you." The morning he died, his wife came in and said, “my dear, you are just on the borders of glory:" he said, "I could not have thought it, had not the physician and Mr. K. told me so, the passage is so easy.' His wife said, "how will you behold the dear Lord Jesus when you come to glory!" He replied, "I shall behold him face to face." He then lay in a slumber; all around thought him dying, as no pulsation could be perceived. He awoke in about twenty minutes afterwards, and said, "is Mr. Kennaway come?" it was answered, yes. "O my dear friend, how are you this morning, did you not tell me last night that I was dying?” It was answered, "I did so." He said, "it could not be, it was too easy, it was too easy. What a mercy it is to be in Christ; O precious, precious Jesus! Now," said he, "I am believing, rejoicing, triumphant too."

There were ten or twelve of his Christian friends around his bed; he took each person by the hand, and wishing them well, said, "you see, my friends, I now am dying in the same faith I have always preached unto you, and I would not die in any other way for all the world. O keep close to Christ." When asked to take something to moisten his throat, he an

swered, "no, I do not want to delay the time of death: then with a smile, he said, "come, Lord Jesus." He asked again, "is this dying?" when some one answered, yes; he replied, "it cannot be, it is too good." Calling for his wife and children, he took his leave of them with the utmost composure and serenity of mind, and submission to his Father's will. Observing them and all his other friends weeping, he said to his wife, “my dear and precious wife, why do you weep? you should rejoice. Rely on the promises. God will never leave nor forsake you, all his promises are true and sure. Well, I am going from weeping friends to congratulating angels and rejoicing saints in heaven and glory. Blessed be God all is well."

He asked, "how much longer will it be before I gain my dismission?" it was answered, "not long." "Well," he observed, "here is nothing on earth I desire! here I am waiting! what a mercy to be in Jesus!" he then threw abroad his arms and said, "he is coming, he is coming! but surely this can't be death: 0 how astonishingly is the Lord softening my passage; surely God is too good to such a worm! O speed thy chariot wheels, why are they so long in coming? I long to be gone." At length he exclaimed, as if beginning a sentence, "faith and hope:" these were his last words. About eleven o'clock in the morning, he lay down, and just before twelve, fell asleep in Jesus, whom he so much loved.

According to his request, his body was opened, to ascertain the disorder of which he died. Five stones were found in the left kidney, which had been so inflamed that putrefaction had nearly consumed that organ. The parts contiguous having partaken of the inflammation, betrayed the agony which he must have endured. The funeral was conducted according to Mr. Darracott's directions. But though by them he evidently designed to avoid attracting a crowd to his grave, the time, about one o'clock in the morning, could not be kept entirely secret, and immense multitudes attended at that early hour.

Mrs. Darracott passed the rest of her life in widowhood, and spent her last years with her daughter, at Romsey. She died on the 28th of December, 1799, in the eighty-sixth year of her age. She had joined the church at Barnstaple when only seventeen, and towards the close of life used to reflect with grateful pleasure, that she had been enabled to serve the Lord nearly seventy years. Her wise and cheerful piety rendered her, at a very advanced age, highly agreeable and useful to those young persons who were introduced to her company. She often

longed for the hour of dismission, which she at last welcomed with calm triumph. At her particular request, her corpse was removed to Wellington to be interred with the remains of her husband. When the tomb was opened for her, a person who had been, forty years before, deeply affected under Mr. Darracott's ministry, but had turned aside to the world, came to see what was left of her former pastor. The sight of his bones so forcibly recalled the views and feelings which his animating voice had first produced, that she burst forth into the most violent expressions of alarm and anguish. Thus the righteous man "being dead yet speak. eth:" from his tomb issues a voice at once alarming to the wicked and grateful to the believer in Jesus.

[Pike's Consolations.

An awful Providence.

A. B. was a seaman belonging to my last ship, the C-. He was what the thoughtless part of the crew called a jovial good fellow, i. e. he was ever ready to take the lead in drunkenness, swearing, filthy conversation, lewd songs, and lewder practice. Religion, and religious characters, were of course objects of his contempt. With astonishment he had seen some of his old companions in vice become new creatures; and there were seasons wherein he would listen at a distance, to what was passing among the serious men in the wing-seasons, wherein his conscience smote and condemned him for the life he led. But he loved sin, and was determined to silence that conscience. He therefore not only did evil himself, but seemed to take pleasure in others who did the same. In this spirit, about two days before his death, he went to one of his most profligate and favourite companions, and prefacing what he had to advance with a volley of oaths, said, "H. you know Mr. *** tells us there is a broad road and a narrow one, and you, you old and I are in the broad one.' This was uttered with all that bravado and apparent glorying in iniquity which is peculiar to fools, who make a mock at sin.

The second or third night after his awful declaration, I was ordered on service, with some other officers of the fleet, to reconnoitre the enemy's coast, &c.; on which occasion A. B. formed one of the crew in my boat. A full moon and clear sky enabled the troops on shore to observe our approach, and to secure themselves behind the rocks, until we were within pistol shot of their concealment, when they opened a shower of musquetry on us, from a quarter we least ex

pected, and from which we could neither defend ourselves, nor fly for a considerable time. At length, when our bustle had a little subsided, and we had retired somewhat further off, I inquired whether any had received injury, and to my surprise and joy I heard nineteen out of the twenty answer in the negative. But poor A. B. whose station was the farthest from me, made no reply. I saw he had let go his oar, and was leaning against the boat's side; I went to him, and expressed my hope that he was not much hurt; but he returned no answer. His eyes were closed; and, on examination, I found his heart had ceased to perform its wonted office; for a ball had passed directly through his brain, and, as it were, in an instant, had dismissed the spirit, to give an account of all the things done in the body!

What made the exit of this poor immortal the more distressing, was to learn that previous to his quitting the ship, he had been boasting of the jovial, or rather drunken manner in which he hoped to pass the morrow evening, having clandestinely bargained with some others for their grog, with which he intended to keep a feast, either on account of a birthday or some other particular occasion.But, alas for him! that morrow's sun arose not to witness the accomplishment of his plans, but to behold his body committed to the deep, to be turned into corruption. My eyes followed it as it sunk, until the proud waves had gone over, and hidden it from our sight. My heart was pained within me; for I had learnt, not only the circumstances already related, but the more distressing one, that he was actually giving vent to oaths and curses when the ball struck him, and closed his lips in silence for ever in this world! Whether I contemplated the dead or the living it was a solemn theme. When I turned my eyes from following the former into the bowels of the deep, and cast them on the latter, I beheld his nineteen surviving comrades standing around me in thoughtful silence. They, with myself, were so many living instances of a great, a watchful, and a gracious Providence; and had the circumstances of time and place permitted, I should have improved it, and said, "O that ye were wise that ye understood these things that ye would consider your latter end!" O that ye would praise the Lord for his goodness! and so reflect on that goodness as to be led to repentance!

[Retrospect.

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Communications.

Prayer, a reasonable Duty.

The obligation to perform this important duty, seems to grow out of the very relation in which a moral agent must necessarily stand to the Creator and Governor of the universe. It is, therefore, one of the earliest and highest duties incumbent on a dependent moral agent. Deny it; you annihilate dependence. There will then exist a moral being who needs nothing from God-who has no want to be supplied-who enjoys no bounty he would wish to

be independent!

The generic nature of prayer consists in a sense of need, and desire of supply. It has been invested with modifications of an adventitious character, arising out of particular emergencies. The attributes of prayer have been modified by the fall. It is essentially necessary to its acceptability, that it be in the name of Christ. This modification will, I conceive, continue through eternity. Confession of sins, is in the present state, a necessary concomitant of prayer. This will be unknown in the regions of glory. Thanksgiving unto God, for his unspeakable gift, and all the blessed results, now is, and will eternally continue, an ingredient of this "delightful duty, so characteristic of the Christian.

If these premises be true, prayer will be a duty for ever incumbent VOL. I.

on, and for ever exercised by a saint in glory, as a necessary result of his moral dependence on the God who made him, and continues to be to him, the author of every good and of every perfect gift. A sense of need, and a desire for a supply, are perfectly compatible with our-notions of a felicity competent to moral beings even of unsullied perfection. Had our first parents in the state of primeval innocence, never felt the painful sensation of hunger, they could never have experienced the pleasure arising from the gratification of this appetite. Indeed, in our present state, it is as hard to in form an idea of enjoyment, without a previous sense of want, as to conceive a notion of a fine portrait, in which all were light, without one single tinge of shade! This principle is deeply inlaid in our constitution, and strongly evinced in the progressive development of the human cha

racter.

This idea, moreover, does perfectly coincide with that indefinite and progressive expansion of the human mind, which we are warranted to believe, will be going on in endless advances in perfection, in the mansions of glory. Now, in the order of nature, expansion must precede impletion, or the capacity must be enlarged, before there can be any void to be filled. But the very existence of a void will generate a sense of want. This sense of want, must of course be followed by a desire of enjoyment; and the very existence of this desire in a saint in

N

glory, involves in it the essence of prayer. But, independently of this reasoning, it would be difficult to conceive such a state of apathy in the glorified saints, that they should have no desire of farther enjoyment, or wish for the continuance of their felicity. This desire is prayer. I have already mentioned, that the confession of sin, is no essential part of the generic nature of prayer. It is only an exotic graft, the badge of our apostacy from God; but can never have access to that holy place, into which no unclean thing shall

enter.

It must be admitted, objections apparently formidable, have been advanced against prayer. It has been alleged that prayer is repugnant to the immutability, omniscience, and infinitude of the Deity. 1st. God, say the objectors, is unchangeable. Our petitions cannot alter his purposes. The very same will be the result, therefore, whether we pray, or totally neglect supplicating the throne of grace. Prayer, therefore, must be unavailing; nay, impious, as it presupposes the mutability of Him who is the same yesterday, to day, and for ever. 2d. We can give God no information by our prayers. He knows what we need, and what is fitting for us, better than we ourselves do. Is it not rather arrogant presumption, to attempt to dictate to an omniscient God ?^ 3d. Prayers can have no merit, so as to procure or purchase even the smallest blessing. But prayer supposes some merit in the performance of the service. Something is supposed to be procured by prayer, which otherwise would not have been obtained. But prayer can merit nothing at the hand of God. It is absurd to suppose that any finite being can lay an infinite being under obligation, or establish any claim of merit on the score of his services.

Let us proceed to examine these objections to this most interesting and important duty. We shall find, they are more specious than solid.

We will admit, that God is immutable-that prayer can operate no change on his purposes. These shall remain unaltered from eternity to eternity. It would be impious to suppose, that by our prayers we could change the determinations of the immutable Jehovah. "His counsel shall stand, and he will do all his pleasure." We have no less hesitation to admit the truth contained in the second objection, viz.: that it is impossible by our petitions to convey any information to an omniscient God. With equal readiness we admit the truth of the third objection, while we utterly deny the propriety of the application of any of them. The highest perfection of created worth, can merit nothing from God. An infinite being cannot be laid under obligation, but by himself. Thus God has condescended to bind himself by his word and by his oath. Yet, after all these admissions, we do unhesitatingly contend, that prayer is a duty of indispensable necessity; and that it is as reasonable as any other duty, to the performance of which, moral agents are called.

To the heart completely subjugated by the grace of God, it is sufficient that he hath enjoined any duty. "Thus saith the Lord," will, to such, be equivalent to the most luminous demonstration. Yet still, if our reason can recognise the propriety of the command, we are bound to appreciate it, that so in the language of the poet, we may

Assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men."

That we may see, whether the duty of prayer be inconsistent with the divine immutability, let us for a moment compare it, with some other duties of acknowledged obligation. What deist, or fatalist would deny, that if any person should accidentally fall overboard, he ought to use every possible exertion to avoid being drowned? Was it ever reckoned an absurdity to eat and drink,