and he always expressed a confidence, that if the attacks were to recur frequently, he should either not be able long to survive, or, (what he most dreaded,) he should be prevented from exercising himself in public, and he laid aside, in a state of great affliction to himself, and of distress to his family.

66

The diseases which occasioned these attacks, were ultimately ascertained to have been a softened, and consequently weakened state of the muscular structure of the heart, and a chronic inflammatory process, going on in the interior membrane of the great arterial trunk." pp. 12, 13.

"On Thursday, February 10th, Mr. Hall was attacked with a very severe paroxsym, by which he was prevented from preaching the usual sermon preparatory to the ordinance of the Lord's Supper; and with this attack commenced that tendency to augmentation of disease which so rapidly hastened his dismission. He appeared as well as usual on the preceding part of the day, and had not long

before received the visit and executed the request of a friend, whom, on leaving, he attended in his customary manner to the door, and handed to her carriage. I spent an hour or two with him subsequently to this seizure; which I found, on inquiry, had commenced whilst he was in his study, preparing for the evening service. He sustained it for some time, expecting it might subside. On attempting, at length, to come down to the parlour, the symptoms were greatly aggravated by the exertion, which necessitated him to remain half-an-hour on the stairs before he could acquire power to proceed. He had endured the whole of this paroxysm alone, in the hope that he should recover without alarming his family, or disappointing his congregation; and had not some of his family discovered him, in the painful situation in which he was placed, it is probable that no one would have been aware of its occurrence.

"Our beloved pastor had for some time past, evinced a peculiar anxiety respecting the poorer part of his flock, and on a recent occasion he had publicly expressed his concern that they did not make themselves more familiar, by giving him more frequent invitations; telling them that he should feel even greater pleasure in visiting them than others, who could afford him more substantial entertainment. He referred to this subject with me, and spoke at some length, begging he might be informed of any whom I knew to be ill or in trouble, and expressed in general his full intention of visiting the sick and afflicted more assiduously. As he lay before me, scarcely rallied from a violent attack of unusual duration, talking with his usual fluency, and in a remarkable strain of humility, I could not but view

him with surprise, evidencing, as he did, the highest intellectual vigour combined with the manifestation of the most lowly dispositions.

"I did not see Mr. Hall again until summoned, on Lord's-day morning, February 13th, when I visited him in conjunction with another medical friend. I found he had passed a dreadful night suffering the acutest pain in the back in unusual combination with the most agonizing distress in the chest. The two affections were in their results most torturing; the one requiring constant recumbency, which directly aggravated the other; whilst the erect posture necessary to a mitigation of the agony of difficult respiration, was incompatible with his sufferings in the back. Having been kept, for many hours, in constant vibration between these opposite efforts at relief, and unrelieved by the usual, and even unusual, doses of opium, he was dejected and sunk to an alarming degree. Painful as it was to see a great and mighty spirit so prostrated by bodily infirmity, it was nevertheless edifying to witness the divine efficacy of Christian principle in sustaining an undeviating composure of mind. There was no murmuring, no repining, no irritable expression; but the most patient endurance of the aggravated sufferings. a friend, who visited him this day, he said, 'Oh, my dear sir, I have suffered intense agony; but I have received unspeakable mercies-mercies unspeakable

To

unspeakable. I am the chief of sinners, and yet I have received the most abundant mercies.' For many hours, during the day, he suffered dreadfully, feeling as if he could not long survive. He was, however, relieved, towards evening, from the violence of distress; but being unable to exert himself without exciting a paroxysm, it became necessary to prepare a bed for him in the parlour, whence he was never more to pass, till borne by his afflicted people to the tomb.

"Mr. Hall was much relieved on Monday, but remained exceedingly weak. On Tuesday, he had so revived that our hopes were sanguine, expecting that, as on former occasions, his paroxysms would subside, and leave him in a short time again capable of public duty." pp. 18–23.

"On Wednesday, he was evidently not so well; and on Thursday his attacks augmented, both in frequency and force. He this day expressed his doubts whether he should preach the next Lord's-day; and that he did not know whether he should ever preach again, but that he remained in God's hand; that he was thankful it was so, for he would do every thing he thought best;-adding, I am God's creature, at his disposal; and that is a great mercy.'

"On Friday, he remarked to the friend who sat up with him through the night, in reply to a question, I have not one

anxious thought, either for life or death. What I dread most are dark days. I have not had any yet: I hope I shall not have them.'

"On Saturday evening, we were all summoned to witness a more violent attack than any preceding. From this state, however, he was gradually recovered; but remained a long time much exhausted. His voice was very feeble, often inaudible; but when heard it was generally to express his thanks to one and another of his family and friends, for their attentions.

"It having been deemed unsafe to leave him this night merely in the hands of friends, I remained up with him. About twelve o'clock he went to bed, and soon passed into an apparently tranquil sleep. In this state he remained very quietly till towards one, when I perceived his chest beginning to heave. In a short time he awoke, and arose on his elbow, saying he must get up, and instantly sprang out of bed to obtain the relief to which the standing attitude was necessary. Almost immediately after gaining his usual position, as near as possible to the fire, a seizure of great severity, threatening to be suddenly fatal, succeeded. Becoming for a few moments insensible, bathed in cold perspirations, and pulseless, he sank down against me, sliding to the floor; so that I feared he would not rise again: but, having been with difficulty elevated on his feet, he recovered his recollection and volition, and threw his arm and weight across my shoulders, by which I was enabled to support him through an hour of intense suffering. When he was a little recovered, I asked him whether he felt much pain. He replied that his sufferings were great: but what (he added) are my sufferings to the sufferings of Christ? his sufferings were infinitely greater: his sufferings were complicated: God has been very merciful to me-very merciful: I am a poor creature-an unworthy creature; but God has been very kind-very merciful.' He then alluded to the character of the sufferings of crucifixion, remarking how intense and insufferable they must have been, and asked many minute questions on what I might suppose was the process by which crucifixion brought about death. He particularly inquired respecting the effect of pain-the nervous irritation-the thirst-the oppression of breathing-the disturbance of the circulation— and the hurried action of the heart, till the conversation gradually brought him to a consideration of his own distress; when he again reverted to the lightness of his sufferings when contrasted with those of Christ. He spoke of our Lord's enduring the contradiction of sinners against himself of the ingratitude and unkindness he received from those for whom he went about doing good-of the combination of the mental and corporeal agonies sustained on the cross-the length of time

during which our Lord hung-the exhaustion occasioned, &c. He then remarked how differently he had been situated; that though he had endured as much or more than fell to the lot of most men, yet all had been in mercy. I here remarked to him, that with most persons the days of ease and comfort were far more numerous than those of pain and sorrow. He replied, But I have been a great sufferer in my time: it is, however generally true: the dispensations of God have been merciful to me.' He then observed, that a contemplation of the sufferings of Christ was the best antidote against impatience under any troubles we might experience; and recommended me to reflect much on this subject when in pain or distress, or in expectation of death." pp. 24–28.

"The subsequent part of the night was passed more quietly; not, however, without other attacks, but they were of a much slighter description. Towards morning he again went to bed, and passed into a quiet sleep, in which he remained. undisturbed for a considerable time.

"During the Lord's-day, he had several sections read to him, from Campbell's Gospels-a book he had with him the whole of the week, and with which he seemed particularly pleased, taking great delight in hearing one or another of his family read. On being informed, in the evening, that the afternoon had been devoted by his church to special prayer on his behalf, he expressed great pleasure, saying, I am glad of it, very glad of it— I am glad for their sakes, as well as my own.' Towards night, there was a great alteration: his strength was much sunk, and his countenance altered. He expressed to the friend who was with him, his simple reliance on his Saviour, and repeated nearly the whole of Robinson's hymn, Come, thou Fount of every blessing,' &c. During one of the paroxysms, he exclaimed to a friend, Why should a living man complain? a man, for the punishment of his sins? I think I have not complained-have I, sir?-and I won't complain.'

"Monday, February 21st, he seemed much more composed. On my entering his room early in the morning, he rose on his elbow, and immediately asked me, (not knowing that I had remained up,) if I had been well provided for, and if I had passed a comfortable night. He was thus attentive, in his inquiries, to all who waited upon him, frequently expressing the most anxious concern for their comfort. In addressing one of his family, he said, Seek first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; then all other things will be added. Yes, he will never leave you he will never forsake you.' He had Campbell on the Gospels placed before him, in which he read to himself, in his usual recumbent attitude. I left

him between one and two o'clock in this position, leaning on his elbow with apparently as much muscular vigour as ever. He certainly presented none of the features characteristic of a dying man. In a very short time, and before I had reach ed home, I was summoned to behold the last agonizing scene of this great and extraordinary man. His difficulty of breathing had suddenly increased to a dreadful and final paroxysm. Mrs. Hall, observing a fixation of his eyes, and an unusual expression on his countenance, and indeed in his whole manner, became alarmed by the sudden impression that he was dying, and exclaimed in great agitation, This can't be dying!' when he replied, It is

6

death-it is death-death! Oh the suf

ferings of this body!' Mrs. Hall then asking him, ‘But are you comfortable in your mind?' he immediately answered, Very comfortable-very comfortable :' and exclaimed, ' Come, Lord JesusCome' He then hesitated, as if incapable of bringing out the last word; and one of his daughters, involuntarily as it were, anticipated him by saying, Quickly!' on which her departing father gave her a look expressive of the most complacent delight.

"On entering his room, I found him sitting on the sofa, surrounded by his lamenting family; with one foot in hot water, and the other spasmodically grasping the edge of the bath; his frame waving in violent, almost convulsive heavings, sufficiently indicative of the process of dissolution. I hastened, though despairingly, to administer such stimulants as might possibly avert the threatening termination of life; and as I sat by his side for this purpose he threw his arm over, my shoulders for support, with a look of evident satisfaction that I was near him. He said to me, I am dying: death is come at last all will now be useless.' But whatever might be the degree of his suffering, (and great it must have been,) there was no failure of his mental vigour or composure. Indeed, so perfect was his consciousness, that in the midst of these last agonies, he intimated to me very shortly before the close, with his accustomed courteousness, a fear lest he should fatigue me by his pressure; and when his family, one after another, gave way in despair, he followed them with sympathizing looks, as they were obliged to be conveyed from the room. This was his last voluntary movement; for immediately, a general convulsion seized him, and he quickly expired." pp. 29-38. Mr. Hall appears to have died from a failure of the vital powers of the heart, amidst the most vigorous energies of consciousness and volition; his placidity and complacency of spirit, says Mr. CHRIST. OBSERV. No. 355.

Ir may be that some of our readers are at this moment luxuriating in health and spirits, amidst the "Swiss scenery and manners" described by Mr. Latrobe; or that some others deprived of those blessings are hoping to recruit them by a winter's residence in the more balmy clime of Miss Harriet Morton's " evening records." We who remain at home must console ourselves the best we may for not being parties in their delightful wanderings; and as we cannot follow them in person, we shall glance at their footsteps in idea, and invigorate a sultry Augustwith thinking on the peaks and snows of Alps and Apennines.

Journals of tours on the continent abound to satiety; and several, likely enough, have been published, before we in our old-fashioned pace, could overtake those now before us'; in truth, we laid them by in the serious hours of wintry study, awaiting the lighter mood of summer, when our pages reach many of our readers in

3 K

their annual pilgrimages, little disposed, perhaps, for abstruse disquisitions, but willing to receive instruction and recreation duly compounded, and in a gentle form. Our chief reason for selecting these two tourists, we may add, is because they are Christians, which, we lament to say, all their fraternity are not; we mean in any distinctive and specific use of that term, and in the spirit in which it was first appropriated at Antioch. Now the same scenes strike a Christian mind in a manner so far removed from that in which they appear to a man of the world, that even the narrative of a tour bears a different aspect and though there is much that is trite and common place in most of the narratives of journeys over hackneyed routes, yet there are some things which none but a Christian mind inquires after, or a Christian eye detects; and yet to a reader of congenial mould these are among the chief memorabilia of moral scenery. We will undertake to point out twenty sketches of the theatres and public buildings and gardens of Paris, for one that tells us what is going on beyond mere visible spectacle in matters of religion; and would adduce a dozen expatiators on glaciers and avalanches, for one that has penned or published the record of a sermon in a Swiss church. Our current literature, either purposely or heedlessly, shuns all such topics; the local scenery, the fashions, the politics, the watch-word of the day, engross the whole attention, so that we may read volume upon volume without obtaining the slightest information relative to innumerable points most worthy of anxious and interesting inquiry. These, however, usually demand more accurate information than can be picked up in a hasty tour; but even casual visitors, like those whose works are now before us, may afford occasional hints; and, what is still more important, their reflections upon those passing scenes which are the common staple of such narratives, will take a tinge from

the character of the mind that depicts them, and render the general impression such as a Christian would wish to cherish. We shall confine the extracts in our present Number to Miss Morton's Vigils; and Mr. Latrobe will, we feel sure, be quite content to rest for another month upon his Alpenstock, as becomes a gentleman and a pedestrian, while a lady takes precedence, in due travelling equipage, and bound for the more classical latitudes of Naples and Rome.

Miss Morton spares us the account of her journey from England to Switzerland, and supposes us fairly arrived with her at Brigg, the last town in the valley of the Rhone, whence she proceeds in the ordinary route by the Simplon on to Milan; thence to Rome; thence to Naples ; then back to Rome, and then homewards by Florence, Genoa, Nice, and Turin. As the route was trite, so also the journey was for the most part with a traveller's ordinary speed; so that it cannot be supposed that our tourist has added much to the stock of information extant relative to the objects usually noticed in the line of her journey, or had much opportunity for new researches. She does not profess to have done so. Her plan is rather to catalogue, each night, such objects as her gazetteer, tourist's companion, guide books, and similar helps had led her to look for during the day; sometimes interspersing religious reflections or other useful interesting remarks; at others, briefly and rapidly, presenting little more than a dry list of names, places, and trivial occurrences, which the reader, unless about to track the same route, may scarcely have patience to master. A traveller in a well explored country, in making his selections for the public-unless he intends his volume for a mere road-book-should strike out a large part of the non-memorables, which would only perplex his reader by their minuteness and multiplicity, and dwell chiefly on such select points as he can hope to encircle

with novelty or interest. In a new country almost every particular deserves to be recorded; but to write down under the head of a wellknown place, just what is said of it in any gazetteer, is tedious and unnecessary. If the dry facts can be taken out of the gazetteer style, and made picturesque, or if valuable remarks are hung upon them, this alters the matter. Every tourist in sitting down to write his travels for the public, ought to ask, "Is my matter original ?" Lander, and Clapperton, and Parke, and Bruce, and Parry, are original, because the countries explored by them are new; but tourists in well-beaten roads must get originality elsewhere. And get it they may, if they addict themselves to one object, which they understand thoroughly; and make their hobby. Howard's tours were original; for he told us what we should not have learned from a hundred other travellers who never dived into the depth of dungeons; and in the same manner a geologist, an agriculturalist, a statesman, a poet, a physician, a botanist, a political economist, a sentimentalist, a moralist, or a theologian, may each give us much that is original, if he avoids hackneyed compilations, and narrates chiefly the results of his inquiries in his own favourite department. The title of "Protestant Vigils" seems to announce what our authoress meant to be her department, and there she most excels; and we shall chiefly select such extracts as may be thus classified. If these were fuller, and the miscellaneous parts were abridged, and many small items omitted, the whole would gain a character of unity that would add greatly to the interest and value of the book. We submit this suggestion to the good taste and well-judging mind of the authoress. We had ourselves wellnigh laid down her volumes, on opening them near the beginning at Bologna, and finding no one circumstance that was not given almost in fac-simile in the first gazetteer we turned to, except that the writer

"went to the church of San Petronius;" that "it (what?) poured down rain in torrents;" that "it was the vigil of the saint;" and that the people were attentive to the music, which was good, but that the tourist" did not recal the master;" we suppose composer. This is all well enough in a journal or private letter, but hardly worth publication. What we want from a lady who can write and think like our author, is her own thoughts and observations; and not what guides and roadbooks tell her, and may sometimes tell her very unsatisfactorily,-as for example: "We were told that the caverns of Monte Terminello keep in solution the carbonated lime by the quantity of acid gas exhaled from them." Whoever told Miss Morton so, must have been no chemist himself, or relied upon her not being one; as we judge to be the case from other remarks, as where she says that on some volcanic ground

a strong smell of nitre is emitted." The writer should have said, "we were told;" for she must have known that nitre has no odour; as she may ascertain by the specimens of it under the name of salt-petre in her kitchen, or sal prunel in her medicine chest. All this however, is very harmless, and it is not necessary that a lady should be a chemist; nor should we have noticed the point except from its reference to the foregoing remark of keeping in a good measure to those departments of writing with which an author is familiar; and we may add, conveying his thoughts in a manner convenient to his reader. Miss Morton, we fear, sometimes offends against this last rule by giving us shreds of Italian and French, and sometimes whole passages of the former, without any shadow of reason, and where English would have answered far better. Where a foreign phrase is more happily turned, or in any way means something, let us have it; but a magpie patch-work of English, French, and Italian, where one language would give the whole matter