I know not which!" We attach little importance to dreams; but this one may be regarded as a proof of the peculiar cheerfulness of his fancy. The dreams of the old are generally dark and troubled. This arises from the influence of a frail and sickly body upon the mind, and from the peculiar hold which past scenes of pain, sadness, or terror, maintain on it; but his fancy led him in sleep to the gayest season of his life, when, amidst the seclusion and beauty of his native hills, his spirit opened to piety and his heart to goodness. It is a pleasing proof of the benignity of Providence, that the sweet scenes of early life are, even in that period of thoughtlessness, so deeply graven on the tablet of the heart, that the memory can trace them in all their brightness and beauty, in lands however distant, in scenes however opposite, and amidst the gloom of age and infirmity; nay, it can associate with them circumstances and feelings which heighten their charms and our enjoyment.

On Sabbath the 9th of December he went in the morning to Albion Chapel. The Rev. Mr. Gray preached the action sermon, as it was the day of his communion, from Romans, v. 8. Dr. Waugh took the last words of the text for the subject of his address at the second table; and a very competent judge has assured us, that he never heard him condense more matter in so short a time, or speak with more pathos than in that address. There was an astonishing power felt in such strokes as these: "Lay your hand on this, my brother; Christ died for us! Shew

it as your answer to all the accusations of conscience, present it to the king of terrors as your security from his sting, and hold it up at the bar of judgment as your plea for the enjoyment of life everlasting." Such, we have no doubt, was the exercise and purpose of his own soul in that solemn service. It is a striking circumstance, that the communion was preparatory, both to himself and to that accomplished young minister whom he was assisting, for eternity. Dr. Waugh was in heaven before the next Sabbath, and Mr. Gray was able only to preach a funeral sermon for his venerable father; and having paid that tribute to his character, left the pulpit, never to return to it more.* Dr. Waugh preached the evening discourse at Albion Chapel from these words, Heb. xii. 1: "Let us lay aside the sin which doth so easily beset us.' This subject was admirably adapted for leading him to set before his audience the pledge they had that day given to run the Christian race, the obligations to do so under which the cross of our Lord had brought them, the hinderances to the active and happy prosecution of it arising from the corruptions of the heart, excited by the scenes of business, folly, and pleasure, with which they were surrounded; and the advantages of that self-denial and moral discipline in which the heart is kept with all diligence, and the life is preserved unspotted from the world. What an advantage

was such a discourse from such a man!—a dis

* A posthumous volume of Mr. Gray's Sermons, with a short Memoir prefixed, has been published.

course rich in the counsels of experience, delivered in the tone of paternal admonition, and proceeding from the lips of one who had so long trod the path of the just, and who, in the near prospect of its close, evidently felt the solicitude of Paul, that he might finish with joy his course and the ministry which he had received of the Lord Jesus. It may be viewed as a testimony from Heaven against that specious antinomianism which was then attempting to delude the religious world; and it was the will of God, that such a friend to the doctrines of grace, and such a son of consolation, should close his official duty with these words of holy admonition, and raise his voice for the last time in calling for the sacrifice of every passion, however urgent, of very indulgence, however dear, of every folly, however fashionable, and of every opinion, however popular, by which the sanctity of the Christian name might be sullied, holy duties impeded, and virtuous purposes quenched.

He reached home well, and on entering the parlour remarked to his wife, “I am much better, my dear; preaching is the best cure for a cold." When it was proposed to him, after supper, that he should go into his easy chair by the fire, which was his usual custom, he refused, and said "that he wished to sit and look at his dear family, and that he felt more than commonly happy." He sat up later than usual, and talked most cheerfully of the days of his youth. God sometimes marks the closing intercourse of a good man with his family with peculiar tenderness and sweetness, and suf

fers it not to be marred by any sad forebodings. Thus does he reward the prayers of domestic piety and the fidelity of domestic love; and thus the hearts of survivors are soothed even while they are pained by the thought, that the eyes now closed in death were lighted up with such affection, and that the face now pale and cold, glowed with such parting kindness.

He rose early on the Monday morning, and it required great persuasion to induce him to return to his bed for an hour longer. During the day he was quite well and cheerful; at dinner he looked very florid, and his family expressed their delight at seeing him look so fresh and so well. In the afternoon he went out to a young friend's house in the neighbourhood to take tea, and returned home at half-past seven. He had walked to and from his friend's, and complained of his feet being wet, but was otherwise well. He read from Dr. Morrison's Exposition of the Psalms to his family, and passed on it various merited encomiums. At half-past eight a person called to request him to visit one who was dying, and who was unhappy in her mind. Mrs. Waugh was unwilling that he should go out at so late an hour in his weak state; but it was the wish of his heart to go, even at the risk of his health. Age did not chill his sympathy with human woe; frailty kept not his steps from the chamber of sickness; and however considerate prudence might remonstrate about the inexpediency of the effort, and insist on its being postponed to another day, the wish was pious, and it was good that it was in his heart. While they

were talking about it, he suddenly exclaimed, “I cannot go to see her, I am very ill!" He felt a great tendency to retch, but could not; and his mind was much affected on account of his inability to visit this dying person, and he exclaimed, "O dear, dear, what a sad pity it is that people will leave these things to the last!" It was the idea that the sick person was in agony about her sal-· vation, which made his inability to go and point her views to the hope of the Gospel so painful to him. The folly he bewailed, is the most common of all others, and the most fatal. It leaves to the last moment what should be the care of life, and cherishes a security and presumption which cover the death-bed with horror.

He was assisted to his bed; after which he felt more comfortable, though still uneasy. His daughter Jeane was standing near, and he put out his hand to her, and said, "Let me talk to you, my lamb; for I am very ill, and I shall never get up any more." She begged him to endeavour to sleep, and said that he would be better, and work very hard yet for his Master's sake. To this he replied, "No, no, my child; my work is done. Let me talk to you while I can; I have very little time." He then spoke of the necessity of being constantly ready for death, and gave some solemn counsels. It is natural for the affectionate heart to speak the language of hope to sick friends; but there is often a consciousness of approaching dissolution which rejects such suggestions; and while the timid and the unprepared catch at every hint, the wise will feel