At another time he said; "I think I have great consolation, in believing that God will be glorified, whatever may become of me." This sentiment he several times repeated, to different friends who visited him.

He dwelt on the plan of salvation, as revealed in the gospel, with peculiar satisfaction, "What a glorious plan," said he to Mrs. F., "how full of beauty!" He was asked what he now thought of the divinity of the Savior; his reply was, "I should have no hope of salvation, if I did not believe him divine." On being asked by another friend, at another time, whether he could trust in Christ as a Savior, provided he were a mere man, he replied; "No; no more than I could in any other man'

It was evident to his friends, that much of his time was spent in silent prayer. The glory of God, the prosperity of the church, the universal triumph of the Gospel, the salvation of his friends, and all about him, (enemies he had none,) were the ob. jects which occupied his attention and his prayers. He was delighted with the idea, that Christ's kingdom would become universal.

He was sometimes much concerned, lest he might do something to dishonor God, at the close of life. At the suggestion, of a friend, the last chapter in Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul, entitled; "The Christian honoring God by his dying behavior," was read to him; and this seemed to afford him much satisfaction. It was evident, as he approached his dissolution, that his fears subsided, and his hopes increased

His submission to the divine will, as to dying, gradually became a pleasing anticipation of death; and finally a strong desire to depart and be with Christ.

His last sickness happened during the Spring Vacation of the Theological Seminary at Andover; and most of the students were absent. To the few who remained he exhibited the most anxious desirés for their growth in grace, and the most lively sense of their kind attentions to him. He was unwilling to die without an effort to promote the spiritual good of those who were absent. His delicacy restrained him from leaving a special message, for the classes who were advanced beyond his standing; but for his own classmates he dictated a short but expressive address. "Tell them," said he, "not to be so dull and wicked as I have been. Charge them

to make it the business of their lives, the business of every day, to grow in grace, and to live near to God, to be very frequent in secret prayer. Tell them not to study for honor or applause, but for God. Tell them to be active in his service. Tell them that a brother, who is in eternity, sends this last advice of love to them."

All this was uttered with an earnestness and affection which were very visible; although the decay of dissolving nature occa sioned frequent pauses, and struggles for breath. His classmates, who loved him most tenderly, will not forget, it is to be hoped, a message so affectionate, and impressive as this.

His solicitude for the spiritual weltare of all who came near him, was remarkable. He em

braced very opportunity of impressing upon them the importance of being devoted to God. His heart seemed to overflow with benevolence towards all

men.

ous.

As he now drew near to the confines of the eternal world, his faith and hope evidently became triumphant. Yet there was nothing in him, which wore the most distant aspect of boasting and presumption. On the contrary, his humility and sense of ill desert were never more conspicu"How can it be," said he to a friend, "that God should admit me, without a contest to a crown of glory; me, who am so vile and unworthy, and at the very commencement of my race; while others labor and toil, and suffer for a long succession of years:" His guilt, he said, was so great; his heart so obdurate, that nothing less than boundless grace, and an Almighty Savior, were sufficient for him.

The day of his death was spent, as every child of God would wish to spend his last hours, in prayer, praise, and giving his last admonitions to those around him. After his body became so decayed, that he could no longer speak aloud, and it seemed as if every word would exhaust him, he continued his exhortations through the greatest part of the day. Being told that he would not probably live until the morrow, he replied; "Then it will be so much the more joy for me." To all, who witnessed his composure and serenity, it appeared evident that his soul enjoyed a peace a blessed peace, which the world cannot give, and which it could not take away.

A short time before his death, his friends who were present, united in singing a hymn. It was one of Dr. Watts', beginning with the words, "Death cannot make our souls afraid," &c. He was evidently delighted with it, and appeared to join most heartily in it. When singing was ended, a friend observed, "We trust you are soon to join in a nobler song than this." "Yes," he replied, "I trust so; but this is comforting."

The vital powers were now rapidly declining. In a few minutes he wished to be taken up, that he might sit down in his easy chair. This was accordingly done; but as soon as he sat down, he leaned his head back, and ceased to breathe. He was immediately laid upon the bed, and two friends grasping his hands, one of them asked; "Can you now say, Lord Jesus receive my Spirit?" To which he looked assent, and expired.

Thus lived, and thus died, one who was very dear to his friends and acquaintance. It was a subject of deep regret to Mr. Perry himself, and his friends at Andover, that his widowed mother and other relatives were at so great a distance, it was impossible to convey seasonable tidings to them of his situation, that they might see him once more. They will be consoled, no doubt, when they learn the manner of his death; and submit with cheerful resignation to the dispensations of that all-wise Providence, which gave, and hath taken away.

Mr. P. often mentioned his mother and other relatives, with the most tender solicitude, during his sickness. He had not seen them fr seven years; and

had contemplated, during the vacation when he died, a visit to them, and the enjoyment of much satisfaction in their society. When he saw that the will of God was otherwise, he cheerful ly resigned his own wishes, and gave up himself to the divine disposal, with a full persuasion that is was his duty and his happiness to be directed and disposed of at the divine pleasure.

The death of Mr. P. took place on Friday afternoon, May 26. On the Sabbath following, after the usual services of the day were closed, his remains were carried to the church, where funeral service was performed; after which, attended by large numbers of sympathizing spectators, the body was carried and deposited in the grave by the side of Mr. L. C. Congar,who was a member of the Seminary at Andover, and died in A. D. 1809, and whose biography the readers of the Panoplist will probably recollect. It was published in Vol. vi, p. 105. Sept.

1810.

The object of the writer in presenting the above sketch of Mr. P., is not simply to pay the tribute of affection to a departed friend and brother. Nor is there, as he conceived, any variety of incident in the life of Mr. P. which would be worthy of detail, in itself considered, in the pages of this Magazine. His life was wholly retired, peaceful, private; his character modest, unassuming, reserved. His talents would, indeed, have brought him, in time, into special notice, had he chosen to be thus noticed. But

it appears that he had formed the design of devoting them to missionary labors among the In

dians of our western wilds. He was removed by death before he had entered the sphere of duties in active life; and it is his Christian character alone, which will attract the special attention of the public.

The writer of this sketch has had opportunities of witnessing many death-bed scenes, but has seldom observed one so triumphant, and cheering to a Christian as this. Incredulity itself, if it could have witnessed the aspect and the whole deportment of Mr. P., in his last scenes, must have confessed that there is, in the hopes and peace which the gospel inspires, something more than human. Had Mr. P. been a weak or superstitious man, or had his reason been shattered by the attack of disease, his case would have stood on different grounds. Neither of these could be said of him. He was a fine scholar; quite remote from any thing which could be justly called superstition; and perfectly rational during his whole sickness. It has been already observed, that nothing could be more opposite to pride and boasting than the whole of his character and deportment. His humility though alwavs striking, never appeared so conspicuous as on his death-bed. To see him, then, with such a character, and in such circumstances, not only look at an exchange of worlds without terror, but with a serene hope-with a joyful anticipation, is to witness a triumph of religion, which affords a most sensible demonstration of its power and value. Thousands are indeed prodigal of life. Inspired with the love of glory or the thirst of revenge, they rush on

death with unconcern. Thousands, too, who perish by disease, die without concern, because they die without knowledge and without reflection. But to die, with a competent knowledge of our relation to God, and of our violated obligations-to die in a rational state, where opportunity is given for full reflection, and the anticipation of death; and to die peacefully and triumphantly in such circumstances, is a victory which few obtain. Mr. P. was one of those happy few. The whole scene of his death was remarkably calculated to inspire the Christian with confidence in a religion which could operate in such a manner-it was exhilarating. A skeptic must have been silent, overawed, and com. pelled to own, the presence and consolation of a power more than human.

The writer of this sketch was present, and made it an object to discover, if possible, what it was on which his dying friend Jeaned for support, and whence his comforts flowed. He ascer tained to his full satisfaction, that it was not a confidence in his own character, or works, which inspired him with the hope of acceptance. No one could have a deeper sense than he of guilt and ill-desert. It was the theme of his conversation, his prayers, and his thoughts. The expression which has already been quoted, affords a fair specimen; "When I look at myself, I despair; but when I look at Christ". His heart was too full to finish the sentence, but what reader cannot understand his meaning? It was through the merits and sufferings of Christ alone, that he ventured to entertain any hope

of acceptance. All was darkness, the moment he ceased to look at the Savior's glory. The only use, which he appeared to make of having been devoted to the service of God, in any measure, was, to gather from it evidence that God had begun a work of grace upon his heart.

Let those who hope to die in peace, examine and see whether they possess such a religion as this. It has been the support of multitudes of dying saints; and nothing can be more congruous than the transition from such views and such a temper on a dying bed, to singing in the heavenly world, that exalted song, "Thou wast slain and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood!"

It is not unworthy of remark, that the truths on which the deceased dwelt with peculiar satisfaction, or from which he derived comfort, were those fundamental truths in the gospel, which are accessible to the lowest as well as the highest ranks of men, to the ignorant as well as the learned. By this it is not meant, that the ignorant can explain or defend them, as the learned may; but that they are such objects of faith as may be proposed intelligibly to them; and not speculations which, although truths, cannot be understood without an extensive acquaintance with the subtleties of metaphysical theology. Is it not one important method of as◄ certaining what truths of the Christian system are fundamental, to ascertain on what truths an intelligent, rational, dying Christian dwells, in order to find support and hope? And judging in any measure by this rule, may we not conclude, that there are