This sentence was not executed, until the provisions of the Canon, "where the party has acted unadvisedly and hastily," which is pre-eminently the present case, had been offered, urged and refused. It only remains, for me, humbly to ask the prayers of the faithful, in Christ Jesus, that my erring child may be brought back, to the way of Truth and Peace; and for myself, that I may have grace, to bear and do the holy will of God. G. W. DOANE.

Not, because I have any thing to gain, nor, because I have any thing more to lose the heart-wound of this loss must go with me, into the grave; and bring me sooner, there-but, simply, because the truth alone is always true, I shall briefly recite the leading circumstances, of what, I deem, a case, peculiar, and by itself. God will, I trust, sustain me, for His Church's sake, in an anatomy, more agonizing, than the dissection of my own heart strings.

My darling child was, from his birth, impulsive and impetuous, beyond any one, whom I have ever known. He is of a candid, generous, and noble, nature. And, through the heavenly grace, vouchsafed to him, his impulses were never towards vice. He was carefully taught and trained, as a child of the Church and brought up, in its atmosphere. I challenge contradiction, when I assert, that there is not a house, on earth, that can be less imbued with sympathy with Rome, than that, in which he lived, for five and twenty years. And, for myself, of all the falsehoods, which have ever been imagined, and alleged, a tendency towards Rome is the one, which, my deepest impressions, and clearest conclusions, not only, but the very instincts of my nature, make, impossible. It was in the air, which my poor child had always breathed, that Winslow, when, at Cambridge, he was almost lost, found health and strength; and was restored to duty and to truth. If he had a special admiration, it was for Bishop Hobart; whose name he bears. And the Churchmen, of his sympathy, were such as Dr. Ogilby, and Dr. Croswell, and Dr. Mahan.

After most thoughtful consideration, on my own part, and consultation, with those, who knew him best, and were best qualified to judge, I consented to his desire: and he became a candidate for holy orders. I never saw one more delighted with his studies, or more in earnest. He was, literally, "totus in illis." As a Sunday School Teacher, and as a District Visitor, he was foremost, in every good work; and, while, yet, he was a layman, was doing, as far as might be, the service of a Deacon. In his recitations, to the several instructors, in theology, he was, always, satisfactory; and, in the homiletic exercises, before me, eminently so. His examination was all that could be desired. His whole life had been passed, under the shadow of the Altar. He seemed to have found his place, at its foot. It was the happiest day of my life, when I knelt, before it; and could say, to Him, Whose sacrifice it commemorates, " behold I, and the children which Thou hast given me." After remaining a few weeks with me, perfectly happy in the exercise of his Diaconate, as he had opportunity; and, especially, in serving me, on my Visitation, he went to

Newark, at the earnest and repeated desire of the Rector of Grace Church, enforced by the wish of some of the best and dearest friends, that man has ever had, to be the Deacon of that parish. On Friday, 30 July, he came, with his Rector's consent, for a short week at home. He left home on the following Saturday, 4 August, with great reluctance. He parted from me, at six, in the evening, with my kiss and blessing. He could not have reached Newark, before 9 o'clock. And, before he slept, he had gone to the intruding representative of the Bishop of Rome; and taken his counsel, as to any further ministration in the communion of his father. And, he is, now, at Rome, his natural feelings, I am glad to say, restored, a Student, in a College, which has been founded, there, for English perverts. But, he is the child of many tears and many prayers; and there is still hope, that he may come "to himself." That it may be so, I humbly ask your fervent supplications.

And yet, even in this trial, a triumph was achieved, the triumph of overcoming love; so that in constant visits and correspondence, and always, to the last struggling utterance, the last yearning look of life, the mutual enjoyment of the deepest, truest, most expressive love, was undiminished, uninterrupted, and unbroken.

Thus was he indeed, a man of suffering, "of great joys and unutterable sorrows. How severe they were, no one knows. They reached over every stage of his life. They who sorrowed with him, in the first, were gone beyond the reach of sorrow, when the last came. And they, who sat in silence before the silent agony of his last griefs, saw, only in their endurance, how he had learned, in constant sufferings which they had not known, the great lesson of bearing. With him, all his life-long, his deepest sorrows, were side by side, with his best joys; and his chiefest joys were drawn up," as out of a river," from the depth of his sufferings. The thorns, that entered most sharply into his soul, grew on the stem that bore the sweetest rose. I speak now more of his inner, than of his outer, life. Over it, is drawn the veil of home tears, that were shed for him; of the reverence of intimate love, that saw in him, one earnestly beloved of God, to be honoured with such chastenings; and visibly sustained by Him, to bear them all. As year by year of life went on, and one by one, such friends as Hobart, Winslow, Croswell, Ogilby, Wainwright* fell away

*The last of these; and among the dearest, that fell away from him, was Mrs. Warren, of Troy. To the reverent admiration with which all churchmen looked up to her, he added the close love of long and intimate acquaintance. And her death, early in February, of this year, was a severe and fearful shock to a heart full of most affectionate memories. Sending the telegraphic dispatch that brought the startling news, less than three months before his death, to his sisters, he wrote upon it, "I am sorry to send you such a note-but it is the will of GOD. It came to me at twelve. I go to-morrow afternoon. Alas, how few

from his side, his foes and troubles thickening all the while, one gets a glimpse into the growing loneliness, which deepened so, and darkened, the sorrows of his heart. Yet he was brave, trustful, cheerful; as ready, in the perfectness of his sympathy, to rejoice with the joyful, as to weep with the sad; as ready to enter into the sanguine enthusiasm of one entering life, as to soothe, by sharing, the calm patience of a soul, that asks only "Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace."

It is easy for the sun to pierce the white fleece of an April sky. We own its strength, when it bursts the blackness of a thunder cloud, or gilds the leaden heaviness of the heavens, in March. And they are strong roots, that pierce the rocks, strong shoots, that break the ground before the spade. It is no effort to grow in a meadow; and bloom in a fallow-ground. His heart, his soul, rather, God's life in them, had such strength as this, to overmaster impossibilities.

Many and many a year, his heart lay thus in shadow.

are left to us! Who next?" And the next was himself. So soon GoD heard the prayer of his parting words, over her sacred and beloved dust: "Sweet spirit! be it ours to follow thee as thou hast followed Christ; to bear with thee His Cross, to wear with thee His Crown!" What they were to each other he has said most fitly, in the holy and beautiful house which she built, and where she worshipped; on the day when it was finally and really, what it ever had been to her soul, the vestibule of Heaven.

"I am not here in any official, or in any public relation. I stand here, as a mourner; as one bereaved with those who are the most bereaved, in this bereavement. I have no speech to make-no address to deliver; but can but let my heart run out-broken, indeed, if in this life, only, we had hope-on these beloved ashes. The mourners who are the most afflicted, in this affliction; and the true priest, who was for fourteen years her friend and counsellor-her own pastor and the pastor of her lambs; they will appreciate my feelings. And you, dear friends, for their sake, will permit and pardon it. Í never loved so much any, that did not bear my name. And few loved me more.

ten.

"It wants but little now of five-and-thirty years, since I became the guest of Nathan Warren-a true Christian nobleman. His name will never be forgotHis memory will be green forever. The three brothers, identified with all that is best and most precious in the interests and institutions of this city, and their venerable mother, were then alive, and active in all good works. Her excellent and venerable parents were still living, and her lovely sister. She was in the early prime of life, with her little ones about her knees. I had never seen a lovelier woman. I never have. There is none. She was exemplary in all the duties. of a wife and mother. She was already widely felt in acts of courtesy and charity. A severe illness detained me for a while by that most hospitable hearth, and knit more closely a love which has never faltered, and will live on through eternity. For many years, I was a frequent visitor in Troy; always her guest. I saw, year after year, the progress of the Church from that small, plain brick building, to that which you see it now. I was of their closest and most sacred councils, in regard to all these things."

How the good work grew in her heart, and how her heart grew with the work, you all are witnesses. Active in every office of humanity, a true sister of mercy -while yet she lived among her children and administered her house, and exer cised the widest, the most beautiful, the most gracious hospitality—our dear one walked by faith; and that, a faith which worked by love. It may be said of her, in David's words: "The zeal of Thine house hath eaten me up."

Warmed and cheered it was, with sunlight breaking through. But only slowly and gradually, as it drew on to the dawning of the perfect day, did the shadows flee away. They who look on at such a life, unwittingly side with the friends of Job, and the Apostles asking of the one born blind, "Who did sin?" But they who look into it, know, in the beginning peace and patience even here, the happiness of "them that endure;" and looking on it even from the imperfect standpoint of the grave, see, what in Paradise they know who have passed through the tribulation, "the end of the Lord, that the Lord is very pitiful and of tender mercy."

CHAPTER X.

PEACE.

Felix opportunitate mortis.

"It was a good time for him to die."

"to add greater honours to his age

Than man could give him, he died, fearing God."

AN unfinished letter of my Father's, almost the last he wrote at home, dated within a month of his death, ends abruptly so;

This is the time of the examination at St. Mary's Hall. The College examination is just finished. Of course, I have been and still am very busy. In two days I start on my Southern visitation. So I go. I am in perfect health. My work agrees with me, I suppose, agree with my work.

because I

From such health, in such heart, to such incessant labour he went out to die. It is as when the soldier's hand is stiffened, in the firm grasp of his sword; or the falling earth catches the miner, spade in hand; and death perpetuates the attitude of work.

The last year of my Father's life was one of gathering and increasing peace. The great unrest of the years of strife had passed away, long before. But even the gratefulness of rest, has too much memory of fatigue, to be thought repose. Through that, as enmities were softened, and bitterness done away, and the storm of feelings calmed, he was entering into quietness. There was no relaxation of work. In some ways it increased. But there was less weight to bear about, in going to it. There were new gleams of sunlight in his home. Others grew up about him, to be hands, somewhat, to his head. And the greenness of age seemed springing up about him, the desert, partly passed. We counted it, a promise of calmness and happiness, here. God meant it, as the vestibule into the peace of a more lasting and perfect home. Many of the refreshments of life, that from year to year had passed away, were gathering about him again. The rays that all diverged, seemed to converge and concentrate. At home, though busy always, he was relieved of much of the drudgery of his