fluences of the Holy Spirit, I may be permitted to join hereafter, with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven, in lauding and magnifying God's holy name, evermore praising him, and saying, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts, heaven and earth are full of thy glory: glory be to Thee, O Lord most high."

He said, a few days afterwards, "I loathe and detest every species and every degree of sin, as the transgression of the Divine law, and as an offence committed against the majesty and holiness of God. I trust that I do indeed repent of all my transgressions. But I do not trust in my repentance. No! I look only to the blood of Jesus for pardon and for peace."

On the Sunday before his death, he said to his beloved partner and his children, "I feel that I am resting upon the right Foundation; and I can now leave you all rejoicing."-Christian Observer.

MINISTERIAL CHARACTER AND TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF THE REV. GEORGE W. ASHBRIDGE, OF LOUISVILLE, KY., who departed this life April 27th, 1834.

In the mysterious providence of God, an unusual number of the most active and promising young ministers of the gospel in the Presbyterian church, have been removed by death, within the last two years. We take the following very interesting article, from the funeral sermon occasioned by the death of Mr. Ashbridge, and delivered in the pulpit which he occupied and to the people of whom he had been the pastor, by the Rev. Joshua T. Russell, May 11th, 1834.

From the age of fifteen years, when our deceased brother first consecrated himself to God, and united with his visible church upon earth, up to the very hour of his translation to the church triumphant in heaven, he was enabled by divine grace, to which he ever loved to acknowledge himself a peculiar debtor, steadily to persevere in a life of practical godliness. Although he was often heard to lament and mourn over the remaining corruption of his own heart, over his unbelief and unfruitfulness, yet, in the estimation of those who knew him best, he was a consistent, growing Christian, and the uniform tenor of his life and conversation was such as became a minister of Jesus Christ. His piety was pure, enlightened and energetic, and exhibited itself far less in professions of zeal, than in acts of obedience. Unquestionably his love to the Saviour was glowing, and ardent, for such affection only would have accorded with the temperament of his soul; and I am satisfied, also, that his repentance was genuine, and oft repeated in secret, and his faith firm and vigorous, and yet, as a Christian, he was distinguished, most of all, for his kind and benevolent, and holy actions. He loved, in humble imitation of his divine exemplar, to be "going about doing good," and verily he seemed to regard it as his "meat," and his "drink," to do the will of God his heavenly Father. Benevolent action seemed to constitute the very element of his soul as a Christian, and it was this especially, which distinguished and adorned his course as a minister. The preaching of the Gospel was obviously his appropriate work. He was "apt to teach," a workman that needed not to be ashamed, 66 thoroughly furnished," and he gave full proof of having been "called of God as Aaron was." He preached the Gospel faithfully and in its simplicity-" in season, out of season-publicly and from house to house;" and in this delightful "labour of love," his

whole soul was engaged and occupied. He conscientiously adhered to the form of sound words" recommended by an inspired Apostle, and in the expression of his religious opinions, both in private and in public, while he scrupulously respected the rights and liberties of others, he freely and fearlessly exercised his own; nor did he ever hesitate to avow and vindicate his esteem and veneration for the distinguishing doctrines of the Reformation, as collected and exhibited in the standards of the Presbyterian Church.

The style and manner of his ministrations in the sacred desk were highly popular and persuasive. His compositions were pure, chaste, classical, nervous-generally rich in thought, in arrangement methodical and perspicuous, and not unfrequently ornamented with chastened figures, and appropriate classical allusions and illustrations. The intonations of his voice were various, smooth, sweet and melodious. His gesticulations were natural, easy, and graceful-and his address was solemn, animated, fervent and impressive.

Thus invested, as our beloved brother was, with talents and gifts and graces of a high and commanding character, and consecrated as they all were by piety so unquestionable and elevated, he could not, he did not fail to secure the attention, the admiration, the affection of those who enjoyed his ministry. His usefulness however, as a minister, was by no means confined to the pulpit. In the deliberative councils of the church, his efforts and his influence were powerful and salutary; and in defending, patronizing and recommending to others her Literary, Theological, and benevolent institutions, his energy, liberality, and perseverance were, in the highest degree, commendable and worthy of imitation. But after all, my dear hearers, it was in the very midst of his own beloved flock,-in your social circles, by your firesides, when engaged in the all important, peculiar, and appropriate offices of a Pastor, a spiritual Shepherd, that our lamented brother presented the most perfect developments of the tender, generous, amiable, elevated sympathies and affections of his guileless, sanctified heart. In the praying circles of the saints, it was his constant practice to be present; and he seemed to regard it as his delightful privilege to participate deeply in their hopes and fears, in their sorrows and joys, in their supplications, and thanksgivings. For the tender lambs of his flock, he provided, in rich abundance, the "sincere milk of the word;" and this was regularly imparted to them in the Sabbath School, and in catechetical and Bible classes. If his watchful eye ever discovered, in the distant wilderness, a tempted, disconsolate and deserted wanderer from the fold, like a vigilant and compassionate Shepherd, he sought and pursued him in the vale, and on the mountain top; and, when the lost was found, he kindly bore him homeward, with songs of thanksgiving to his God. His anxieties, his cares, his footsteps, were in every place, where the people of his charge were to be found, whether they were in affluence or poverty-in prosperity or in adversity-in health or in sickness-in happiness or in wo. He was the counsellor of the young, the supporter of the aged, the advocate of the oppressed, the friend of the widow, the protector of the orphan, the benefactor of the poor, the comforter of the afflicted, the willing messenger of mercy, and hope and salvation to the sick and the dying. Yes, my hearers, it was probably about the sick beds of a family now before me,-then in deep distress in consequence of the ravages of an infectious disease, and the incursions of death-it was there, I say, in the place of danger, in the chamber of disease and affliction, by his frequent visits, and by his un

wearied attentions, that he laid the foundation of his own sudden and lamented dissolution. But why lamented? Why! People of his recent and beloved charge! we lament, not for the dead, but for the livingnot for your ascended Pastor, but for you, the bereaved members of his flock. For a Christian "to die, is gain:"-and such gain is his who lately ministered before this holy altar, for he was a Christian-an "Israelite indeed, in whom there was no guile." Yes, for him “to die, is gain." To assure ourselves of this, let us revert, in conclusion, to his dying conflict, and his final victory over nature, earth, the grave, death, and hell.

Three weeks ago, this morning, in the character of God's ambassador, the beloved ASHBRIDGE stood before you in this sacred desk, and unconsciously indeed, both to you and to himself, but nevertheless truly, delivered to his assembled congregation, his valedictory address, his last official message from God. He was then apparently in perfect health. His manly form was finely nerved and vigorous, and the current of life flowed onward, with lively, energetic, and rapid career. When he passed out from before the altar, with lighted countenance and steady step, the melancholy thought occurred to no one, that the man of God was to tread these earthly courts no more for ever!-that the people of his charge, as he cheerfully mingled among them by the way, were receiving from their spiritual shepherd, his last greetings of friendship and affection! No! it could not have been imagined, and yet it was even so. The elements of mortal disease and sudden dissolution were then secretly effecting the work of destruction within him, although he knew it not. On the Tuesday evening following, he became conscious of some slight disease in his system, and his rest during the night was somewhat interrupted. The next day, his illness, which had before been regarded merely as the effect of a slight cold, contracted by the fatigues and exposures of a communion season, attended in a neighbouring congregation the preceding week, assumed a serious aspect; and on Thursday, it began to develope itself in the form of scarlet fever, and awakened some concern in his vigilant physician. On Friday and Saturday, the power and malignity of the disease were greatly increased; and the anxieties of his devoted companion became painfully alarming. A council of physicians was called, and the melancholy but irresistible conclusion of the hasty conference was, that the speedy dissolution of their revered patient was inevitable. The clock had struck ten on Saturday evening-and less than twenty hours of probation remained-when, urged by the fond partner of his bosom, who had discovered his danger, and sought from God fortitude and grace to meet the painful crisis, his physician approached his bedside, and tenderly, with a palpitating heart and tearful eye, and quivering lip, communicated the certain, fearful, startling intelligence, that the hour of dying was at hand. This was the first intimation of immediate danger. The tidings fell upon his ear like a sudden death-knell! -but, they failed to awaken either grief or fear, or even painful agitation. For a single moment, in eloquent silence, he paused!-and, in the impressive stillness of that fleeting moment, loosened all the ties which bound him to earth, and made a final transfer of his thoughts, his affections, his whole soul, to Heaven!-and then-fixing his ani. mated eye upon the friend who had just communicated the intelligence of his approaching dissolution, and grasping his hand with the eager

ness and love of a dying saint, he said-"Tell me, doctor, tell me truly -how long can I last?" Possibly, till to-morrow-not longer," was the solemn reply. "Now," said the man of God to three friends,* who were bending over his couch at the moment-"Pray”—“ each of you offer a plain, short prayer to God." When this was done as he had requested, and the third praying brother had uttered his Amen-he broke forth himself in audible, eloquent and impassioned tones-and in a brief, fervent, elevated invocation, he besought for his congregationfor his friends-for his infant children-for his bosom companion-for his own departing soul, the grace and benediction of his covenant-keeping God-from my sins and from my duties, oh my God, 1 flee to the perfect, finished righteousness and atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ.”"Into thy hands, blessed Saviour, I commit my body and my spirit." Such were some of the very words of his prayer! And, ah! how widely different from the address of Adrian, the Roman Emperor, when dying, to his soul-" Whither, my soul! whither art thou going?". how different from that of another mighty monarch expiring in despair "Millions of treasure, for an inch of time!"

His prayer being finished, he called for his beloved wife, and she stood before him. Affectionately pressing her hand in his own, with tearless eye and unfaltering voice, as a husband and a father treading upon the confines of heaven, and rapidly rising to society in which earthly relations are superseded by the more endearing bonds which hold saints and cherubim in fellowship, he calmly, earnestly and with chastened ardour, addressed his still youthful companion-the mother of his infants. He spoke to her bleeding heart words of encouragement, comfort and consolation. He assured her of his own peace of mind-his hope in Christ-his joy in God-his willingness, nay, his irrepressible anxiety to die and be with Jesus-and of his sweet anticipation of meeting her again in heaven. He charged her to walk with God, to be humble, diligent, prayerful, faithful unto death,—and to train up his children in the "nurture and admonition of the Lord." He then fervently commended and committed her and the pledges of their mutual love to his covenant-keeping God, the widow's Judge, the father of the fatherless-impressed upon her lip his parting salutation, and bade her an affectionate and final farewell! This done-he rested for a moment-and then, at the hour of midnight, he requested messengers to be despatched in different directions to summon to his chamber a number of the members of his church and congregation, whose eternal interests were pressing heavily upon his benevolent heart, and as they were at length collected around him, and one by one drew near his dying pillow, he took each in turn, by the hand,-and whether he were old or young, saint or sinner, gay or serious, volatile or thoughtful, he gave to every one an appropriate address, rich with instruction, glowing with affection, and pre-eminently adapted to the peculiar views, sentiments, habits, trials, hopes, fears, and perils of each.

Thus the hours of his last night were fully occupied in holy, pious, solemn exhortations, designed for the spiritual good of the friends he was about to leave behind him-nor was his anxious soul even then satisfied-but he solemnly dictated a number of special messages, to be delivered after his death to absent acquaintances and friends.

Contrast, for a moment, my hearers, this affecting exhibition of undissembled piety, with the death-bed scene of one of the wisest and

* Messrs. Harrison, Bayless, and Hart.

most distinguished, and most virtuous of the ancient sages. Of the philosopher it is recorded, that his last hours were spent in undisturbed tranquillity, and in lively, familiar converse with his friends, on literary and moral subjects, and on the probable immortality of the soul; and while all around him were overcome with grief and bathed in tears, he calmly called for the poisonous cup which had been decreed to him, drank it without emotion, and ordering a trifling sacrifice to be made by his friends to Esculapius, quietly expired. And why did the heathen sage thus die undismayed and peacefully? Why, my hearers? Simply because immortality itself was to him wholly problematical-and of the solemn retribution of eternity-judgment-heaven and hell, he knew nothing. But, to the living faith, and strengthened vision of our dear, departed brother, all these absorbing scenes were present, as sober, certain, everlasting realities!-and yet, he rose above the dread or fear of them-nay, he longed, he panted, he prayed, to meet them; he rejoiced in their near approach-he triumphed over them-and having achieved the victory, his last moments were spent in encouraging the saints, and pouring the tidings of salvation upon the ears of the perishing! Socrates died indeed, like a philosopher, longing after immortality, but ASHBRIDGE like a Christian, aspiring and ascending to the pa

radise of God!

By the labours of the night, the remaining energies of the man of God were exhausted-his breathing and pulsations ceased, and for a season it was thought that his spirit had risen silently, and without a struggle, to its place of rest. But as the light of another Sabbath sun fell gently upon his pallid countenance, he was once more aroused to intelligence and action. For a short time, the current of life returned with renewed vigour, and inspired a feeble hope in the bosom of surrounding friends, that he might, as it were by miracle, yet be preserved. Powerful remedies were eagerly applied, and importunate supplications were renewed in the closet, in the social circle, and in the house of God -but all in vain! It was soon ascertained that friendship and affection had erred in judgment respecting the purpose of God.

The victory of the dying saint had not yet been completed, and he was not fully ripe for his triumph in heaven. The new strength which he had received was not natural, but superhuman; imparted probably by some kind, ministering spirit from above, to enable him to finish both the conflict and the victory, in a way still more honourable to religion, and animating to the saints of God, than had yet been anticipated. From the disclosures which have been made by his afflicted companion since his death, it appears, that he had long since chosen the holy Sabbath, as the day for entering upon his final rest, and he had frequently made it a matter of special and fervent prayer to God, that this irrepressible desire of his soul might be gratified. His prayer was heard and answered, and he no sooner felt the risings of supernatural strength within him than he started from his temporary slumbers, and began to utter, in psalms and hymns, and spiritual songs, the praises of Jehovah Jesus, and the holy triumphs of his almost beatified soul. It was, indeed, the Sabbath; his last Sabbath; his chosen dying day; a glorious emblem; a precious antepast of heaven-and he spent it just as it became a dying minister of Jesus.

During nearly the whole of the day his intellect was regular and unclouded; and until about three o'clock in the afternoon, he was almost incessantly employed in prayer, praise and songs of victory and triumph. And then, as death drew yet a little nearer, and was beginning