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wonted labours in his own congregation and elsewhere, with scarcely a single interruption.*

His weakness, however, returning, he went, on the 30th July, by Hull, with one of his daughters, to Harrowgate, whither Mr. Neill had previously gone to prepare for his comfortable reception. At this time the state of his legs was alarming; but, notwithstanding his illness, he could not be restrained from preaching in the steam-boat on his passage to Hull. At Harrowgate he suffered greatly, and every kind of public labour was necessarily prohibited.

The following letters written in the seventyfirst and seventy-third years of his age, with an enfeebled constitution, sinking under a complication of infirmities, shew how deeply the scenes of his early years had entwined themselves around his heart, and how his pious mind was accustomed to improve them, as a rich source of enjoyment under the ills of life, and a happy preparative for the rest of a glorious and a blessed immortality.

Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,

Ev’n in our ashes live their wonted fires."

* In May and June, the kind services and almost constant presence of his highly esteemed friend Dr. Belfrage greatly contributed to cheer his spirits, and to make his work comparatively easy. – Editor.




The Pavilion, Harrowgate, Yorkshire,

August 5, 1825. “MY DEAR FRIEND AND BROTHER, “I am become utterly untrustworthy: my faculties are rapidly failing, particularly my memory, the powers of which are become feeble in the extreme. Your letter of the 29th June alarmed me. I hastened to the bundle of unanswered letters, and found yours of the 4th February carefully laid by, and noted to be answered in a few days. The whole went from my mind as if the subject had never been brought under my notice. I regret it exceedingly; and all the amends I can possibly make, I will cheerfully make.

“ I thank you for your very just view of the character of our excellent brother and endeared friend, the good Mr. Young of Jedburgh. May your latter end and mine be like his! In Mr. Fair's death I lost the oldest friend I had remaining on the banks of your matchless river. I think it is about sixty years since I first knew him.

“ My last visit to Earlstoun was darkened with many painful recollections. The Black Hill stood as before; but the dear lads that assisted me in robbing the hawk's nest in the precipitous crag on its north side, were all silent in the narrow house: the pools of water in the Leader, where we fished and bathed, were the same; Rhyner's Tower, though much dilapidated, remained,the spacious room, in which the hare kittled on the hearthstane,' and where I have spent many a romantic hour, was fallen down in ruins; Gledswood-bank, the Gateheugh, Holywell, and auld Melrose, the hallowed abode of St. Cuthbert—all remained; but the companions of my youthful gambols and excursions — alas ! I stood over their graves in Earlstoun churchyard !—The train of thinking which such recollections awaken, I know is deemed childish ; but I feel it soften my heart, and teach

me to look beyond these transient and endeared scenes of early days. Such recollections bring no remorse with them, which, alas ! we cannot say of riper years.

“As to myself, I have laboured under much internal weakness for these three years, and a wound I received in the interior of my leg, above the ankle, has of late broken out; for recovery from both of which, Dr. Darling, my worthy Gala-water physician, has sent me to drink the waters here.

“ Every purchased blessing be in your cup! We all cherish, my dear friend, and ever will cherish, a lively sense of your kind and hospitable attentions to the various branches of my dear family; and, in their name,

“ I remain, with affectionate esteem,
“ Your obliged and faithful brother,



London, February 1st, 1827. “My deAR, OLD, AND GOOD Friend, “ I ought to have congratulated you long ago on the union of the young folks in circumstances so auspicious and encouraging. The God of their fathers, I trust, will watch over them in the untrodden paths, as he has watched over and cared for us, and bring us all in due time to the heavenly rest. I often look back to, and dwell on the scenes of our youth, and our meetings for prayer at my uncle Sandy's, and our journeys through Middlethen Moss to worship with the apostle John at Stitchell meeting-house. I had a long crack lately with John M.Dougal, now in his eighty-second year, on those times. It did my heart good. I think I would lay out five pounds on a dinner at Burrick Well, if I could get you, Willie Tunter, Geordie Wood, and other lads of threescore years and ten, to sit round our grassy table, and have Kate — for our cook. It was not till I saw the head of my beloved Alexander laid in the grave at Bunhill Fields, that I could break the cord that bound me to Gordon kirkyard, as the place of my final rest in this changeable world. But if we sleep in Jesus, it is of small importance on what side of the Tweed our bed be made. The great matter is, that we be found in Him, and that we now make daily advances in preparation for the heavenly state. Let us study to grow in attachment to the unseen exercises of religion, watching over the heart, living near to God in our confidence, love, and hope—trusting in the atonement and righteousness of God our Saviour, and wrapping that robe of righteousness (as John Brown says) around us as our winding-sheet when we die, that awaking with it we may stand accepted at the great tribunal. Then all shall be well!

“ But I must call a halt. Let me beg an interest in your prayers, and when you get near the Throne, remember an old man who will not forget you. My best wishes to all the dear children whom God has given you.

“ I ever am, my dear friend,

“ Very affectionately yours.”

In a review of the first edition of this work, which appeared in that highly respectable periodi. cal the “ Christian Observer,” we find remarks so striking and correct, in connexion with his habitual love of scenery, as exhibited in the above and other letters, that we cannot refrain from embodying them here; and, at the same time, we willingly thank the reviewer (as he calls upon us to do) for the lines with which the extract closes, and for having so ably directed our attention to a feature in Dr. Waugh's mind which had escaped our notice.

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“ The love of natural scenery was in him, as in Legh Richmond, an enjoyment amounting almost to a passion ; yet this excellent man, in the discharge of his solemn duties, contentedly, nay cheerfully, passed the greater part of his life pent up in a murky city; thus shewing how completely a sense of duty and the love of God, and of man for God's sake, can endear to the Christian what otherwise would be repulsive to his feelings. Well he knew, by a sacred instinct, how to reconcile the apparently adverse feelings so beautifully described by that truly Christian poet Keeble. In the sublime scenes of nature, amidst the silent loneliness of rocks and mountains, he would have said by anticipation, though he lived not to read the lines,

* No sounds of worldly toil ascending there,

Mar the full burst of prayer :
Lone Nature feels that she may freely breathe ;

And round us, and beneath,
Are heard her sacred tones; the fitful sweep

Of winds across the steep,
Through withered bents - romantic note and clear,
Meet for a hermit's ear.'

“Yet equally could he feel in the busiest scenes of metropolitan intercourse and active duty, that

• Love's a flower that will not die

For lack of leafy screen;
And Christian hope can cheer the eye

That ne'er saw vernal green.
Then be ye sure His love can bless
Even in this crowded loneliness;

Where ever-moving myriads seem to say,
Go-thou art nought to us, nor we to thee-away !

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