felt that Dr. Waugh should be at the head of it, and the happiest results were anticipated from the influence of his wisdom and piety. The appointment being declined by him, on account of his infirmities and his numerous family, some of the brethren were sent to urge his consent, and to endeavour to reconcile Mrs. Waugh and the family to the temporary separation. Assurances were to be given of suitable support to them in his absence, and in case of his demise. When these gentlemen came to the house, and beheld him surrounded by his children, clinging to him with such affectionate dependence, they were unable to make the proposal, and said they had not hearts stern enough to ask him to make the sacrifice. There may have been cases in which such a separation was necessary, and in which Dr. Waugh would have submitted to it; but the necessity here was not so imperious. Others could be obtained, well qualified for the home and the pastoral duties in had not such powerful claims. There may be more splendour in such a sacrifice, but there is certainly as much beauty in the tenderness of a father's love, and in the ministrations of a pastor's

care.

task, on whom a congregation

We are happy to have it in our power to add to these illustrations of his domestic character, the following sketch of it, drawn by one of his daughters, at our request. While the reader cannot but be charmed with its beauty, the most entire reliance may be placed on its correctness and truth;

and we feel that we cannot do better than insert

the whole of the letter.

"MY DEAR FRIEND,

"What shall I say to your request? The same delightful but difficult task has been proposed to me by Mr. Hay, and by our own family; but I feel that something is expected from me which I am altogether incompetent to execute as it should be. The unaffected reply of my heart is, What am I, that I should put forth my hand to such a work?' I have a large collection of my beloved father's letters, but they are all of a character too domestic, too private for the public eye: they cannot, therefore, be ́ rendered available for the purpose you have in view. The little I can, however, I shall most willingly attempt. That little only amounts to the following brief and simple notices of his domestic character, which, if they may serve merely to aid your own recollections, or in any other way (without reference to the humble writer) assist you to illustrate any portion of the memoir, I shall rejoice, gratefully rejoice, to have contributed, infinitely as they fall short of what I could have wished to have done.

My father in his family! He was so tender, that he fondled and sported with his children, while he always bore about him that unaffected dignity of manner, that even the youngest of us dared not take any unsuitable liberty with him. This was not the result of any harsh assumption of superiority on his part; for how often have I heard him say to us, My dear children, never tell people that they must respect you; leave that to them: the worst man in the world will respect you if you deserve it.' He was remarkably gentle with his children; seldom corrected us; and took no pleasure in speaking of our faults, but great delight in commending us. He often prayed with us in private. He prized, and greatly inculcated, tenderness and a forgiving spirit, and encouraged

an affectionate manner at meeting and parting. He never seemed to suppose us capable of deliberately injuring each other, and was as far removed as possible from all mean jealousies and suspicions. He measured us all by his own noble nature, and we therefore bitterly felt incurring his displeasure, as a forfeiture of that esteem in which we thought it our highest honour to live. But there is nothing I feel so difficult to delineate as my father surrounded by his children, at the same moment the playmate and the revered parent. We never could lose sight of his condescension, and this made us love him the more. We all spoke out our opinions frankly, and were put right, but never blamed nor ridiculed. One little trait speaks his perfect freedom from all selfish indulgence. He was often confined to his room, and when so, the children were always absent during his meals, because, thinking he had some delicacy, nothing could prevent him feeding us all round: I cannot eat my morsel alone,' he would say; and it was true. As soon as he could join the family, but while he was still dieted as an invalid, we had always the merriest dinners. I think I see now the arch smile, as, fixing his bright eyes on my mother, he tried to divert her attention from his laden fork, that was slily passing and repassing amongst us. I merely mention this, as illustrative of the playful kindliness of his spirit, which, like his other graces, pervaded the whole

man.

"There was a high tone of morality about him, that was, I hesitate not to say it, at all times consistent. He could not feel or act dishonourably: his soul appeared reckless as to the consequences of straight-forward, liberal, tender conduct. This, I believe, was not the fruit of a renewed nature only, but of a constitutional temperament, naturally ingenuous, independent, and most susceptible. I may here mention the advice he gave one of my younger brothers, on his applying to him for an addition to his usual pocket-money, in order to meet the expenses

connected with some youthful frolic. 'There are three rules by which you must be led, my dear lad, in the spending of your money. The first is, you must ascertain how far the purpose for which you are incurring expense agrees with a good conscience; for you know you must never- never engage in any thing on which you cannot, in your prayers at night, ask the blessing of God to rest. The second is, you must ascertain how far your little money will enable you to join others in their amusement. And the third is one which, in its importance, yields only to the first rule. It is this: when you have incurred the liability, insist upon paying your share, if you should pawn your coat for the purpose; for, poor man as I am, I would rather see you sweeping the crossing at Quebec Street, than I would put it in the power of any one to say, that a son of mine had meanly shirked from his engagement and his word.' Why go about the bush in your proceedings?' he would say. God will bring his purpose to pass, and leave you to eat the fruit of weariness, entanglement, and disgrace, for your crooked policy. Only trust that God is wiser than you, and that he knows the shortest road to his own purposes.' Thus he spake, and thus he acted.

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At one period, about the middle of his life, his bodily ailments subjected him to great variation of animal spirits, and he then sometimes suffered much from fits of depression; but during these he never was selfish or unkind. We missed the sunny smile that cast a brilliancy over the whole countenance; but the sadness that succeeded excited only extraordinary sympathy and tenderness.

"When I consider the natural frankness of his temper, I am surprised at his perfect reservedness on all matters relating to the workings of his own mind. He took no pleasure in speaking of himself; and when circumstances forced it upon him, he always did it with so much humour, and with such a happy turn of compliment to the hearer,

or ridicule of himself, that no one dared, even in thought, to impute vanity to him. In truth, we never were more delighted than when we could entrap him to speak of himself. His griefs were poured into the ear of Deity alone. I do not suppose that even my beloved mother so liberally shared his griefs as his joys. I never heard of my father's Christian experience in any other way than through his counsels, which were always supported by the assurance that we should find God even better than his word. His zeal, his activity, his devotedness, his love of the brethren, his charity, his tenderness for poor degraded human nature, were the tongues with which he told the world what' great things God had done for his soul.'

"His tenderness of heart was proof against all his knowledge of the world and the clear light of his understanding. Saturday was his day at home, and it was usually the business of his children to carry the messages to the study. The constant succession of miserable-looking objects that appealed to him on that day might have excused many an unsatisfied demand; but no one turned from his humble roof unserved. Many a known cheat presented himself, and received a sharp rebuke, and what appeared a very decisive refusal; but we had never half descended the stairs ere his heart smote him, and he would call after us, Here, give the poor fellow that; on his own head be the sin.' His pity, his mercy, overcame every argument. That mercy which was his darling theme in the pulpit, was his darling virtue out of it. He would say, We who live by mercy, how dare we be unmerciful!

"His universal charity was the result of Divine light acting upon a tender and noble temper. Christianity apart, he never would have been a feeder upon other men's corruptions; but his nature was expanded, purified, and softened, by knowledge from on high. His perfect guardedness of speech was not an out-door garment; it