of God. In the exercise of the episcopal functions, he developed those rare qualifications that have distinguished him as a presiding officer, and especially as an expounder of ecclesiastical law. The soundness of his views upon the doctrines and discipline of the Church, was so fully and so universally conceded, that in the end he became almost an oracle in these respects; and his opinions are regarded with profound veneration.

As a theologian and divine, his views were comprehensive, logical, and well matured. Not only had they been elaborated with great care but the analysis was very distinct; and the successive steps were not only clearly defined in the original analysis, but distinct even in the minutiae of their detail. His discourses were after the same pattern-an example of neatness, order, perspicuity, and completeness. There was no effort at any unnecessary verbal criticism, but when called for by the subject it was not wanting; there was no effort at logical skill or acuteness, but when clear and delicate discrimination was required, no man could execute it with greater fidelity and success. He would not be regarded as a popular preacher. The ability and skill to charm the multitude with the flowers of fancy, with the figures of rhetoric, with beautiful quotations, with flippant or dramatic speech, were evidently neither coveted nor cultivated by him. He was a plain preacher of the gospel of Christ.

His early advantages were limited; but by the most laborious and persevering study, he accumulated a vast fund of general as well as special knowledge. He was a great reader of books; but he read men and nature as well as books. With the utmost care, he improved his taste and style, as well as his critical powers. To correct his early provincial and defective pronunciation, he carefully read the dictionary through, word by word, comparing the authentic pronunciation of each with that to which he was habituated, and thus correcting himself. He had a most tenacious memory. His mind was richly stored with incident and anecdote, as well as with all kinds of the most valuable knowledge collected from books, from observation, and from experience. His conversational powers were of a high order-the events of the past seemed to start up from their lurking places, and come forth with all the freshness and life of recent occurrences. There was often with him a genial sprightliness, humour and wit, and a keen sense of the ludicrous, that made him a most companionable friend. Yet his cheerfulness never descended below the purity of the Christian character, or the dignity of a Christian man.

He was the friend of children, and children loved him. He was

true in his sympathies, generous and abiding in his friendships. With the farthest possible remove from courtly ostentation or empty etiquette, he was punctilious in the observance of true Christian courtesy and politeness. While his piety was of a clear, solid, consistent cast-deeply based upon religious principle-it was also at the farthest remove from asceticism, or that repulsive austerity that so often makes religion itself seem unamiable. In him trifling levity found no place; but cheerfulness-the genial sunshine of the heart-diffused its loveliness all around him. His, too, was a most liberal and catholic spirit. He had toiled long and hard to build up the Church of his early choice; and his affections were deeply wedded to that Church; but they were not exclusive. He felt a kindred sympathy for Christians of every name, and felt too that he was with them a common partner in the kingdom and patience of Christ Jesus. His nature was too noble, his heart too large, and his views too broad and enlightened, to admit of his being cut off from sympathy with the common brotherhood of the Christian faith. Yet he felt that God had appointed him to his sphere of labour, and it was his highest joy to pursue it.

The life and labours of Bishop Hedding extended through an important epoch in the history of Methodism in this country. When he first entered the ministry, the work, then extending over the whole United States and Canada, comprised but eight annual conferences, three hundred and seven preachers, and seventy-two thousand eight hundred and seventy-four members. Now we have on the same territory:

A man who had participated in labours, and witnessed results like these, might well feel that he had not lived in vain.

But this was not all. Within the period of his labours, the character and genius of Methodism have been largely developed; the capabilities of our general Church organization have been closely tested; our vast educational systems operating upon the public mind through the press, the Sunday school, the seminary, and the college-have all received character and direction, if not their very existence. The Church has been increasing in resources and intelligence, and a higher tone of educational influence has been brought

to bear upon the ministry. In all this substantial progress of the Church, Bishop Hedding had a deep sympathy and contributed his full measure of influence.

During the autumn of 1832, he was confined by severe bodily affliction. The record of his feelings and views at this period possesses a peculiar interest. "I have been led," says he, "to many serious and solemn reflections-apprehending that probably my public labours, if not my life, may be nearly at an end. But, I thank my God, that through the merit of my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, I am supported with a glorious hope of rest in heaven! I have been comforted also with the reflection, that my life has been spent, and my body worn out, in endeavouring sincerely, though imperfectly, to promote the cause of Christ. And after thirty-two years employment in preaching the doctrines of the Methodist Episcopal Church, I am confirmed in the belief that they are the doctrines of Christ. And after seeing, for that length of time, the effects of our plan of spreading the gospel, and governing the flock committed to our care, and bearing my full share of the burdens and privations connected with this plan, I am satisfied it is the best I know of in this world for the benefit of the souls of men. If I could have another life, I would cheerfully spend it in this blessed cause."

From this sickness, however, he recovered, and continued with unabated ardour to perform the various duties of the episcopal office nearly twenty years longer. From the year 1844, age and increasing infirmities compelled him to seek relief from the heavy burden of labour he had previously performed, and his visits to the annual conferences became less frequent. Yet his labours and responsibilities were still very great. He was almost incessantly sought unto by ministers in almost every part of our connexion for counsel and assistance, and for information upon points of ecclesiastical law and in the administration of discipline.

In the spring of 1850, he presided at the New-Jersey, New-York, and New-York East Annual Conferences. These were his last episcopal services as the presiding officer of a conference. But they were performed with the same skill, ability, and laborious diligence that had characterized him in former years. He seemed, indeed, so far as the spirit of his work was concerned, like Moses of old"His eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated." These labours being ended, he returned to Poughkeepsie, and passed the remainder of the season in his quiet retreat-constantly engaged, however, in conducting his episcopal correspondence.

This brings us down to the closing scenes in the life of this eminent man of God.

The first attack of acute disease was experienced on the 28th day of December, 1850. The attack was as sudden as it was fearful. He had been taking his accustomed walk, though the day was severely cold, and was returning home, when he was suddenly seized with difficulty of breathing. The difficulty was so great that he seemed nearly suffocated, and his strength entirely exhausted. With difficulty he reached the parsonage of the Methodist church, and was barely able to say: "Carry me home-I am suffocating." He was immediately conveyed home, apparently in a dying state. Physicians were soon in attendance, but it was more than an hour before the severity of his suffering abated. About a week after this, he had a second attack of still greater violence than the first; and for more than two hours of intense and unremitted suffering, it seemed as though nature was sinking in its last conflict. These attacks from which he only partially recovered, were succeeded by others of less violence and shorter continuance. The complication of diseases under which he had laboured for many years, and also the growing infirmities of age, rendered his recovery hopeless. It was painfully evident that his system had received a shock from which it could not recover. Yet, through the skill and care of his medical adviser, he was made comfortable; and it was hoped that with the return of spring, his health might be still further improved, and that he might be relieved, at least to some extent, from the great weakness and exhaustion that had succeeded his violent attacks. But these hopes were disappointed. Summer brought but little relief. Yet, as he seemed to revive somewhat in the early part of the winter, his friends began to hope that his life might be spared, and his health permit him once more to mingle, as the patriarch of the Church, in her councils at the ensuing General Conference; or at least, that he would be able to make his appearance in that body, and bestow upon it his final counsel and dying blessing. In the latter part of the succeeding winter, however, he suffered successive attacks, which completely blasted that hope, and made it apparent that "the time of his departure was at hand."

It will be well to pause in the current of our narrative, and notice the state of his mind in the midst of these sudden, unexpected, and terrible attacks. In the afternoon of the first attack, after the severity of his distress had subsided so that he could speak, he said to the Rev. Mr. Vincent: "I expected to die this afternoon. I fully believed the hour of my departure had come; but, O, how mercifully I was sustained. I had no fear of death or eternity. I felt that through the merits of Jesus, my Saviour, alone, it would be well with me; and knew that if my work was done, and God ordered my dis

charge, it was right, all right." After his second attack, he said: "In all this the enemy was not permitted to come nigh me." And subsequently, speaking of these attacks, and the development of what he believed would be a fatal disease, he said that God had so mercifully dealt with him, that for three months after his severe attack he had not suffered a single temptation from Satan, but had enjoyed wonderful grace and support. At the end of this period, Satan attacked him violently, and tempted him to disbelieve God's word. It was a terrible conflict. Objections more subtle than any he had read or heard from infidels, were thrust sorely upon him. But he was enabled to answer them all, and came out of the conflict with a faith radiant with heaven's own glory, to be dimmed and obscured no more. "I have conquered," he exclaimed, "and believe I shall overcome at last through the mercy of God and the merit of Jesus Christ my Saviour, my only hope."

From the time of his first attack, his decline was gradual, sometimes relieved by favourable indications, and at other times accelerated by sudden and alarming steps. His intellectual powers remained vigorous: his memory, perception, and judgment continued, with but few intermissions, clear and distinct to the last. In the midst of intense and protracted bodily suffering, he retained that calmness and serenity of spirit, and that supreme confidence of faith, so eminently characteristic of the mature Christian. His conversations during the last months and weeks of his life, were heavenly and edifying in a high degree. In intercourse with his Christian brethren, he often gave full vent to his feelings in the most graphic and touching expressions. At one time he broke out in the exclamation: "O what a wonder it is that such a poor, worthless, helldeserving wretch as I am, should ever be saved! What a mercy! what wondrous love! It is all of Christ. What could we do, or what could we hope for without him? How could we preach, how could we pray, how could we live, or how could we DIE, without the Saviour?" The record conveys but a feeble impression of the force with which those words were uttered. This could not be realized without the presence, the appearance, the heavenly countenance, the deep pathos, the quivering voice, and the holy energy of the venerable man now numbered with the dead.

About the same time, he said one morning to the Rev. Mr. Ferris: "I have been singing. In my earlier days I was quite a singer; and I have been singing one of our excellent hymns, (one that is all glory,) and while singing I received a wonderful blessing. The hymn is this:

"He dies, the friend of sinners dies.'"