nence mainly consist? He had nothing of that brilliancy of genius or eloquence, and nothing of that enchanting popularity of manners, which gains admiration and applause from the multitude. He indeed had a powerful and well cultivated mind, and a taste of no ordinary refinement. But his eminence chiefly consisted in his rightly filling an office of vast and eternal consequence — an office involving labors, burdens and anxieties, which are insupportable to mere human strength. It consisted in his pursuing the business of that office with intensity of thought; with simplicity of aim; with inextinguishable zeal, and with the perseverance and activity of a man, who knows the greatness and goodness of his undertaking, and who, relying not on the resources of his own mind, but on the help of God, and on the uncontrollable movements of his providence, resolves on its execution. It consisted, in short, in his consecrating himself and all that he had to a cause superlatively excellent, and in his studying and laboring earnestly for its advancement.

But we must come to the closing scene of a life, which was so full of great and useful actions. Unremitted labor had created or increased various bodily infirmities. Those infirmities had for some time been assuming a more and more alarming aspect. The consent of our brother to visit the establishments at Brainerd and Elliot was in part produced by his solicitude for the missionary cause in those places, and in part by a desire to repair that constitution, which his long-continued labors had almost undermined. It may seem full of mystery, that he should be removed far away from his family and friends to die in the wilderness. What could have appeared more desirable to us, than that, in his last sickness, his pains should be alleviated and his heart comforted, by the tender assiduities of his own beloved family. And what could have appeared to be more desirable, or to promise more good to the missionary cause, than for his fellow-laborers to have some seasons for free consultation with him in his last days, and to be made acquainted with the views and emotions, which must have been produced in a mind so mature and elevated as his, by the visible approach of death.

But it was the appointment of God that he should go far hence, to sicken and die. The pains he took to learn the will of God respecting his absence, and the considerations which finally convinced his hesitating judgment of the expediency of the voyage, stated particularly in a letter to the Treasurer, must have given entire satisfaction to the public. So must his subsequent reflections, as exhibited in the same letter." It has been," he says, "It 66 no slight satisfaction to my mind, that I came hither in obedience to God's direction, and not, as I would humbly trust, without some degree of filial submission, and confidence, and hope. What the end is to be, is not yet to be read. It may be the final exit from all earthly scenes, and the dropping of this slender tabernacle, though far away from its kindred dust, yet in the place, whether in the sea, or upon the land, appointed by sovereign goodness for its rest till the rising day. It may be the accomplishment of something for life and immortality to the wanderers of the wilderness, or dwellers in the dark places of the earth, by an instrumentality so feeble, as to make it manifest -that the excellency of the power must have been of God." "At the age of fifty, with a family requiring a father's as well as a mother's care a people holding his heart with a thousand tiesa study, his loved retreat, Fast by the oracles of God'responsibilities the most weighty, and objects of attention and action for which only he would live and labor-one could not leave home for an absence so long and with prospects so precarious, without many reluctances and regrets, and thoughts of serious import, and movements of the inmost heart."-" But what is time, or place, or outward condition? - God is at all times, and in all places the same; and to feel that we are in him and he in us, is enough for happiness. To feel that we are where he would have us be, and doing what he would have us do, is all that for ourselves we should desire."

In the following quotation from the same letter, he expresses his mature, unwavering judgment as to the cause of missions."One thing is settled in my mind; and that is a full and delightful conviction, that the cause of missions has never held too high

a place in my estimation, or engaged too large a share of my attention. It immeasurably transcends the highest estimation of every created mind. And what is the sacrifice of health, what the sacrifice of life, to such a cause? Be the event what it may -recovered health, or early death-I never can regret what I have done in this work; but only that I have done so little, and with a heart so torpid."

It would be highly interesting to trace the progress of our beloved brother, amid weariness, infirmity and pain, from New Orleans to our Indian establishments. The heart of Jacob was not more fondly set on going down to Egypt and seeing Joseph before he died, than his heart was, on visiting those missionary stations. At a little distance from Elliot, he wrote the following apostolic letter to the missionaries at that place; a letter which most strikingly shows the sacred passion which ruled his heart. He says"In various scenes and changes; in perils of the sea and perils of the wilderness; in much weakness, weariness, and painfulness, my heart has been cheered with the anticipation of being refreshed at Elliot. At present, however, it seems to be the will of our ever to be adored Lord and Master, that the anticipation, so fondly entertained, should not be realized. I bow to his sovereign pleasure, always good-infinitely good. Still my heart melts with longing and with tenderness towards that consecrated spot towards all the members of the missionary family, both those whom I have seen, and those whom I have not seen; and towards the dear children of the forest, the objects of benevolent labor and care. May the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all grace, bring you nearer and nearer to himself, and keep you more entirely in his love grant you abundant supports and consolations make you faithful unto death. May he bless the school, and prosper the work in the nation, and make the wilderness and solitary place to be glad for you. And when our labors and trials on earth shall be finished, in his infinite mercy, may we meet in his presence above, and rejoice in his glory forever."

When he arrived at Brainerd, May 25, he was extremely feeble, and as it seems, looked upon the time of his departure as near. "God," he said, "is very gracious. He has sustained me, as it were by miracle, thus far, and granted me one great desire of my heart, in bringing me to Brainerd. And if it be agreeable to his holy purposes, that I should leave my poor remains here, his will be done." He was able to attend to no business, and to speak but little. In few words he addressed the members of the church, and some of the congregation. After that, though much exhausted, he expressed a particular desire that the children of the school, according to their request, should come in. "I want he said with tears "I want to see all my dear children, and to take them by the hand." They were then called in, and he took each of them by the hand, as they passed by his dying bed. Having all passed round in procession, they stood and sung a hymn. He was affected to tears most of the time. He then in the most affectionate manner, addressed them while they were melted to tears. There, on the seventh of June in the morning, at that consecrated spot in the wilderness, dearer far to him than any city or mansion on earth, this servant of the church, worn out with fatigue, and exhausted with sickness, lifted up his eyes towards heaven, and with a delightful smile upon his countenance, fell asleep in Jesus.

The grief of the missionary family on this occasion, you shall learn from their own language. When beginning to write their Journal, the day on which their beloved counsellor and father died, they thus describe the overwhelming sorrow of their hearts. "With reluctance we enter on the events of this day. Our thoughts recoil. Our pen stops. Tears darken our eyes. We seek where to weep. We enter into our closets and weep there. We resolve to be men, and not children. We resume the task. Our weakened hands refuse to perform their office. We look at each other, and say, who shall bear the doleful tidings? A solemn silence casts a still darker shade over the gloomy scene. Every heart is faint; every head is sick; every hand is weak."

But the missionary family at Brainerd are not alone in their

grief. There is a general mourning. And this mourning will spread through various and distant parts of the world, as soon as the tidings of Dr. Worcester's death shall be heard. Our missionaries in the east, and in the west loved him and confided in him as a father, by whose mature wisdom and faithful friendship they were guided and cheered in all their labors. How will their hearts bleed, when they hear that this beloved, honored friend is no more! - I might mention the sorrow of his church and society; of the Prudential Committee and the American Board; of our Theological Seminary, in which he had been recently called to the office of a Visitor; of the Massachusetts Missionary Society, and the American Education Society, and of other religious and charitable societies with which he was connected; of the churches and ministers of Christ; of the friends of missions and the friends of man.

But it becomes us to restrain our feelings, and seriously to inquire, in what manner we should bear this visitation of providence, and what use we should make of it.

Let us then thank the God of all grace, that he has prepared a heaven of glory and blessedness for his faithful servants. O how sweet the rest of heaven, after a wearisome journey through this wilderness! How blessed to be rid of all imperfections and sins. Imperfections and sins our dear brother had, or he could not have been human. He confessed them and looked to the blood of atonement for forgiveness, or he could not have been a Christian. But from his life and death, we have the best reason to think, that he now sees his Saviour face to face, and will serve him with perfect love and perfect joy forever.

We ought to give thanks to God for raising up a man of so distinguished a character, and making him the instrument of so much good to the church. And we ought, with reverence and submission, to notice the hand of God in the place and circumstances of his death. The progress of the divine dispensations may soon show, and the light of eternity will certainly show, that important ends were to be answered by his dying at a missionary station. It seems as though God meant in this affair, to set aside the wishes