to mankind, but when increasing languor and pain took this hope from him, and nothing was left but a life of solitary meditation, an earnest desire for death came upon him,—to be taken away from this world, in which his part was finished. He had no fear of death. He had no fear of any thing that was of God's ordaining. And yet he did not approve of those definite views of the precise nature of the future existence which some regard as the only source of effectual support. He thought that this partook of a material enthusiasm, and proceeded from a want of perfect Trust. His feeling was, that he could trust a friend though he knew not exactly where he was leading him, and that if so, he could have no fears with his God. At the commencement of the last crisis of his illness, when his own impression was that he would not survive the day, he spoke almost in these words his latest convictions of Religion:

"In the midst of my suffering, all the leading thoughts are present with me. I am weak, and therefore my feelings overpower me. I have contributed my mite to the Liberty of mankind. It is cast into God's treasury. I stand upon a rock. God's providence is carried on by the struggles of Reason against the passions. I have no doubts. I came from God, and I go to Him. There must be an infinite source of the rationality which we know to be in us, and who will receive us to Himself."

For nearly three months he may be said to have been in a dying state, through sufferings which even those who witnessed could but faintly know; and with a patience whose amount God alone can compute. An idea of the weakness, of the condition of absolute dependence to which he was reduced, is faithfully conveyed in the words of one of his friends, "that even the tear which the expression of sympathy, or the heart's silent prayer drew from him, had to be wiped away by the hand of another." This image, properly taken from the higher forms of life, will picture the helplessness that cannot be described. To the necessities of such a condition he submitted himself with the gentleness, the humility of a child,—but it was with the dignity of a child of God, who can receive no degradation from his Father's hands. With something of the unassailable greatness of Christ, when struck by a rude hand, he endured, as coming from God, with perfect simplicity, what without that feeling would have been humiliation worse than death. His filial faith was that singleness of vision which makes the whole being full of light. It was in fact the eye of his soul,-he had no other way of looking upon life. It seemed to belong to the very essence of his being, and not to be liable to the disturbances that proceed from the instabilities of feeling. And all pain, all sorrow, has but a passing time,-whilst where there is a spirit

living and shining through them, the resulting fruits of instruction, the weight of glory, remain and are eternal. The suffering, the long probation, was one of the things that are seen and are temporal; himself, the noble spirit, is with the unseen and eternal. The long watch is closed. The chamber of death, which his presence made a spiritual temple, is silent now; and "the light which was with us for a while" is withdrawn into the Heavens. Among the last words that he had strength distinctly to utter were: "God to me is Jesus, and Jesus is God,-of course not in the sense of Divines." "When the hour shall come my soul will be concentrated in the feeling, 'My God, into thy hands I commend my spirit."" A few hours before death, to the friend who was watching by him in the early morning, he said with a firm voice, "Now I die." The long struggle ended so peacefully that the moment of death was not apparent. He died on the 20th of May, at Greenbank, near Liverpool, in the house of Mr. Rathbone.

We have not spoken of his writings; of his vast intellectual power; of his ripe knowledge; of his imagination so bold and easy, yet ever so instructive and wonderfully true; nor of his extraordinary command, the most perfect ever acquired by a foreigner, over all the resources of our language; these will manifest themselves; we have preferred to speak of what were the daily sources of his mental life and peace,-of his affections,— of his noble simplicity,—of the infinite value he attached to that sympathy which the world cannot buy,-of his views of man's discipline, of his childlike rest on God.

That the struggle between his affections for those who could not retain him in communion, and his yet higher love for the God of Truth and Light, was the source of his chief mental sufferings, and indeed the key to the character of his mind, is apparent even from his very latest writings. The following truly sublime prayer is one of his last compositions :

Oh thou great Being, who from the dawn of my reason, didst reveal thyself within my heart, to Thee I may venture to speak humbly but freely, in the sanctuary of my soul. It is there that I obtain the nearest approach to Thee: there alone I know Thee face to face, not in the figure of a man, not in the coloured shadows of imagination, but in the truly spiritual character of Knowledge, Power, Will, Consciousness. Thou hast identified me with Thee; and yet infinitude lies between us. Thus mysteriously united and distinct, a mere thought undraws the spiritual veil of the oracle to which Thou hast consecrated me a Priest; I am instantly conscious of thy presence. No fire or thunder, no smoke weltering in the flames, no sound of the trumpet from the summit of a blazing mountain, can so surely attest that nearness. Thy still small voice' pene

:

trates my very essence, and I reverence Thee from the mysterious centre where my Being and my Nothingness unite. How great, how little I am! less than dust and ashes; nobler than the morning star by my powers of Thought, though not a breath of life is properly my own, yet I can confidently pour the workings of my heart into thy infinite bosom; nay, those spiritual workings which I call mine seem to proceed from Thee. What! if in passing through me they become subject to obscurity and distortion? I will every moment refer them back to the eternal, immutable light which is their source, and much of the distortion will cease. "Nor shall I be deterred because other men tell me that these very thoughts are grievous offences in thy sight. To exert my mind under a vehement desire that my thoughts may conform with Thine, is the only form of worship in my power not unworthy of Thee. Eternal Spirit! I am thy child to trace and to increase in myself a likeness to my Father, is bliss unspeakable. This is what I would purchase with ten thousand lives this is that which I have but one way to accomplish: a way which Thou didst show to one, who in spite of many imperfections did ardently love Thee, and was frequently taught by Thee: I must, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, be changed into the same image from glory to glory, as from the Spirit of the Lord.' Strange! that I am invited to approach thy glory with open face, and yet my fellow creatures would abash me when I frankly manifest my thoughts to them! Oh! there are spots on this earth, on which were I to declare to men what I do not endeavour to disguise before Thee, my life would fall a sacrifice to their indignation. Alas! this weight of misery which crushes me while I am slowly and painfully recording the thoughts I now address directly to Thee, what is it but the result of the treatment I have received from my fellow-Christians, my fellow-countrymen, my own flesh, my dear friends? They thought Thee too remiss in avenging my freedom. Let them however be zealous for Thee in the manner most opposed to Thy dealings with me. Thy internal blessings (may I not say external too?) have been multiplied in proportion as I have gained confidence to let my soul appear before Thee, without attempting to disguise myself from myself; in proportion as I became practically convinced that a lie can under no circumstances be agreeable to Thee that man cannot serve Thee with a lie. What I do at this moment is the natural and unsought-for result of the growth of my reverential openness towards Thee. It is delightful to open my heart before Thee, oh Eternal Being. Men will not bear to hear me ; a very few who may have undergone the fiery preparation through which I have passed, may fearfully listen; and for those I record my meditations. But the madness of the mass of zealots is such, that they will not bear another man to differ from them. Their pride is fired up at such boldness. Think like myself-or I will make you suffer to the whole extent of my power.' In spite, oh God, of thy visible conduct, in spite of that divine forbearance with which thou treatest them when they most differ from thy best known attributes, they proclaim to the world that Thou art the most jealous and intolerant of Beings: that thou wouldst turn thy hot anger against every one who doth not punish those within his reach,

whom he chooses to call thine enemy. I shall be to them a blasphemer. Ah! who blasphemes but he who calls Thee (oh fountain of Goodness!) jealous? No, Father! Thou wilt not be jealous of such a worm as Man. Thou wouldst not be jealous if there existed a Lucifer, Son of the Morning, to be something like a rival to Thee! Thy goodness would conquer him by Love."

One word more is due, not indeed to man but, to God who knoweth the heart. Neither our veneration, nor our love, must make us forget the perfection that God requires. The best men, especially, must be tried by those holy standards to which their very virtues show their own humanity might aspire. If, then, in that noble life, there were any of the errors of our human frailty, though they left no stains upon the soul, though they had their source in no evil feeling, though their traces could not be found, yet for erring man we claim no perfection except such as contrition and humility of soul may give, and whilst we bless our God for the goodness and greatness which we felt and knew, we leave it to Omniscient Mercy to reckon the deductions. We rejoice to say there are memoirs, and materials of biography, in which many noble truths are worthily inscribed, and from which many an instructive lesson may be gathered. These indeed will ill supply the living light which is extinguished amongst us. A standard-bearer is fallen in our Israel; and the wisest, the noblest, the tenderest mind amongst us, is with us no more. How poor seems now the love we paid him! How strange seems now our neglect to feed our lamps at that full light! But lately, and the amplest knowledge, the kindest and mightiest aids that one mind can give another, were within the reach of any one of us, and now the opportunity is gone, and we are left to ourselves. Will the morning never reach our hearts: "Yet a little while and the light is with you: walk while ye have the light, lest the darkness come upon you."

Mr. White was interred on Monday the twenty-fourth of May, in the burying ground attached to Renshaw-Street Chapel, Liverpool.*

The following Address was delivered, on the occasion, by the Rev. James Martineau.

Funeral Address.

It is finished. Another term of probation has expired. Behold, a mortal rests; a friend is gone; a spirit retires behind

It is in contemplation to erect in the Chapel a Monument of Mr. White,-the character of which must, of course, be determined by the means procurable. Those who feel interested in this design, are requested to signify their desire of co-operation.

the veil; the lonely takes his shelter within the upper family of God. How still and peaceful is this moment, when the long struggle of life resigns its victim, and that deserted frame lies there in silent answer to the sufferer's prayer, “O Lord, how long?" The throb of pain is felt no more; the weight of weariness is lifted off; the tension of the tortured will is quite relaxed and of this we will speak with thanksgiving, though else it were sad that the patient light of those looks is quenched, and the accents of that venerable voice have ceased. Not often indeed can the grave bereave the world of such a priceless treasure as this: no common soul dwelt within that lifeless form a vast knowledge, a rare wisdom, a rich experience, a devout trust, are plunged into the unfathomable night, and hidden from our eyes: yet, here is death a thing divine,—“ a secret place of the Most High," full of mildest protection ;-a cool "shadow of the Almighty" to the fevered and afflicted mind. Physical anguish extorts from us here a confession, true also in a sublime moral sense, that it is more awful to live than to die. How, indeed, can we stand here, in the presence of that poor dust, how perceive the fresh light and breath of morning, and the stir of labour, and the looks of living men, and all the eddies of our life-stream, flowing and whirling around it in vain, without owning that to be is deeper and more solemn than not to be; to be awake with our Freewill, than to sleep beneath Necessity; to be ordered on to this mighty theatre of wonder and of duty, than to be summoned from it, where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. Ours truly is the fearful lot, to whom remains the unfinished race, the untouched burthen, the yet fierce temptations of life,-its ambushed conflicts, and its doubtful victory. On us too, as on the faithful who have gone before, may God have pity in our day; and number us with those whose peace is sealed, whose rest is sure!

Meanwhile, it is a weighty moment, when we bid adieu to a mind like that which now waves to us the mortal farewell. But for the dear prisoner himself, emancipated now, we might begrudge that higher world, rich already with the accumulated spoils of earth, this new treasure from our sphere, where such spirits are all too few; and complain of that law of spiritual attraction, by which holy things gather themselves together in this universe of God:-so that to them who have much, yet more is given, and from those who have little is taken away even that which they have. For in the fall of this life, it is not any solitary mourner, not any domestic group, not any province or any sect, but an era of the church and the world, one of whose lights is extinguished, one of whose choice spiritual forces is spent. We part from one who has not simply passed through his