the means and opportunities of usefulness; and his labors in that profession were to him labors of love. He "magnified his office and made it honorable." How often, especially of late years, have I heard him speak, and with what deep pathos, of the importance, the greatness, the sacredness of the Christian ministry; of the responsibleness of one who undertakes to preach the everlasting gospel, to expound and enforce the grand and sublime truths and doctrines of religion, to stand up before his fellow-men and discourse to them of the most lofty themes, such as concern man's interests for time and for immortality! He felt the responsibility most keenly, almost painfully. The sense of it grew upon him from year to year, as must have been evident to those who attended on his ministry, or who conversed with him in private, or who listened to his earnest and heart-stirring words at our conferences or on other public occasions.

It was this earnest spirit, this especially, this more than anything else, that gave weight to his words and made him so impressive a speaker. "The people heard him gladly," because they felt that his words were not empty sound, but were replete with meaning and came from the heart.

In many respects Dr. Hill was singularly blessed in his life and ministry. He was fortunate in his connection, during the first and most trying years of his ministry, with the senior pastor, the learned, judicious, and liberal-minded Dr. Bancroft, with whom he lived on terms of cordial friendship for more than half a score of years.

Fortunate, too, beyond the common lot in his domestic and social relations: fortunate in the field of his labors, in being connected with a strong, united, and public-spirited society, which gave him not only a liberal support, but, what he valued more, who gave him their confidence, their sympathy, their co-operation, their warm and generous love.

In addition to these advantages, these sources of satisfaction and happiness, his professional labors were not often interrupted by sickness in his own person or in his family. Twice only, during the forty years of his ministry, did he seek a respite from exhausting labors, or for recruiting his strength;

and no death occurred in his house during the whole of this period.

With these surroundings and these rich sources of enjoyment his life must have been a happy one. And it was a happy life. He felt it to be such, and he felt his obligations to make it a useful one. And it was emphatically a useful life; for many were made wiser and better and happier through his teachings and ministrations.

He was fortunate, moreover, in the time and circumstances of his departure. He had completed the full period assigned as the age of man. He had "fought a good fight, had finished his course, had kept the faith," and he was ripe for the change which awaits us all. And he met that change in resignation and trust and hope.

After a few months of gradual decay, in the bosom of his family, surrounded by kind and sympathizing friends, calm, trustful, cheerful to the last, with words of good cheer on his lips, and good wishes and a good-by for all his friends; and so he fell asleep. Who is not ready to say, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his "?

Dr. Hill, though fortunate above the common lot, was not exempt from trials, some of which weighed heavily upon his spirits, especially during the latter part of his life. And one of these was, as he has often remarked to me, to see the strong pillars of his church, one after another, falling around him. It was his melancholy duty, and at the same time his high privilege, to discharge the last offices of friendship and respect for members of his society who had been trusted and honored in life and were lamented in death. They passed away from our sight while their beloved pastor was spared to write their eulogies and to impress on the hearts of survivors the lessons conveyed by their noble lives and their lamented deaths.

Several of these commemorative discourses are in print, and are worthy of the elegant style in which they appear.

Just ten days before he passed on, it was my privilege to visit him in his sick chamber. Fortunately it was one of his best days. I found him free from pain and distress, quite

comfortable and even cheerful. He met me with his accustomed smile, and we spent a half hour in pleasant conversation, recalling past scenes, and discoursing of familiar themes. We spoke of the action of the Worcester Conference at their recent meeting in Grafton, when, it having been announced to us that Dr. Hill was sick nigh unto death, after a few appropriate remarks, a resolution expressing our sympathy with him and his family was adopted by acclamation, the whole congregation rising in token of their approval.

This mark of respect and affection affected him deeply, and was one of the pleasant memories of that hour. He had no misgivings or fears, and he looked forward to the unknown future with a cheerful trust. There was nothing of gloom or sadness in the sick chamber. All his surroundings were as pleasant as heart could wish. Ministered unto by those nearest and dearest to him, supplied by thoughtful friends with flowers and delicacies, and messages of love and good cheer, and, above all, sustained by a perfect trust and "a hope full of immortality," he felt that he had abundant cause for thankfulness. The sentiment of gratitude was uppermost in in his thoughts, and seemed indeed almost overpowering. "Everybody is so good to me," he remarked; "so ready to show me kindness, that I think better of human nature, better of my fellow-men, than ever before."

Then alluding to an understanding between us, already referred to, "I had hoped," he said, and at once recalling the word and substituting another as more appropriate, "I had thought to outlive you, and that I should be called upon to discharge for my older brother the last offices of religion and friendship; but so might it not be." And so we parted, to meet no more this side of the river.

He has gone from us, but he is with us still. We shall see his face no more, but he has left us a precious memorial, in the memory of a noble, a useful, a well-spent life, an example in many respects worthy our imitation. His example shows us how much can be accomplished by indomitable industry, by fixedness of purpose and high aims, without brilliant genius, or the patronage of friends, or any extraordinary advantage.

With what more fitting words could I take leave of my lifelong friend, whose memory is so precious, than the lines of our own poet, still spared to us, though in the vale of years:

Why mourn ye that our friend is dead?

Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain,

Nor when their mellow fruit the orchards cast;

Nor when the yellow woods shake down the ripened mast.

Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled, -
His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky,
In the soft evening, when the winds are stilled,
Sinks where his islands of refreshment lie,
And leaves the smile of his departure spread,

O'er the warm-colored heavens, and ruddy mountain head.

Why weep ye then for him, who, having won

While the soft memory of his virtues yet

Lingers like twilight-hues, when the bright sun is set.

REFLECTIONS UPON A NOBLE CHARACTER.

BY BUSY BEE.

AMID the universal tendency of the age to do as little work as possible in any department, it is refreshing to turn, for a striking instance to the contrary, to the life of President Wayland, late Provost of Brown University, Providence, R.I. Whatever he engaged in received the undivided energies of his whole being, and so high was his ideal that he was seldom satisfied with his own superior labors, feeling that there was always much room for improvement. Carefully preparing the instructions for the class-room, he was a living example to the students under his charge of industry and

thoroughness. His taste for recreation was almost too slight. Even during a short foreign tour, on which he rather reluctantly entered, he soon wearied of sight-seeing and was glad to return to his regular occupations. Gardening was his way of taking relaxation; of this he was passionately fond. The soul of punctuality on most occasions, when engaged in his garden he seemed to lose note of time. He took great pleasure in raising early produce, and loved to make agricultural exchanges with his neighbors. While performing herculean tasks of mental labor, he was said to know more of stock than many a farmer. Notwithstanding the serious and practical side of his character was so largely developed, he had a fund of humor, and was well furnished with anecdote. His keen intellect gave him great readiness in correcting the faults of his pupils and of turning upon the speaker any assault upon truth. Thus, for example, a student one day spoke slightingly of the Book of Proverbs, saying for his part he saw little evidence of talent in it, and thought he could write as good proverbs himself. "Can you, my son?" replied the dotcor, "we would be glad to have you prepare some for to-morrow's lesson, and we will read them in the class." Nothing further was ever heard from the young man on the subject. The advice he gave was usually much to the point on every theme. Thus, he counseled a young writer in this wise: "Study your plans thoroughly, sketch them out briefly, reflect on them carefully, and then, not till then, write." College jokes, such as stealing fowls, &c., he looked upon as serious transgressions, and never passed them over as clever fun. "Young gentlemen," he would say, "I believe you call stealing turkeys hooking' them to avoid the self-condemnation of stealing. But one thing bear in mind. You have taken the property of others in violation of law, and it is unsafe to tamper with your moral nature and lose sight of the distinction between right and wrong."

His preaching was earnest and solemn; addressing the reason and conscience, it may have appeared to some hearers deficient in the imaginative element. His description of a revival through which he passed is most graphic. "The