No. 18.]

HAVING detailed the leading incidents of the life of Mr. Davies, we will pause, and contemplate some of the prominent and most interesting features of his mind and heart.

The Father of spirits had endued him with the richest intellectual gifts; a vigorous understanding, a glowing imagination, a fertile invention, united with a correct judgment, and a reten tive memory. None, who read his works, can doubt that he possessed a portion of original genius, which falls to the lot of few. He was born for great undertakings. He was destined to excel in whatever he undertook. "The unavoidable consciousness of native power," says Dr. Finley," made him bold and enterprising. Yet the event proved that his boldness arose not from a partial, groundless self-conceit, but from true selfknowledge. Upon fair and candid trial, faithful and just to himself, he judged what he could do; and what he could, when called to it, he attempted; Vol. II. No. 6.

II

and what he attempted, he accomplished."

How pleasing to contemplate a mind of such elevation and energy, divested of the pride of talents and of science, moulded into the temper of the gospel, and consecrating all its powers and exertions to the promotion of religion!" I desire," says he, in a letter to his intimate friend, Dr. Gibbons, "seriously to devote to God and my dear country, all the labours of my head, my heart, my hand, and pen; and if he pleases to bless any of them, I hope I shall be thankful, and wonder at his condescending grace. O, my dear brother! could we spend and be spent, all our lives, in painful, disinterested, indefatigable service for God and the world, how serene and bright would it render the swift approaching eve of life! I am labouring to do a little to save my country, and, which is of much more consequence, to save souls from death, from that tremendous kind of death, which a soul can

die. I have but little success of late; but, blessed be God, it surpasses my expectation, and much more my desert. Some of my brethren labour to better purpose. The pleasure of the Lord prospers in their hands."

Mr. Davies' religion was, in principle and spirit, purely and eminently evangelical. It brought him to the foot of the cross, to receive salvation as a free gift. It penetrated his soul with the profoundest reverence for a par doning God, and the tenderest gratitude to a dying Saviour. It engaged him in an ardent and vigorous pursuit of universal holiness, while, at the same time, it rendered him humble and dissatisfied with himself, amid his highest attainments. These traits of character are strongly illustrated by some passages in a letter to the friend above-mentioned, to whom he was accustomed to disclose the inmost re

cesses of his heart. Having spoken of a violent sickness, from which he was just recovering, he proceeds in this style: "Blessed be my Master's name, this disorder found me employed in his service. It seized me in the pulpit, like a soldier wounded in the field. This has been a busy summer with me. In about two months, I rode about five hundred miles, and preached about forty sermons. This affords me some pleasure in the review. But alas! the mixture of sin, and of many nameless imperfections that run through, and corrupt all my şer vices, give me shame, sorrow and mortification. My fever made unusual ravages upon my understanding, and rendered me frequently delirious, and always

stupid.

But when I had any little sense of things, I generally felt pretty calm and serene; and death, that mighty terror, was disarmed. Indeed, the thought of leaving my dear family destitute, and my flock shepherdless, made me often start back, and cling to life; but in other respects, death appeared a kind of indifferency to me. Formerly I have wished to live longer, that I might be better prepared for heaven; but this consideration had but very little weight with me, and that for a very unusual reason, which was this :-After long trial, I found this world is a place so unfriendly to the growth of every thing divine and heavenly, that I was afraid, if I should live longer, I should be no better fitted for heaven than I am. Indeed, I have had hard yany hopes of ever making any great attainments in holiness while in this world, though I should be doomed to stay in it as long as Methuselah. I see other Christians indeed around me make some progress, though they go on with but a snail-like motion. But when I consider that I set out about twelve years old, and what sanguine hopes I then had of my future progress, and yet that I have been almost at a stand ever since, I am quite discouraged. O my good Master, if I may dare to call thee so, I am afraid I shall never serve thec much better on this side the region of perfection. The thought grieves me; it breaks my heart, but I can hardly hope better. But if I have the least spark of true piety in my breast, I shall not always labour under this complaint. No, my Lord, I

shall yet serve thee; serve thee through an immortal duration; with the activity, the fervour, the perfection of the rapt seraph that adores and burns. I very much suspect this desponding view of the matter is wrong, and I do not mention it with approbation, but only relate it as an unusual reason for my willingness to die, which I never felt before, and which I could not suppress.

"In my sickness, I found the unspeakable importance of a Mediator, in a religion for sinners. O! I could have given you the word of a dying man for it, that JESUS whom you preach is indeed a necessary, and an all-sufficient Saviour. Indeed he is the only support for a departing soul. None but CHRIST, none but CHRIST. Had I as many good works as Abraham or Paul, I would not have dared build my hopes on such a quicksand, but only on this firm, eternal rock.

"I am rising up, my brother, with a desire to recommend him better to my fellow-sinners, than I have done. But alas! I hardly hope to accomplish it. He has done a great deal more by me already, than I ever expect ed, and infinitely more than I deserved. But he never intended me for great things. He has beings both of my own, and of superior orders, that can perform him more worthy service. O if I might but untie the latchet of his shoes, or draw water for the service of his sanctuary, it is enough for me. no angel, nor would I murmur because I am not."

I am

Mr. Davies cultivated an intimate acquaintance with his own heart. He scrupulously brought

to the test the principles and motives of his actions, and severely condemned himself for every deviation from the perfect rule. Having been solicited to publish a volume of poems, he communicated to a friend the following ingenuous remarks: "What affords me the greatest discouragement, attended with painful reflections, in such cases, is the ambitious and selfish spirit I find working in me, and intermixing itself with all my most refined and disinterested aims. Fame, for which some professedly write, is a strong, though a resisted temptation to me; and I often conclude, my attempts will never be crowned with any remarkable success, till the divine glory be more sincerely my aim, and I be willing to decrease, that Jesus may increase. It is easy to reason down this vile lust of fame; but oh! it is hard to extirpate it from the heart. There is a paper in Dr. Watts' miscellaneous thoughts, on this subject, which characterizes me, in this respect, as exactly as any thing I have seen; and a poem of his, entitled, Sincere Praise, is often the language of my heart.

"Pride, that busy sin, Spoils all that I perform ; Curst pride, that creeps securely in, And swells a little worm. "The very songs I frame Are faithless to thy cause; And steal the honours of thy name, To build their own applause."

But though rigid in judging himself, he was himself, he was exemplarily catholic in the opinions he formed of others. He entertained a high regard for many, who differed from him in various points of faith and practice. Taking a large and luminous survey of the

field of religion, he accurately distinguished the comparative importance of things, and proportioned his zeal accordingly. While conscientiously tenacious on all great subjects, he was generously candid in points of minor consequence. Few indeed have so happily avoided the opposite extremes of bigotry and latitudinarianism. Few have exhibited so unwavering a zeal for evangelical truth, and the power of religion, yet in such uniform consistency with the sacred principles of love and meekness. His warm and liberal heart could never be confined within the narrow limits of a party. Real worth, wherever discovered, could not fail to engage his affection and esteem.

Truth he sought for its own sake, and loved for its native charms. The sentiments, which he embraced, he avowed with the simplicity of a Christian, and the courage of a man. Yet keeping his mind ever open to conviction, he retracted his opinions without reluctance, whenever they were proved to be mistakes: for he rightly judged that the knowledge of truth alone was real learning, and that attempting to defend an error, was but labouring to be igno

was as ready to forgive injuries received, as solicitous to avoid offending others. His heart overflowed with tenderness and pity to the distressed; and in his generous eagerness to supply the wants of the poor, he often exceeded his ability. While thus eminent in his disposition to oblige, he was equally sensible of the kindness of others; and as he could bestow with generosity, so he could receive without servility.

His deportment in company was graceful and genteel, without ceremony. It united the grave with the pleasant, and the accomplished gentleman with the dignified and devout Christian.

He was among the brightest examples of filial piety. The virtues and example of his excellent mother made an indelible impression upon his memory and heart. While pouring blessings on her name, and humbly styling himself, a "degenerate plant," he declared, not only that her early dedication of him to God had been a strong in ducement to devote himself by his own personal act, but that he looked upon the most important blessings of his life as immediate answers to her prayers. As a husband, he was kind, tender, and cordial; mingling a genu, ine and manly fondness with a delicate respect.

As a parent, he felt all the af fectionate, trembling solicitudes, which nature and grace could inspire. "There is nothing," he writes to his friend, “that can wound a parent's heart so deeply, as the thought that he should bring up children to dishonour his God here, and be miserable hereafter. I beg your

prayers for mine, and you may expect a return in the same kind." In another letter, he says, "We have now three sons and two daughters; whose young minds, as they open, I am endeavouring to cultivate with my own hand, unwilling to trust them to a stranger; and I find the business of education much more difficult than I expected. My dear little creatures sob, and drop a tear now and then, under my instructions, but I am not so happy as to see them under deep and lasting impressions of religion; and this is the greatest grief they afford me. Grace cannot be communicated by natural descent; and, if it could, they would receive but little from me."

Few have had a higher relish for friendship, than Mr. Davies. Few have better understood its delicacies, or more faithfully and judiciously discharged its duties. These and various other parts of his character, are agreeably unfolded in the following letter, written in the year 1751.

"My very dear friend, "I redeem a few nocturnal hours to breathe out my benevolent wishes for you, and to assure you of my peculiar regards. Human life is extremely precarious and uncertain; and, perhaps, at your return, I may be above the reach of your correspondence; or, perhaps, your voyage may end on the eternal shore. I, therefore, write to you, dear Sir, in the last agonies of friendship, if I may use the expression. If, upon your return, you only hear my worthless name tost from tongue to tongue, and find this system of clay that now breathes, and

moves, and writes, mouldering into its native element, you may safely indulge this reflection: "Well, once I had a friend; a friend, whose affection could find room for me in his retired importunities for mercy at the throne of grace, when his own wants were so numerous and great, that they might have en grossed all his concern." Or, if I am doomed to survive you, I shall have the melancholy satisfaction to reflect, "My friend did not live without such assur ances of my tender affection as might engage his confidence in my useless friendship."

"And now, when I feel the soft emotions of friendship, and speak of the final period of this mortal state, I cannot restrain myself from intermixing some of the solemnities of religion. We shall have an interview beyond the grave, though we should never converse more be neath the skies, in the low language of mortals. But, oh! on what happy, or on what dismal coast shall we meet? On the verdant plains of the celestial paradise, or in the dreary regions of horror and despair? The human mind is incapable of forming a more important inquiry; and if the hurries or amusements of this infant state of things can banish it from our minds, we have forfeited the character of rational creatures ; we are as really, and more perniciously mad than any wretch in bedlam, though we are not stigmatized as such by the world, who are seized with the same delirium. The valley of the shadow of death appears frequently gloomy and tremendous to me; but, it is in those un