Methodism, and witnessed with delight its development. Some of his friends warmly opposed his intimate association with the Methodist body; but he was not moved by their objections. He occasionally occupied the Wesleyan pulpits; and much more frequently sat with pleasure to hear both Travelling and Local Preachers. In his religious meetings, he often related incidents connected with the progress of Methodism, and dwelt with evident delight upon revivals in different parts of the world.

He was in the habit of employing intelligent young men as lay-preachers, or cottage lecturers, in remote parts of his parish; some of whom went out as Missionaries, and some into the ministry at home. Before the French chapel was built, our service was held in a cottage. The Local Preachers supplied on the Sabbath, and Mr. Eyton and his young men on the week-day evenings. For a considerable time Mr. Eyton attended the Wellington chapel on Sabbath evenings; and afterward the whole, or the greater part, of the congregation, adjourned to the school-room, where he expounded the Scriptures. As this arrangement detained the children to a late hour, Mr. Eyton subsequently deemed it expedient to commence his instructions at half-past six o'clock; an arrangement which prevented his attendance on the Wesleyan ministry. He loved our Hymn-Book, both for its poetry, and for the vital truths it sets forth. He used its hymns on many occasions; and especially that beautiful one commencing, “Now I have found the ground wherein," &c. His collection of hymns, still used in Wellington church, contains many of the highest examples of Wesleyan verse.

On July 21st, 1814, he preached a sermon in our chapel at Coalbrookdale, (built by Mr. Fletcher,) in aid of the “Benevolent Society," and gave a handsome donation. His visit is even now gratefully remembered.

We now approach the closing scene. Mr. Eyton had often (like Archbishop Leighton) expressed a wish to be from home when he died; and this wish was gratified. In November, 1822, he left Wellington for the Isle of Wight, to recruit his health. But it was his last earthly journey. When he arrived at Portsmouth, disease assumed a more alarming aspect: he was seized with paralysis, and gradually drooped beneath its power.

Religion was now his support and consolation: the enemy had assaulted him, but was vanquished, and Christ was his "ALL IN ALL." He reposed on the atonement, and died in peace. His patience and submission were exemplary; he calmly acquiesced in the will of God; no murmuring fell from his lips. His chamber was the hallowed abode of peace; Christ was there, and precious to the believing soul. In reference to a hope expressed by one of his medical friends who lived at a distance, that he might be restored to the use of his limbs, he observed in a letter, nearly the last he ever wrote, “God only knows how this may be: His wisdom and goodness assure me that He cannot err, or act otherwise than shall be best for others and myself. His grace, and the merit and intercession of our Redeemer, are my hiding-place and refuge from the storm; and there I await the doubtful issue, saying, 'Let Him do what seemeth Him good.””

An intimate and loved friend, who arrived at Portsmouth the previous evening, thus speaks of his last hours :-"On my return to his room on the following morning, the dawn of the last earthly light that met his eyes, I inquired if he were conscious of having slept, and received a reply in the negative. I expressed a hope that his waking thoughts had been thoughts of peace and comfort: 'Yes,' he replied, ‘as far as excessive weariness will allow ; but I am now only equal to one thing,—to wait in patience.”

He received much solace from the kind attentions of a Christian officer,

who had been introduced to him during his illness by a distant friend. This gentleman conceived the highest opinion of the sufferer on whom he was thus privileged to attend. Such a pattern of perfect resignation he had not conceived. The medical attendants were similarly impressed,—one of them declaring, "It is not human, Sir: he is like a man etherealized."

On a remark from the Christian officer respecting his merciful exemption from bodily pain, Mr. Eyton replied, "Yes, it is a great mercy but if it had pleased the Lord to try me with bodily pain, I hope in that case also I should have seen mercy. ""He seems to have got hold," observed the officer, when repeating this, "of the alchymist's secret of converting everything into gold nothing comes amiss." He lingered a few hours longer, peaceful as a lake uncurled by the softest breeze; and then, cheered with hopes immortal, he closed his eyes, and passed to heaven. "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of that man is peace." (Psalm xxxvii. 37.) His funeral sermon was preached, in Wellington church, by the Rev. George Mortimer.

PAINE'S LAST MOMENTS.

(To the Editor of the Wesleyan-Methodist Magazine.)

THE article (in a previous Number of the Magazine) from the pen of Dr. Kennaday, relating to the miserable writings and doings of Tom Paine, together with his sayings in the closing scene of his strange life, reminded me that I had in my possession a paper containing a well-authenticated statement of a conversation which took place between that wretched individual and the nurse who attended him on his death-bed.

It is not that we would perpetuate the memory of such a man, that public attention is directed, from time to time, to his life and death; but that his unfortunate and wayward votaries may be emancipated from the enchaining influence of his spell, rescued from the deluding charm of his doctrines, and snatched from the horribleness and woe of his end. Such productions as Paine's affect, not merely the views and feelings of his avowed disciples, but they induce a spirit of insubordination among certain classes of society, which has been followed by results similar to those, years since, fostered and matured, if not produced, in America and France, by the same agency. It is the settled conviction of the writer, that the outbreaks which have taken place in different parts of this kingdom, and especially in the Southern Principality, may be traced to reading the works of Paine. From inquiry and observation, during my stay on what are called the "Hills," I found ample evidence of this fact. Infidel societies are in existence there; and the anniversary of the death of their master-spirit is solemnly kept. The fruits of such groupings were too plentifully exhibited in the manifested lack of principle, the numerous and flagrant acts of intemperance, and the insurrectionary temper and conduct of the multitude; a multitude worn down, by this poison, to what might be called the very dregs of our species; and, though contrary to the professed object and tendency of certain parts of his lucubrations, an impartial observer will find them awfully demoralized in mind, and deeply injured in circumstances, by being thus led to oppose their greatest benefactors, and to dash from their lips the cup of plenty and happiness. That my fellow-men may be saved from the dire spirit and consequences of infidelity, or, at least, that they may not be without sufficient warning,

I give the following account of Paine's last moments, received from a gentleman who sustains several offices of importance in one of our principal societies in South Wales. "My uncle, Mr. G—, asked the woman who attended Tom Paine in his last hours if she thought he died an infidel. She replied, "No! he died lamenting that ever he had penned such books; and inquired of me whether I had ever read any of his works. I said I had read part of his Age of Reason. He then earnestly entreated me not to read any more; adding, O that I could gather in every volume that has been published! Weak as I am, I would try to burn them all. But, he again exclaimed, it is now too late! and continued to warn me not again to peruse his writings.' She said he would never be left alone in his last sickness, expressing a fear lest the devil should come and take him away, both body and soul at once. She exhorted him to seek for mercy at the hands of God; but he answered, 'There is no mercy for me.' She said that, while attending him, she was really miserable, and placed in a state of constant alarm, by his saying that demons were surrounding him; and she declared that as long as she lived she would never nurse another infidel.”

6

How appalling, then, that in so many parts of this, so called, Christian land, men may be found who have imbibed, and who are even propagating, his dogmas! In the vicinity of my present locality, we have many of his readers. Infidel clubs and infidel lectures are at work, disseminating this poison here. There may be attempts to blink this fact. But, if comparatively empty sanctuaries, if sceptical indifference to the blessings of the Christian religion, and if almost invincible ignorance of Gospel truths, are any criteria, then there must be, here, some infidel demon moving among the masses, and hurrying them downward to the chambers of eternal death. Should this paper meet the eye of any of those whom the writer has in his mind, (and it may,) how thankful will he be should it lead them to pause in their career, and to ask themselves, "What is there in our system which will enable us to meet death? Did Paine die in peace? Have we carefully read and studied that Book which he affected to contemn and despise? Was he in circumstances to pass an infallible judgment upon its verities? Was not his life chiefly spent in the abodes of political commotion; and was he not, therefore, utterly disqualified for such a work as 'crushing the wretch,' and wiping off at one fell swoop so grand and so comprehensive a scheme, for the bettering of mankind, as that exhibited in the Bible? Could the horrors and intrigues of the French Revolution fit him for such a task? Must not such a school have been the last to enter, even to obtain a superficial knowledge of biblical truths? Did it qualify others?" Let the followers of Paine duly and truly weigh over these queries; and let them listen to the following :—

"Come, then-a still small whisper in your ear

He has no hope who never had a fear;

And he that never doubted of his state,

He may perhaps-perhaps he may-too late.

The path to bliss abounds with many a snare;

Learning is one, and wit, however rare.

The Frenchman, first in literary fame,

(Mention him if you please.-Voltaire ?—The same,)
With spirit, genius, eloquence, supplied,

Lived long, wrote much, laugh'd heartily, and died.
The Scripture was his jest-book, whence he drew

Bon mots to gall the Christian and the Jew;
An infidel in health; but what when sick?

O then a text would touch him at the quick."

Infidelity has not, can not, will not support and comfort in death; its champions"themselves being judges."

Guisborough.

G. G.

PRESENTATION AT THE COURT OF POPE GREGORY XVI.

TO-DAY we were presented to His Holiness Pope Gregory XVI. by our Consul, through whom, as we have no Minister at the Papal Court, all the necessary arrangements are made. So many holy days and other public festivals are continually occurring, that it is necessary to make application some time before; and we had been for several weeks waiting His Holiness's leisure. The required costume is the same as on other occasions,-the ladies in black, with black veils over their heads, the gentlemen also in full dress of black. The only difference is, that boots are forbidden; a very disagreeable arrangement, as, passing in thin shoes and silk stockings through the cold galleries of the Vatican, and over the marble floors, an invalid would be very apt to take a cold, for which his introduction to the successor of St. Peter would hardly be considered a sufficient compensation.

Twenty-two hours of the day,* that is, three o'clock in the afternoon, was the time appointed; and, punctual to the hour, we assembled in a little room adjoining the Sistine Chapel, where we remained till our company had all arrived. Here hats and cloaks were deposited, and the Consul drilled us with a few instructions, as to how we were to bow when we walked in, and how we were to bow when we backed out, and other matters of equal moment in the etiquette of the Papal Court. Presently a servant in livery appeared, to conduct us to the ante-room: the procession formed; and, marshalled by him, we were led up stairs, and on-on through the long halls and corridors, till we reached the Hall of Maps, so called because its walls are covered with huge maps, painted in fresco, in 1581, by an Archbishop of Alatri, and which are now curious, as showing the geographical knowledge of that day.

Here we were left for nearly an hour. These vast galleries are always cold, even in the mildest weather; and as this happened to be one of the most severe days we had experienced while in Italy, and we were not exactly in costume for such an atmosphere, we were anything but comfortable. A large brazier filled with coals (the usual method here of warming an apartment) stood at one end, round which the ladies gathered; the gentlemen walked about to keep themselves warm; while some of the younger members of the party, having no fear of the Pope and the Vatican before their eyes, to keep their blood from congealing, most irreverently ran races up and down the gallery. This, by the way, being four hundred and twenty feet long, seemed admirably adapted for such purposes.

At length the usher in attendance walked in, and announced that il Padre Santo was ready to receive us. The presentation was very different from what I had expected, having lately read an account of one in which there was much ceremony, the guards at the doors, the ante-room

*The Roman day counts its hours from one to twenty-four, beginning at sundown. As this is rather indefinite for a starting-point, and from its daily change would be very inconvenient, the Cardinal who presides over this department issues a public ordinance, decreeing at what hour the sun ought to set. At this season of the year he places it at five P.M. Three o'clock in the afternoon, therefore, is twenty-two hours of the day.

filled with officers of the court, and the mace-bearers heralding the way. Everything with us was very informal, and, with the exception of the usher and two servants at the door, we saw no attendants. In we marched in procession, headed by the Consul in full uniform, the ladies next, the gentlemen bringing up the rear, and found ourselves in a long room, at the upper end of which, leaning against a table, stood the two hundred and fifty-eighth successor of St. Peter. We bowed as we entered the door, again as we reached the middle of the room, and a third time when we came opposite to the Pope. This at least is all that is required of those who "worship God after the way which they call heresy." The true members of the Church of Rome, instead of bowing, kneel three times, and end by kissing either the hand or the embroidered slipper of His Holiness. It is said, that when Horace Walpole was presented to Benedict XIV., he stood for a moment in a posture of hesitation; when the Pope, who was remarkable for cheerfulness and humour, exclaimed, "Kneel down, my son; receive the blessing of an old man: it will do you no harm!" upon which the young traveller immediately fell on his knees. Kissing the Pope's foot is not so easily justified, although the usual explanation given is, that it is to the cross on the slipper that the homage is paid. But what business has the cross in such a situation? It is curious, too, that a somewhat similar reason was given for this ceremony under the old Roman Emperors. Caligula was the first who offered his foot to be kissed by those who approached him; and we find Seneca declaiming upon it as the last affront to liberty, and the introduction of a Persian slavery into the manners of Rome. Those, on the contrary, who endeavoured to excuse it, asserted that it was not done out of insolence, but vanity; that he might by this means display his golden slipper set with jewels.

After we were presented, and had ranged ourselves in a semicircle around him, he commenced at once an animated conversation with the Consul, which gave us an opportunity of quietly studying his appearance and manner. He was dressed in his every-day costume,-a white flannel robe, with a cape buttoned down before, and very similar to that worn by some orders of the Monks, a little white skull-cap on his head, and red-morocco slippers, on the instep of each of which was wrought the gold cross. His snuff-box (another cross on its lid) was in constant use, while he laughed and talked in the most sociable manner. Notwithstanding his age, being over eighty, he seems a hale, hearty old man, whom I should not have imagined to be more than sixty. He looked very differently from what he did in the public services of St. Peter's, when I supposed him to be feeble; and it is probable that the Cardinals, whose heads are aching for the tiara, will have to wait some years before the aspirations of any one of them is gratified. There is, however, nothing intellectual in his countenance, nothing which marks him as one worthy in this respect to sit in the seat of Hildebrand. His features are exceedingly heavy, the nose too large and drooping, and the general expression of the eyes one of sleepiness. The impression produced upon my mind was that of good nature. During the whole audience there was nothing to remind me that he was the head of so large a portion of the Christian world, still less that he was a temporal Prince to whom many millions owed subjection.

After inquiring what parts of the country we came from, and whether all things had become quiet in Philadelphia, (alluding to the riots of the last summer,) he suddenly turned to us, and asked,—“ What do you intend to do with Texas?" It was certainly a curious place in which to hear a