just this theme: 'I have no merits; I have no merits of my God forbid that I should glory, save in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.""

own.

A JURIST'S TESTIMONY OF DR. WHARTON.

The Hon. Horace Binney, writing of Dr. Wharton, from Philadelphia, Oct. 14, 1856, says:—

"I saw him frequently in the latter part of his life, and heard him regularly during my summer residence at Burlington; but when I first knew him, he was seventy years of age, his health was feeble, and though I met him occasionally in the society of the place, and in my own house, I had no opportunity of knowing him to the extent or in the way which alone would have given me the means of writing a characteristic account of him.

"I had a most agreeable impression of his eminently wellbred manners and carriage-of the quiet tone of his conversation, and of his occasional flashes of gentle humour, with the least possible infusion of satire in them to give them the more point. I thought I discerned in him at all times the influence of the foreign College in which he had received his religious education, in toning down his manners and conversation so as to obliterate from them every thing abrupt, or angular, or strikingly salient.

"His height in mid-age must have been, I think, five feet, five or six inches. In the advanced age at which I knew him, his head drooped a little, and his person inclined in the same direction for some distance below the shoulders. He did not stoop, but he was a little bent. His form was slight and valetudinary, but without emaciation. His eyes were, I think, pale-blue or gray, his complexion fair, and the anterior part of his rather fine head was bald. He wore powder, and his dress was at all times scrupulously neat and appropriate. I do not recollect a more gentlemanly figure, or a more benevolent and trustworthy countenance. As he used to pass up the aisle, the only aisle, of the old Church, on Sundays, to the chancel at the Eastern end, in his black gown, powdered hair, and hat in hand, inclining with a gentle bow to the one side and the other, towards

the parishioners whom he saw in the pews to receive him, nothing could be more gracious and paternal.

"The services were read well-not with a strong voice, but distinctly, nor with much emphasis on any part, but without monotony. His manner of reading, whether of the services or the sermon, was not impressive, but it was in a pure tone, that perfectly conveyed and seconded the meaning of what he read. In repeating the prayers, he was devout and self-collected, but not impassioned. All his sermons were good and instructive, but not frequently drawn from the depths of his learning, either theological or moral. Parts of them were beautifully written; but it could not be discerned, from his mode of reading them, that he thought one part better than another. All parts of them tendered to promote sound doctrine, pure morality, and a kindly Christian temper. I never wearied of his discourses, which, though not long, were never short. It was pleasant to listen to truths of the kind he taught, which came recommended by simplicity and sincerity of manner, and were corroborated by such purity of example in the life of the teacher.

"There was no Presbyterian church in Burlington until after Dr. Wharton's death. That is my impression. In his time Presbyterians mingled with Churchmen in that simple and primitive temple. Dr. Boudinot's family, for instance, constantly worshipped there; and the Clerk who announced the Psalms and Hymns from a gallery at the Western end of the Church, and led the music with a rather wiry and dissonant voice, was a worthy Scotch Presbyterian, named Aikman, a cabinet-maker in the town. We all liked Aikman for his directness and truth. He was as steady in his temper and purpose as a Covenanter. One Sunday, when Aikman, from the West gallery, gave out the Psalm before the Ante-Communion service, Dr. Wharton rose in the chancel, and said in his natural, quiet tone,--' Mr. Aikman, that is not the Psalm I gave to you.' 'Yes, but it is, Doctor.'-' No, it is not.'-'Yes, but it is, Dr. Wharton. It is right. I have it here in your own hand write,'-holding up a paper.—'Oh, well, have it your own way, have it your own way. Sing any thing.'-You may suppose the smiles."-Annals of American Ep. Pulpit, pp. 340–341.

THE CHARACTER OF REV. DR. WHARTON.

"It was not my good fortune," says Bishop Doane, "to know Dr. Wharton until within a short time previous to his death. I had indeed known him, by reputation, as a pillar and ornament of the Church-adorning with his life the doctrines which with his voice he proclaimed, and with his pen had so ably advocated. I knew him as among the first in scholarship of the Clergy of America, a sound and thoroughly accomplished divine, a practised and successful controversialist, a faithful parish priest, a patriarch of the Diocese in which he lived; but I had never seen him. When, therefore, in the providence of God, I was called in the autumn of 1832 to the highest office in this Diocese, among the thoughts which were the first to follow the appalling conviction of its responsibilities, was that of the relationship which its acceptance would create between myself and him; and I confess that in the reflection I was deeply humbled. But scarcely had the evidence of my appointment reached me, when a letter came from him so kind, so encouraging, so expressive of his hearty acquiescence in the appointment, and his hearty desire for its consummation, as to contribute most materially to the determination of my assent. I saw him first on the occasion of my first Visitation here; and though for a few hours only, there was in his deportment a tender so free and generous of his approbation and confidence, a simplicity so perfectly translucent, and a mixture—so much in keeping with his venerable aspect, his profound acquirements, and his long experience-of the affection expressed for a son, and the deference designed for an official superior, as embarrassed and perplexed me, while it wholly won my heart. Our subsequent intercourse was of the most endearing character, and it left nothing for me to lament, but that, as Providence designed it to be so brief, official absence should have diminished its golden opportunities. I looked forward with eagerness to the conclusion of my public engagements, that I might sit down with him in his delightful, quiet home, and gather wisdom from his words, while I learned piety from his example. But the Disposer of all things did not. gratify my hopes. His health had been for some time failing

when I saw him first, and though serene and cheerful, and long, I trusted, to be preserved to us in a green old age, it was but too apparent that the energies of his constitution were impaired, and that the elastic tone and vigour of his spirit were unbent. In the conversations which I had with him, (which, when at home, were daily,) he displayed the deepest interest in the extension of the Church of Christ, and the soundest judgment in his views and estimate of the means by which it was to be promoted. Especially did the General Theological Seminary and the General Missionary Society occupy his thoughts, and it was his desire and determination to accompany me to the annual meeting of the Board of Directors of the last named institution, in May preceding his death. Indisposition, however, prevented. And I had quite given up the long cherished hope of enjoying his presence and counsel at the then approaching Convention of the Diocese. On the morning of the day of the meeting, however, to my great joy he arrived in Camden. He took a warm and active part in the proceedings, gave to the measures proposed the most manly and vigorous support, engaged earnestly in the debates, and appeared in body and mind, in voice and bearing, like one a full half century his junior. It was his last exertion. From that time, he did not appear in public, and indeed scarcely left his house. His disease became gradually seated. The ability to struggle with it was gradually diminished. He reluctantly gave up, for even a single Lord's day, the accustomed duty. He retreated reluctantly to his chamber and to his bed. The best resources of the healing art were applied with the utmost assiduity and skill. The constancy and tenderness of conjugal devotion, and the vigilance and care of relations and friends, supplied whatever love could prompt and earth afford for his recovery and relief. But it was vain. Exhausted nature could not rally. And gently declining day by day, after a few brief struggles, more painful probably to the faithful hearts that watched beside him, than to himself,-he fell sweetly asleep, even as an infant sinks to rest upon his mother's bosom, on Tuesday morning, July 23, 1833; having entered nearly two months upon his eighty-sixth year, and hav

ing been for more than sixty-one years a minister of Christthe senior Presbyter-if I mistake not—of the American Protestant Episcopal Church.

"Throughout his sickness, when not absent from home on official duty, it was my privilege to see him daily; and a deathbed so serene, so tranquil, so triumphant, I have never witnessed. It seemed, from the first day to the last, so far as the issue of life was concerned, as if nature had been wholly set aside by grace. The single sentiment which animated and pervaded all he said, was still,- Thy will be done.' He was the humblest and most self-abased of Christians. In his long life, there was nothing, he said, on which, for a single moment, he could rest. He had endeavored to be useful with his 'poor abilities,' as he always termed them, but he had done nothing. What he looked back to with the nearest approach to satisfaction, was his desire and effort to promote peace and harmony among men. In this respect he hoped, if he had done little good, he had at least prevented some harm. But the theme in which he gloried was the CROSS. That was the subject of his thoughts, and the burden of his conversation. He clung naked to it with a child's simplicity and helplessness. 'I have been thinking,' he said to me one day, ' of the wonders of redeeming love. And the more I dwell upon it, the more I am filled with admiration, that the Almighty God, the Maker of everything in heaven and earth, my Maker and my Judge, should stoop to earth, and take vile flesh, and bare his bosom, and pour out his blood-for ME!' 'Oh, my dear friend,' he would often say to me, "the Cross, the Cross, is all!" What should we be without the Cross? The Lamb of God-He taketh away the sin of the world. The blood of Jesus Christ-that cleanseth from all sin!' Such were the triumphant testimonies to the truth and power of our religion, which he rendered while he was getting ready to put off the earthly house of this tabernacle.

"Dr. Wharton was twice married-the second time to Ann, daughter of Chief Justice Kinsey of this State, who survived him. He had no children.'

"As the limits you have prescribed to me will not allow me to go into any minute analysis of Dr. Wharton's character, I