themselves the trouble of visiting him. On being visited by his intimate and highly valued friend, Beza, he informed him, that he made it a matter of conscience not to divert him in the smallest degree from the duties of his charge, so much had he the interests of the church, and the glory of God, at heart. In this state he continued until the 19th of May, exhibiting a perfect resignation, and comforting his friends. And, as on this day they were accustomed to partake of a meal together, in token of their intimate friendship, he was anxious that they should sup in the hall of his house; and being carried thither from his chamber, he made use of these words on entering: "I am come to see you, my brethren, and to seat myself at table with you for the last time.” He then offered up the usual prayer, ate a little, and discoursed in a manner worthy of his piety, and of his zeal; and when his weakness obliged him to retire to his chamber, looking at the company with a smile, "This wall," said he, "will not prevent my being united with you in spirit,"

What he had predicted happened; for until this day, however weak, he had never failed to rise, and to be placed before his table. But after this night he remained confined to his

bed, so thin and exhausted, that breath only remained, though his face was not much altered.

which was the

speak with less

On the day of his death, 24th of May, he appeared to difficulty, and more strength. But it was the last effort of nature. About eight o'clock in the evening, the signs of death appeared suddenly in his face; he continued speaking, however, with great propriety, until his last breath, when he appeared rather to fall asleep than die.

Thus was this great light of the protestant church extinguished. On the day following, the whole city was plunged into the most inconceivable grief. For the republic regretted the wisest of its citizens; the church its faithful pastor; the school its incomparable master ; and all bewailed their common father, the source of their joy and consolation. Many ran in crowds to his room, and could scarcely be persuaded to separate themselves from his body. There were also several strangers, and amongst them, the ambassador of England, whom the reputation of this great man had drawn to Geneva; who, not having been able to see him living, earnestly entreated to see his

remains; their request was immédiately complied with.

But to avoid the calumnies of the enemies of the church, by thus satisfying univeral curiosity; on the day following, which was Sunday, about eight o'clock in the morning, his body was covered and enclosed in a wooden coffin, and at two o'clock in the afternoon he was conveyed, without any pomp, to the common burying place, called Plein Palais. All the seigneurs, ministers, and professors, and almost all the inhabitants of the town, attended at the funeral ceremony with expressions of the deepest grief. No inscription was put upon his tomb, because he had expressly forbidden it; but an epitaph was written by Beza, at once simple and expressive, and which is thus literally rendered:

The terror of Rome, and of vice,

Which still dreads his virtue,

Here lies the illustrious CALVIN;

While the good bless,

The wicked tremble at him.

Chaste humility, his faithful companion,
Furnished the model

Of this humble monument,

Without pomp or ornament.

If the curiosity which conducted thee hither,
Meets with nothing gratifying,

Know, traveller, that a name so venerable,
Enriches more a tomb,

Than marble of the highest polish.*

Calvin was fifty-four years old when he died, half of which time he spent in the labours of the ministry. He was of the middle size, a pale face, brown complexion, and brilliant eyes, which announced the penetration and vivacity of his mind. Neat and modest in his habits, as well as moderate in his eating, he had no less horror of luxury than of impurity. He ate, indeed, so little, that during several years he partook of only one meal a

day, on account of the weakness of his stomach. He slept but little. His memory was SO tenacious, that he remembered persons whom he had only seen once, after the lapse of a considerable time'; nor did he ever forget the smallest thing connected with his charge, though oppressed with innumerable occupations. Whilst he was engaged in composing any work, though interrupted by important duties for several hours, he would resume his work, without reading again what he had already written. He was so prudent and judicious, that no person ever repented having followed his advice. Though his manners were grave and serious, his conversation was remarkably sweet and interesting. He bore with the defects of others with admirable prudence; for, as on the one hand he never oppressed the consciences of weak persons with terror, or threw them into confusion by censures too severe; so on the other hand, he never encouraged sinners in their vices, by excusing or flattering them. A friend to truth, sincerity, and candour, especially in religious concerns, he was the declared enemy of dissimulation and obstinacy.

Being of a bilious habit he was easily excited to choler, a susceptibility considerably increased by a studious and laborious life. He had, however, learned to moderate it so