Narrative of His Last Illness and Death

We are now brought to the closing scene of the life of this devoted servant of God. His vigor and zeal were perhaps never greater than immediately previous to his last illness. He had preached on Thursday evening, (September Id,) with his usual an* imation and energy, from John xv. 8, Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples:’ and again on the Sunday morning after, from 2 Kings x. 16, *Come with me and see my zeal for the Lord;’ — this was the last sermon he delivered. On the Tuesday following he was in high health and spirits, and talked of the journey he proposed to make the next day to Ely, with no ordinary delight In conversation, however, at this time, with the kind friend, who now became his constant attendant, he made the following remarks about his nearness to the eternal world. “Welh though I am talking of putting things by for my journey to Bath next June, the Lord knows that I am thinking and longing, to a certain degree, for a/ar better journey f which, m a few days, I shall take; but I find it difficult to realize the thought that I am so near the eternal world; I cannot imagine what a spirit is, I have no conception of it But I rejoice in the thought, that my coffin id already cut down, and in the town at this very time; of this I have no doubt: — and my shroud is also ready; and in a few days I shall join the company of the redeemed above.” His friend reiplied, Why, dear sir, should you talk so?

rou are in good health and strength; and November is so near, think you will be permitted to preach your sermons, and also to prepare the other set you are thimking of; and perhaps you may

E reach them too.” He said, ‘’ That will be as the Lord pleases; ut I do often wonder at the degree of strength and spirits which, of late, the Lord has blessed me with. Jl never remember to have had greater energy for work than at this time; and I do seem to think that it is now the Lord’s will to spare me through November: but you know it is quite immaterial to me; the Sermons are Jinishedf that is all I care about; I would not have to write them now for a thousand ipounds. But if I should be permitted to preach them, I expect it will bring me down; indeed, I give you all leave to break all my b6nes in December. Still, I am fully determined, if I have any degree of strength left, instantly to begin a set of sermons, on that grand subject out of Ephesians, 3d Chapter, 18th and 19th verses. I don’t except or desire to preach them; but if my life be spared, write them 1 will.’*

The next day (Wednesday, September, 21,) he went over to Ely to pay his respects to the bishop. He had been very anxious about this visit: for, as he was one of the oldest of the clerey, it was his wish, he said, to be among the very first to show all respect to his diocesan. The day was damp and chilly, and he needed more thfiin usual care to prevent any injurious effects from the journey; but he felt so strong and vigorous, that he imprudently dispensed with his ordinary outer dress. The bishop received him with marked kindness and attention; and proposed that they should go together to see the cathedral. Here they lingered too long: the coldness of the building, increased by the rawness of the day, soon began sensibly to affect Mr. Simeon, and was the direct cause of the severe illness, from which he never recovered. The next morning early he was seized with a violent rheumatic attack, and, during the day, became so seriously indisfpsed as to be unable to leave his room for the evening lecture, he sermon he had intended to preach was upon Luke xi. 1, Lord, teach us to pray ;^ — and this was the last subject he ever prepared for the pulpit. During the whole of the next day he continued very feeble, though he cherished a hope of being able to go in his carriage on the following Monday to Ipswich; and wrote to his beloved friend, Mr.- Nottidge, to say that he should preach for him, according to promise, on the opening of his new church.

Saturday, (September 24,) was his birthday, when he entered his seventy-eighth year. Though he had passed but an indifferent night, he r6se early this morning; and when his attendant came to him, he was sitting in a favorite’ spot before the window to enjoy the first beams of the sun, and employed in writing another letter to Mr. Nottidge, in which he observed, “Of course my University sermons are laid aside; if not life itself.’* On repeating this to his attendant, he added, “What can I expect? I enter my seventy-eighth year to-day. I never expected to live so long: I can scarcely believe I am so old: I have as yet known nothing of the infirmities of age, though I have seen a good old age. 1 know however it will ail be ordered well.*’ Soon after, when referring to his journey to Ely, he remarked, •’ If this is to be the closing scene, I shall not at all regret my journey to the bishop; it was of vast importance to you all; and 1 shall rejoice to close my life from such a circumstance.”

For some days he remained much in the same state; bat subsequently so far recovered, as to make it probable that the malady might eventually be subdued. So far indeed was he restored, that occasionally he could take a drive in his carriage; and vire began to indulge a hope of his ultimate recovery. On October 6, he dictated the letter at the conclusion of the preceding chapter, which exhibits all his usual precision on subjects which deeply interested him.

The good hope we had ventured to entertain of his recovery was soon aran end. On another damp and chilly day, he went out once more in his carriage, though earnestly entreated not to run the hazard of a relapse. ‘This snort drive was too much for his reduced frame; all the former pain and fever returned “with increased violence, and he was obliged immediately to take to his bed. He was now fully aware that the hand of death was upon him; and having lately contemplated some changes in the disposition of his property, he was anxious, without delay, to make the necessary alterations in his will. He had already indeed disposed of the greater part of his fortune in promoting a variety of religious and charitable designs; but during his late journey, he had been so much impressed with the importance of the work in which he had been so generously assisted, that he determined to devote the small remainder of fiis property, (with the exception of a few legacies to his relatives,) to the furtherance of the great object which had so long enaed his regards. When his desire on this point was accomplished, his mind seemed relieved from every care, and he prepared himself with joy for his departure.

During the second week of October, when one of his particular friends had called at his rooms to inquire after his health, Mr. Simeon immediately begged tQ see him, and in a feeble whisper requested him to pray by his bedside. After the prayer, his friend expressed a hope that he was now supported by divine consolations: Mr. Simeon then replied to this enect: “I never felt so ill before — I conceive my present state cannot last long — this exhaustion must be a precursor of death; but I lie here waiting for the issue without a fear-r- without a doubt — and without a wish.** To another afterwards who remarked, “Many hearts are engaged in prayer for you,” he rejoined, In prayer? aye, and I trust in praise too — praise for countless, enclless mercies.**

On Friday, (Oct. 21,) all hopes of his recovery were taken away: the TOut had at length attacked him internally, and the means used for his relief were evidently in vain. Of this he was perfectly aware, and in consequence seemed more than usually calm and happy. The writer was sitting by his bedside, and on making ,some inquiry as to what had been lately passing in his mind, and of what at that time more particularly he was thinking, he immediately replied with great animation, I don*t think now — I am enjoying. He then expressed his entire surrender of himself to

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the will of God, and spoke of his extreme joy ia havmg his own will so completely in unison with that of God, adding with remarkable emphasis, “He cannot do anything against my will,” After a short pause, he looked round with one of his very bright and significant smiles and asked, “What do you think especially gives me comfort at this time T The Creation! — the view of God in His work of Creation! Did Jehovah create the world, or did I T — I think J3e did. Now if He made the worlds he can sufficiently take care of me” His restlessness from excessive pain was now so great, that he was continually requesting his position to be changed; but when it was suggested that it would be better to attempt to lie quietly, he said most calmly, ‘^ I will do just what you like — J will be guided entirely by what you think best** Shortly after, by way of turning his thoughts to a subject which seemed likely to interest him, 1 said, “How blessed a prospect is opening before you; to be so soon .with the innumerable company of angels, and the general assembly and church of the first-bom, and with Jesus the mediator of the new covenant,” Upon this his countenance became peculiarly solemn and grave; and he said nothing, but only looked up most humbly and devoutly. I then alluded to another subject, which I knew would be agreeable to him; and made a remark about veiling our faces as the cherubim did in the presence of God. To this he immediately gave a sign of assent and pleasure. About midnight he was raised up in his bed, and having sent for me to his side, he began to speak, in a very slow and impressive manner, what seemed to us all to be his dying remarks. “I am a poor fallen creature, and our nature is a poor fallen thing; there is no denying that, is there? It cannot be repaired: there is nothing that 1 can do to repair it. — Well then, that is true. NoW what would you advise in such a case?” As he made rather a long pause« apparently waiting for an answer, I replied, ‘^ Surely, sir, to go, as you always have done, as a poor fallen creature to the Lord Jesus Christ, confessing your sins, and imploring and expecting pardon and peace.” He answered in a very determined and joylul manner, “That is just what I am doing, and unll do.” 1 added, “And you find the Lord Jesus Christ to be very present, and giving you peace?” He instantly replied, looking up to heaven with the most remarkable expression of happiness on his countenance, “Oh 1 yes; that I do.” “And He does not forsake you now?” “No, indeed! that nevee can BE!” I observed, “He has said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.” He answered by a smile, and gentle inclination of the head. Being afraid of wearying him, I then left him for the night.

The day following (Saturday, Oct. 22,) about noon he appeared, if anything, to rally a little; an*d when he opened his eyes upon us, and saw us standing near him, he began to address us again in the same calm and deliberate manner as before. [To conceive aright of his mode of speaking on these occasions, he should be considered as uttering his words very slowly — generally after long pauses, and at times in a low but articulate whisper.] ‘* In* finite wisdom has devised the whole with infinite love; ana infinite

power enables me (pausing) to rest upon that power; and

all is infinitely good and gracious.” I observed, ‘* How firacious it is that you should have now so little sufiering.** “Whether I am to have a little less suffering or a little more, it matters not one farthing. All is right — and well — and just as it should be; I am in a dear Father’s hands — all is secure. When I look to Him (here he spoke with singular solemnity) I see nothing but faithfulness — and immutability — and truth; and I have not a doubt or a fear, but the sweetest peace — I cannot have more peace. But if I look another way — to the poor creature — O! then there is nothing — nothing — nothing (pausing) but what is to be abhorred and mourned over. Yes, l say that; and it is true.” Soon after this he fell into a state of great stupor, which continued till after ten o’clock at night; when suddenly recovering, and being raised up in his bed, he again began: ‘* What is before me I know not; whether I shall live or die. But this I know, that all things are ordered and sure. Everything is ordered with unerring wisdom and unbounded love. He shall perfect everything; though at present I know not what He is about to do with me. But about this I am not in the least degree anxious.” He then made some remark which was not exactly heard by us; but his attendant supposing she had caught the expression, and observing, ‘He says, he does not despair;” he overheard her, and instantly said, “What I (and turning round with surprising energy added) despvLirl despair? who dares to advocate such a sentiment as that here? Despair I O! what sweet peace and joy and affiance do I possess On seeing Dr. Haviland standing by his side, he looked at him most afiectionately and said, ‘^ Ah I what, is that you? how glad I am to see you; I have greatly wished to see you — my soul has longed for you, that you miffht see the difierence in the end between (here we lost his words)... that you might see the power of these principles, and what it is to go to God in contrition and faith.” He then proceeded in the most earnest and afiectionate manner to thank Dr. H. for all his kindness, and’ to express his earnest wishes for his best interests in time and eternity. After this, he mentioned how anxious he had always been that his faculties might be preserved to the last, that he might be enabled to prove to all the power of those principles, which he had professed and preached through life, now to sustain him in death. He then looked round very seriously upon us and said, “You seem all to be anticipating what will not vet take place — I am not yet about to die — I know I am not: I feel that 1 am not yet ready.” “Dear sir” I said, “and what is wanting?” He replied in a very slow and serious manner, *’ Greater humiliation —

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more siinple affiance — and more entire surrender.” I ventured to say, Well, sir, He will make all perfect.** “Yes,” he replied, “that He will.” After a short pause he proceeded, And my body is not yet sufficiently reduced to allow my soul to depart. I know assuredly that I shall not die just yet; you are all disappointing yourselves if you expect that now, (and then stretching out his limbs, he added) my bodily vigor is very great; and I feel that there is yet much to be done before my soul can depart.” Nothing could exceed the calmness and dignity both of his spirit and manner. As we. were afraid of exhausting him, we all left the room. There had been present a larger number of persona than usual, arising from a circumstance which it is only proper to explain. His nurse, apprehending that he was on the very point of death, had suddenly called me in from the next room; and upon my hastening to his side, I was followed by his physician and curate, (who had just arrived,) and his three servants. These were all who were present. But not exactly perceiving who were in the room, and not knowing that they were there merely by accident, he soon after sent for me, and in a very serious and anecting manner expressed his disapprobation of what he had observed: “You are air on a wrong scent, and are all in a wrong spirit; you want to see what is called a dying scene. That I ABHOR FROM MY INMOST BouL. I wish to bc alone, with my God, and to lie before Him as a poor, wretched, hell-deserving sinner — yes, as a poor, hell-deserving sinner;.... (then very slowly and calmly) but I would also Took to Him as my all-forgiving (Sod — and as my all-sufficient God — and as my all-atoning (Jod — and as my covenant-keeping God. There I would lie before Him as the vilest of the vile, and the lowest of the low, and the poorest of the poor. Now this is what I have to say — I wish to be alone — don’t let people come round to get up a scene.”

He was evidently much hurt at the thought of even his nearest friends coming round to disturb the privacy which he had always wished for inliis dying hour. He had repeatedly charged me to keep every one away from him, when that solemn season should arrive, and remain with him myself alone. That no one might aain enter without my knowledge I remained with him the whole night: the next morning, (Sunday Oct. 23,) as soon as he awoke, he referred to what had. happened the previous night. “Now I was much hurt at the scene last night: a scene! — a deathbed scene I abhor from my inmost souL — No I” he continued, smiting three times slowly on his breast, No I I am, I know, the chief of sinners; and I hope for nothine; but the mercy of God in Christ Jesus to life eternal; and f shall be, if not the greatest monument of God’s mercy in heaven, yet the very next to it; for I know of none greater.” Then after a short pause he added, And if we are to bring the matter to a point, it lie% m a nutshell; and it is here — ^I look, as the chief of sinners, for the mercy of

NARRATIVE OF HIS LAST ILLNESS* 478

Grod in Christ Jesus to life eternal; (then very deliberately) and I lie adoring the sovereignty of Grod in choosing such an one — and the mercy of God in pardoning such an one — and the patience of God in bearing with such an one — and the/at/A/u/nes.of God in perfecting his work and performing all his promises to such an one.”

When Dr. Haviland called in the evening, Mr. Simeon addressed him in ‘the most striking manner upon the subject of religion; speaking with a clearness, and power, and dignity, which perfectly surprised Dr. H., though so accustomed to the peculiar energy and characteristic precision of Mr. Simeon’s observations on such subjects. He said he had never heard anything before from him comparable to this, for the propriety of the language as well as the importance of the matter.

Early the next morning (Monday, Oct. 24) when I arrived, I found him just raised up, after passing a quiet night; I told him I had, as usual, on the previous evening addressed a large number of undergraduates, and had ventured to repeat to them some of his remarks, that they might know the power of those great leading principles he had preached to sustain and gladden the soul in the last hours of weakness. “Yes,” said he, ‘* it is to the principles I look. It is upon the broad grand principles%i the Gospel that I repose — it is not upon any particular promise here or there — any little portions of the word, which some people seem to take comfort from; but I wish to look at the grand whole — at the vast scheme of redemptiom as from eternity to eternity Indeed to say the truth, what may be called my spiritual

exercises have lately been at rather a low ebb; and I may make another confession to you (smiling) my bodily exercises also of late have been at a low ebb.” I observed, “Very probably the one may have been partly the, cause of the other.” “Yes!” he continued; “but however that may be, I wish to point out this distinction in my case — that I am not solicitous so much about this feeling or that or this state or that as upon keeping before me the grand purposes of Jehovah from eternity to eternity. Now I might wish to be able to go out to take a good walk — so also in my soul, I might wish to be able to go forth and survey all the glories of heaven and the blessedness of that place; there might however be something in all that to be suspected. But in taking the great revelation of Himself which God has given us, there I rest upon fZim, and not upon myself. I do not depend upon feelings and thoughts, which are changing and uncertain, but I am kept by Him who changes not, and so I remain.” .... (I quoted the passage, “I am the Lord, I change not, therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed.”) Yes I that is the true view of the matter as it appears to me. For after all what are a man’s thoughts before Him 7 It cannot depend upon a few poor, broken, puling words; nor do I depend upon these. But again

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I saw, I take the glorious and majestic discoveries which God has made to me of Himself, and there I restJ* He then added, smiling as he used to do, when making some strong statement upon any

Eoint, about which he himself had not the slightest doubt: ^I may e wrong in my view — though I think I am not ;*’ — then very solemnly and slowly, “But, however, this I know, that I am a poor lost and vile sinner; yea! the chief of sinners, and the greatest monument of God’s mercy; and I know, / cantiot be wrong here’’ The following day he revived considerably, and actually occupied himself in making arrangements respecting the sermons to be preached in November at St Mary’s. On Wednesday, however, he was so decidedly thrown back, that all thoughts about further exertions for the public were at once laid aside. When he had determined no longer to use any of the means, which had been resorted to in the hope of prolonging his life, (feeling they were now profitless,) he said to his nurse, “You cannot but saw that up to this time I have submitted patiently, willingly, cheerfully, to every wish and order of Dr. Haviland; I have not made one objection, have I?” He then added, ‘’I did it all for the Lord’s sake; because if it had been His will to prolong my life. i was willing to use any means; but now I feel (and this he said with f reat emphasis) that the decree is gone forth; from this hour I am a dying man; death is far sweeter than life under such circumstances. I will now wait patiently for my dismission. All that could possibly be done for me, has been done; of that I am fully persuaded and satisfied — tell Dr. Haviland so.”

During the greater part of Thursday, (Oct. 27,) his whole mind seemed absorbed in perfecting a scheme for four sermons upon his favorite passage in Eph. iii. 18, 19, “That you may be able to comprehend with all saints, what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge, that ye may be filled with all the fulness of God.” His thoughts had early been employed upon this subject, and before I arrived he had dictated the outlines of the four sermons under the following heads:

“PirBt. What it ie to know Christ in all the immeasurable dimensions of his love: Secondly. The eflpct of this in filling us with all the fulness of Oud: -

SHere under two distinct and separate heads must be contained: 1) What is that fulness in Goo of which there must be a corresponding fulness in us; and

(3) How the comprehending of the love of Christ will of necessity opente to the production of it in us. These two must form two distinct sermons.)

Thirdly. The immense importance of making this subject one of most etmest atad incessant prayer.”

Immediately on my arrival, he begged the paper containing these outlines to be put into my hands; and then requested me to take down the divisions which he had prepared during the night« for the last of these discourses.

NARRATIVB OF BIB LAST ILLVB8S* 475

In dictating these outlines he manifested his usual clearness and precision of mind; correcting and improving the divisions as more appropriate words suggested themselves. These minor details are noticed here as illustrating the cast of his mind to the very last, and as showing how that, which had been the principal and successful study of his life, had become a habit, which brought unspeakable delight to him, and was literally his occupation in death. So intensely were his thoughts fixed on the distribution and illustration of this glorious theme, that he declared he thought no higher honor could be conferred on him, than to be permitted to prepare a set of discourses upon it; and added, This is the grandest subject I can conceive of for a course of sermons; I should think a life well spent, even Sat of heaven, to write and deliver four sermons upon it in a manner worthy of it.**

His nights about this time were generally very restless, and he would employ himself in meditating on such portions of Scripture as particularly displayed the love and immutability and sovereignty of God, or else tended to deepen his sense of sin and promote contrition of heart. But as the time approached for the meetings in behalf of the Society for the Conversion of the Jews, and for the anniversary sermons at his church: his thoughts soon became engrossed with this great subject, to which he had so lon devoted his warmest regards. He wished to deliver, he said, bis dying testimony to ‘’ its immense importance,” and prepared to compose an address to be read to the undergraduates at their meeting on the following Monday. Being afraid he might not remember the texts, which he wished to refer to when he came to dictate the address, he ordered his attendant to get his small Bible, and directp ing her where to find them, he desired her to read them out, and then mark them down; saying with great emphasis, ‘’ Take care of those texts; they are gold every one of them,^^ He then die-, tated the following:

*’ I wish to show you what gronnds we have for humiliation, in that we have been so unlike to God in our regards towards his fallen people. See Jer. xii. 7: ‘I have jgiven the dearly beloved of my aoul into the hand of ner enemies;* and an, Rom. xt. 28: * as touching the election, the are beloved for the fathers’ sakes.’ — And to bring you into a conformity to God in relation towards them, so &r as it respects your eObrts for their welfare, and your joy in their prosperity; see ^ek. xxxvi. — 24: ‘Therefore say unto the house of Israel, Thus saith the Lord God; I do not this for your sakes, O house of Israel, but for mine holy name’s sake, which ye have profaned among the heathen, whither ye went And I will sancti my great name, which was profimed among the heathen, which ye have profaned in the midst of them; and the heatnen shall know that I am the Lord, saith the Lord God, when I shall be sanctified in you before their eyes. For I will take you from among the heathen, and gather you out of all countries, and will brinff you into your own land.’ And again, Jer. xxxii. 41: ‘Yea, I will njoice over them to do them good, and I will plant them in this land assuredly uUh my whole hart tmd teWi my to/iole eoul.’ And lastly, see Zeph. iii. 17: * The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; He will save. He will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love; he will joy over thee with singing. I will gather them that are sonowful for the solemn assembly, who are of thee, to whom the reproach of it was a burden. Behold at that time I will undo all that afflict thee; and I will save her that halteth, and gather her that was driven out; and I will get them praise and fame in every land where they have

476 NAft&ATIVB OF HIS LAST ILLNBS8.

been put to ■hame. At that time will I bring you again, even in the time that I gtihtt Yoa: for I will make yon a name and a praise among all people of the earth when I tara Mck your captivity before your eyes, saith the Lord,”

In the afternoon of October 29, he observed to his attendant, as she was sitting by his bedside, “It would be poor work to have to seek heaven now.” She replied, “Yes, dear sir, your work is now quite done; and what a privilege it is to see the peace you enioy; and how you are enabled to bear with such patience and submission all your afflictions.” She had scarcely ended the remark, before he rebuked her in a tone and language of severity quite unusual with him. She made no reply, intending to explain her words to him at som future time. In about ten minutes, however, in reference to what had just transpired, he said, “Now, bring some paper, and write something dewn for me directly.” Then, in a very serious and deliberate manner, he dictated the following: “If anything laudatory be mentioned before the University by Dr. Dealtry* about me, or about my sermons, I entreat from my inmost soul that I may not have it repeated to me: let me go to heaven as the vilest sinner in the universe. So far as respects myself, let me not know there is such a person existing as Charles Simeon; on no account, if any remarks are made, let them be uttered before me. Satan himself could not be a greater curse to me, than the person who would dare to breathe a word upon that subject commendatory of me, or anything I have ever done. TJ^ey would be a curse to me whoever they are. Persons so acting are doing the devil’s work, and it is frightful to me. I feel, if I could be pleased with it, it would be damnation to me.** The manner in which he delivered this charge, especially the latter part of it, was most solemn and authoritative. He then ordered it to be copied and given to me; and desired that his. servants as well as Dr. Havilandf should be apprised of his wishes on this point. When his attendant had made th copy, and read it over to him, he said, “There! keep that for yourself, and you will be able to understand it twenty years to come, it may be of use to you then. Now you understand me, don’t you T” She replied, “Yes, dear sir, I think those who know the deceitfulness of their own hearts, and the temptations of Satan, will quite understand you.” She then told him, that when speaking about his ‘* patience and submission,” she merely meant to say, how the grace of God was seen enabling him to be so patient, (referring to Col. i. 11.) Upon this he immediately replied, in the gentlest and kindest manner,” Aye, there you are right enough — speak of the LorcTs goodness as much as you will; but don’t speak of me —

Dr. Dealtry had been requested by Mr. Simeon (with the leave of the vice-chancellor) to be his representative as the select preacher at St. Mary*s in November: he was, however, accidentally prevented from discharng this duty.

t The only other persons, who were now m attendance upon him, were, his nephew Sir Richard Simeon, and his niece Lady Baker.

mind that.” His wishes in this respect, it is perhaps needless to add, were most strictly attended to.

On Sunday morning, (October 30,) when I came to him, after hearing the sermon on behalf of the Jews, and began to speak to him of the forcible manner in which the matter had been treated by Mr. Noel, he immediately rejoined by a comment on our ignorance, as well as want of feeling, on the whole subject: and then, alluding to the texts before selected, he begged me to observe the strong expressions which God had been pleased to use when describing His intense and unalterable regard for his ancient people. ^’ See,*’ said he, ‘’ how wonderfully He speaks; He calls them, 1. The dearly beloved of my soul: — and then He says, 2. I will plant them in their own land assuredly with my whole heart, and with my whole soul; — and then again, 3. He will rejoice over them with joy; He will rest in his love; He will joy over thee with singing: — nay, more, 4. They shall be a name and a praise among all people of the earth.” His thoughts on this and the following days, as might be anticipated, were chiefly given to the subject of the Jews :.and he then dictated the address to the undergraduates.*

But he was not so intent upon his favorite theme respecting God’s ancient people, as to be unmindful of the spiritual welfare of his own peculiar charge in Cambridge. Being fully convinced that his days were rapidly coming to a close, he began to consider in what way he might be permitted to benefit his people after his removal. The appointment of his successor in the ministry of Trinity Church now much occupied his thoughts. He felt that under the peculiar circumstances of the case he might without impropriety express his feelings on the subject to nis diocesan, wno was the patron of the living. During the night indeed ‘he made some touching allusions to the fact of his illness having had its origin in his late visit to the bishop; and the next morning he dictated a letter to him, describing his reduced state, and the impossibility of his ever resuming ministerial duty. He then requested to be henceforth considered a miles eTneritus; and be allowed to resign his living into the hands of the bishop; expressing in conclusion a wish, that the friend whom the parishioners a few years before had chosen for their lecturer, miht be appointed as his successor to the living. This seemed to be the last desire which had now to be gratified; for in the afternoon he said to his attendant, “How easily everything comes in its place; first, my will is made; then the Address to the young men; and now nothing but this remained.” After the letter had been sent to the bishop, he frequently expressed his anxiety to live to hear the reply; and once even during the night he in-Siired whether an answer had been received. On being reminded at it could not arrive before the morning, and that probably the * See Jewish Intbluobncb, 1836.

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next post would bring the letter, he said, “Yes, I believe it vnR; and that my wish will be granted: and if it should com whilst 1 am alive, u may expect nothing less than to see me dancing on that carpet,” In the morning, (Novembers,) Sir Richard Simeon entered the room with the desired letter in his hand. The bishop, in the kindest manner, not only granted him his request, but farther intimated, that it had previously been his intention to make the appointment Mr. Simeon had suggested.

On the evening of this day we thought he was beginning to lose his consciousness of what was passing, as he no longer took notice of anything, and his eyes had been closed for many hours; suddenly, however, he remarked, “If you want to know what I am doing, go and look in the first chapter of the Ephesians from the third to the fourteenth verse; there you will see what I am enjoying now.” This was the last chapter which he requested to have read to him; but such was his weakness, that it was only when read in a whisper that he could bear to hear it Another kindred passage of Scripture — the last verse of the eleventh of the Romans — was one on which he would dwell for hours together, repeating the words,” For of Him — and through Him — and to Him are all things; to whom be glory for ever. Amen.**

The next day, Friday, (November 4,) when I went to him in the evening, he was on the point of taking a little wine, which had just been prescribed for him. It so happened that, having had a present of a small quantity of Lacryma Christie which he much valued as a token of the donor’s regard, some of this had been brought out for him on the present occasion. Never shall we forget his countenance and manner, as we offered him a little of this wine in a glass, after we had raised him up and supported his back with the pillows. Stretching forth his feeble and withered hands in the attitude of reverential and earnest prayer, he began, in the most affecting manner, to invoke a blessing on all present — May all the blessings which my adorable Saviour purchased for me with His tears — yea, even His own precious life-blood — be now given to me to enjoy — and to my two dearest

friends, Sir Richard and Mr. C and my two dear nurses —

and to thaj dear friend who gave me this wine — that they may enjoy the same in time and eternity.” He then just tasted the wine; and turning to me most affectionately said, “And you take some — and you also,” looking to his nephew. He seemed rather exhausted with the effort; but when we had gently laid him down again, he began to speak of the pleasure he had felt, in the circumstance of this wine in particular having been brought to him on such an occasion. He then desired the remainder of it to be sent immediately to the friend from whom he had received it, with a label bearing this incription — To G. C. H., Esq., with kindest and devoutest wishes for his happiness in time and eternity.” Afterwards, referring to what had passed, he ob-NAREATIVE OF HIS LAST ILLNS00« 479

servedt ^’ There I I shall drink no more of that wine until I drink it new (this word he uttered in a peculiarly significant tone) with my Redeemer in His kingdom,”

Many other observations and occurrences during this protracted illness were occasionally recorded. As illustrative of his character and interesting in themselves, a few are here introduced, in the manner they were ’ noted down at the time by his kind attendant, and as nearly as possible in Mr. Simeon’s own words.

One mornine, while the window was open, St. Mary’s bells besan to ring, as if preparing for a peal: he aeked me to shut the window, as the noise of the bells would disturb him. I told him, I thought they would not disturb him long, for that a few days back, when they were beginning to rin them, the church- warden oad kindly requested the ringers to desist, for fear of annoying him; and I belioTed in a few minutes they would cease ringing, which proved to be the case. At this circumstance he was much affected, and said, * This is amazingly kind — it is wonderful; whether you look at it on the part of the ringers, or of those who wished to have them ring, or of those who have so kmdly prevented them.’ Then with much aniipation he asked, ‘Who orders all this? Who orders all this 1 — tell me !->tell me V

“Some time after he observed, ‘If this be the dosing scene, it will be just what I have always desired; I shall die, as I wished, in harness; for I preached the last time with as much energy as ever I did in my life, and with as much comfort to myself. I have a ways hoped I should not be like dear Mr. in his last days.’

“At an early period of his illness, when we asked him if he would like to take medicine or wait, he used to saj, ‘Why do you ask me what I Wee 7 I am the Lord’s patient, I cannot but like everything; don’t say, ‘Will you do this, or that 1’ but say, ‘Herein this — you must take thatr-or, you are to do so;’ / like everything.^ When we expressed our sorrow once that he had passed a wakeful night, (and from the beginning of his illness he scarcely had a good night,) he replied with a remarkable expression of contentment on his venerable countenance, ‘Never mind; He giveth his beloved sleep.’ At another time he said, ‘I shall never sleep; until I fall asleep in the arms of Jesus Christ’ He often appeared grieved to give us the least trouble, particularly when sitting up with him at nignt; he would say, * What a grievous thing it is that I should cause so much trouble for this poor body!’ On one occasion when I bad bathed his eyes, and anked him if they were relieved, he said, opening them and looking up to heaven, ‘Soon they will behold all the glorified saints and angels around the throne of my Grod and Saviour, who has loved me unto death, and given himself for me; then I sfaiall see *Him, whom having not seen I love; in whom, though now I see Him not, yet believing I rejoice with joy unspeakable and/uU of glory;’ anu turning his eyes towards me, he imded, ‘Of the reality of this I am as sure as if I were there this moment’

“One day while his servants were at dinner, he wanted them to come and move bin. I was going to call them: but when he remembered they were at dinner, he said in the kindest way, ‘Nevermind, it does not signify now; let them be — and don’t disturb them — I like to wait for my servants — let me be served last — that is what I like best’ On askini him if I could do anjrthing for him, or if he wanted anything, he said very slowly and distinctly, ‘Not anything — I want nothing; — are you not surprised to hear with what composure I can say that 1 — 1 seem to have nothing to do but to wait — there is now nothing but peace — the sweetest psace*

“When his servant Mrs. C. came into the room on one occasion to clean and arrange the fireplace, he said, ‘When C. is going out, tell her to come to my bedside, and let me give her a last look; she must not spe, nor can I — for I am not equal to it’ When she came to his side, he looked at her most affectionately and said, ‘God Almighty bless

yttu, my dear C. now go.’ Both his servants left the room overwhelmra at this

sight of their dear dying master, from whom they had received so many kindnesses. He then turned his cnres towards me as they were going out, (he was himself much affected,) and said, ‘Dear mithful servants I no one ever had more faithful and kind senrante than 1 have had; and to have such dear creatures to attend me, when I am such a poor wretch, and deserve nothing but perdition.’ Tho tears trickled down his aeed face the whole time he was uttering the above, and he appeared quite overwhelmed at a sense of the Lord’s meroes to him.”

There was a remarkable and rapid maturing of all the finer parts of his character from the very commencement of this illness, and a corresponding diminution, and ultimately a disappearance of those symptoms of haste and irritability, which sometimes were visible in his days of health and vigor. He seemed now to breathe entirely an atmosphere of peace and love; and enjoying such a sense of God*s pardoning love himself, he longed to manifest an affectionate and forgiving spirit to all around. A striking instance of this occurred with reference to one of the fellows of his college, who had grieved him by frequent acts of discourtesy, and was now lying on his death-bed in acute suffering, and altogether in a state so wretched and distressing as to deter his friends from visiting him. Daily did Mr. Simeon send to make inquiries after him, conveying at the same time some kind expression of his sympathy; this at length so wrought upon him, tKat he could not forbear observing, ‘* Well! Simeon does not forget m — but sends every day to inquire after me — ill as he is /”

During the last few days of his life his bodily sufferings were often excruciatitig, and his strength so impaired that his voice was scarcely audible. He then observed to his attendant, “Jesus Christ is my all in all’ for my soul; and now you must be my all for my body; I cannot tell you any longer what I want, or ask for anything. I give my body into your charge; you must give me what you think necessary.” Afterwards, when he had revived a little, he remarked: “It is said, O death, where is thy sting?’* then looking at us, as we stood around his bed, he asked in his own peculiarly expressive manner: Do you see any sting here T we answered: “No, indeed, it is all taken away.” He then said: ‘’Does not this prove, that my principles were not founded on fancies op enthusiasm: but that there is a reality in them, and / find them sufficient to support ?ne in death ?**

On Friday afternoon, (Nov. 11,) as we were standing by his side, lamenting his long protracted sufferings, (which, from Wednesday, had been at times exceedingly severe,) he at length made an effort to lift his hands from the bed; on our assisting him to raise them, he extended them to us, one on each side, (he was at this time unable to speak,) and then for the last time placed them together in the attitude of devout prayer; after this he stretched them out to us once more, and so took, as it seemed to us, his final leave. His life was now fast ebbing away; he lay partially raised, his head drooping on one side, but supported by pillows, his eyes closed, and his hands stretched out motionless on the bed; nothing could be more solemn and venerable than his whole appearance. As we were now afraid of disturbing him, we refrained from any further observations.

The last words I addressed to him were on this night, when I gently took his withered hand, and slowly pronounced the Benediction: *’ The Lord bless thee and keep thee; the Lord make

His face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give theejpeace;” he faintly answered, amen; — after which I heard’him speak no more. During the night he was scarcely conscious of anything around, and on being raised in the morning into the same position as before, he remained thus during the whole of Saturday, and continued apparently insensible to the last About two o’clock on Sunday afternoon, (Nov. 13,) at the very time the bell of St. Mary’s was tolling for the University sermon, which he was himself to have preached — after a momentary struggle, he entered into his eternal rest.

Thus graciously did Grod grant unto him his heart’s desire — the most perfect peace, and a * full assurance of hope unto the end.’ And without weakness or wandering of mind during his severe sufferings, in Which patience had indeed its * perfect work’ — abounding in love ana thanksgiving, he was enabled to testify to the last of the mercy and faithfulness of his God: and so * having fought a good fight, and kept the faith, he finished his course with joy.’

The time of his decease was remarkable. There had been an unusual degree of interest excited about the sermons, which he was to have delivered before the University this very month; the subject he had chosen, (Col. ii. 17. * Which are a shadow of things to come; hut the body is of Christ,) was regarded by him as peculiarly important, and he had prepared the course nearly a year before with more than usual care; whilst frequently during the interval he had been thinking and speaking of their delivery with an anxiety more than ordinary. His removal therefore during this very month, and on the Lord’s day, at the very hour when it had been hoped he would be standing before the tfniversity as their select preacher, greatly tended to deepen the feelings which universally prevailed.

On opening his Will an intimation was found of bis desire respecting the place of his interment. ‘* If I die out of college, I am not careful where my body shall be buried; but if I die m Cambridge, I should wish to be buried in my college chapel.” Accordingly preparation was made for laying his remains in the fellows’ vault. Many of his clerical friends had expressed a strong desire to be present on the occasion, to offer this last tribute of their affection and respect. These therefore were informed of the day of the funeral, but no other persons were invited. It was our desire, in conformity with Mr. Simeon’s wish, to conduqt everything with as little show as possible. Permission indeed had been kindly given by the Provost of King’s for the congregation of Trinity Church to witness the interment of their beloved minister; and these were admitted privately into the ante-chapel. So general however was the desire of the members of the University to be present on the occasion, that the funeral unavoidably became one altogether of a public character. These circumstances are mention, to show how spontaneous was that remarkable gathering of persons — heads of colleges and professors, and men of all classes and ages from every college in the University, who came to do honor to this man of God in nis end.

On the day of the funeral (Saturday) all the shops in the principal part of the town were closed, though it was the market-day; and, what was an unusual mark of respect in the University, in almost every college the lectures were suspended. The morning was damp and cheerless, and the doom around was suited to the feelings of sadness which pervaded that large assembly of mourners. At the appointed hour the funeral procession began to move from the college-hall, preceded by the choristers, scholars and fellows, the provost walking immediately before the bier, and the

1)all being borne by the eight senior fellows. But the following etter from one of the many distinguished persons present on the occasion, will best describe the scene.

“Ton know King’s* great court and the noble cbapel. The p|roce8iaon round the Ijuadranffle, usual on the burial within the precincts of a college resident, was very stfiking. The persons who made up the procession, walking three or four abreast, neaily extended round the font sides of the quadrangle. On entering the west door of the cha pel I was struck by the multitude of persons who filled the nave. Men, women, and children, all, so fiir ‘as I observed, in mourning, and very many giving proof that they were real mourners by their sighs and their tears. These I undcrstdlato be the hearers and parishioners of Mr. Simeon, who had been permitted to attend; and through this sorrowing crowd the procession moved on into toe choir. The stall which I occupied allowed me a full view of the interior, and it was indeed a solemn sight: nor was it the least interesting circumstance, on an occasion where all was interesting, to see the young men of the university, as they stood during the service between the coffin and the communion rails, all in mourninff; and all, m appearance at least, feeling deeply the loss which had brought us together and the solemnity of the service. The vault, in which the body was deposited, is near the west door of the building. Here of course the service concluded. The provost read most impressively; and, taking under review all the circumstances and acci)mpaniments of the funeral — the affectionate respect for the departed, himself the Luther of Cambridge — the sorrowing multitudes, including several nundreds of university men — the tones of the organ, more solemn than ever I heard them — the magnificence of the building — I should think that no person who was present would ever fail, so long as he remembers anything, to carry with him a powerful remembrance of that day Turning to my old rocollections, I could scarcely have believed it possible that Mr. Simeon could thus be honored at his death! His very enemies, if any of them lived so long, seemed now to be at peace with him.”

The funeral sermon at Trinity Church on the Sunday morning was preached by Dr. Dealtry, the Chancellor of Winchester,* from a text which had received a remarkable illustration in the events of the preceding day, * Them that honor me, I will honor,^

1 Sam. ii. 30.. In the evening the Archdeacon of Stafford, the Yen. 6. Hodson, preached in the same church on a subject no Jess appropriate to the occasion — * Elisha at the waters of Jordan.*

2 King’s ii. 9 — 14. On the same day other marked testimonies of affectionate respect were delivered from various pulpits in

Now Archdeacon of Surrey.

•

Cambridge; and more particularly from that of St. Mary’s by two distinguished members of the University, who had formerly been associated with Mr. Simeon in the ministry at Trinity Church. The sermon in th morning was preached by the Rev. W. Mandell, Fellow of Queens’ College, from Heb. vi. 12: and that in the afternoon from 2 Kings ii. & — 12, entitled, * A zealous Ministry the safeguard of a Nation,* was most impressively delivered to a crowHed and deeply attentive audience by the select preacher for the’ month, the Rev. J. Scholefield, reffius professor of Greek. The Recollections of the Bishop of Calcutta subjoined to this Narrative, render any observations on the life and character of Mr. Simeon entirely superftaoas. We cannot however refrain from inserting the following weighty and instructive remarks from the sermon of Dr. Dealtry. After adverting to the manner in which Mr. Simeon honored God, he observes: —

“W« would utterly diidaiin all intention or dnire to exalt the creatoie. Whatetertfaeie was of good in him, we aacribe to that Power, which St Paul himtelf, when dedaiW that he had labored more abundantly than all the apostles, mentions, as the greit and aU-mighty asent — not /, but the grace qf Chd whuik tpoe with me. Hence that faUh which ahone forth so brishtiv in the entire coane of [Mr. Simeon,] and which enabled him to overcome the vorS: hence that love whfch was the grand constraining principle in his mind; hence that work qffcaSh and labor qf hoe, in which he was habitually employed, and which ceased only with the pulse of life. Our motive in dwelling on such subjects is not to et the man, but that we may learn wisdom by the lessons which they teach. In thft placing before our eyea the characters of those who were renowned in their generation as the servants of Christ, we have virible evidence of the reality and power of religion; we see what a treasure may be contained in these earthen veeseb, and are disposed to thank God for this manifestation of His goodness, and are encoura to repair to the fountain of grace, that we oiay ourselves be enabled to follow their good example.

“To detach from their names while Dying the respect to which they are so eminently entitled, or to withhold from thehr memories the feelings of affectionate veneration, would be a thing neither desirable in itself, nor practicable if attempted. We are bpund to teteem them very highfy in lave for their vorke sake; and bearing in mind that it wA €hd who wrought m them both to vttt and to do qf hit good jdeaaure our contemplations will lead us with increased devotion and confidence to Him, who is the author (^ eoery good and perftdgift. We gUnify Ood in thorn,*’

After enumerating various instances in which God was pleased to put remarkable honor on Mr. Simeon, Dr. Dealtry proceeds: —

“His known piety and most ^sinterested and generous dispositioa led others to join with him in good works, which ttfe zeal of an individual could never have accomplished: Ood gave to aim remarkably the hearts of those who had the means of beneficence — and the provision which he was thus enabled to make for the propagation of religion, both in this country and in the farthest regions of the globe, may jttst be held out as a signal fulfilment of the declaration, Them thai honor me I will honor.

“His old age was greatly honored; his hoary head was in every respect a crown qf glory. The sort of hostility which met him in hi& earlier yelrs had gradually subsided and died away; his great labors, his valuable publications, and his known benevolence, converted the adversa himself into a friend; so admirablv was fylfilled to him the statement of Solomon, ‘When a mane way a pleaee the Lordy He mak even hie enemiee to be at peace wUh him.* Viewing him in the htter period of his life, when his *praiee wale in all the diurdies* when he was respected, and honored, and beloved, in a decree rarely

SluaUed; recollecting also the respect shown to him by the highest authonties in the niversity, in appointing him, notwithstanding his great a, to testify to them from their own pulpit, as on many former occasions so during this very month, and on this

the prennt eentu, could we have anddpeted mich tokens of legwd I

this aetonwhing change, as oompared with the hiatorr of hia early dajsl He homand

Qod, and thembie Chd hononihimi honored him befiin men — ^hooond him in fStmynrj scene of his aidoous labors — honored him by the public testimony of thoaa whoM

tesbmony is above all impeachment

*’ In adfortinff finally to that event, which espedaOy brings to the test the strength and parity of Christian principio, when tKe JUth and Vu heart are faiHng, hen also was he eminently honored, being able to ahow that Qod was now the etratgVi tf hie hearty and to look mrward in the certain hope that He would be hie portion Jbreoer. The narlalive of his last illness exhibits the same deep humility, the same strong frith, the same gentleness and patience and entire devotedness to the wUl of Ood, the same simplicity of religious character, and the same love fipr others, which were all so conspicuous in his pieviotts life. We observe here not only the death-bed of a Chrietian, but of this trndivOuaL Christian; the setting of that great light with whose beams we have been oo long and 80 well acquainted.’*

We must now brine our narrative to a close. For many ymra previous to this period,* Mr. Simeon hid been desirous of leaving to his parishioners some token of his regard, which mit ’ benefit them after his death.’ A memorandum to the following effect was found in his will: —

“It is my desire that an edition of theeermon which I peached before the University, on that tei 1 Cor. ii. 3, be printed; and that a copy of it be presented to every fiunOy in Trinity parish, as a memorial of my pastoral reiras, and as the means of impraasing their mindi with the importance of the doctrine which I preached to them during the whole ooum of my ministiy.” *

His monument, which is placed in the chancel of Trinity Church, directly opposite to the tablets of his beloved Martynnd J%oma$onf was erected by the congregation; and bears this short but expressive inscription, suggested by himself:

IF niEORT OF

THE BEY. CHARLES SIMEON, M.A.,

SKVIOR YKLLOW OF KINo’s GOLLRGB,

AHD mrr-FouB txabs vioar of ttob pabish;

WHO,

WmtTHJUi AS THB OBOUND OF mS OWN HOPBS,

OB AS TBM SDBJBOT OF ALL mS lOHISTBATIOHS,

DBTKBimrBD

TO KNOW NOTHING BUT

‘JESUS CHRIST, AND HIM CRUCIFIED/
1 GOB. n. 2.

BOBV sfcpT. 24, 1^59. DIXD NOV. 18, 1886.
Seepsgeld?.