hard it was to be persuaded that we should never hear his voice again, in that sanctuary whose very walls, because of him, had a value and interest to us, above that which pertains to every house of God! How hard, too, it was to believe that we should never again meet him on the crowded pavement, at the accustomed hour of his daily walk; nor be greeted then, as of old, with that cheering smile of recognition which suffused his whole countenance with kindliness, and gave a yet brighter lustre to his beaming eye!

When Dr. Mason died, we could but feel as if a large measure of strength had gone out of our Church in New York, and indeed from the whole evangelical pulpit of the city. Such a man contributes very mnch to give character and influence to his profession, in a metropolis. He does much, in various ways, to make Religion respected by the thousands around him. We cannot trace the invisible lines of power that silently radiate from him, but who does not feel that they are multitudinous, and produce results of untold value? By his whole life, he shows the sceptic and the worldling, what power Christianity has, to sway and mould the very highest order of human intellect. By his industry he is constantly reproving sluggishness, or encouraging patient exertion on the part of those who are in his own profession, or who are looking forward to it. His dwelling was adjacent to our Seminary; and as the student, even at a late hour of evening, still saw, night after night, the unextinguished lamp of Dr. Mason, he learned that there are no intellectual endowments so great that they can afford to dispense with toil.

The funeral of Dr. Mason will never be forgotten by those who were present. His pulpit was draped with black. The attendance was large. All the ministers of the Third and Fourth Presbyteries of New York were present, in reserved seats, and with them most of the clergy of our denomination from Brooklyn, Williamsburg and Newark. Dr. Spring, Dr. De Witt, and many others, distinguished in their several branches of the Church, were also observed to be seated with them. The exercises were conducted by the venerable Dr. Lewis, Dr. Asa D. Smith, and Dr. William Adams. The address by the latter was one of remarkable adaptedness to the

occasion. He had been one of the most intimate personal friends of the deceased, and spoke in a strain of chaste and touching eulogy. The stout-hearted man, the sympathetic woman, and the little child wept together, as they heard and thought of him whose cold remains were resting, under the eye of the speaker, upon the spot where he had so often stood and said, "Ministering in His name, my brethren, I present you this bread and this cup."

A

Dr. Mason's grave is in Greenwood Cemetery-a beautiful burial place, known to many who never saw his face, or listened to his discourses. In company with friends, a short time since, we visited the ground where his body rests, till it shall risemade a spiritual one like Christ's-at the sound of the Archangel's voice. So wide and so full is that "city of the dead," that we did not, at once, find the object of our search. We were soon directed, however, to one of those gentle elevations which add so much to the varied attractiveness of the scene. large block of marble, surmounted by an urn, bears a suitable inscription, assuring us that we were indeed near to his ashes. In the warm air of that bright morning of June, the roses planted upon the mound by the hand of affection, were, unconsciously yet beautifully, blooming. The ground was hedged about with arbor-vitæ, and large forest trees quietly and gracefully waved their interlocking branches above it. Though we could not hear its din, we knew that, on the one side, a few miles distant, was the great and busy city where he once had lived and faithfully labored. On the other side was visible a sea upon which a multitude of vessels were passing and repassing to their near or far places of destination: a sea! an ocean! best symbol of that glorious eternity upon which the redeemed spirit of our friend-our brother-has entered.

ARTICLE IV.

[The late venerable Dr. Hill, after he had in great part laid aside the active duties of the ministry, formed some extensive plans for contributing to the History of the Presbyterian Church. His own recollections included much of our most interesting history, and he was personally acquainted with nearly all our most eminent ministers for the last half century or more. He executed, however, only a part of what he had planned. Amongst the MSS., which have been kindly placed at our disposal, by Dr. Boyd, his successor at Winchester, Va., are sketches of some of the most eloquent of the Virginia divines; one of these we give in this Number. EDITORS.]

REV. JAMES TURNER.

The writer of these sketches has no certain knowledge respecting the parents and family of the Rev. James Turner, nor of the time and place of his birth; but believes he was born and brought up in Bedford County, Virginia.

In his youth, he commenced a regular course of classical studies, but where and under whose instruction is not known; but of the fact there can be no doubt. There is also the same

uncertainty what progress he had made before the school was broken up by the Revolutionary War, and the further prosecution of his studies entirely abandoned. When he left the school, however, his literary attainments, though quite defective, were considerably in advance of the common English education. His genius, and capacity for learning, were of a high order. He spoke the English language with great fluency, in its purity, and with elegance and propriety.

His stature was tall and masculine, and made for strength, his personal appearance commanding and prepossessing; though in his latter days he was rather encumbered with flesh. His natural disposition was highly sociable, amiable, attractive and amusing, so that he was always a ring-leader among his associates.

But with all these attractions, he was very profligate, loose and vicious, and a dangerous companion; though he had a high sense of honour and integrity, and spurned every thing that was mean and disreputable, for the practices of his younger days, were those toward which a sin-loving world is much disposed to be tolerant and indulgent.

When he relinquished the idea of prosecuting his education, he entered the army, at an early age, in which he only filled some low office. It is highly probable that the army did not improve his vicious habits and propensities. How long he remained there, or what service he was called to go through, is not now known.

After his leaving the army and returning to the private walks of life, his jovial and companionable temper and deportment soon acquired for him great popularity among his acquaintances, which induced them to bring him forward and elect him a member of the Legislature of Virginia. He served in that capacity for several years, and no doubt could have filled the office still longer, if he had been so inclined.

About this time he married a very estimable lady, from a very numerous and respectable family, in that county, by the name of Leftwitch, and settled down upon a farm, within two or three miles of Liberty, the seat of justice for Bedford county.

But marrying did not cure him of all his vicious habits; he still retained the practice of gambling, of which he was passionately fond. This induced him to organize a beef-steak club, of which he was the captain, and which met regularly every week, if not oftener, at Liberty, where they had a room in a tavern, for the express purpose of gambling and night frolicks. This was the kind of life he was living when, in October, 1789, the Presbytery of Hanover met at Pisgah Church, the pastoral charge of the Rev. James Mitchell, about twelve or fifteen miles from Mr. Turner's residence. As he had a number of friends and relations in this part of the county, as the meetings were to be continued for nearly a week, and preaching was to be carried on night and day, a vast concourse of people, from far and near, being in atten

dance, Mr. Turner must needs turn out too, to see what was going on.

The revival of religion, which had commenced in Prince Edward, about eighteen months before, had by this time reached Pisgah congregation, and was making progress. It was a most solemn and interesting occasion, many deep impressions were made, and hopeful conversions experienced; and some of Mr. Turner's near relations were among the new converts. Vast crowds were in constant attendance, night and day. But the meeting on the Sabbath, which was held at the tent in the grove, was very large and solemn. After the communion there was preaching again, in the afternoon, by Mr. Lacy. About the close of this sermon, Mr. Turner was pricked to the heart, and completely overwhelmed with a view of his sinful and wicked life. He could not wait till the services were closed, but went some distance in the woods, that he might give vent to his agonized heart. He found where a large tree had fallen, behind which he cast himself down, in a bed of leaves, and there lay and rolled about, weeping and crying for mercy. After dismission, when the congregation was dispersing, Mr. Turner could not be found, though his horse was there; search was made by some of his friends in the woods, and there they found him, prostrate upon the ground, in the bitterest distress, earnestly crying for mercy. He was at length prevailed upon to rise, and go home with one of his relations. His convictions were of the most pungent character, and his agony insupportable. After the meetings finally closed, he returned home, in the same torturing anxiety of mind. In this distressed state he continued for about eight or ten days, without intermission, day and night. His friends became alarmed on his account, and concluded that if his mind was not soon relieved, he must become deranged. But He who had wounded him, knew how and when to relieve him. In about ten days he concluded that, although he richly deserved to be sent to hell, for his wicked conduct, yet he could not alter what was past, and that nothing he could do would make it any better; he resolved, without further delay, to cast himself, loathsome and vile as he was, at the feet of the friend of sinners, to deal with