minded his hearers of his former years. In the spring of this year he returned to Nashville, and spent the whole summer in travelling through Tennessee, visiting and preaching in different places. He attended the session of the Tennessee Conference, in Lebanon, in the early part of November. This was the last time that he was present at the session of an Annual Conference, and he closed his labours with an affecting address.

Returning to Nashville, he preached his last sermon there, in the new church, on Sabbath, November 23d: this sermon was reported from his lips, and formed the first number of the Western Methodist Preacher. Bishop Soule, speaking of this, his last public service, says, feelingly:

"Here that penetrating, yet pleasant voice, which had been heard with delight by listening thousands, in almost all the populous cities of the United States, and which had sounded forth the glad tidings of salvation in the cabins of the poor on the remote frontier, or to numerous multitudes gathered together in the forests of the western territories, and which savage tribes had heard proclaiming to them the unsearchable riches of Christ, died away to be heard Here he finished the ministration of the words of eternal life, and closed his public testimony for the truth of the revelation of God."

no more.

Immediately after this effort his health declined much below its usually feeble state; and showing no signs of recovery, he concluded, in the latter part of December, to visit his brother, Dr. James M'Kendree, in Sumner County. He reached the place of his destination about Christmas.

Although the feebleness of age seemed to be his chief

affliction, he was not without bodily pain. The forefinger of his right hand became affected singularly by a swelling where he held his pen while writing. This became exceedingly painful, affecting especially the back part of his head, and when submitted to medical treatment it mocked all the skill of the physician. In moments of acute pain he would pray to God, and call upon those present to assist him in praying that the pain might cease; and often at the close of the prayer the bishop would sink into slumber, the pain having ceased. Such was his faith in God, that when medical skill failed he made prayer his continual remedy.

One who was present with him during his last days, says: "In one instance he told a friend and neighbour that he wished him to pray with him on account of his pain. 'Not,' said he, 'as you pray in your family, but in faith, with direct reference to my case.' After prayer the bishop smiled, raised his hand, and said, 'It is easy now.' This was about two weeks before his death."

It soon became evident to all that his pilgrimage was rapidly drawing to a close; his strength was completely prostrated, and his voice was so feeble that he could only whisper, and that with the greatest difficulty at times. He had for a long time been subject to asthmatic complaints, which now increased, and he was often seized with severe fits of coughing, when he seemed to hold life by a frail tenure. Had it not been for the faithful attendance of his relatives, his situation would have been very painful; but he had every attention.

"His interesting sister was ever at his bedside, where her 'post of observation' had oftentimes been before-for many times before this had the bishop gone home to die. His kind, affectionate, and engaging niece seemed for weeks

to have risen above the want of sleep, as she watched nights and days away at his pillow. The bishop was so affected by her kind attention, that he would say to her, 'Frances, you are like a lamp; you wake when I sleep, to shine on me when I wake.'"

Bishop M'Kendree often had fears that he should be called to die away from his dearest friends and relatives. He greatly desired to die at his brother's; and as the preceding paragraph intimates, he had more than once gone to his brother's expecting not to return again to the busy scenes of duty. And now, when it seemed certain that the hour of his departure was near at hand, he ordered that the bedstead on which his father had died some years before should be brought in, as he wished to die where he had died; and here he awaited the coming of death.

On Sabbath, the first of March, it became so evident that mortality would soon be swallowed up in immortality, that his brother made known to him the opinion of physicians respecting his situation, and questioned him in regard to his last desires. Their conference was at first broken off by a severe fit of coughing, but he presently recovered and made a signal with his hand that he was ready to speak. His voice was so faint that it was necessary that his nephew, Dudley M'Kendree, should lean over him to receive the communications.

The bishop spoke first with regard to the state of his soul, and said, "All is well for time or for eternity. I live by faith in the Son of God. For me to live is Christ—to die is gain." This in the most emphatic manner he repeated, “I wish that point perfectly understood that all is well with me whether I live or die. For two months I have not had a cloud to darken my hope; I have had uninterrupted

confidence in my Saviour's love." He now commenced, as an exposition of his feelings, to repeat the stanza :— "Not a cloud doth arise to darken my skies,

Or hide for a moment my Lord from my eyes."

His voice failed him, and the remaining lines were repeated for him by one standing near the bedside.

Concerning the manner of his interment, he spoke briefly, but pointedly. "I wish to be buried in the ancient Methodist style, like an old Christian minister."

The interval from the Sabbath to the Thursday following, when he died, he was calm and composed, with little pain. To his nephew, Dudley M'Kendree, he said fervently, "Follow me as I have followed Christ, only closer to Christ." His favourite phrase was, "All is well," which has become identified with his dying hours.

"Death was in the room. The question had been asked of the venerable sentinel, who shall no more stand on the towers of our Zion, 'Is all well?' He had answered, 'Yes.' Just then, by a sudden spasmodic contraction, he seemed to have a darting pain in his right side. The muscles on his left cheek appeared to suffer a corresponding spasm. They knotted up with a wrinkle, which remained after the pain in the side had passed away. Sensible of this muscular distortion, the bishop was observed to make two energetic efforts to smooth down his countenance. The second effort succeeded, and a dying smile came over the brow of the veteran, and descended upon the lower features of his face. The struggle was over. The chariot had gone over the everlasting hills."

The day and hour of his death were March 5th, 1835, at five o'clock in the afternoon; he was seventy-seven years and eight months old, lacking one day.

On Saturday morning, March 7th, his remains were laid in the earth beside the dust of his honoured father, whom he had loved with the most intense devotion, and from whom he desired not to be separated in death.

In person, Bishop M'Kendree was a little above the medium height, and very finely proportioned, his form in his younger days giving notice of great physical strength and activity. The first glance at his countenance convinced one that he stood before a man of great intellectual vigour, but whose predominant trait of character was mildness. There were both height and breadth to his forehead; and under heavy eyebrows, his eyes, black, impressive, and somewhat protruded, gave a continual evidence of the fires glowing within. His mouth had a more than usually intellectual expression; his chin was square, but not clumsy; and, on the whole, it may be truly said, that a finer countenance, or one more expressive of piety, firmness, and intelligence, could scarcely be found.