but even this at length proved inefficacious; he was then convinced it would be the cause of his death, though at first he did not imagine it would be fatal. About this time a young man from Fintona called to see him, and found him dozing with his head on his table. Having inquired of him most affectionately concerning his parishioners, he lamented with tears in his eyes the irregularity of their conduct, but especially their unhappy propensity to drunkenness, of which all his instructions could not cure them. The disorder, though it daily consumed his constitution, had no effect on his understanding, and he saw death approaching with a calm and steady mind. The Rev. Doctor Hastings, archdeacon of Dublin, attended him carefully during his illness; which, having confined him to his bed only two days, put an end to his life on Friday the 4th of May, 1787. When he breathed his last you would have imagined he was just falling asleep, he died so quiet and resigned. The evening before he repeated intelligibly the Lord's Prayer, and never spoke after.

He had always a horror of coming to life in his coffin, and therefore, when he was even in good health, often requested his physician to cut his throat before he should be buried. It being accordingly thought necessary not to bury him, until some marks of corruption should appear on his body, he was kept until the Tuesday following, when he was buried privately, at six o'clock in the morning, near the west door of St. Peter's church-yard, the place he had appointed for himself. His funeral was attended by six or seven Dublin curates, and by Dr. Hales, of Trinity College. The short funeral service was read over his grave by Mr. Queal, one of the curates of the parish.

He left behind him, after all his just debts were paid, near 7007., of which at least 540l. were due from his parish, including 1207. chargeable on his successor, for building part of a glebe house, which lay in an unfinished state for some time previous to his death; so that he had hardly 1521. clear in his own hands. The whole he disposed of by will* in the following, manner. To his nephew Dr. Skelton, he left 1501.; to his servant John Swap, 401., and the rest to Miss Leslie, daughter of Henry Leslie, esq. and

* He begins his will thus, "In the name of the glorious and eternal Trinity," &e.

grand-daughter of the late Rev. William Leslie, his old friend. He appointed the Rev. Dr. Hastings, his sole executor. As an apology for his making his will in this manner, he mentions in it, that he was indebted to the Rev. William Leslie, under God, for his preferments in the church, and to his family for many kindnesses during a series of years. To his own relations, he declares, he owed nothing, as he had given them at different times above 14007.

His manuscripts and his works he left to Dr. Hastings, whom he styles his excellent friend, and to his servant his clothes, his watch worth about 17. 10s., and all his other utensils, except four articles to Mr. Drury, with whom he lodged. His servant, who came to live with him in 1783, received from him in presents during the last year of his life, beside the sum left him in his will, 231., for he had the art of insinuating himself into his good graces. He was a Scotchman, and an old soldier, but sober, wise, and remarkable for his discretion, a very useful talent. He also wrote a fair hand, and copied for him the greatest part of his two last volumes.-"Sweet Aberdeen," his master used to say, "that produced John and Dr. Reid."

Philip Skelton, it has been shewn, was of a tall stature and majestic appearance; his countenance was agreeable and placid, displaying evident marks of a mind replete with humanity. His strong athletic frame enabled him in his youth to excel in the manly exercises, of his skill in which, and of his bravery, sufficient instances have been produced. But it was the chief business of his life, he considered, to perform the sacred duties of the ministry with conscientious care, wherein he was hardly exceeded by any clergyman of any age. Sincere, strenuous, vehement in his admonitions, he was truly sensible of the importance of the glorious end he had in view, the eternal happiness of his fellow-creatures. He told them of a heaven and a hell where the virtuous shall be rewarded and the wicked punished, exciting them by the most powerful arguments to seek the felicity of the one, and avoid the misery of the other. He declared open war against vice and impiety in every station, careless of the event, and only influenced by conscience. To instruct the ignorant, rouse the indolent, rebuke the obstinate, rectify the misguided, and turn the

disobedient to the wisdom of the just, was the great object of his labours.

His abilities were equal to his zeal. The natural powers bestowed on him by Providence he improved by an attentive application to almost every species of literature, but chiefly by a careful perusal of the holy Scriptures. His sermons, fraught with good sense, and animated with the sacred truths of the gospel, were composed in a strong, nervous, oratorial style, that suited the forcible manner of his delivery. His action in the pulpit, which flowed from the sincerity of his heart, was either violent or temperate according to the nature of his subject. An argument he used in favour of this mode of preaching may not improperly be introduced. "Men," he said, "who are born deaf and dumb have the thoughts of others communicated to them by external signs; those who are born blind have them communicated by words; and therefore those who have them communicated both by words and signs, must receive them more forcibly."

His descriptive faculties, and his command over the passions, were very powerful. A gentleman told me, he heard him describing in Werburgh's church the torments of hell in a manner so terrifying as made him shiver in his place. He preached once two Sundays successively in Lisburn church. The first Sunday (I was assured by a person present) he made his audience all laugh, the second he made them all cry. While he was delivering his awful lectures in his church, he has been often so much affected by the subject, that the tears trickled down his cheeks, which produced a similar effect on his hearers.

The purity of his life gave an additional authority to his preaching. He prescribed no duty, enjoined no mortification, of which he did not first set the example by his own private conduct. His charities, which, if not well authenticated, would be incredible, seem to lead us back to the pure and primitive age of the gospel when Christians had all their worldly goods in common. Even in plentiful times he gave, it appears, the half of his income to feed the poor; but in a year of scarcity he did not allow himself the usual necessaries of life. His forgiving his indigent tenants their rent at such a season of calamity, his denying himself the

use of snuff, his living on scanty fare for the sake of his poor, and above all, his selling his books to procure them subsistence, eminently display his unbounded and uncommon charity. In their sickness he supplied them with medicines and medical aid, and in their necessities with food. He had a horror to think of any one-dying of hunger, and once gave this advice to his poor during a dearth, we may suppose before he got a living. "If you have not food, beg it; if you can't get for begging, steal; if you can't get by stealing, rob, and don't starve."* The fatherless, the widow, and those who were in real want, found him a benevolent assistant; yet he examined so carefully into the condition of those he relieved, that he was seldom imposed upon by improper objects of charity. It may be said, that having no wife and children to support, he had nothing else to do with his money but give it away to the poor; but on examining the conduct of mankind we shall find that those who have no children are at least as avaricious and uncharitable as those that have. The feelings of the latter are indeed more delicate than those of the former, as their tenderness for their own offspring contributes to excite in them a sympathy for the distresses of others. To his relations he was sufficiently munificent, though his charity obliged him to give them only a part; had he not indeed used extraordinary frugality, he could not have been so liberal to them and to the poor.

He was also eminent for the virtues of humility, sincerity and gratitude. A clergyman, who professes himself the follower of a divine Master so distinguished for humility, should be decorated, he thought, above all others, with that amiable virtue. He therefore severely censured the pride and insolence so conspicuous in the conduct of some churchmen, who shew themselves so very unlike the meek author of Christianity. The term gentleman, which is usually affixed to that of clergyman, he considered as highly improper, it being a title of worldly origin unsuitable to the spiritual nature of his office. Our Saviour, he remarked, was no gentleman, the apostles were no gentlemen; but, he said, our fine genteel clergy in the present days do not

This advice is countenanced by the authority of Solomon, Prov. vi. 30. "Men do not despise a thief if he steal to satisfy his soul when he is hungry."

wish to resemble our Saviour or his apostles in any particular. Very different was the conduct of this humble pastor, who looked on his poorer brethren as his friends and fellow-creatures, as children of the same universal parent, and candidates for the same blessed immortality.

His sincerity was at least equal to his humility. In his private dealings he would take no advantage of his neighbour, nor even rigorously require his due, having a soul superior to every thing mean. He was entirely divested of hypocrisy and dissimulation; he strictly kept his word, and spoke the truth publicly and privately, without apprehension, dreading only the reproaches of his own conscience, and the resentment of his Maker. On no occasion would he tell a lie himself, or even allow another to do it for him. When it was inconvenient for him to receive visitors, he would not order his servant, according to the fashionable mode, to say he was not at home, but made him tell any one who called, that he was in his room but could not see company. I remember he once excluded almost every one from him for a fortnight, expecting then a visit from a certain dignified person whom he did not wish to see.

It may naturally be supposed he was not well skilled in the science of flattery, often more useful than real science for a man's promotion in the world; for he could not say one thing, and think another, applaud that with his lips of which his heart disapproved. He was not fit, like a supple dependant, to soothe the vanity, or soften the crimes of the great: nor could he, by a tacit consent, or smiling rebuke, give countenance to vice. He openly declared his abhorrence of every mean and ungenerous deed, of every base compliance of principle for the sake of private advantage. As he would not admit of duplicity in himself, he could not bear it in others. He was remarkable indeed for a total disregard to his temporal interest, when it interfered with his duty; a virtue, it is said, not always prevalent among churchmen.

Yet he was sufficiently respectful to his superiors, ready to pay them every compliment they deserved, and grateful for the favours they conferred on him. His determination not to write against Dr. Clayton, bishop of Clogher,