upon my heart and understanding, and I could not stand out. So, on
the last Sabbath of the year 1810, I preached my last sermon, and it
was a moving discourse. There were few dry eyes in the kirk that
day; for I had been with the aged from the beginning--the young
considered me as their natural pastor--and my bidding them all
farewell was, as when of old among the heathen, an idol was taken
away by the hands of the enemy.

At the close of the worship, and before the blessing, I addressed
them in a fatherly manner; and, although the kirk was fuller than
ever I saw it before, the fall of a pin might have been heard--at
the conclusion there was a sobbing and much sorrow. I said,

"My dear friends, I have now finished my work among you for ever. I
have often spoken to you from this place the words of truth and
holiness; and, had it been in poor frail human nature to practise
the advice and counselling that I have given in this pulpit to you,
there would not need to be any cause for sorrow on this occasion--
the close and latter end of my ministry. But, nevertheless, I have
no reason to complain; and it will be my duty to testify, in that
place where I hope we are all one day to meet again, that I found
you a docile and a tractable flock, far more than at first I could
have expected. There are among you still a few, but with grey heads
and feeble hands now, that can remember the great opposition that
was made to my placing, and the stout part they themselves took in
the burly, because I was appointed by the patron; but they have
lived to see the error of their way, and to know that preaching is
the smallest portion of the duties of a faithful minister. I may
not, my dear friends, have applied my talent in the pulpit so
effectually as perhaps I might have done, considering the gifts that