Baxter had made upon his own mind, and which were only the more deeply and confidently cherished as life approached its close. "As to the state of my disease," says the dying philosopher, "unless I would make suppositions contrary to all probability, I have no reasonable hopes of recovery, the swelling which began at my legs, being now got up to my belly and head. I am a trouble to all about me, especially to my poor wife, who has the life of a slave night and day, helping me to take care of my diseased frame. Yet I may linger on a while, as I can still walk a little through the room, and divert myself now and then with reading, nay, in writing down my remarks on what I read. But I can with sincerity assure you, my most dear Mr Wilkes, death has nothing terrible to me; or rather I look upon it with pleasure. I have long and often considered and written down the advantages of a separate state. I shall soon know more than all the men I leave behind me; wonders in material nature and the world of spirits, which never entered into the thoughts of philosophers. The end of knowledge then, is not to get a name, or form a new sect, but to adore the power and wisdom of the Deity. This kills pride, but heightens happiness and pleasure. All our rational desires, because rational, must be satisfied by a being, himself infinitely rational. I have been long aware that nothing can go beyond the grave, but habits of virtue and innocence. There is no distinction in that world, but what proceeds from virtue or vice. Titles and riches are laid off when the shroud goes on." [Mr Baxter then goes on to express his conviction that even the punishments which may be awarded in a future state will only be "to correct and make better."] "Besides, what is it to be free from the pains and infirmities of the body—though I am satisfied just now, that the weakness of my distressed limbs is as much the immediate effect of the same power and goodness, as their growth and strength was sixty years ago! Dare I add a word without being thought vain? This is owing to my having reasoned honestly on the nature of that dead substance, matter. It is as utterly inert when the tree flourishes, as when the leaf withers. And it is the same divine power, differently applied, that directs the last parting throb, and the first drawing breath. O the blindness of those who think matter can do anything of itself, or perform an effect without impulse or direction from superior power!"
BAYNE, [or Baine] JAMES, A. M. a divine of some note, was the son of the Rev. Mr Bayne, minister of Bonhill in Dumbartonshire, and was born in 1710. His education commenced at the parish school, was completed at the university of Glasgow, and in due time he became a licensed preacher of the established church of Scotland. In consequence of the respectability of his father, and his own talents as a preacher, he was presented by the Duke of Montrose to the church of Killearn, the parish adjoining that in which his father had long ministered the gospel, and memorable as the birth-place of Buchanan. In this sequestered and tranquil scene, he spent many years, which he often referred to in after life as the happiest he had ever known. He here married Miss Potter, daughter of Dr Michael Potter, professor of divinity in the Glasgow university, by whom he had a large family. His son, the Rev. James Bayne, was licensed in the Scottish establishment, but afterwards received episcopal ordination, and died in the exercise of that profession of faith at Alloa.
The reputation of Mr Bayne as a preacher soon travelled far beyond the rural scene to which his ministrations were confined. His people, in allusion to the musical sweetness of his voice, honoured him with the poetical epithet of "the swan of the west." He was appointed to a collegiate charge in the High Church of Paisley, where his partner in duty was the celebrated Mr Wotherspoon, afterwards president of the Nassau Hall College, Princetown, New Jersey. The two colleagues, however,
