said another, as much as if he had fallen, sword in hand, on the battle-field[1].
His son Elliot was with him. Of the last sad days passed in the marble enclosure, occupied by him on that terrace of the 'Vine Garden' which overlooks the turbid Jumna, little record is left which should be published. He sank gradually, quietly. His thoughts were with those by whom he had ever been held in loving reverence. He was heard to murmur, in the words of Virgil, that he must not hope to see his own again. The end found him ready. He died, he said to Dr. French (afterwards Bishop of Lahore), at peace with all men. He had ever been a devout but unassuming believer in the doctrines of Christianity. In his last moments he turned with especial confidence to the assurances of its great Apostle, in regard to the promise of God, and to the hope therein centred, which is 'an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast.'
In the first of the three Psalms which we read in the morning service of the day on which he died, Israel, straitly compassed by his enemies, appeals for deliverance to Jehovah. He has become a byword among the heathen. All the day long is he killed. His confusion is daily before him. But before the third Psalm has come to a close, Death has been again swallowed up in victory. For the Strength of Israel has not forsaken him. He has made wars to cease. He has broken the bow. He has knapped the
- ↑ Sir James Colvile's Speech at a public meeting held in Calcutta, 1857.
