THE Rev. James Woodrow, who was called to take the Protessorship of Theology in the University of Glasgow in 1692, was an eniinently pious man. He lived for many years in the daily view of death and eternity, and waited and wished for it. Some considerable time before he died, he was sitting one morning in his fore-room, that was upon the street, when Mrs. Wodrow came in to him. The bell, commonly called the dead-bell, rang before the windows. After he had listened to the crier, and heard who was to be buried that day, he said to his wife:

"My dear, how sweet and pleasant would it be to me, were it possible, to hear that bell going through the streets for my death; but that is a foolish wish—the Lord’s time is best, and I wait for it."

Principal Stirling’s lady came in one day to see him, the summer of that same one before he died. He happened to speak of death, as frequently he did, and he said to her:

"Mrs. Stirling, do you know the place in the new kirk-yard that is to be my grave; for in that burial-place the masters of the college have particular allotments made, and there is one for the Professor of Divinity?" She answered she did.

"Then," said he, "the day is good, and I’ll go through the Principal’s garden into it, and take a look of it."

Accordingly they went, and when they came to the place, as near as she could guess, she pointed it out to him—next to Principal Dunlop, and her own son and only child. Mr. Wodrow looked at it, lay down upon the grass, stretched himself most cheerfully on the place, and said, with the greatest composure: