The Dean is a grandson of the celebrated Charles Wesley, and I was somewhat disappointed that he was not the preacher. The text, it seemed to me, had been selected not without reference to the great person, whose attendance at the chapel is sometimes solitary, and who having entered on his eighty-third year on the preceding Thursday, might be supposed to regard this Sunday as one of more than ordinary solemnity. “_Though thy beginning was small, thy latter end shall greatly increase_”—(Job viii:7)—such was the text, and the reverend preacher dwelt on the approach of death, and spoke of “men covered with worldly wealth and honours, making their end in remorse and misery.” If the deafness of the Duke did not prevent his hearing, many parts of the sermon must have affected him, but he retained the immoveable and drowsy look of which I have spoken before, and sat close in his corner. The residue of the service proceeded as usual; five persons, myself and the beadle included, being the only persons present besides the officiating clergy. The collection at the Offertory was duly made as in parish churches, and at the proper time (the beadle opening the doors of our pews) the altar was surrounded. Supposing that some etiquette might be observed in such a place, I was very much pleased to find that the contrary was the case; and that all present were expected to approach the altar together. The Duke tottered up, just before me, and I knelt down at his side, just where the beadle indicated my place. Of course I had other things to think of at such a solemn moment, and I know nothing of his deportment, at the sacrament, except that it seemed humble and reverential. When all was over, and the Duke had retired, the Dean, who had beckoned me to remain, for the consumption of the residue of the sacrament, expressed great satisfaction at the presence of an American clergyman, and spoke affectionately of our Church. He told me that the Duke communicated thus regularly on the first Sunday of every month: and I was glad, as I left the chapel, that I had been so happy as to see him for the first time when engaged in such a duty. He is now gone to the dread realities we there confessed; and there is something peculiarly touching in the recollection of that morning at St. James’s, when that cup of salvation, out of which kings and queens have, so often, drank their weal or woe, passed from his lips to mine. It made me feel, at the time, both out of place, and yet at home; for what had I to do in a royal chapel, and in the company of the worldly great? and yet I was there because it was my Father’s house, and because my right to the children’s bread is the same as theirs, even the mercy which redeemed all men’s souls at the same unspeakable price.