from tenderness, equal to any thing I have met with in romance. As I had seen nothing of the kind before, its effects on my feelings were irresistible. The perpetual groans and ravings of the dying-whose head I was for hours obliged to support with one hand, while I wiped off the sweat of death with the other; the inarticulate expressions of anguish, mingled with prayers, of the mother; the loud and bitter lamentations of the sister; the stifled agonies of the young lady, and the cries of the younger branches of the family (the father was asleep !) formed a combination of sounds, which I could scarcely support. Add to this the frightful contortions and apparent agonies of the poor sufferer, with all the symptoms of approaching death. About two o'clock he died. I then had the no less difficult and painful task of endeavouring to quiet the family. The mother, when convinced he was certainly dead, became composed, and with much persuasion and some force, was prevailed upon to retire to her bed, as were the rest of the family, except the young lady.

I had then to go half a mile for a person to assist in laying out the corpse, in a bitter storm as ever blew ; and after this was done, watched with it the remainder of the night. You will not wonder if I feel, to-day, exhausted in body and mind. Surely, there is no torture like seeing distress, without the ability of removing it. All day have I heard the dying groans sounding in my ears. I could not have believed it possible, that any thing could take such astonishing hold of the mind; and unless you can remember the first death you ever witnessed, you can never conceive how it affected me. But distressing as it was, I would not for any thing have been absent. I hope it will be of service to me. It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to the house or mirth. Grief has a strong tendency to soften the heart, and dispose it to gratitude and other affections.

An instance of this I saw in this family. They are so grateful to me for-I don't know what, that they seem unable to thank me enough.'

January 25, 1806.

'I had a letter from ****** last evening. He is in the West Indies, and has just recovered from a fever. His letter is more friendly than any I have received, but it is not so serious as I wish. You prophesied, when I was at home, that our friendship would not last long; but since it has survived a visit to the Cataract of Niagara, to Saratoga Springs, and a voyage to the West Indies, it is something of a proof that many waters cannot quench, neither floods drown it.

A classmate, who has commenced preaching, called last week to see me. Speaking of an old tutor of ours, a very pious man, who has lately lost a much loved wife, he mentioned a letter written by him, while the bell was tolling for her funeral, in which he says, 'The bell is now tolling for my wife's funeral; yet I am happy, happy beyond expression.' This my classmate considered as a sure proof of a very weak or very insensible mind. It is needless to add, that he is an Arminian. I daily see more occasion to be convinced, that the Calvinistic scheme is, must be, right; but I cannot wonder that so few embrace it. So long as the reasonings of the head continue to be influenced by the feelings of the heart, the majority will reject it.'

February 9, 1806.

'You need be under no apprehension, my dear mother, that my present mode of living will render the manner of living in the most rustic parish disagreeable. On the contrary, I shall be glad of the exchange, as it respects diet; for I find it no easy matter to sit down to a table profusely spread with dainties, and eat no more than

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nature requires and temperance allows. And I should take infinitely more satisfaction in the conversation of a plain, unlettered Christian, than in the unmeaning tattle of the drawing-room, or the flippant vivacity of professed wits. What gives me most uneasiness, and what I fear will always be a thorn in my path, is too great a thirst for applause. When I sit down to write, I perpetually catch myself considering, not what will be most useful, but what will be most likely to gain praise from an audience. If I should be unpopular, it would, I fear, give me more uneasiness than it ought; and if—though I think there is little reason to fear it-I should in any degree be acceptable, what a terrible blaze it would make in my bosom. What a temptation this disposition will create, to suppress, or lightly touch upon those doctrines which are most important, because they are disagreeable to most persons. I should at once give up in despair, had I nothing but my own philosophy to depend on ; but I hope and trust I shall be enabled to conquer it.

If you knew the many things which rendered it unlikely that I should continue here half so long as I have, you would join with me in thinking an overruling providence very visible in the whole affair. With respect to continuing longer, I do not mean to form a single plan on the subject. If I know any thing of my own heart, I can appeal to God as a witness of my earnest desire to be in that situation, in which he sees best to place me, without any regard to its being agreeable or disagreeable; and he can, and I doubt not will, order matters so as to shorten or prolong my stay here as he pleases.'

January 15, 1806.

'If you, my dear Mother, can pick out the meaning in the last page, I shall be glad; for in truth it is but poorly expressed. You must have observed, that my

letters are very obscure; that the transitions from one subject to another are rapid and capricious. The reason of this confusion is, that when I sit down to write, forty ideas arise at once, all equally eager to get out, and jostle and incommode each other at such a rate, that, not the most proper, but the strongest, escapes first. My mind would fain pour itself all out at once on the paper; but the pen being rather too small a passage, it comes out in wads, like butter out of a bottle.

So much by way of apology, by which, as is usually the case with apologies, I have only made bad worse.'

My dear Mother,

April 2, 1806.

I have just received your last packet, and am so rejoiced, I can hardly sit still enough to write. Its contents were not half long enough to satiate me, and I am more hungry than before. Yesterday, in order to appease my hunger, I read over all the letters I have received this year past, to my great satisfaction. You must not expect method nor legible writing. These qualifications are necessary in a billet of compliments, but in a letter to friends I despise them. However, if my good friends are fond of them, and prefer them to the rapid effusions of affection that will hardly wait the pen's motion, I will soon write a letter which shall be as cold and as splendid as an ice-palace. You may usually observe that my handwriting is much better at the beginning, than at the end of my letters; and this happens, because I gather warmth as I write. A letter to a friend, written with exact care, is like-' Madam, I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you in very good health,'-addressed to a mother, on meeting her after a year's absence.

'I did not recollect, that I made use of a billet to enclose my letters. However, I suppose it did just as well. Pray give my love to Phillips (with the rest of the

dear clan), and tell him, that, instead of being a sign of poverty, it is the surest way to be rich, to save even the cover of a letter; besides, I have papa's authority for using billets in that way.'

These extracts show how he appreciated the relations of son and brother, and how just he was to all the claims which these relations involve. His filial affection is among the loveliest traits in his character, and it never suffered any abatement, so long as he had a parent to love. He continued to appropriate, unasked, and of choice, the excess of his earnings above his expenditures, to the use of his parents, till the whole amount expended for his education had been reimbursed. By word and deed, in the thousand ways which affection suggests, he sought their comfort and happiness.

It was not till the third year of his residence in Portland, that he made his first appearance before a popular assembly. On the 4th of July, 1806, at the request of the municipal authorities of the town, he pronounced the anniversary oration,-a performance, which secured him unbounded applause, and which he was solicited, with great earnestness, to allow to be published; but no persuasion could induce him to give a copy. This production is eminently rich in imagery, and generally in sound political views. He shared, with many wise and good men, serious apprehensions for the result of the experiment making in our own country, whether a free government can be perpetuated. Those who recollect the circumstances of our country at the time, well know that there were many reasons for doubt; and that, in the view of all, an important crisis was approaching, which will account for, if not justify, the colouring in the following picture:

"The vessel of our republic, driven by the gales of faction, and hurried still faster by the secret current