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say I contract them at random. So you said the woman at Philadelphia was a drunkard. I receive noue into my esteem till I know they are worthy of it. Wealth, title, office, are no recommendations to my friendship. On the contrary, great good quali ties are requisite to make amends for their having wealth, title, and office. You confess, that, in the present case, I eul not have made a worthier choice. You oly object that I was so soon to lose them. We are not inmortal ourselves, my friends; how can we expect our enjoyments to be so? We have no rose without its thorn; no pleasure without allov. It is the law of our existence; and we must acquiesce. It is the condition annexed to all our pleisures, not by us who receive, but by him who gives them. True, this conditio is pressing erneily on me at this moment. I feel more fit for death than life. But when I look back on the pleasures of which it is the consequence, I am conscious they were worth the price I am paying. Notwithstanding your endeavors, too, to damp my hopes, I comfort myself with expectations of their promised return. Hope is sweeter than despair; and they were too gool to me to deceive me. "In the sum aer," said the gentleman; but "In the spring," said the lady; and I should love her for ever, were it oly for that! Know, then, my friend, that I have taken those good people into my bosom; that I have lol then in the warnest cell I could find; that I love then, a id will continue to love them through life: that if fortune should dispose them on one side the globe, and me on the other, my affections shall perva le its whole mass to reach them. Knowing, then, my determination, attempt not to disturb it. If you can at any time furnish matter for their amusement, it will be the office of a good neighbor to do it. I will, in like manner, seize any occasion which may offer, to do the like good turn for you with Condorcet, Rittenhouse, Madison, La Cretelle, or any other of those worthy sons of science, whom you so justly prize.

I thought this a favorable proposition whereon to rest the issue of the dialogue. So I put an end to it by calling for my nightcap. Methinks, I hear you wish to Heaven I had called a little sooner, and so spared you the ennui of such a sermon. I did not interrupt them sooner, because I was in a mood for hearing sermons. You, too, were the subject; and on such a thesis I never think the theme long; not even if I am to write it, and that slowly and awkwardly, as now, with the left hand.

CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.

To Dr. Walter Jones, Monticello, Jan, 1814.

I think I knew General Washington intimately and thoroughly; and were I called on to delineate his character, it should be in terms like these:His mind was great and powerful, without being of the very first order; his penetration strog, though not so acute as that of a Newton, Bacon, or Locke; and as far as he saw, no judg meat was ever sounder. It was slow in operation, being little aided by invention or imagination, but sure in conclusion. Hence the common remark of his officers, of the advantage he derived fron councils of war, where, hearing all suggestions, he selected whatever was best; and certainly no general ever planned his battles more judiciously. But if deranged during the course of the action, if any member of his plan was dislocated by sudden circumstances, he was slow in a re-adjustment. The consequence was, that he often failed in the field, aal rarely against an enemy in station, as at Boston and York. He was incapable of fear, meeting per

sonal dangers with the calmest unconcern. Perhaps the strongest feature in his character was prudence, never acting until every circumstance, every consi deration was maturely weighed; refraining, if he saw a doubt; but, when once decided, going through with his purpose, whatever obstacles opposed. His integrity was most pure, his justice the most inflexible I have ever known; no motives of interest or consanguinity, of friendship or hatred, being able to bias his decision. He was, indeed, in every sense of the words, a wise, a good, and a great man. Ilis temper was naturally irritable and high-tonel; but reflection and resolution had obtained a firm and habitual ascendancy over it. If ever, however, it broke its bonds, he was most tremendous in his wrath. In his expenses he was honorable, but exact; liberal in contributions to whatever promised utility; but frowning and unyielding on all visionary pro jects and all unworthy calls on his charity. His heart was not warm in its affections; but he exactly calculated every man's value, and gave him a solid esteem proportioned to it. His person, you know, was fine; his stature exactly what one would wish; his deportment easy, erect, and noble; the best horseman of his age, and the most graceful figure that could be seen on horseback. Although in the circle of his friends, where he might be uareserved with safety, he took a free share in conversation, his colloquial talents were not above mediocrity, possessing neither copiousness of ideas nor fluency of words. In public, when called on for a sudden opinion, he was unready, short, and embarrassed. Yet he wrote readily, rather diffusely, in an easy and correct style. This he had acquired by conver sation with the world, for his education was merely reading, writing, and common arithmetic, to which he added surveying, at a later day. His time was employed in action chiefly, reading little, and that only in agricultural and English history. His eorrespondence became necessarily extensive, and, with journalizing his agricultural proceedings, occupied most of his leisure hours within doors On the whole, his character was in its mass, perfect; in nothing bad, in few points indifferent; and it may truly be said, that never did nature and fortune combine more perfectly to make a man great, and to place him in the same constellation with whatever worthies have merited from man an everlasting remembrance. For his was the singular destiny and merit, of leading the armies of his country successfully through an arduous war, for the establishment of its independence; of conducting its councils through the birth of a government, new in its forms and principles, until it had settled down into a quiet and orderly train; and of scrupulously obeying the laws through the whole of his career, civil and military, of which the history of the world furuishes no other example.

MORALITIES.

To Thomas Jeferson Smith, Monticello, Feb. 21, 1625. This letter will, to you, be as one from the dead. The writer will be in the grave before you can weigh its councils. Your affectionate and excellent father has requested that I would address to you something which might possibly have a favorable influence on the course of life you have to run; aud I too, as a namesake, feel an interest in that course. Few words will be necessary, with good dispositions on your part. Adore God. Reverence and cherish your parents Love your neighbor as yourself, and your country more than yourself. Be just. Be true. Murmur not at the ways of Providence. So shall the life, into which you have entered, be the portal to one of eternal and ineffable bliss. And, if to the

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NATHANAEL EMMONS WAS a native of Connecticut, born in the town of East Haddam, county of Hartford, May 1, 1745. In his Autobiography, written towards the close of his life, he tells us that his parents, finding him of "a volatile, trifling spirit," as a schoolboy, altered their purpose of sending him to college, and determined to make a farmer of him; a resolution which put him upon his mettle for study. He bought a Latin accidence and grammar with his own money, before he attended a grammar-school. In 1763, he entered Yale, where he was a classinate of the poet Trumbull, and found himself, on the completion of his course, by the loss of his parents, without money or a home. School-keeping was the obvious and uniform resource in such cases, and Emmons taught school for some months, till he entered the family of the Rev. Nathan Strong, of Coventry, Conn., teaching his children, and himself acquiring

theology. He also placed himself under the instruction of the Rev. Dr. Smalley.*

In 1769, he was licensed by the South Association in Hartford county. In 1773, he was ordained to the pastoral care of the Second church, in Wrentham, Mass., the name of the district from which the town of Franklin was subsequently organized in 1778, receiving its name in honor of the philosopher.

After having sustained a pastoral relation with his congregation of more than fifty years, he retired from his ministry at the first decided warning of the loss of his powers, in May, 1827. He still, however, though fully relinquishing his office, retained a connexion with its new ministry, and at the time of his death had been for seventy years, in all, connected with the church at that place.

Emmons was thrice married; to the first wife, Miss Deliverance French, the daughter of Moses French, of Braintree, Mass., who died three years after, in 1775; in less than two years after, he married the daughter of the Rev. Chester Williams, of Hadley, Mass., who was his partner till 1829, for a period of nearly fifty years; and in 1831, in his eighty-seventh year, he was married (her third ministerial husband) to Mrs. Abigail M. Mills, the widow of a clergyman of Sutton. The loss of several children in advanced life eaused him much affliction, and drew from him, on the death of a favorite daughter, one of the most touching passages of his discourses. His death occurred September 230, 1840, in his ninety-sixth year. While his memory and personal vivacity and activity were somewhat impaired, in the few latter years of his life, he was still a great reader. he was ninety years of age," says his biographer, the Rev. A. R. Baker, "and often found it difficult to remember the name of yesterday's visitor, he would relate the contents of the last book he read with surprising accuracy, and would make extemporaneous criticisms upon it which would have ornamented the pages of a quarterly.Ӡ

"When

The writings of Eimmons are numerous. Ile published, Prof. Park tells us, "more than seven thousand copies of nearly two hundred sermons, besides four labored dissertations and numerous essays for periodicals." The collection of his works, by his son-in-law, Dr. Ide, containing two hundred and twenty-two sermons, fills six large octavo volumes; and the editor remarks, that he has the material for ten more in his hands, as valuable as those which he has published. Besides these sermons, Emmons's uncollected writings include more than a hundred articles, mostly on religious topics, in the New England Ecclesiastical reviews and periodicals, the Massachusetts Missionary Magazine, the Connecticut Evangelical Magazine, the Hopkinsian Magazine, and the Christian Magazine.

The style of Emnons as a writer is clear and

This divine was born at Lebanon, Conn., in 1734, and died in 1820. He was minister at Berlin, Conn.; published scrinons on Natural and Moral Inability, 1760; sermons on Connected Subjects, 183, with other sermons and occasional publications. + Memoir, Am. Quar. Reg. xv. 121.

The Works of Nathanael Emmons, D.D., late Pastor of the Church in Franklin, Mass., with a Memoir of his life. Edited by Jacob lde, D.D. 6 vols. 8vo. Boston: Crocker is Brewster, 1842,

plain, direct and forcible, without richness or ornament. His own theory on the subject is expressed in one of his aphorisms,—“Style is only the frame to hold our thoughts. It is like the sash of a window; a heavy sash will obscure the light. The object is to have as little sash as will hold the lights, that we may not think of the frame, but have the most light." This is true in some respects, though genuine ornament is part of the substance, and when the sash is provided, much depends upon the purity of the glass and the force of the sun.

With respect to Emmons's theological views, as the author of his memoirs remarks, "A perusal of his works is that only which can give the reader a full and accurate knowledge of his opinions." They involve many niceties of metaphysical and polemical discussion on the freedom of the will and the work of conversion. Dr. Ide has arranged two volumes of the discourses under the title, Systematic Theology, though the author himself never prepared a professed system. He appears to have engrafted on the doctrine of total depravity a theory of the free, voluntary, selfish atlections," and he held that "men are active and not passive in regeneration."* When once asked, "What is the difference between natural depravity and original sin?" he replied, in his quick way, "Natural depravity is the truth; original sin is a lie."

His Jeroboam sermon, on the annual fast of April 9th, 1801, shortly after the inauguration of Jefferson, has been generally understood to have been levelled at the new President. It could hardly be mistaken, as it plays off Solomon against the infidel Rehoboam with artful parallelism to the new nineteenth century. It is long drawn, solemn, and withering. Reading it with the substitution of Washington, Adams, and Jefferson for their scriptural prototypes, and taking the federal politics of the time into view, it is a curious analogy-for example:

Jefferson as Secretary of State.-And Solomon, seeing the young man that he was industrious, made him ruler over all the charge of the house of Joseph. His appointment to such an office, by such a penetrating prince, is an infallible evidence of his popular talents and pleasing address. These excellent and amiable accomplishments, had they been properly directed to the public good, would have reudered him a great benefit to the nation.

Jefferson in Paris.-Ilis flight into Egypt seems to have been the most fatal period in Jeroboam's life.

He could not have lived among a more dangerous people than the Egyptians, who were then the most noted nation in the world for learning, magnificence, superstition, and the grossest idolatry. Hence his residence in Egypt prepared him to return to his native country a more bitter enemy to the God of Israel, and a more malignant opposer of all his sacred rites and institutions than any pagan priest or Egyptian philosopher. Such was the ominous character of Jeroboain the son of Nebat before

he reached the object of his wishes, and was placed in the first seat of Government,

Jeroboam's new appointments to office.-He was resolved to shake every sacred as well as civil officer

Schedule of doctrines found among his papers-Ide's Memoir, ixxvii. + Works, il. 184.

We are

from his seat rather than to lose his own. not, indeed, informed whom he appointed to stand around his person and assist him in the administra tion of government; but who can doubt whether he did not display the same corruption of heart in appointing the officers of state which he had displayed in appointing the officers of religion?

His powers of conversation.—It appears from his character and conduct in early life, that he possessed in a high degree the art of captivating and corrupt ing all sorts of people with whom he conversed. And when he was clothed with the ensigns of roy alty his power and opportunity of corrupting his subjects greatly increased. He became the standard

of taste and model of imitation. His sentiments and manners became a living law to his subjects. In his familiar intercourse with all around him he undoubt edly seized those soft moments which were the most favorable to his malignant design of seduction. This he could do without departing from the dignity of

his station.

If terms and phrases like these needed any “improvement," they had it in the sequel of the doctor's discourse:

It is more than possible that our nation may find themselves in the hands of a Jeroboam, who will drive them from following the Lord, and whenever they do they will rue the day, and detest the folly, delusion, and intrigue which raised him to the head of the United States

And he asks the pertinent question

Who can say that men in power may not catch the spirit of the times, and follow the example of Jeroboam, or rather that of the late apostates in Europe? We are becoming more and more connected with those infidel nations, whose politicians and philosophers are the bold patrons and preachers of infidelity. This mutual intercourse affords a peculiar opportunity to try the whole force of their infatuating philosophy upon us in America. And it is beyond a doubt that our rulers are the most exposed to their fatal delusions.

Emmons's federal politics were clearly announced in his sermon on American Independence, July 5, 1802, in which he claims not only all the sound principles of government for his friends, but also the right of celebration of the National Jubilee. "It is presumption," he said from the pulpit, “in republicans to claim this day as their

own."

There is a well drawn and interesting account of Emmons, entitled Miscellaneous Reflections of a Visiter upon the character of Dr. Emmons, in "a familiar lecture" to the senior class in Andover Theological Seminary, by Prof. Edwards A. Park. It is prefixed to the collection of the works, where it forms forty-five closely printed octavo pages. We may best gather from this the memorabilia of this extraordinary man. "In person he was not more than five feet and seven inches high, but he stood erect, and was in all senses upright. When he appeared in the streets of a New England city, in his latter days, with his three-cornered hat, the bright buckles on his shoe and knee, his white locks flowing down his shoulders, the boys flocked after him, as after a military general. System characterized his movements. His guests would

♦ Works, 11, 229.

always find his hat hanging on the same nail in the study. Every chair was in its place; every book on its shelf, save the one he was reading; and that was put into the book-case as soon as a visitor arrived. His style of writing was neat as his white locks. He was always attentive to his chirography, and wrote a better hand at the age of seventy-five than at thirty-five."

The doctor was an odd man, but there was method in his oddity, and his wit was not always to be encountered. "A certain divine," Prof. Park tells the story, "the junior of Dr. Emmons by several years, unequal to him in acumen and theological knowledge, and under some peculiar obligation to treat him with deference, was fond, although doubtless a very good man, of appearing like a metropolitan before the minister of Franklin, and as he was physically at least a great man, much superior in altitude to the doctor, he was inclined to look down on the country parson, as the smaller of the two. This domineering treatment was endured with patience until patience ceased to-be a virtue. Having read Dr. Emmons's sermon on the Atonement, a sermon which was encountering at that time some opposition, he sent to the Franklin minister the following epistle: May 1st. Mr DEAR BROTHER, -I have read your sermon on the Atonement, and have wept over it. Yours affectionately, A. B. C. These admonitory words were no sooner read than the following was written and sent to the post-office: May 3d. DEAR SIR-I have read your letter and laughed at it. Yours, NATHANAEL EMMONS.'" To a young preacher he said, "Your sermon was too much like Seekonk plain, long and level." A drunken sceptic asked him,

"What is understood by the soul of man?" "No," said the doctor, "I can't tell a man that hasn't got any." Conversing once with a lapsing theological opponent, whom he had pressed hard, when the victim took refuge in the assertion, “Well, every tub must stand upon its own bottom "-"Yes, yes," said the doctor, "but what shall those tubs do that haven't any bottoms?”

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His shrewd, vigorous sense is exhibited in many a dogmatic utterance. On being asked what was the best system of rhetoric for a clergyman, he gave these two rules:-"First, have something to say; second, say it." Many of his terse conversational aphorisms have been preserved. "Of the two Edwardses," he said, the father had more reason than his son, but the son was a greater reasoner than his father." "Great men,' was one of his maxims, "always committed great errors." Of the pulpit, it was his remark, "Preach with animation enough to produce a great excitement of the natural sympathies, which will make persons think they have some native goodness" and, "Be short in all religious exercises. Better leave the people longing than loathing. No conversions after the hour is out." "A man must not only know the truth, but know that he knows it." "The worst books," he said, "were the best: they compel us to think."

The doctor kept a jeulous eye upon his flock, sedulously guarding them from sectarian wolves. That we do not use the last word unadvisedly may be learnt from an anecdote illustrating Emmons's downright brusque manner, preserved in the memoir of Ide. “Á very respectable clergy

man of another denomination was solicited by a gentleman in Franklin to come and preach at his house, and, as Dr. Emmons thought, with a view to make an impression upon his people in favor of the peculiarities of that denomination. Shortly after receiving the invitation, this clergyman met Dr. Emmons in Boston, and told him that he had been invited to come and give his people a sermon. The doctor very pleasantly replied, 'You have a very important sphere of labor assigned you where you are. You need not take the trouble to come to Franklin. I can take care of my own flock. But,' said the clergyman, you will not object to my coming?' The doctor, understanding by this that he was still inclined to come, notwithstanding the hint which had been given him, made the following characteristic reply: 'I do object, and if you come to Franklin in our present circumstances I'll consider and treat you as a wolf in sheep's clothing.' This clergyman never came."

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There are some interesting observations by Prof. Park in his notes on Emmons, with respect to the habits of study, and longevity of the clergy of New England. “We read of the two Edwardses, Hopkins, Smalley, Stiles, Chauncy, and Dwight, as at their books thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sometimes eighteen hours of the day. Dr. Emmons, in this respect, equalled any of them. Mr. Stoddard of Northampton died at eighty-six; Dr. Increase Mather at eighty-four; Dr. Cotton Mather at sixty-five; Dr. Stiles at sixty-eight; Dr. Johnson at seventy-six; Dr. Hopkins at eighty-three; Dr. Bellamy at seventy-two; Dr. Hart at sixty-nine; President Chauncy, of Harvard, and Dr. Chauncy, of Boston, at eighty-two; Dr. Smalley at eightysix; Dr. West at eighty-four; Dr. Strong at sixtyeight; Dr. Lothrop at ninety. These divines lived abstemiously, but neglected physical exercise. 'I do not ascribe my long continued health,' said Dr. Emmons, to any whimsical care of my diet; what has hurt me I have not eaten. I have avoided stimulating liquids, have seldom drunk coffee unless it were half milk and half sugar, have been always temperate in the use of simple food, and have secured good sleep.'" There

There were three Wests of repute in the old New Eng land churches: Samuel, the minister of New Bedford, who died in 1867, at the age of seventy-seven. He published, among other doctrinal writings, "Essays on Liberty and Necessity," in two parts, in 1793 and 1795, in which reviewed the arguments of Edwards. Another Samuel West, born at Martha's Vineyard, in 1788, was minister at Needham and in Boston. He died in 18, having published a number of sermons and the Essays, in the Columbian Centinel, of "an Old Man," in 186 and 7. Stephen West, the minister of Stockbridge, published an Essay on Moral Agency in 1772, and was also the author of a Treatise on the Atonement. He was born in Tolland. Conn., 1786, and died in 1819. Joseph Bellamy was a native of Connecticut, born at New Cheshire, in 1719. Ho was fifty years minister of the church at Bethlem. He died in 1790. His works were collected in three volumes, in 1811, and were reprinted in two volumes octavo, in 163, by the Doctrinal Tract and Book Society, Boston. His True Religion Delineated was published in 1750.

+ Emmons sat in the same study chair more than half a century, and when about ninety years of age he relaxed the severity of his mental toil, he fitly consented to abandon the old arm chair for a new and easier one, I should like well enough to travel," he said in his latter days of lelse, if I could take my study with me. Habits are stubborn things; and I have be come so accustomed to this room, to this desk, to this chair, and to this spot where I sit, that I do not feel at home any where else. I cannot talk anywhere else." He had a regular hour for conversation with his students and friends; and a poculiar movement of his body towards the study table was equal to a sheriff's order that the room should be cleared, and he be left alone.-Prof. Park's Notices,

was much, too, in the assurance of a settled position, and the absorption of care in “the quiet and still air of delightful studies."

JAMES MOODY,

A LOYALIST of the American war, whom the outbreaking of the Revolution found at his farm in New Jersey, has left a well written account of his celebrated partisan warfare, which gave much trouble to the movements of Washington, in a pamphlet published in London in 1783, entitled Lient, Janes Mooly's Narrative of his Exertions and Sufferings in the Cause of Gorerument, since the year 1776, with certificates from Gov. Wm. Franklin, of New Jersey, the Rev. Dr. Inglis of New York, and others. He went through inany perilous, hair-breadth adventures, preserving his life in extraordinary emergencies by his self-possession and bravery. As his pamphlet is now very scarce, we present one or two of these scenes in his well written narrative.* Here is

an anecdote of his ubiquitous presence; for like the true partisan, he was everywhere, at least to the imagination of his enemies; with an affecting story of a true man, who deserved a better fate:

Returning again into Sussex county, he now heard that several prisoners were confined, on various suspicions and charges of loyalty, in the jail of that county; and that one of them was actually under sentence of death. This poor fellow was one of Burgoyne's solliers, charged with crimes of a civil nature, of which, however, he was generally be lieve to be innocent. But when a clergyman of the Church of England interposed with his unrelent ing prosecutor, and warmly urged this plea of innocence, he was sharply told, that, though he might not perhaps deserve to die for the crime for which he had been committed, there could be no doubt of his deserving to die, as an enemy to America. There was something so piteous, as well as shameful, in the case of this ill-fated victim to republican resentment, that it was determined, if possible, to release both him and his fellow-prisoners. For this purpose, Mr. Moody took with him six men; and, late at night, entered the country town, about seventy miles from New York. The inhabitants of the town were but too generally disaffected. This suggested the necessity of stratagem. Coming to the jail, the keeper called out from the window of an upper room, and demanded what their business was The Ensign instantly replied, He had a prisoner to deliver into his custody. What! one of Moody's fellows f" said the jailor. "Yes," said the Ensign. On his inquiring what the name of this supposed prisoner was, one of the party, who was well known by the inhabitants of that place to be with Mr. Moody, personated the character of a prisoner, and spoke for himself. The jailor gave him a little ill language; but, notwithstanding, seemed highly pleased with the idea of his having so notorious a Tory in his custody. On the Ensign's urg. ing him to come down, and take charge of the man, he peremptorily refused; alleging, that in consequence of Moody's being out, he had received strict orders to open his doors to no man after sunset; and that therefore he must wait till morning. Finding that this tale would not take, the Ensign now changed his note; and, in a stern tone, told him, "Sirrah, the man who now speaks to you is

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We are indebted for a copy of this work to the courtesy of Jr. W. J. Davis, of this city.

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Moody: I have a strong party with me, and if you do not this moment deliver up your keys, I will instantly pull down your house about your ears" The jailor vanished in a moment. On this Mr. Moody's men, who were well skilled in the Indian war-whoop, made the air resound with such a vari ety of hideous yells, as soon left them nothing to fear from the inhabitants of New Town, which, though the county town, consists only of twenty or thirty houses. The Indians! the Indians are come," said the panic-struck people; and happy we.e they who could soonest escape into the woods While these things were thus going on, the Ensiga had made his way through a casement, and was met by a prisoner, whom he immediately employed to procure him a light. The vanquished jailor was now again produced, and most obsequiously conducted Mr. Moody to the dungeon of the poor wretch under sentence of death.

It may seem incredible, but it is an undoubted fact, that, notwithstanding all the horrors and awfulness of his situation, this poor, forlorn, condemned British soldier was found fast asleep, and had slept so sound as to have heard nothing of the uproar or alarm. There is no possibility of describ ing the agony of this man, when, on being thus suddenly aroused, he saw before him a man in arins, attended by persons, whom, though they were fainiliarly known to him, so agitated were his spirits, he was utterly at a loss then to recognise. The first, and the only idea that occurred to him was, that, as many of the friends of Government had been privately executed in prison, the person he saw was his executioner. On Mr. Moody's repeatedly informing him of his mistake, and that he was come to release him in the name of King George, the transition from such an abyss of wretchedness to so extravagant a pitch of joy had well nigh overcone him. Never before had the writer been present at so affecting a scene. The image of the poor soldier, alternately agitated with the extremes of despair and rapture, is, at this moment, present to his fina gination, as strong almost as if the object were still before him; and he has often thought, there are few subjects on which a painter of taste and sensibility could more happily employ his pencil. The man looked wild, and undoubtedly was wild, and hardly in his senses; and yet he labored, and was big with some of the noblest sentiments and most powerful passions by which the human mind is ever actu ated. In such circumstances it was with some difficulty that the English got him away. At length, however, his clothes were got on; and he, with all the rest who chose to avail themselves of the oppor tunity, were conducted into safety, notwithstanding a warm pursuit of several days.

The humane render, Mr. Moody persuades himself, will not be less affected than he himself was, at the mournful sequel of this poor soldier's tale. Ia the course of war he was again taken, and again conducted to the dungeon, and afterwards actually executed on the same sentence on which he had been before convicted; though he left the world with the most solemn asseverations of his innocence as to any crime of which he had been accused, excepting only an unshaken allegiance to his sovereign.

A few other particulars respecting this poor man, who, though but a common soldier in a marching regiment, was, in all the essential and best parts of the character, an hero, the writer cannot excuse himself from the relation of. His situation and cir cumstances in the rebel country being peculiar, Mr. Moody not thinking it proper himself to return thither so soon, took the earliest means he could to

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