wards; and finally, his head was shaved and blistered. Forty leeches, also, were applied, two or three different times, to the left temple, and behind the left ear; yet these, and all other remedies, were of no avail.

On Sunday and Monday he lay in a kind of lethargy, from which it was difficult to arouse him to swallow his medicine and food. Both eyes, too, were closed from the inflammation, and the right eye covered with a blister; but we continued bathing the left with warm milk and water; in hope that it might possibly open.

When asked if he would swallow any thing, he always answered, "Yes, I'll try"-though it was with difficulty that he swallowed towards the last, from the swelling and soreness of the mouth, tongue, and mucous membrane. His sense of hearing, however, never lost its acuteness until Monday evening. Dr. H****, thinking it must have done so, spoke to him in a loud tone of voice, and was gently rebuked by him saying, "Doctor, you are not speaking to a regiment of soldiers." He distinguished our voices easily, though his eyes were closed, and when one of his attached young friends and students, James C*******, asked him, Mr. Wirt, do you know James? He replied, “to be sure I do."

Ellen's twin-sister, Rosa, now Mrs. Dr. Robinson, of Baltimore, came down with her husband on Saturday, having been informed by letters from us of his alarming illness. When she first kissed him, he said"Why, my dear, how came you here? High, high!" But, at that time, made no other remark. The next day, however, (Sunday the 16th,) he asked, with some difficulty, for "his Rose?" And when she came to him, said, “My darling, God bless you!"

On Monday morning, we thought him dying; and, dear mother, unable any longer to control her pent up feelings, retired to another room and gave vent to them. The thought that he was indeed to die without looking on his family any more, taking leave of them, and expressing his own resignation, was insupportably agonizing.

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But, as if to show the power of God, while she was thus abandoning herself to grief, the eye that had been so long closed, opened suddenly, as I hung over him, and fixed itself on me with a kindling intelligence which I had not seen since his first wanderings. "My father, do you know your Catharine!" "Yes." "Do you trust in God?" (raising my own eyes to heaven, to make the question more significant.) "Yes," with solemnity, and raising his own eye in the same direction. I flew into the next room to communicate the intelligence to dear mother, and she calmed herself and returned with me. She approached the bed-side-he looked at her, and said, "Wife, I am going before you!" I feared this would overpower her; but God upheld her, and she answered meekly, Yes, my beloved, you are going before me, and you will see our dear angels in heaven, sooner than I shall. There are five of our children in heaven now, waiting to receive you, and you leave five more on earth under my care-it will only be for a little while, and we, too, shall come and join you. Do not fear for us, who are left behind-God will take care of your widowed wife and fatherless children!" There was a struggle in his frame and heart, but he sought strength where he had never failed to find it, and it was given him. His eye next lighted on me-I kissed him, and asked-"My beloved father, is your soul at peace, now, stayed on Jesus?" "Yes." "Do you now feel the truth of the promise, 'When thou walkest through the valley of the shadow of death, fear not-God will be with thee, his rod and staff, they shall comfort thee!" "Yes, oh yes!" raising his eyes to

He

heaven, with a mingled expression of faith, gratitude, and submission. His eye then fell on Rosa-she kissed his hand, and bade "God bless you, my beloved father." Then on Ellen; and she did the same. looked alternately once more on each of us, as we stood around his bed, then raised his hand and eyes to heaven, as if invoking a farewell blessing.

During this solemn and affecting scene, all had left the room, except his own immediate family. At this crisis, however, our former pastor when we lived here, Mr. P***, (a meek and holy man, to whom father always bore a strong attachment, and for whom I had despatched a hurried messenger, at the first sign of returning intelligence,) arrived; and with whom there entered several of father's friends, old and young, to the number of fifteen, including the family. Mr. P*** took his hand, and asked him, "if he was resigned to die now, if it pleased God to take him?" He answered, unhesitatingly, "Yes." "Then," said mother, "we resign you, my beloved, into the hands of God-he will take care of us in your absence, and not suffer us to want; and, at last, will reunite us all-all, I trust, in heaven." He struggled hard to speak, but the utterance was denied. Mr. P*** then asked him several other questions, as to "the composed and happy state of his soul?" "His views of the plan of redemption through the Saviour?" "His faith in the atoning merits of Jesus for the pardon of all his sins, and for his salvation?" To all of which he replied in the affirmative. Mr. P*** then asked him, "if it would be agreeable to him, that we should unite in offering a prayer for him?" He replied, with great vivacity, "Yes," and nodded his head affirmatively, three times, in quick succession; thereby signifying, the great pleasure the proposition afforded him.

We all instantly knelt down, as with one impulse, while the solemn appeal ascended to the Throne of Grace. It was a spectacle so sublime, that angels might contemplate it with delight and awe. My father's eyes were raised to heaven with the prayer. At one time Mr. P*** prayed that, "if it was consistent with the intentions of the Almighty, his sick and suffering servant might be raised up from that bed of languishing, to the enjoyment of health, to be a further blessing to his family and friends, and an honour to his country and to the cause of God on earth"-immediately the eye was withdrawn from its imploring gaze upwards, a shudder passed over his frame, and he shook his head negatively, and, Mr. G*********** insists, audibly said, "No." But when Mr. P*** closed with the prayer, that, "if God should take him now, he might be received into the mansions of glory, to dwell forever and ever, at the right hand of his God and Saviour; and that his family might be sustained and comforted in his departure"-his hand and eyes were raised once more, and, for the last time, to heaven: and thenceforth motionless and at rest. Mr. P*** pressed his hand in taking leave, saying, he "would not fatigue him farther then, as the result of that interview was perfectly satisfactory to him; but would see him again."

It did seem as if God had, at that very moment, unclosed his eyes, once more, to look for the last time on earth, upon his assembled family; to witness their resignation and to cheer them by his own; and that the pressure upon the brain was, during this blest half hour, removed for the same benevolent purpose. The expression of his eye was not dim and wandering; but clear, firm, intelligent, beaming, heavenly. The voice, too, distinct and full of feeling, and the motion of Ch. Adv.-VOL. XII. 2 E

the head and of the hand, as it was raised with an effort from the bed, and then dropped, not lifelessly, but reverentially, spoke in a manner not to be mistaken by those who witnessed it-"Thy will, oh God, thy holy will be done-Lord Jesus, into Thy hands I commend my spirit."

Throughout this lingering and painful sickness, uncomfortable as he must have felt from the pressure of the disease, and the severe remedies, (for all the blisters drew,) he never uttered a repining word. Once, when his feet were immersed in hot poultices, he said, "Is not this enough to drive a man mad; to be between two fires, one at his head, and the other at his feet!" Yet, when I asked him, not long afterwards, "how he felt?" He simply said, "not well."

Such child-like submission I never witnessed, and such unmurmuring patience. On Monday morning, 17th, Dr. R*******, after some efforts, succeeded in making him understand, that he wished him to take another dose of medicine. His reply was, "I am a child, you may do as you please with me." But the last time they teased him to swallow some nourishment, he gently, and almost inaudibly whispered," Let me be." My mother says she has often heard him express the opinion, that "dying persons ought not to be disturbed in their last moments, by the importunities of their friends to call them back to life; for that most probably the souls of such persons were then absorbed in the contemplations of eternity, and holding communion with the inhabitants of heaven." We know not but his half-emancipated soul was at that moment thus engaged, and it seemed almost cruel to waken his wrapt spirit to consciousness.

When, with the restlessness of pain, he would throw the cover from his hands, and make an effort to reach far back with them, perhaps to indicate by this mute gesture the seat of pain, and dear mother would say, "For wife's sake, my beloved, try to keep your dear hands warm," he would patiently resign them to be covered; sometimes saying, "Well, if it must be so"-but most generally in silence.

After the farewell interview with us, and with Mr. P***, which I have so minutely described, and which took place on Monday, the 17th, he did not again unclose his eyes or speak. Once, afterwards, that night, as I sat by him holding his hand, and moistening his mouth with wine and water, and watching his very regular, but gradually diminishing breathing, he whispered," The door is open." I thought he might feel oppressed, (though there were not, at the time, more than two other persons besides myself in the room, which was large, airy, and cool,) and threw open the door to admit the air. But I think it highly probable that, at that moment, he had a glimpse of the heaven on which he was about to enter the thought struck me at the time, that then he stood "Where Moses stood,

And viewed the landscape o'er;

Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,
Could fright him from the shore."

All night we watched, expecting every breath to be the last; and yet, although his hands were cold and clammy, and his pulse almost and sometimes quite imperceptible; yet the hot bricks seemed to keep his feet warm to the last, and his breathing was as tranquil as that of a sleeping child.

There was a favourite bird of dear mother's in his room, (a young mocking-bird,) which she had brought with her from Baltimore. It is, you know, the habit of this bird to cease singing all winter; and it is

only when the bright spring suns disperse the clouds and glooms of winter, that he begins once more to attune his voice. Monday was a dark, rainy day, and the corner of the chamber in which the bird's cage hung, was also dark. No sooner had Mr. P*** concluded his solemn prayer, than we were all surprised to hear a strain of sweetest melody warbled by this little bird; and this continued, at intervals, for the space of an hour. It did, indeed, sound like the music of heaven, in answer to our prayer; and was as soothing, as it was novel and unexpected.

It was not until eleven o'clock, Tuesday morning, the 18th inst., that the last breath was drawn. We all stood around him, and I held his left hand between both of my own. So faint and so interrupted was his breathing for the last five minutes, that it was difficult to know when it did actually cease. Once I held my breath, thinking it was all over; but, after a short interval, there came one more feeble, flickering respiration, and thenthere was rest until the resurrection morn. At that instant, the sun, which had been all the morning veiled in clouds, burst into the room with full meridian splendour; and the same little bird, which had been, since the thrilling music of the preceding day, hanging silent and unobserved in his cage, struck up a requiem note, so subdued and so sweet, that it might well nigh be mistaken for the rustling of an angel's wing.

My poor dear mother threw herself into our arms, and exclaimed, "The seal of happiness to him, but of misery to us!"

Sunday Morning, 23d February.

In my father's little memorandum book are copied these two verses -the first in his own hand-writing, and the last in that of dear Ellen's, who wrote it, at his request, last summer, at the White-Sulphur Springs of Virginia, where he was lying sick on his bed:

First verse: "Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth; keep the door of my lips.”— Psalm cxli. v. 3. Second verse: Follow peace with all men and holiness; without which no man shall see the Lord."

His pocket-book also contains, instead of bank notes, many little pieces of paper on which he had, at different periods, written extracts from the sacred volume of precept and of promise, which he always wore near his bosom as his treasure. And it was to him, and ever shall be," a treasure laid up for him in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through and steal," and this treasure may no man take from him.

It was often one of his Sabbath delights to put down on paper, the pious emotions of his soul; and these effusions do not fall very far short of those of his prototype, the sweet psalmist of Israel. These, and all his other writings, as well those which have been published, as his letters of advice to his family and friends: his descriptive letters, (written at Niagara, Boston, the mountains of Virginia, &c. which are beautifully graphic and pictorial) his essays, &c. &c. it is the purpose of my dear mother to collect together in some enduring form, which may, perhaps, by a general and extensive circulation, contribute to the benefit of present and future generations, and thus, even after death, redound to the glory of the God, whom while on earth, it was his chief delight to honour and serve.

And now, my dear aunt, shall we mourn for this loved one, as those who have no hope? Shall we not rather rejoice that a spirit so lofty,

and so pure and holy, that the breath of dishonour would have wounded mortally; to whom the toils and cares of struggling for a subsistence for those who were dependent on his daily exertions, were onerous, because they distracted his thoughts from heaven; the measure of whose earthly fame was full, and whose tender affections had been wrung by the death of his beloved children, and uprooted from this earth-shall we not rejoice that all sorrow and suffering for him is at an end, all tears forever wiped from his eyes, and his delighted spirit, unfettered from this earthborn coil, is revelling in the beatitude of Heaven; bathing in the pure stream which flows around the throne of the Lamb; and that the mighty intellect whose grasp imperfect human science could never satisfy, is now ranging among worlds and adamantine spheres, communing with the sages of classic days, and with the Patriarchs, Apostles, and the Fathers of the Church!

It is a striking coincidence, that the day of his death, the 18th of February, was also that of the great Luther.

There is a moral sublimity in his life, in his death, and in the assurance of where his spirit now is, that I pray God may sink deeply into the hearts of all he has left behind, and may we also be ready to join him when the summons shall come to us.

Sunday Afternoon.

We are in the midst of the confusion of preparing to leave this city; the scene, once, of so much happiness, lately of so much anguish. It will now ever be a consecrated spot to us; for here rest the mortal remains of him who was our earthly idol; and those of my sister Agnes are to be brought from the vault in Baltimore, and placed by his side. No doubt Judge C****** has sent you all the papers containing accounts of the last honours paid him who was worthy of all honour.

This event has exhibited perhaps more strikingly than any thing else could, the deep and universal attachment which he had excited. Young and old, rich and poor, learned and illiterate, noble and humble, all, all crowded the house with kind and anxious inquiries until the last answer was given, which seemed to clothe the whole city and country in mourning. Unobtrusive as was his piety, it was yet so consistent and so mingled with all the affairs of life, that it could not but be manifest to all associated with him. A little anecdote illustrating this, occurs to me at this moment, which I will repeat. When we first arrived here, 11th January, and took up our lodgings, we were prevented by an accident from having our private table, as had been stipulated; and we took our meals with the family with whom we boarded-a very genteel one, by the by; they are not in the habit of saying grace, which father bore several days without comment; but after the second day, he consulted us what was to be done about it, and, though there was a considerable struggle in his mind lest he should appear officious or overscrupulous, he at length came to the conclusion, that it was his duty to bear this cross. On entering the breakfast-room next morning, he greeted the family with his usual winning smile, and they stood respectfully for him to be first seated-he then spoke, and said: "Before we sit down, I wish to ask you, master and mistress of the house, if you have any objection to my saying grace at our meals? It has always been my habit in my own family, and I feel as if I could not enjoy my meals without it." Of course they gratefully acceded to it: such an example, from one entitled to so much respect, I hope they will imitate. I see him now vividly before me, as his manly and majestic form bent lowly