of the pleasant way, in which he bore privations, rather than trouble them at home, or be shortened in his mental wants.

During vacation I shall stay in my room generally, as I have a good deal to do, and it is the last opportunity I shall ever have here. I think I have written and read more this session, than I have before, since I have been here, besides attending to my usual lessons. I generally sit up till 12 in the evening, (I suppose papa will scold at that,) four hours of which time are generally left after getting my lessons. Indeed, this is the most valuable part of it; for in the day time, there are so many things to be done, and it is cut up into such small bits, that it is not worth much. The only difficulty, I find in sitting up late, is that I get hungry. Our three meals are all crowded together into seven hours, the remaining seventeen from 4 P. M. to 9 A. M. we do as we can. Since I have got my new stove however, we have done pretty well. It has a little oven in it, which we shut up with a board, and it answers for baking very well. Now it came to pass, that Chum had an old hat, somewhat the worse for wear; and he though a Dutchman being somewhat of a Yankee for trading, we bargained it off, for half a bushel of potatoes. With these, and a little salt, we make a pretty comfortable meal about ten in the evening. So you see we learn to "make shifts" here, as well as other branches of useful "eddication." * * * I want Mother to hold this leaf of my letter up to the light, and examine it particularly. Being out of paper, I begged this on purpose that she might see the face of her old friend Buonaparte.

I send you here a little book, &c., &c.*

I don't suppose it is a striking likeness, any more than that of old John Rogers in the Primer, but it will do well enough to keep him in memory. The letters round it are, "Napoleon, Emperor, and King; on the other side round the eagle, "God protects the empire."

Who, that was ever at the table, at Riverside, cannot taste, through these long years, the salt of ready wit and playful conversation, that seasoned, the baked potatoes, for their wellearned appetite. And what a thought, of youth grown old, of freshness blooming into decay, is there in the old yellow sheet, that still reveals "held up to the light " the profile of Napoleon. His Mother's Churchmanship, in him, proves itself often in these letters:

This is Good Friday-and although we do not have holiday, all good Churchmen, like myself, fail not to attend service.

past. And now, the sere and yellow leaf on which my life has fallen, finds its best
compensation in the attempt to realize in others, what I might not be myself."
"I send you here, a little book

For you, to look upon;

That you may see, yr Father's face
When he is dead and gone."

Old Primer.

And again:

The first Christmas, that I have ever spent from home, is gone. I went to Church, in the morning, when Mr. Stebbins preached an excellent sermon. The Church is not decorated half so well as ours used to

be. They know nothing about it.

I have been to Church this forenoon. Mr. Stebbins preached a charity sermon, for the benefit of Bishop Hobart. I added my little mite. It was small, indeed, but it was all I had.

The earnest simplicity of his religious character, is often brought out.

I know nothing about the situation of affairs, and can only hope that the great Disposer of all events, who deigns even to notice us and regulate our affairs, will direct all things to the best advantage.

And again:

I wait, I hope patiently, for the "moving of the waters." Nothing doubting, that as we ever have been, so we ever shall be, protected and supported by Him, who, in the plenitude of His mercy, gives to faith and hope, their sure reward.

There is great beauty too, which was so beautifully made real, in his grateful appreciation of the home efforts and sacrifices, for his advantage.

Should kind Providence ever place me in a more active and more useful station, my endeavours shall not be wanting, to render myself a comfort and a blessing to you; a protection to my sisters, and of some use to mankind.

And again

I have never, for a moment, lost sight of your earnest and anxious struggles for my welfare, and if I am ever able they shall be as much as possible, repaid, hoping, that what may be deficient, in the act, the intention may supply.

I have quoted these letters, so largely, as having the evidence, in them, of the man that was in the boy. It is the unfinished statue, striking in its promise and proportions; the soul, great and beautiful even now, in the beginning of that painful carving, by which God should bring it, to its glory, with the instruments of suffering and persecution.

In 1818, in his twentieth year, he graduated, taking an honour. The Salutatory was assigned to him; but he could

*

* His subject was "In Republicâ, amorem bellandi, omnino reprimendam, et in eo efficiendo, cultus animi et literarum efficacissimum instrumentum est." And this is the peroration:-" Macte igitur, novis virtutibus, Patres reverendi, fundare academias et dotare collegia. Pergite fortiter, animos nostrorum juvenum amore scientiæ imbuere; exsanguem ingenii rivalitatem instigare, et placidum studium famæ hederatæ suscitare, donec per nostram patriam, per totam orbem terrarum; 'cedant arma toga, concedat laurea linguæ.'** Pagite in hoc vestro opere caritatis, et quum, vos et omnes desinatis; tum vos ad splendidas domus Pacis Principis, ascendetis, salutati ut surgitis precatione fausta, Christi ipsius Salvatoris, Beati Pacifici, quoniam ipsi, filii Dei vocabuntur.""

not return to the Commencement, to deliver it. That he had to work for it, he says himself.

He that aims to excel in a class like ours, where there are so many excellent scholars, must not only get his lessons well, but he must recite and understand them perfectly; besides which he must attend to his other duties with scrupulous regularity.

He had no fine, in his College or Society bills.

*And so he left the quiet studious atmosphere of Schenectady, to enter, sooner than he thought and more responsibly, into the thickest battle of life. He never lost what he had gained there. But in after years, when study was impossible, and reading very desultory, he was as fresh in his classics, for the aptest quotation, the most pointed rendering, the most accurate recitation, as though he still turned them over "Nocturnâ manu" atque "diurnâ."

In A. D. 1845, I went back with him to the pleasant home of his academic years, to the semi-centennial anniversary of the College. There were but few of the old faces to greet him. The venerable President was there, and three of his classmates, the Bishop of Pennsylvania, then a Professor in the College, being one of them. But the old place; his room; the buildings; was still the same; and to our great interest and his own delight, he recalled the memory of his life there.

Leaving College at the end of the term, he went, at once, to New York, whither his father had moved; to cultivate still further the seed of his Collegiate sowing, that it might bear fruit for the good of others.

He had no thought, that God would ripen it to maturity, under the genial influences of the Holy Spirit, that it might refresh the souls of men, and show forth His Glory, and be gathered in the Heavenly garner. Nor had he any thought, of the burden, that was to be laid upon his shoulders. But it was a wise and gracious Providence, good for him, to bear the

*As the door is open out of College into life, through which, God helping him, my Father carved no easy way; his description of William of Wykeham, in his third Baccalaureate Address, so perfectly describes his past and future, that I will insert it here. It is not often, that a great painter draws himself. I change only one sentence. "Manners makyth man. There was a Bishop, that was filled and fired, with a desire to benefit his kind. He was of poor parentage. His opportunities of education had been small and few. But, he had faithfully improved his gifts. And he attained to great, and well deserved, influence; the greatest, and the best deserved. He was not without its surest tokens, in a wicked world; malicious and vindictive enemies. But, he escaped their clutches. And he outlived most of them." "He was the Bishop of a large and powerful Diocese. Yet his noblest memorials are the two Colleges, which he founded, and the Cathedral" which he built. "It was not till he had earned it, that he used a coat of arms. And when he did, the motto was, Right Onward.'" "It was a teaching text, and his life was its best Commentary."

MEMOIR.

yoke in his youth, good for how many others, in consecrating his great powers, to the "office and work of the Ministry." He had seen ahead, dark clouds, of anxious uncertainty as to his future. He longed, in some way, to relieve his Father of the burden of his support, and to aid him in the care of his family. But his simple faith cared not to see through them. The kindly Light" shone in the darkness of his soul, and he

66

was content.

I do not ask to see

The distant scene-one step enough for me.

He had the consciousness of power within him, and confidence in God's strength about him. He was in the full flush of youth, fresh-hearted, able-bodied, strong-souled. Of singular beauty, with a commanding form and noble head, even then, (for they both grew, the form, to the burden that lay on it, and the brow, to the incessant creations that were born under it,) he bore God's seal upon him, in his youth, of prominence and power. Ruddy, and of a fair countenance like David, his face was the token of the freshness and beauty of his heart; and his goodly person, like Saul's, "higher from his shoulders and upward," than the common size, was the figure of his mind and soul, that towered beyond the intellectual power of his and reached up to the higher mysteries of the Divine Science. of his years, And so he entered life, at twenty. Not knowing what manner of spirit he was of, he devoted himself to the study of law, and " was entered as a student of law in the office of the eminent and venerable Richard Harison.” * here only a few months. It was no fickleness of purpose, that He remained led him to abandon his first plans for life. I believe that God's grace was working in him, leading him from his youth up, by strange and hidden orderings, to the far higher honours and responsibilities of the Priesthood. The Hand that led him, was laid most heavily upon him, in his Father's unexpected death, which occurred in November A. D. 1818. He felt the pressure of it then, and the crushing of his heart, in its first sorrow, brought out the fragrance of that incense, with which he offered it to God. Brought near to Him, as "the Father of the fatherless," drawn to Him by the very Hand that took from him, his earthly Father, he heard more clearly, the voice of the Divine Master, calling him to take up the cross; and saw more clearly, by the light of God's closer Presence, the mysteries of His Providence, and the bent + of his own life. Surely the seals of his ministry, the spiritual children that

Sprague's Annals of the American Episcopal Pulpit.

How often, public men have said to him, "If you had been a politician, you would have been President," as though that were the first round, even, of that ladder, to whose very top he climbed, and entered so to Paradise.

God hath given him; the souls that are his "hope and joy and crown of rejoicing," the amazing harvest that he reaped from seed sown in tears; these are witnesses that it was no inconsiderate fickleness, no unreasoned change of purpose which led him to give up the path to human distinction and comfort. I have heard my Grandmother say, often, that the dread of prosecuting a murderer, when he once heard a speech of that kind made, was a very prominent reason, in his mind for leaving the profession. And I can readily imagine it to have been the case. But, that higher claims of duty, heard in the silence of his first sorrow, were the final reasons for the step, is plain enough. And so in early life, God's plan of moulding him through suffering, is developed. We shall trace it all along. In bringing this son to glory, the way was in the footsteps of "the Captain of our Salvation."

Of course the first step to be taken, in his new way of life, led him to Bishop Hobart, then Bishop of New York. In his Sketch of Dr. Orin Clark, "the Pastor of his boyhood when the wax was soft and the impressions deep," he says "he and the Rev. Mr. Phelps both made up their minds that I would be a clergyman." This was a little seed, sown deep, whose presence attested itself, for years, by no outward token. It was on Mr. Clark's solicitation that he went to Union College where he became acquainted with Dr. Brownell,* now the venerable presiding Bishop.

Of Dr. Brownell, he writes in the same sketch, "he was my friend while there, and coming to New York as an Assistant Minister at Trinity Church, his personal kindness and the great acceptance of his public ministrations, humanly regarded, turned the current of my life towards the Priesthood." In his private diary, the record of the day of his consecration

Bishop Brownell writes me under date of July 5th, A. D. 1859: "Being now in the eightieth year of my age, with greatly impaired memory, I am unable to afford you any aid in your proposed work, which I am happy to hear you are preparing. I can only recollect that in College, your Father and Bishop Potter of Pennsylvania stood at the head of their class, and that to the former was assigned the Salutatory, and to the latter the Valedictory. I also recollect, that on the establishment of Washington (now Trinity) College in Hartford, it was my first object to get your father appointed a Professor, and that he distinguished himself, as such, in the department of Ancient Languages and Belles-Lettres. In the course of my long intercourse with him, though witnessing many imprudences and occasional faults, I may safely say, that he retained to the last my affection and esteem." The same hand had written before, in the first days of our anxious suspense "I have been pained to learn to-day that your Father is alarmingly ill, and I am exceedingly anxious for more particular intelligence. There are none of my old friends, at the mention of whose name my heart beats more warmly, than at that of your honoured Father." I am deprived, inevitably, in this way, of the aid of those who knew and loved my Father best, from early, till his latest life. The venerable Rector of Trinity Church, who was among his first and last, his most faithful and most loving friends, is hindered from writing by a serious affection of sight and other than these two, many went first to welcome him to Paradise.

: