great vehemence, but which never excited him to a word of anger or intolerance. All my impressions of him are harmonious. I recollect no discord in his beautiful life; and this serenity was not the result of torpidness or tameness; for his whole life was a conflict with what he thought error. He made no compromise with the world, and yet he loved it as deeply and constantly as if it had responded in shouts to all his views and feelings.

The next great impression which I received from him, was that of the sufficiency of the mind to its own happiness, or of its independence on outward things. He was for years debilitated and often a great sufferer; and his circumstances were very narrow, compelling him to so strict an economy, that he was sometimes represented, though falsely, as wanting the common comforts of life. In this tried and narrow condition, he was among the most contented of men. He spoke of his old age as among the happiest portions if not the very happiest in his life. In conversation his religion manifested itself in gratitude more frequently than in any other form. When I have visited him in his last years, and looked on his serene countenance, and heard his cheerful voice, and seen the youthful earnestness with which he was reading a variety of books, and studying the great interests of humanity, I have felt how little of this outward world is needed to our happiness. I have felt the greatness of the human spirit, which could create to itself such joy from its own resources. I have felt the folly, the insanity of that prevailing worldliness, which, in accumulating outward good, neglects the imperishable soul. On leaving his house and turning my face toward this city, I

have said to myself, how much richer is this poor man than the richest who dwell yonder. I have been ashamed of my own dependence on outward good. I am always happy to express my obligations to the benefactors of my mind; and I owe it to Dr Worcester to say, that my acquaintance with him gave me clearer comprehension of the spirit of Christ, and of the dignity of a man.

And he has gone to his reward. He has gone to that world, of which he carried in his own breast so rich an earnest and pledge, to a world of Peace. He has gone to Jesus Christ, whose spirit he so deeply comprehended and so freely imbibed; and to God, whose universal, all-suffering, all-embracing love he adored and in a humble measure made manifest in his own life. But he is not wholly gone; not gone in heart, for I am sure that a better world has heightened, not extinguished, his affection for his race; and not gone in influence, for his thoughts remain in his works, and his memory is laid up as a sacred treasure in many minds. A spirit so beautiful ought to multiply itself in those to whom it is made known. May we all be incited by it to a more grateful, cheerful love of God, and a serener, gentler, nobler love of our fellow-creatures.

4

NOTE.

I cannot resist the desire to insert here a few extracts from two letters relating to Dr Worcester, the first from one of his children, whose filial virtue contributed largely to the comfort and happiness of his last years, and the second from the Rev. Mr Austin, of Brighton.

EXTRACTS FROM THE FIRST LETTER.

My father was blessed with pious ancestors. His grandfather was reputed a devoted minister. Both his grand-parents took a deep interest in his welfare, and, with his pious parents, no doubt, offered fervent supplication that he might early devote himself to the service of God. He often remarked that he could not remember, when he had not a love for divine things. A few days previous to his death, he mentioned a circumstance which deeply interested me. He said, that, in the absence of his father, his mother and grandinother were in the habit of conducting family worship, until he arrived to the age of twelve. From that period, he said, that he, being the oldest child, was called upon to perform this service. The sacredness, which, from early life, he attached to the observance of this delightful duty, may thus be accounted for. Even when there were strong indications of mental aberration, as there often were in the lethargic turns with which he was afflicted for several years previous to his death, he would call the family together at the customary hour, and address the throne of grace in an affectionate and collected manner.

He had no advantages for an education, excepting what the common public schools of that day afforded. He was industrious, and very economical of time, and having a thirst for knowledge, improved all his moments to some good purpose. At the age of twenty-one he was married, and removed to Thornton, N. H. At what time he made a profession of religion, I cannot tell; but the deep interest which he took in the spiritual welfare of the people, and the affection manifested on their part, suggested to their aged minister the idea, that his own services could be spared, and that my father should prepare himself to be his successor. With the care of a family, dependent entirely upon his labor for support, and with few books except his Bible, he commenced. The minister above alluded to, I think, afforded him such assistance as he was able; but it was very evident, that the Great Teacher was his principal instructor, as he possessed much of his spirit.

He was in the habit of speaking of his death with perfect composure for many years, and calculated to have all his affairs arranged and settled daily, and

appeared to be constantly waiting for the coming of the Bridegroom. If there was one grace, which shone more conspicuously in his character than another, I think it was gratitude; and surely no family have greater reason for gratitude than we have had. The debt is great to earthly benefactors, but how immense our obligations to our Divine benefactor. During my dear father's last illness, when he was relieved from distress, or after refreshing sleep, he would exclaim, Give God the praise; help me to praise him.' For the last few weeks of his life, he was too weak to converse much. He appeared to take great delight in hearing the Scriptures read, and in uniting with Christians in prayer. His precious spirit returned to God who gave it, twenty minutes past nine in the evening of Oct. 31, 1837. When the clock struck seven he inquired the time, and whether it was seven in the morning or evening. On being told, he expressed his surprise that it was no later, and said, I hope that I shall be in Heaven before seven in the morning.' A friend replied, I trust you will.' He was asked if he should like to have prayer again. He answered very cheerfully, and with a smile upon his countenance turned to a friend present, and said, 'O yes, do.' A little before nine he requested that the death of Christ might be read to him. He was asked where. He replied in Matthew. A turn of distress prevented this request being complied with for some minutes, after which he was asked if he could now listen; he said Yes,' and appeared to attend with interest. This was his last request, and these were his last words.'

·

EXTRACTS FROM THE SECOND LETTER.

In reply to my question, whether for the most part of his life, though then so feeble, he had not enjoyed good health, he confessed that he had; but stated that an abscess, at about the age of seventeen, reducing him for a long period to almost total weakness, and a dropsical affection of the legs in after life, from which with great difficulty he recovered, had each nearly proved fatal to him. In connection with these reminiscences, and while my thoughts were pursuing the lamentable consequences to the community, of the death of such a man at such a time, he added in substance the following anecdote.

'Soon after his marriage with his first wife, which took place on his 21st anniversary birth-day, Nov. 25, 1779, important business called him to cross Mad River, a branch of the Merrimack. Sudden severe frosts, and alternate thaws had encumbered the river with huge masses of ice, high piled above a dam. Over this dangerous sort of bridge it was necessary to pass, and with the resolution and promptitude, or rather rashness, as he termed it, of incipient manhood, it was passed, and in safety. His business successfully transacted, in the afternoon he attempted to return; but the river, swoln in the interim, presented a greater obstacle than before. However, remembering his duties at home, imagining the anxiety of his new bride and his friends, should he remain till next day on that side the river, and committing himself to God, he commenced clambering over the ice ridges, now rendered so frightfully insecure as to make him heartily regret, in the middle of the passage, that he had ever attempted it. Habitual trust in God revived his drooping courage, and pressing on at extreme hazard, he at length stood upon the shore, and hardly had he reached it, when,

looking back on his perilous path, he beheld with consternation, the whole body of ice give way, and with tremendous noise, rush as in an instant down the stream. Never was his consciousness of the divine goodness so intense, or his grateful heart so full. He had well nigh fainted with excess of emotion, and his friends found him scarcely in a condition to recount his deliverance.

The venerable Dr Worcester lived to see the fourth generation, and died aged 79. A few days before his death, he told me that his religious views were unchanged, and that he derived from them peculiar comfort; and to the Rev. Mr Lamson, who also prayed with him more than once, he said, “ Pray that I may have no will of my own," '