face with his hand. Till my father entered the room, I rudely continued my task; when his exclamation of surprise and delight at seeing the still nameless person before me cast my mind into great perplexity: nor was it relieved by my father's hurried questions of How came you to London ?-What has brought you here?-Why, man, this must be the first time in your life that you have ever been out of your own county.Why did you not send up your name?-How are the children, and how have you left my good friend Mrs. Drew?' The mental perplexity was at this moment relieved, and instinctively I arose from my seat, and stood consciously ashamed before an individual whose talents I revered, and to whom, in ignorance, I had evinced disrespect. It was a lesson never forgotten.

The death of Dr. Clarke seemed to astound and overpower Mr. Drew; and it was remarked, as he was pacing backwards and forwards, waiting in the City-road burial-ground for the arrival of the remains of his old friend, that he appeared desolate with grief, and almost prostrated in bodily strength, as well as in spirit, by the affectionate interest he took in the melancholy event. The first time I saw him after this painful bereavement, I marked the change, and felt assured that the arrow which had pierced my honoured father's heart had nearly reached his also. He was himself moved to tears at seeing me, and, taking both my hands in his, and looking most affectionately at me, he said, 'It is God, my dear friend, who has afflicted, and He will heal: I can say nothing to comfort you; but the stroke shall not be heavier than He will enable you to bear: I know your loss can never be supplied; but trust in the God of your mercies, and through His strength your spirit shall be upheld. I give you my blessing: it is all I have to bestow. May the God of your father be your God and Father, and may He preserve your husband and your children through the journey of this life, that we may all meet in heaven at last for Christ's sake.'

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Upon my revered mother's coming to town, Mr. Drew having expressed a desire to see her, and my mother being solicitous of seeing him, I wrote, entreating him to come and spend the following Sabbath with us, which was his birth-day, March 3d, 1833. He took a stage-coach from his own door to ours; but oh! what a still greater change had the few last weeks wrought his head was depressed, his step exceedingly infirm, and he was much exhausted with the fatigue of the ride. When a little recovered he spoke to my beloved mother on the subject

U

of her loss, and the probability that he should not himself long survive his friend Dr. Clarke, on whose character and talents he frequently expatiated in the course of the day, and then would again relapse into silence; or, at other times, repeat verses of hymns, texts of Scripture, or ejaculatory prayers. On placing my infant in his arms, for his blessing, he said, 'God bless you, little stranger! You are just come into life, -I am just going out of it. My life's journey has been a long, but, upon the whole, not a hard one:-may yours be a safe one, whether it be long or short.'

"Sometimes the scenes of Mr. Drew's youth would appear to be imaged to his mind; and he would tell of the achievements of his young life and vigour, and add, how earnestly he longed to breathe his last breath where he had breathed his first, and to lay his bones beside those of his dear wife's; and then, looking down upon himself, he subjoined, And I shall have little but bones to leave, for my flesh is nearly all gone.'

6

"On observing me distressed, he said, 'Do not grieve for me, my dear friend: I suffer no pain; 'tis mere debility. I may rally when I get to my native air; but God does all things well.' Then, relapsing into thoughtfulness, a mournful smile settled itself upon his face, as, taking my hand, he said, 'Yes, my friend, thus it is,

'Down Marlborough's cheeks the tears of dotage flow.''

In the afternoon he took a little sleep on the sofa, and awoke considerably refreshed, and conversed freely on different subjects, when, at seven o'clock, the stage called again and bore him away, and I saw his face no more! And in him I have lost one of my earliest, one of my best, one of my most esteemed friends; and more especially after I had lost my own honoured parent, Mr. Drew was one whom I regarded almost as a second father. He was ever unvarying in his friendship, and possessed a benevolence and beneficence of character which but few equal he was extremely social in his disposition and habits; always instructive and interesting in his conversation; and remarkable for the amiability and simplicity of his manners. None could know him without esteeming as well as respecting him, and in every way profiting by his society. He is now gone where truth exists without shadows, and all is for ever light in His light.'

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Stoke-Newington, May, 1833."

"MARY ANN SMITH.

The period of Mr. Drew's conversion to God, under the

ministry of Dr. Adam Clarke, and his connection with the Methodist society, is recorded on a plain marble, in the Wesleyan chapel at St. Austell. The inhabitants of the town of his nativity have given expression to their feelings of affectionate remembrance, by placing in the parish church a very handsome tablet, bearing this inscription:

TO THE MEMORY OF

SAMUEL DREW,

A NATIVE OF THIS PARISH,

WHOSE TALENTS AS A METAPHYSICAL WRITER,
UNAIDED BY EDUCATION,

RAISED HIM FROM OBSCURITY

INTO HONOURABLE NOTICE,

AND WHOSE VIRTUES AS A CHRISTIAN
WON THE ESTEEM AND AFFECTION

OF ALL WHO KNEW HIM.

HE WAS BORN MARCH 3D, 1765,
LIVED IN ST. AUSTELL UNTIL JANUARY, 1819,

AND, AFTER AN ABSENCE OF FOURTEEN YEARS, DURING WHICH HE CONDUCTED A LITERARY JOURNAL, HE RETURNED TO END HIS DAYS IN HIS NATIVE COUNTY, AS HE HAD LONG DESIRED,

AND DIED AT HELSTON, MARCH 29TH, 1833.

TO RECORD THEIR SENSE

OF HIS LITERARY MERIT AND MORAL WORTH,
HIS FELLOW-TOWNSMEN, AND PARISHIONERS
HAVE ERECTED THIS TABLET.

SECTION XXVI.

Mr. Drew's personal appearance-His domestic habits-Training of his children-His affability and readiness to instruct-Familiarity in correspondence-Singular instance of monomania.

THE leading events of Mr. Drew's life have been narrated in nearly chronological order. Other particulars, illustrative of his character and talents, we have yet to notice. To these a

brief description of his personal appearance may be deemed an appropriate introduction.

Slender in form, with a head remarkably small, his stature exceeded the common height. In its repose, his dark, expressive eye indicated a placid disposition, and a mind at ease; but frequently might it be seen either beaming with gratitude to God and benevolence to man, or lit up with the brilliancy of mental conception. A playful or an arch smile often stole over those features on which the lines of thought were deeply indented. His voice, neither harsh nor melodious, was clear and powerful; producing, by the firmness of its intonations, a conviction that the speaker was no ordinary man. Without exhibiting the polish of gentility, his gait and gesture were not ungraceful; while a general rapidity of motion indicated great physical activity, and decision of purpose.

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"The fixed glance of his eye," a gentleman intimately acquainted with Mr. D. in the latter years of his life remarks, was particularly searching. When I first became known to him, I used involuntarily to shrink from it. He seemed to be searching the secrets of one's soul; yet it was a glance entirely destitute of fierceness." Another gentleman, to whom he was known about the time of his first becoming an author, observes to him, in a letter dated 1802, "Your restless mind abhors indolence, as men too frequently abhor exertion. From your very make, I am led to calculate upon some future enterprise; and be that what it may, you will not attempt it but on a conviction of personal adequacy."

Whatever change his features may have sustained, through advancing age, a circumstance related by him a few weeks before his decease shows, that, in their general expression, they must have continued from his early manhood with little alteration. Riding to his office, as he was latterly accustomed, he was asked by a person who sat opposite to him in the vehicle, if he were not called Drew; and, on being answered in the affirmative, the gentleman remarked, "You and I, sir, were next-door neighbours at Crafthole.". -"How long is it, sir, since you lived there?" inquired Mr. D.-" About fifty years.' "And have you not seen me since?"- Never, sir, till now," was the answer.

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In describing Mr. Drew's DOMESTIC HABITS, the reader's attention is chiefly directed to the period subsequent to 1805the year in which he relinquished trade for literature, and was enabled to follow a systematic distribution of his time. Previously to this, the frequent and irregular calls of business scarcely

permitted the formation, much less the pursuit, of any settled plan.

That time might be "taken by the forelock," which was one of his favourite phrases and rules of conduct, the family clock was kept a quarter of an hour in advance of the town time. When this clock struck seven, he regularly rose, except in the depth of winter; and, if the weather permitted, walked till eight, the family breakfast hour. Sometimes this walk would be solitary; but usually he was accompanied by his children, and their young companions. To join his morning walk was esteemed a privilege. Even the little ones were eager to be of the party; for the child that was too young to keep pace with the others generally rode upon his father's back or shoulder. In this manner Mr. Drew's first morning hour was spent, not idly, but in delivering lectures on some topic which he endeavoured to render interesting to his young disciples. Grammar was frequently the subject-at other times, geography-at others, natural science, drawn from any object which might happen to strike his or the children's attention-and sometimes, a rehearsal of poetry. In fair weather, as duly as the clock struck eight might he be seen returning, with sometimes half a dozen children or more in company; and the appearance of the party was often a signal to the neighbours that the hour of eight had arrived.

From eight to nine was occupied by the morning repast and family devotion. At this, a chapter was read by one of his children; on each of whom, if capable of reading, the duty devolved in succession. Unless the portion of Scripture appeared to require explanation, the reading was followed immediately by an extemporaneous prayer, in which Mr. Drew manifested the liveliest feeling for the best interests of his dependants, and all whose welfare might, at the time, occupy his thoughts. He then entered his study, which he never designated by a more classical name than his chamber, and generally continued there, with the interruption only of dinner and tea, until seven o'clock; nor was this room interdicted to his children, while they refrained from noise. On those evenings when he delivered his lectures on grammar, &c., he left his study at an earlier hour--these lectures occupying his time from six to eight.

Independently of his engagement with his pupils, he regarded seven as his hour for "leaving work." A portion of two or three evenings weekly was devoted to the public duties of religion:--his other vacant hours were either given to the society of his friends-to conversation with his children-to occasional