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The subject of his approaching dissolution was again introduced in the afternoon of that day. He said he was not aware that it was very near; that he had yet a great deal of strength; but still it might be so, as strong constitutions did sometimes suddenly give way. Upon being reminded that his religious friends would be gratified to learn his views and feelings at the prospect of death, he began to make some remarks upon the great and precious promises of the gospel, when he was seized with a paroxysm of distress, which prevented him from proceeding. A few hours before his death, the subject was, for the last time, mentioned. He appeared to comprehend the object in view; and, though he spoke with difficulty, he answered, with entire clearness, that in the extreme sickness with which he was visited in the spring, during some weeks of which he had no expectation of recovering, he had experienced more support and comfort from religion, and the promises of the gospel, than he had ever realized at any former period of his life. "Had I died then, (said he) that fact would doubtless have been considered as affording strong evidence of the sincerity and reality of my faith; but, as I recovered, it probably made but little impression." It was a sentiment often inculcated by him, that it was more safe to rely upon the tenor of a person's life, as evidence of the true state of his religious character, than upon declarations made upon a death-bed. In the above-mentioned remark, there is little reason to doubt that he alluded to that subject, and intended that it should apply to his former sentiments.

After this, he requested his brother to read to him the 17th of John. While listening to the latter verses of the chapter, he exclaimed, "O, what triumphant truths!" Afterwards the 14th, 15th, and 16th chapters were read to him. He listened attentively, and spoke with lively interest on various passages. His mind evidently wandered while the last chapter was reading, and it was not completed.

80."

A few hours before his death, one of his friends observed to him, that he hoped he was able, in his present situation, to adopt the language of the Psalmist: "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for THOU art with meand thy staff they comfort me." He immediately replied, "I hope -Thy rod For several of his last hours, his organs of speech were so much affected, that it was with difficulty he could articulate distinctly. Many of his words could not be understood. There is, however, no doubt, that, during that period, his mind was unclouded, and his thoughts were fixed on death and heaven. He was occupied a great part of the time in speaking, sometimes in an audible voice, and sometimes in a whisper. Repeated instances occurred, in which his expressions were clearly understood. In all of them, his language was that of prayer and adoration. The belief that he was engaged in that delightful Christian duty was confirmed, by the peculiarly solemn and devotional expression of

his countenance. His eyes appeared to be fixed on that celestial world, whose gates, it is humbly trusted, were just opening to receive his departing spirit into the mansions of everlasting rest, prepared for him in his Father's house. That he enjoyed the use of his reason until a short time before his death, was satisfactorily manifested by his answer to one of his friends, who was sitting by him, and who asked him if he knew him. Upon which, he immediately turned his eyes towards him, looked him full in the face, and said, "Yes," with so much distinctness, as to satisfy those who were present that he perfectly understood the question, and the answer.

He did not appear, for several hours previous to his death, to suffer much pain; but continued to breathe shorter and shorter, until a few minutes before three o'clock, on Saturday morning, the 11th of January, when he expired, without a struggle or a groan.

The death of President Dwight spread a deep and general sorrow, not only through the state, but through New-England, and extensively through the Union. Beloved by relatives, esteemed by his friends, revered by his pupils, and highly honoured by his countrymen, his loss was universally considered as a great public, as well as private calamity. In the city where he had so long resided, and where his worth was universally acknowledged, he was sincerely and feelingly lamented. His funeral was attended on Tuesday, the 14th of January, by a large concourse of people from New-Haven and the neighbouring towns, and a respectable number of the clergy from different parts of the state. As a mark of respect, the stores and shops in the city were shut, and business suspended. The scene was solemn and impressive. A deep gloom pervaded the whole assembly, and every one present felt himself a mourner. The various religious services exhibited the fullest evidence of the affection and respect which the reverend gentlemen who officiated, entertained for his private virtues, as well as their deep sense of the loss which the Church, the College, and the community, had sustained in his death. In many places, in different parts of the country, sermons were delivered on the occasion. În New-York and Albany, meetings were held by the alumni of the College, resident in those cities, where various public manifestations of their sense of his virtues, their regret for his death, and respect for his character, were exhibited. Indeed, we know of but one instance that has occurred in this country, in which such extensive public expressions of sorrow for the death of any individual, or respect for his memory, have appeared.

It cannot be expected, that the character of so great and good a man, can be fully exhibited in a sketch like the present. A mere outline is all that its limits will admit.

The life of President Dwight, approaching within a few years to the duration allotted by Infinite Wisdom as the ordinary term of VOL. I.

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the life of man, passed during one of the most important periods which has occurred since the era of Christianity. The truth of this remark will be admitted, in whatever light the subject may be considered, whether literary or scientific, political or religious. In each particular he was called to act, and in most of them a very industrious and distinguished part. In order to ascertain his true character, it may be well to view him as a man of genius and a scholar; as an instructer; as a preacher; and as a man.

For native powers of mind, he will doubtless be ranked among the first men in the history of our country. The proofs in support of this remark need not be sought from any individual source, or from his attainments in any single walk of literature or science. They may be found in every pursuit in which he was engaged, and be gathered in every stage of his progress, from the cradle to the grave. In the acquisition of knowledge, we have seen that the earliest efforts of his mind, even in infancy, were singular and extraordinary; and that his talents were as strongly marked at this early stage of his existence, as perhaps at any subsequent period of his life. At every school in which he was placed, though commonly the youngest member, he was at the head of his class. In College, notwithstanding his extreme youth and the many other embarrassments through which he had to struggle, he was surpassed by none of his companions. His acquisitions, during the eight succeeding years after he left College, although he was constantly occupied in the business of instruction, and a considerable part of the time was afflicted with disease and debility, and in a great measure deprived of the use of his eyes, were extensive and profound; not confined to a single science, or to one branch of literature, but comprehending the mathematics and logic, the languages and philology, as well as rhetoric and poetry.

The loss of the use of his eyes, at the early age of twentythree, is not to be regarded merely as a calamity by which he was deprived of the capacity for reading and study; but in connexion with the fact that it constantly subjected him to severe and almost uninterrupted suffering. With this insurmountable embarrassment he was obliged to struggle through life. During the great part of forty years he was not able to read fifteen minutes in the twentyfour hours; and often for days and weeks together, the pain which he endured in that part of the head immediately behind the eyes, amounted to anguish. His life, it will be remembered, was devoted to a learned and laborious profession, and to literary and scientific pursuits. The knowledge which he gained from books after the period above mentioned, was almost exclusively at second hand, by the aid of others: a process slow, tedious, and discouraging. Yet he has ever been esteemed one of the best informed men this country has produced. Industry was indeed one of his most striking characteristics; but it was the industry of a mind conscious of its powers, and delighting in their exercise. All his exertions were

the effort of easy action. They cost no labour, and occasioned no fatigue. His perception was clear and rapid, his discernment acute, his invention rich, his taste correct and delicate, his imagination brilliant, his wit genuine, his judgment solid, his views comprehensive, and his reasoning faculties powerful and commanding. Never was a mind under better discipline. All his stores of thought were arranged in exact method, and every faculty was ready at the moment. This was true, in conversation, in his lectures to his class, and in his public addresses. No emergency, however sudden or pressing, appeared to surprise him or to find him unprepared. In repeated instances, on the Sabbath, when his notes were by accident left at home, and he did not discover it until a few moments before he was to use them; he has, in the instant, taken a new subject of discourse, and formed his plan so happily, and executed it so well, that none of the audience conjectured the fact, or suspected the want of preparation. His mind always rose with the occasion, and was always equal to it. It appeared to view every demand upon it as an obvious call of God. Trusting in Him, it marched directly to its purpose, without even observing those difficulties which might have proved insurmountable to others.

In one particular, he excelled most men of any age:-in the entire command of his thoughts. Having been driven by necessity to pursue his many avocations without the use of his eyes, his memory, naturally strong, acquired a power of retention unusual and surprising. It was not the power of recollecting words, or dates, or numbers of any kind. It was the power of remembering facts and thoughts: especially his own thoughts. When an event in history or biography, or a fact or principle in science, was once known, he appeared never to forget it. When a subject became once familiar to his mind, he rarely, if ever, lost its impression. In this respect his mind resembled a well arranged volume; in which every subject forms a separate section, and each view of that subject a separate page. He perfectly knew the order of the subjects; could turn to any page at will; and always found each impression as distinct and perfect as when first formed.

When engaged in the composition of sermons, or any other lite rary performance, not only did the conversation of those around him not interrupt his course of thinking, but while waiting for his amanuensis to finish the sentence which he had last dictated, he would spend the interval in conversing with his family or his friends, without the least embarrassment, delay, or confusion of thought. His mind took such firm hold of the subject which principally occupied it, that no ordinary force could separate it from its grasp. He was always conscious of the exact progress which he had made in every subject. When company, or any other occurrence, compelled him to break off suddenly, it would sometimes happen that he did not return to his employment until after the expiration of several days. On resuming his labours, all he required of his amanuensis was, to

read the last word, or clause, that had been written; and he instantly would proceed to dictate as if no interruption had occurred. In several instances he was compelled to dictate a letter at the same time that he was dictating a sermon. In one, a pressing necessity obliged him to dictate three letters at the same time. He did so. Each amanuensis was fully occupied; and the letters needed no correction but pointing.

A single fact will exhibit, in a striking light, the comprehension of his mind, and the admirable method of its operations. The reader is requested to examine the "Analysis," at the close of this Memoir; and to observe how extensive, and yet how logical, is the plan of his lectures. This Analysis was formed from the lectures themselves, since his decease. He wrote no plan of them himself; but in completing them, relied exclusively on the scheme of thought which existed in his own mind. We have rarely seen any work, even of much less extent, unless some treatise on mathematical or physical science, in which the perfection of mathematical arrangement is so nearly attained. It ought to be added, that the following volumes are published as they were dictated to the amanuensis; with almost no corrections except those which were owing to the mistakes of the penman, or the illegibility of his hand.

To conceive, to invent, to reason, was in such a sense instinctive, that neither employment appeared to fatigue or exhaust him. After severe and steady labour, his mind was as prepared for any species of exertion, as if it had done nothing: for the activity and sprightliness of conversation; for the closer confinement of investigation; or for the excursive range of poetry. Almost all his poetry, written subsequently to the age of twenty-three, was dictated to an amanuensis, after the unintermitted application of the day. Not unfrequently, in an autumnal or winter evening, would he compose from fifty to sixty lines in this manner. The first part of his "Genius and Common Sense" is in the stanza of " The Faery Queene," the most difficult stanza in English poetry. Repeatedly has he been known to dictate four of these stanzas, or forty-four lines, in the course of such an evening; and chiefly without any subsequent corrections.

The earliest of his poetical productions that has been preserved, though written at the age of fifteen, bears the characteristic marks, both in style and thought, of his later and more mature compositions. While he was connected with the College, either as a student or a tutor, he wrote and published several small poems, on various subjects, which were very favourably received at the time, and are still admired, for sweetness of versification, as well as for delicacy and purity of sentiment.

The early age at which he wrote the Conquest of Canaan is to be remembered in forming our estimate of the poem. It is not believed that the history of English poetry contains the account. of any equal effort, made at so early an age. The subject of the