Such-and so tutored in affliction's school was he who forms the subject of our present meditations. Wearied with the cares and anxieties of the day, deeply and anxiously interested in the result of an embassy upon which depended much of weal or woe, Isaac chose this solemn silent hour, to reflect on the adversities of his fate, and calculate the probabilities of happiness for the remainder of his life; to weep over the departed virtues of an amiable and saintly mother; and to anticipate that consolation and encouragement which might be derived from her, who was so soon to meet him, in—save only that which death had just dissolved-by far the tenderest and the dearest of all earthly relations-as the partner of his fortunes, and the wife of his bosom. It was an hour which suited well the colour of his fate. As the hoarse murmur of the busy day died lingering on his ear, every unruly and unholy thought was lulled to rest-the stillness, so profound that the "blind mole could hear no footfall," the grass, bent down, yet glistening with the dew, like maiden, loveliest in tears-the closing floweret-the last wild whistle of the wood bird's song-all forcibly reminded him of the mortality and insecurity of man, and of his own, —though distant-approaching end: while, should a doubt or a fear of the ability or the mercy of the God of his father Abraham enter his mind, the "spacious firmament which he has established,” the “ moon and stars which he has ordained," declaring to all the ends of the earth the wisdom, power, and goodness of their Creator, forbade the slightest indulgence of the impious apprehension. If, anticipating the result of that mission to the country and kindred of his father of which he was soon to be informed, he were disposed, in the fire and fervency of youth, to expect too much from the proffered blessing, and forget the unseen hand from whence it came, the withered roses, scattered at his feet, reminded him how soon each earthly pleasure fades, and told him that when adversity's dark night had lowered, and affliction's black and plashing rain-drop had fallen, the fairest flowerets of the field-the young, the blooming, and the lovely-must bend their blighted heads. and strew their glowing beauties to the blast. Led by these reflections to a painful recollection of her who had cradled his helpless infancy, now cold and mingled with the earth, did he impugn the justice or the loving-kindness of the Omnipotent, he need only look to that Heaven whence an angel's voice had often reached his ear, and read in lines of light, traced on the blue serene, the unfailing promise—“ God will provide." What wonder, then, that, thus affected by the circumstances around him, Isaac should go out in the field to meditate at eventide-that forsaking the busy tents of "Beer-sheba," and the thronged "well of La-hai-roi," he should come out of the fertile and populous "south country," and wander in the lone and unfrequented field. What other season could he have chosen more suitable to commemorate the virtues of a beloved mother-what scene so likely to recall that voice, which "shielded his infant innocence with prayer"-that lip which bore a balm for every wound, a charm for every tear-that eye from which affection beamed so tenderly, and which never closed upon his wants, till closed in death's long, dreamless sleep. These were reflec tions which the scene and the season would naturally introduce, and beneath which-though pained and wounded-the heart, as odours crushed become more fragrant, sends forth a sweeter and more welcome sacrifice of faith, and love, and gratitude. Each period of the day, like every season of the year, has its peculiar pleasures and appropriate duties. In the morning, refreshed with sleep, we rise up hale and vigorous, to begin again the still repeated journey of the day-this is the period of enterprise. Analogous to the youthful season of our lives, and the vernal season of the year, it is the time when all those preparations are to be made which may ensure prosperity to our undertakings, and success to their conclusion -this affords no opportunity for reflection. What the morning had planned, the day is to execute-with the high glow of noon the work too glows-at this season, all thoughts, save of the work begun, would be intrusive-the harvest of the year and the manhood of life, alike strain every nerve, and call forth each exertion to improve the ripening sunshine and the lengthened day-this should be the season of unceasing and uninterrupted activity. But when the shades fall, darkly from the mountains, and evening "clad in sober gray" steals slowly on; the peasant quits his spade; the weary woodman homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes, whistles across the lea; and even the Preacher, rising from his desk, throws down his jaded pen, and lifts his ancient spectacles, to spend, in silent thoughtfulness, dim twilight's shadowy hour-this is the season of musing meditationthe halcyon hour when memory breathes her most refreshing fragrance and fancy soars on least erratic wing-when the rough waves of youthful and tumultuous passion are sunk to rest, and the whole wide ocean heaves but one high, uninterrupted swell: "How sweet to me the hour when daylight dies And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee; And as I watch the line of light that plays Along the smooth wave tow'rd the burning west, I long to tread that golden path of rays, And think 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest." While in the example of Isaac we behold a beautiful specimen of ancient simplicity and filial sorrow, we may also draw from it instruction useful at the present, and applicable to every circumstance. In the hour of anxiety and affliction, when the strongest ties are broken, and the dearest friends fail-when all seems lost and hopeless, let none sit down in unavailing anguish, nor turn, in madness, to the mantling and oblivious poison of the soul-destroying cup. Let them walk out like Isaac and meditating like him on the power and goodness manifested in all the works of God, and on his numberless mercies granted aforetime, to their wants, like him, they will return home "comforted after their affliction. The few words that follow here, from an article signed Hermit, in the Ladies' Literary Cabinet for January 1820, witness the dignity and high position, in which he always placed women; and are almost prophetic of the devotion of his life, to the development and consecration of their powers. They were called forth, by a saying of a fashionable lady, "I cannot bear to see a gentleman blush; for it is confirmation strong to me of a plentiful lack of brains;" and the heading of the article is this comes of modesty in a man! The ladies, to give them their due, are getting rid of it as fast as they can, to set the other sex a better example; " and he writes: To a superiority gained by deeds of prowess, and yielded only to greater skill, or greater force, the submission will be compulsory and unwilling. But the ascendency of women-it is the trophy of her weakness, the tribute to her charms; a concession yielded to her very helplessness, which all the strength of all the world could not have compelled. Where then the hand so rude as to exert itself, against the mild entreaty of a woman's eye? Or where the tongue which would contend against the "silence of pure innocence "—that "prone and speechless dialect "-which man-while he be man—cannot withstand? Still vain and inefficient though it be, one who duly appreciates the force of female influence; who, looking back through the lengthening vista of departed years, beholds what it has done, and forward to ages yet unchronicled, sees what it might do, and what without it must be left undone-such an one would be unfaithful to his dearest interests and holiest obligations, did he not record his feeble, perhaps unheeded censure. We cannot see without the deepest regret, those charms which should have been the guerdon of valour, and the reward of worth, polluted by the stupid gaze of the coward and the fop-that lip which should teach the lisping infant how to pray, and soothe the sorrows of age, and sickness, and poverty, sanctioning that immodesty, which it might have awed into nothingness, and giving license to that licentiousness which it alone can arrest-perversions like these, we cannot witness without severe regret and decided disapprobation. And yet, of perversions like these-shocking as to her more serious moments it may be-is she guilty, who by branding modesty as dulness, and "goodly shame-facedness," as stupidity, derides men into vice, and satirizes them into indelicacy. Beside this, he wrote, I believe, for several of the Reviews, and was elected a member, in 1817, of a Debating Society, called "the Greenwich Club," and in 1824, of the New York Literary and Philosophical Society. In this year, he published a volume of poems "chiefly devotional, with Translations and Imitations." Almost, as they were, they will be printed with this memoir. He had found a key, which Neale and others since, have turned so musically in the rusted lock, to the treasures of the old Latin hymns, as well as to the beauties of classic song: The volume was very cordially received. Bishop Hobart, to whom it was dedicated, thought so well of it, as to propose, when in England, an edition of it there, and Dr. Jarvis wrote of it from Boston, "accept my thanks, my dear and Rev. Sir, for your interesting volume of Songs by the Way. I have read it with very great pleasure, not only for its poetical merit, of which it has a great deal, but more especially for the spirit of devotion which it breathes. I hope very soon to have the pleasure of seeing you, but I would not delay the expression of my feeling towards one whom I shall ever be pleased to remember as my pupil, and whom I am always happy to number among my friends." The preface to the volume was in these words: The Courteous Reader is respectfully reminded, that if, in the volume before him, but little has been performed, so very little was promised in the Title-page, that his reasonable disappointment cannot be great. To their Author, its Contents have most literally been, "SONGS BY THE WAY; "loose numbers," framed in the interval of an arduous avocation, and of severe study. It is deemed sufficient, without resorting to any of those ingenious pleas, which from time immemorial, have brought the sins of unwilling authors, upon the heads of kind and importunate friends, simply to state, that though some parts of the volume were written several years ago, and all of it, at periods more or less remote from the present date, no idea of its publication was entertained, until within a very short time before it was put to press. The Author has now only to express his hope, that his Readers may derive from its perusal, some share of that solace, which its occasional composition has afforded him, and that they may feel as he has feltand especially when his song has been of "mercy and judgment; Cantantes-minus via lædet: The rugged way seems smoother, while we sing. His own title is retained, in the present collection of his works, as best descriptive of their character. "How gracefully" one writes from Jerusalem, unconsciously on the day on which notice of his first Presentment came to Riverside; "does the Bishop chant that most mournful of all lays, † the requiem of a friend and brother! Let no enemy of the Bishop of New Jersey count upon breaking his heart and energy, while the Bishop strides along the rugged mountain road, of his own choosing, singing so lustily, yet so sweetly. A man, who can look up to Heaven, so trustingly, with one of the best of his few fast friends lying dead before his eyes, has enough heart left, after all that an ungrateful world has eaten out, to face and floor the sturdiest of his adversaries." *The Rt. Rev. Dr. Odenheimer. At the death of the Rev. Dr. Croswell. CHAPTER III. LIFE IN HARTFORD AND BOSTON-DR. CROSWELL-CHURCH PRESSMISSIONS. ALL my Father's life in New York, was of the most attractive kind. His natural social qualities had a most charming field, for their cultivation and enjoyment. His own home, full of all home joys, was the intimate resort of the Bishop and the Clergy of the city, and in their houses, he was not so much a welcome guest, as one of the home circle. His mind was fully engaged, and his love and necessity for work found full and ample scope. Retired always to some degree, he had given up, toward the latter part of his New York life, the excessive closeness of application, from which, he gave himself at first the title of the Hermit. And there were many most endearing and enduring ties formed here, that were not ever parted, but whose drawing out to their long distance, cost him no inconsiderable effort. I know no better evidence of his feeling, in the two points of religious sympathy and social affection, than a letter written, Dec. 1825, to Bishop Hobart, after he had reached Hartford; and some verses, to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, which bear date Jan. 1825. You are doubtless apprised, long ere this, of my removal from your Diocese, and of the circumstances of it. That such a separation, however expedient, could not be made without deep regret, none who know my respect and attachment for you-and least of all I trust yourself -can for a moment doubt. I am consoled however, by the consideration that the distance is but small-that an Episcopal College is an object of common, rather than of diocesan interest and most of all, by the conviction, that the institution, with which I am connected will prove, by God's grace, a powerful auxiliary, in the promotion of that cause for which you have laboured, and which, above every other, you lovethe "magnificent and awful cause" of the Church of the living God. For this conviction, you will ask no better warrant, than is afforded by the fact, that within a few days a pamphlet, (" telum imbelle sine ictu,") has been levelled at us, (supposed from Yale College) in which it is set down as a leading charge, that Washington College was organized as |