fulness in his heart, to die in the bosom of his family; in inward as well as outward peace. On the last page of his diary his entry is, 'GOD's will be done.'

But while he had life his heart was with the Church; and a letter of expostulation, written by him after his return, to the Convention in Philadelphia in 1786, I have no doubt,' says Bishop White, was among the causes that prevented the disorganizing of the American Church,'* But the hand of death was upon him, though lingering in its approach. A cancer in the face terminated his mortal existence in 1790.

But to return to the subject of our memoir. It was in the month of May, as if to crown all other blessings with the bright hopes of spring, that Mr. Hobart and his youthful bride took possession of their destined parsonage in the quiet village of Hempstead, L. I.

Whether it answered the picture which fancy had drawn, we must leave to fancy to conjecture, for there are no memorials; certain, however, it is, it was not the true station for one of his talents long to rest in, either for usefulness to the Church or happiness to himself. The

* White's Memoirs, p. 131.

energy of such a mind must eventually have become restless under the want of adequate occupation, and his love of retirement, though it continued with him throughout life, and though it was a true love, was yet, we must say, an intermitting passion; it went not beyond the time that was needful for the refreshment of mind and body,

'To plume his feathers and let grow his wings!'

Though we may not add with the poet,

'That in the various bustle of resort,

Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired.'

Of his short residence at Hempstead, neither record nor letter is found. What it was, may, however, easily be conceived, happiness unbroken, so long as sufficient employment was found for time and talents. He loved study, it is true, and was an enthusiastic admirer of nature; but of books he had at this time small store, and nature on the pine plains of LongIsland is neither varied nor interesting enough for frequent meditation. But had he even found, what here in truth he did not, all that a romantic fancy had pictured, still it neither would, nor ought to have satisfied him long. The day-dreams of youth had passed, and the period of repose had not yet come; and, under

the sterner dictates of duty, he felt a voice within him that bade him up and be doing.

In a Church like that of England, full and stationary, such acknowledgment might indicate a spirit too restless for the Christian minister, but it is otherwise in a Church like ours, that is yet but in what geologists would term a formative state: where the harvest is so boundless, and the laborers so scanty, that the buoyant energy of talent, seeking for itself an appropriate field of ministerial duty, widens instead of narrowing the path for all who follow.

As this charge of 'self-seeking' is one often made against the memory of Bishop Hobart, it is due to him, and as the author thinks to truth, here to draw a broad line of distinction between that honorable spirit of action which certainly belonged to him, and which rests not beneath its natural level, and that vulgar personal ambition with which it is sometimes confounded, and of which he was most falsely accused.

The contest now was, who should have him. The new parish of St. Mark's, New-York, made indirect overtures to him to become its Rector. The older parish of Trinity Church openly called him as an assistant minister: both these took place within five months after his settlement at Hempstead. The latter invitation bearing date September 8th, 1800, after a few days'

D

reflection, was accepted by him. The feelings under which this decision was made will be best. learned by an extract from his answer to it. 'The best evidence,' says he, that I can give of my feelings will be the endeavor to act in all cases with fidelity and independence, governed only by a sincere regard to the sacred dictates of conscience and duty. The station would require the judgment and experience of more advanced years: I shall have, therefore, a peculiar claim on the friendship and counsel of the vestry, on the candor and support of the congregation, and on the affectionate advice and aid of my superiors and brethren in the ministry. Thus strengthened and supported, while I endeavor faithfully to discharge my duty, I trust that I may hope for the presence and blessing of ALMIGHTY GOD.'

In the month of December he removed to the city, and entered upon his duties. The following letter to his friend Mercer shows that simpler visions than those of ambition were uppermost in his mind, and that his present change was one not wholly unmixed with regrets.

TO C. F. MERCER.

'New-York, March 18th, 1801. My long silence is indeed without excuse. It would be folly in me to pretend that engagements have prevented me from writing to you, though these, from my

change of residence, have been numerous. My mind, however, has generally been so depressed that I have not had the resolution to take up my pen. Though I have not lately had those fits of melancholy to which I was formerly subject, yet I seem to be the victim of a languor that indisposes and disqualifies me for exertion. This state of my mind I attribute partly to constitutional malady, but particularly to my having been of late hurried through scenes so novel, and so wholly opposed to my former sentiments, habits, and pursuits. From a wise law of nature, however, which gradually bends the mind to the circumstances in which it is placed, I am becoming more reconciled to my situation; and I am awakened from this fatal torpor by the reflection that I am sacrificing to it the highest duties and enjoyments of life. I moved to town last December, at which time I entered on the duties of my office as one of the assistant ministers of Trinity Church. I find enough to occupy my thoughts and my time. I have so many interruptions, and so many engagements, that my mind and feelings become relaxed and dissipated. I am endeavoring to introduce order and energy into my studies and duties, which will, no doubt, have a favorable effect on my mind. I can, however, never like a city. I pant for the enjoyments of the country, and still indulge the hope of being one day able to realize a plan of happiness somewhat like my wishes. Who is there that does not indulge this hope? Yet do not suppose that I am unhappy; from the lofty regions of inexperienced fancy, in which we often soared, I have sunk down to the plain, but perhaps more valuable enjoyments of common life. Except when under the uncontrollable influence of constitutional melancholy, I can generally find happiness in the endearments and duties of domes