for him were lavish, so that when, at the age of forty, he sought his native village, in the belief that he was near his end, his means of support were contracted to the merest pittance. I was his earliest friend, and though we had been long separated, our hearts had been too closely entwined while their affections were yet young and tender, to have ever lost the loving bias by which they had formed one stem. He sent for me, implying that I was to receive his last wishes.
I found him in a poor little dwelling, the occupant of a widow's spare room. His emaciated figure confirmed the idea expressed in his letter, that it would not be much longer animated by that bright spirit which now gleamed with augmented intensity from his deep-set eyes, as if glowing at the prospect of deliverance from its captivity. When we had talked long and earnestly together, he pointed to a large trunk filled with manuscripts. "When I am dead," he said, "take these as the only memorial I have to give, and use them as you will." I refused to leave my friend until he was committed to his mother earth; and it then became my most interesting employment to examine the papers which contained the best history and image of his mind. I have found the results of profound thought and widely extended research-productions, some of which have been
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