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 fune

ral 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. In 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 their 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 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 sci

entific, 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 instructor; 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 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 embarassments 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

twenty-three, is not to be regarded merely as a calamity by which he was deprived of the capacity for reading and study; but in connection 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 literary 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 dic