his fellow men, with a youthful devotedness and enthusiasm of benevolence, carrying in his heart the evidences of his immortality, and yet tenacious of the belief, that he and his beautiful child, and all that he loves best in the world, and all his generous and exalted purposes and hopes, are but a part of the dust he treads on. What a lesson does his magnanimous love for his fellow-beings teach to the multitudes of cold, calculating men and women we see, who take the name of him who was the first and greatest of all philanthropists, and who call him an infidel, and are eager to condemn him." Vol. I., p. 473.

There are some things in this book on which we do not feel competent to decide, and therefore shall hold our peace; -many others on which we would gladly dwell, did time and space permit. But there is one trait of his character on which we would dwell; that is, his HOPEFUL RESIGNATION. His disappointments, whatever was their cause, did not sour his temper, nor make him less sanguine for the future, nor less confident of his own conviction of Right. He did not complain in adversity; and when persecuted for righteousness' sake, took it patiently, and went on his way rejoicing. We do not say that traces of indignation could not be found in the fair chronicle of this biography - indignation that is not Christian, as we think. But let a candid—yes, an uncandid reader search for these traces, and he will marvel that they are so rare. A friend said he was "a Christian up to the arms, the heart Christian, the arms somewhat violent, and the head directed to the outward world."

When disappointed,

"He turned directly to some present duty, or he talked with his friends of the future, which he still trusted had some unlooked-for good in store for him. His near friends were in the habit of rallying him upon his sanguine anticipations, and this, even after their failure, might have produced some sensitiveness upon the subject; but how sweetly did he join in the laugh at his own confiding credulity, that led him to measure the good he expected from others, not by the history of his own experience, but by the overflowing bounty of his own heart. One instance of this I cannot resist relating. One New Year's day I observed him, in the morning, putting away some books that he usually kept on his study table, and apparently making room for something. I asked him what he was preparing for. 'I am making room on my table for our New Year's presents,' he replied. I smiled. 'I see,' he said, 'that you do not expect any,

but I do.' I was right; we had not a single New Year's gift, but his unfeigned merriment at his ungrounded hopes, and the many hearty laughs, which the remembrance of his mistake, when like disappointments in more important affairs befel us, proved that he possessed that, which made such things of little importance. No one thought less of the intrinsic value, or rather of the market price, of a gift from a friend, than he; and no one that I ever knew thought more of the active love that prompted such testimonials of affection; he was truly child-like in these things.

"We practised, necessarily, this winter, the strictest economy. Through mud, and cold, and storms, Dr. Follen walked out seven miles to the church where he was engaged to preach. Far from uttering a complaint at the cold, or fatigue, or inconvenience, which he occasionally had to endure, he always returned home with a smile upon his face, that seemed to say, 'I have been about my Father's business.' Never did he once say, I wish I had a chaise; and when I urged him in bad weather to take one, he always answered, I like walking better; having no horse to take care of, I have my mind free, and I often compose my sermons by the way.'"— Vol. I., pp. 500, 501.

"Dr. Follen occasionally, at these times, but not often, alluded to the fact, that his whole life, as it regarded worldly success, had been a series of failures, never with any bitterness, seldom with anything like despondency. Had I been willing,' he has said, 'to lower my standard of right, the world would have been with me, and I might have obtained its favor. I have been faithful to principle under all circumstances, and I had rather fail so, than succeed in another way; besides, I shall do something yet; I am not discouraged, and we are happy in spite of all things.' He was, however, very weary of the continual changes we had made, and more especially of a continual change of place; he longed for a more permanent local home." - Vol. I., p. 541.

One winter he attempted a course of lectures in Boston, on Switzerland. But few came to hear it not enough to defray the expenses.

"On one day only I saw him stop from his writing, and rest his head between his hands for a long time upon his paper. 'What is the matter?' I asked. 'I find it very hard to write with spirit under such circumstances,' he replied. We always returned to Lexington on the evening of the lecture. It was a long way, the road was heavy, and the weather was cold; and it was dark and often very late when we got home. Usually he was so full of lively conversation, that it seemed neither long nor

dull; but one night he was very silent. Why,' I asked, ' are you so silent to-night?' 'I do feel this disappointment,' he replied; it shows me how little I have to hope from public favor in Boston.' 'Perhaps,' I said, 'you have made a mistake in your subject. People now-a-days prefer speculations to facts; let us consider this merely as a mode, not very expensive, of seeing our friends once a week; it is not, after all, a costly pleasure. Your history of Switzerland will be written, and will be a valuable possession.' 'That is right,' he replied; it shall be so; henceforward we will look at it only as a pleasant visit to our friends; it is a good thing for me to have this course of lectures written, they will yet be of use to me, and it is pleasant to see our friends once a week.'" Vol. I., p. 552.

But we must bring our paper to an end. out noticing his love of the Beautiful. perpetual joy to him."

Yet, not with"Nature was a

"His love of the beautiful was intense, in its most humble as well as sublime manifestations. I have seen him gaze at the wings of an insect till, I am sure, he must have committed all its exquisite coloring and curious workmanship to memory. One Sunday, when he had walked far into the country to preach, he was requested to address the children of the Sunday School. He gave them an account of a blue dragon-fly that he had seen on his way. He described it, with the clear blue sky shining through its thin gauzy wings, and its airy form reflected in the still pure water over which it hovered, looking doubtful whether to stay here or return to the heavens from whence it apparently came. He sought, by interesting the children in its beauty, to awaken feelings of admiration and love towards all the creatures that God has created." - Vol. I. pp., 534, 535.

We must come to the last scenes of his life. He left New York to go to Lexington and preach the dedication sermon in the new church, built there after a plan of his own; the church he hoped should be the scene of his future labors. He had prepared a part of the discourse to be delivered on the occasion. He read this to his wife, and added:

"I shall explain to the people the meaning and use of symbols in general, and then explain the meaning of those carved on the pulpit.' These were of his own designing, and were a candlestick, a communion cup, a crown of thorns, a wreath of stars, and, in the centre, a cross. 'I shall not write this part of my sermon,' said he, but I will tell you what I shall say, and that will make it easier when I shall speak to the people. I shall tell them,

that the candlestick is a symbol of the light which should emanate from the Christian pulpit, and from the life of every individual Christian. The crown of thorns is a representation of the trials and sufferings which the faithful Christian has to endure for conscience' sake. The cup signifies that spiritual communion, which we should share with all our brethren of mankind, and that readiness to drink the bitter cup of suffering for their sake, and for conscience' sake, which He manifested, who offered it to his disciples before he was betrayed. The cross is a type of Him who gave his life for us all, and whose example we must stand ready to follow, even though it lead to death. The circle of stars represents the wreath of eternal glory and happiness, which awaits the faithful soul in the presence of God."" - Vol. I., pp. 578, 579.

The simple words of his biographer best describe his departure:

"He arranged his papers against his return. He was going to take his lectures on German literature with him, but I urged him to leave them with me, to be put in my trunk, where they would be kept in better order. He made a little memorandum of what he had to do when he returned. One article was to get the 'Selections from Fenelon' reprinted; the next, to inquire about a poor German, who was an exile, and a sufferer for freedom's sake. The last was to get a New Year's gift for a poor little girl, whom he had taken to live with us. Just as I left the door at Lexington, I told this child, that if she was a good girl, I would bring her a New Year's gift from New York. Dr. Follen overheard me; I never spoke of it to him. My illness and anxiety had put it out of my head, but he remembered it. As he put his sermon in his pocket, he said, 'I shall not go to bed, but devote the night to my sermon; I want to make something of it that is worth hearing.' He gave Charles some money, and told him to go presently and get some grapes for me at a shop where he had found some very fine ones. 'They are good for your mother,' he said, ' and you must keep her supplied till my return.' 'Be of good courage till you see me again,' he said to me as he took leave of me. Be a good boy, and obey your mother till I come back again,' were his words to Charles, as he took him in his arms, and kissed him." - Vol. I., pp. 580, 581. The partner of his joys; the prime cheerer of his sorrows, has built up a beautiful monument to his character. How beautifully she has done her work; with what suppression of anguish for shattered hopes, and buds of promise never opening on earth, we have not words to tell. But the calmness, with which the tale is told; the absence of pane

gyric; the sublime trust in the great principles of Religion, apparent from end to end of this heart-touching record of trials borne and ended, these show that she likewise drank at that fountain, whence he derived his strength and his joy. We would gladly say more; but delicacy forbids us to dwell on the mortal. Let us pass again to him who has put off this earthly shroud.

This record of life is to us a most hopeful book. It shows a man true to truth; an upright man, whom Fame and Fortune could not bribe; whom the menace of Monarchs and the oppressions of Poverty could never swerve from the path of Duty. Disappointment attended his steps, but never conquered his Spirit, nor abated his Hope. He had the consolations of Religion; that gave him strength, which neither the Monarchs, nor Poverty, nor Disappointment, nor the neglect of the world, nor the attacks of men narrow-minded and chained down to bigotry, could ever take from him. How beautifully he bears his trials. In the balance of adversity God weighs choice spirits. In their hour of trial he gives them meat to eat, which the world knows not of. But Dr. Follen did not stand alone. Not to name others, there was one brave soul, in a Pulpit, whose counsel and sympathy gave new warmth to his heart, new energy to his resolution; one like himself, whom Fear could not make afraid. They rest from their labors. The good they have done shall live after them; the kind words they spoke, the pure lives they lived, shall go up as a testimonial to Him that liveth for ever; their example kindles the fire in earnest hearts on earth, a light that never dies. Dr. Follen was fortunate in his life. Talents God gave him, and an occasion to use them; Defeat gave him courage, not dismay. Deep, rich blessings fell on him,

"Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;

Heaven did a recompense as largely send;

He gave to misery all he had,

a tear;

He gained from Heaven, - 't was all he wished, — a Friend.” Some men will look on his life, and say, as the skeptic in the Bible, "How dieth the Wise? as the Fool; one event happeneth to them all; for there is no remembrance of the Wise more than of the Fool forever. Why should I be more wise?" Let a modern poet answer, in his Complaint and Reply.