may misgive him, his heart is on the side of the solicitation. This was pre-eminently the case. The memory of such a friend-not admired only and venerated, but embalmed in all my affections;-the wishes of those relatives, and fellowChristians, to whom, as well as to myself, he was dear;—the assurance given me of their unanimous conviction that, in presenting the request, they were doing what would have been most in harmony with his own wishes;-the pleasure I experienced in the thought,-let the reader ascribe it to what motive he will,-of having my own name associated with his, in a memorial rendered permanent by the intrinsic excellence of those "remains" of which it was to be my duty to superintend the publication;—and the benefit I expected to derive from the closer study of such a character, by which my own mind and heart might be brought into more intimate and influential contact with those qualities which constituted its genuine worth, and gave it its undisputed claim to admiration and love:-all contributed to induce my compliance. I had counted it an honour, and felt it a happiness, during his life, to possess the affectionate confidence of such a mind; —and it was like a prolongation of the honour and the happiness, to be permitted thus to associate myself with him in that posthumous life which his character and writings will give him on earth; thus preventing the feeling of entire disruption, and forming a kind of intermediate stage between his society in this world and the everlasting union of heaven. I must confess, however, that the task was undertaken with too little consideration of its sacred responsibility, and of the difficulties attendant upon its creditable execution.One of these difficulties has arisen from the fact of the lamented subject of this memoir having, immediately before his death, laid his nearest relatives under an interdict, and exacted from them a corresponding promise, that they would furnish no materials for a LIFE of him. The cause or causes for his taking this step may be found in certain features of his character, which are thus, at the very outset, forced upon our notice. It did not arise merely from a general dislike— though that, there is reason to believe, was not small—of the

too prevalent complexion of modern biography; the eulogistic partiality, the sentimentalism, the frivolous minuteness, the interminable prolixity, which, with exceptions the more valuable for their rarity, are its regretted characteristics. It was owing, I should apprehend, to causes more specific and idiosyncratic than this.

In the first place, I believe him to have been influenced by a sentiment of deeply humble self-annihilation in the presence of God.-Fully aware of the estimation in which he was held,-of the affectionate and admiring partiality of his intimate friends, he could not but anticipate, in such a LIFE, no little amount of personal eulogy. But whatever might be his estimate of himself in comparison with fellow-men,when he viewed himself in God's sight, so overwhelming at all times was his feeling of conscious unworthiness,—of his infinite distance, his universal failure, his utter nothingness, -that he shrunk from the idea of having either his personal or his official excellencies blazoned. All who ever witnessed spirit of deep and prostrate reverence, of self-annihilating lowliness and contrition, with which he contemplated and approached the divine Being, will at once be sensible, that, with the thought in his mind of the eye of that Being resting upon him, and searching, with holy omniscience, his heart and his reins, he would have shrunk, with inexpressible sensitiveness, from any thing in himself being so much as named under the designation of good. O could he but find acceptance, unworthy as he was, with his blessed Master! To be held up to the admiration of men, while in his whole soul he shrinking from the eye of the majesty and the purity of

the

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the High and Holy One," was a thought which he could not for an instant have borne.

But in the second place for no mind, and especially no mind like his, is always in the same mood, he was the subjeet, and that in no small degree, of another description of sensitiveness, not inconsistent with the former, although to some persons whose piety was greater than their discernment it might appear so,-I mean, sensitiveness as to character and reputation amongst his fellow-men.-That on this point he

was tenderly and quickly jealous, none who knew him will question. It was at times indeed extreme; and the source to his own mind of no small amount of very gratuitous and self-inflicted disquietude. That which affected him as to living reputation, could not but be transferred by such a mind to what was posthumous,-transferred indeed with even augmented intensity to the period when, although himself beyond the reach of the dreaded evil, he should at the same time be beyond the means of repelling it from his memory. He could not be perfectly sure of a correct representation of all his principles, and tempers, and motives. A character of whose peculiarities he himself was best, and perhaps, with regard to some of them, alone aware, might not, by his biographer, in this point or in that, be correctly apprehended. The anatomist of his moral constitution might not dissect and demonstrate skilfully; and the surmise of an error, how slight soever, was enough to give him prospective annoyance. While, on the one hand, every feeling of delicacy and honour within him would have recoiled from the thought of eulogy without or beyond desert,-yet, on the other, with a sensitiveness hardly less nervous, would he have shrunk from the needless exposure of defects and failings, of which he was himself tremblingly conscious, and of which impartiality might imperatively require the statement, while malice, envious of his exalted fame, might take pleasure in exaggerating and proclaiming them.

And there was still a third consideration, most creditable to his moral sentiments, by which I cannot but believe him to have been influenced.-There were portions of his history, passages both in his earlier and his later life,— which could not, he might imagine, be circumstantially and faithfully detailed, without, possibly, inflicting a wound on the feelings of some, or throwing a reflection on the memory of others. As he would not willingly have done this himself, neither would he submit to the risk of its being done by others on his behalf. He had himself forgiven and forgotten. He had lived to conciliate the favour of all who, in his younger years, from misapprehension of his character,

had taken part against him, to regain their confidence, to enjoy their friendship, to become the object of their admiring and devoted attachment. This would render him the more averse to have cancelled grievances restored to publicity, and sores that had long been closed opened anew; and the more especially, when it would not be in his power to correct misconceptions and prevent injurious results.

While persuaded that such as these were the reasons by which he was induced to impose the interdict and exact the promise,-I cannot but deeply regret his having done so. It was a vain thought,-if such a thought was possible,that one who stood so high, and who knew himself to stand so high, in private and public reputation, while he lived, should cease to be spoken of when he was dead. He had gathered around his living person too many affections of kindness, and sentiments of esteem, and emotions of admiration, and recollections of gratitude, to allow the possibility of his life ceasing to interest, the moment the tomb closed upon his ashes. There was a moral certainty that, in some form or other, its details would come before the world;-and the only alternative was, whether the posthumous narrative should have the advantage of being framed from full and authentic information, or the disadvantage of being constructed from materials necessarily scanty and but partially accredited. Of such disadvantage I am at this moment painfully sensible. The relatives of the deceased, with one exception, have felt the sacredness of the restriction imposed upon them; and while they "much regret their being placed under it," and consider the feelings as "somewhat morbid by which it was dictated," yet, from its determinate and imperative clearness, they have felt themselves "left without an option.' I complain not of this. I revere the feeling by which they have been influenced, and gratefully acknowledge the kind and respectful manner in which my request has been declined. I have no intention to discuss the question of casuistry re

* These are the terms used in a letter from the Rev. Edward M'All of Winchester, a letter highly creditable, in all respects, to the feelings of the writer.

specting the obligation of a restriction imposed, and a promise exacted, in such circumstances. It is a question on which not a little might be urged, and that with more than plausibility, on either side,—and on which feeling possibly might dictate one decision, and principle another. The exception referred to amongst the relatives has procured me a valuable communication; but it is a delineation of character, rather than a detail of biographical incident;—so that I come to the execution of my task,-a pleasant one notwithstanding,—under all the discouragement of necessarily deficient information, to make the best in my power of the materials I have been able to obtain. If I am asked-Why, in these circumstances, did you undertake it?—why violate yourself the known wishes and prohibitory injunctions of the dead?— should not these have been felt sacred by friendship as well as by relationship?-was not the restriction intended to operate as a preventive of the very thing you are now doing?my answer is ready. I am satisfied that my revered friend, however amiable and correct his motives, was wrong in imposing it. He was himself public property; and he was hardly entitled to alienate that property from public use and public benefit. Could that benefit, indeed, be realized only by a process injurious to the memory of my friend,-even the public good should not tempt my hand to the violation of that sanctuary. I should be " I should be "doing evil, that good might come;" and in doing it, should at once bring reprobation upon myself, and more than counterpoise the problematical good by the outrage which an act so unlovely and unnatural would inflict on the moral sensibilities of the community.But it is not so. No such "necessity is laid upon me." The memory of my friend is the "memory of the just," and it is "blessed." What I have to record will not detract from the blessing that rests upon it, but enhance it. It is not the nature of the materials that is the subject of regret, but their deficiency. More might have enabled me to do it the greater justice; and the greater justice would only have been the greater honour. This the reader must take partly indeed on faith, but partly too on legitimate inference. Ex ungue