displease me, so it seemed impossible to be displeased with her. Hence our affections, instead of abating with time, mutually strengthened and increased. Having received a pious education, she early imbibed a peculiar veneration for ministers, whom she loved to see, converse with, and entertain. Notwithstanding she had a slender constitution, and was frequently exercised with bodily infirmities, yet she was neither gloomy nor impatient, but always maintained a calm, serene, cheerful spirit. As I was born on the twentieth of April, 1745, ordained on the twenty-first of April, 1773, and married on the sixth of April, 1775, so our first child was born on the fourteenth of April, 1776. I proposed to name him after my grand-father, father, and one of my brothers; but my wife insisted upon calling him Nathanael, after my own name, to which, with some reluctance, I consented. In the next year, on June 23, 1777, we had another son born, whom we named Diodate Johnson, as a token of respect to the Reverend Diodate Johnson, of East Haddam, to whom I was under peculiar obligations of gratitude. Our happiness was now at the summit. We had two lovely children, and a fair prospect of a flourishing family. But we were preparing for peculiar trials and affliction. My dear wife never enjoyed a moment of health from the birth of her last child to her death. She soon fell into a decline, which terminated in a proper consumption, and put a period to her valuable life, June 22, 1778. This was a great and heavy loss. It is true, indeed, I had long anticipated the sorrowful event; but when the parting moment came, it was distressing above any thing I had either anticipated or endured. It cast a gloom over all things around me, and damped all my earthly prospects. Though her conduct before and in her sickness, gave me strong confidence that she was prepared to exchange this for a better world; yet this very circumstance served to increase the greatness of my loss, and the weight of my sorrow.

I was now in a situation very lonely, but not altogether disconsolate. My much respected mother-in-law, who was a pious and amiable woman, and who had resided with me during her daughter's decline, continued to reside with me, and perform the part of a tender mother to her little grand-children. These, at the same time, engrossed my attention and affections. The fondness I had entertained for their mother, I soon transferred to them, who became my idols, and the source of my greatest earthly comfort. They contributed to divert my mind and assuage my sorrows. They also raised my hopes of future felicity, in forming their minds, and preparing them to be useful in life; as they both appeared to possess a good degree of docility, and an amiable disposition. In this last particular, they manifested

something very singular. Though they were very nearly of an age, yet I never knew them to contend about the smallest trifles. They discovered the tender, kind, condescending disposition of their departed mother, which took a strong hold of my heart. I loved them to excess; and God saw it was not safe for them, nor for me, that they should long continue in my hands. About two months after their parent's decease, I took a journey to Braintree, whither I carried their grand-mother, and where I left her. I returned on Wednesday in the afternoon, when I found my eldest child sick of the dysentery. I was alone, and had nobody in the family but a hired man and maid. The care of the sick child chiefly devolved upon me, though not altogether. But on Friday my youngest child was seized with the same disorder, and would go to none but myself, if he could help it. I was now borne down with incessant attention to my children, and incessant concern for their lives. Their disorder increased every day, and became more and more alarming. On Monday the eldest fell into convulsion fits, and expired in extreme agonies, about one o'clock at night. His painful death deeply wounded my parental feelings; but I still had one gleam of hope left. My youngest child was just alive, and there was a bare possibility of his recovery; but before nine o'clock next morning, he also fell into convulsion fits, and died in the utmost anguish and distress. Thus, in one day, all my family prospects were completely blasted! My cup of sorrow was now filled to the brim, and I had to drink a full draught of the wormwood and the gall. It is impossible to describe what I felt. I stood a few moments, and viewed the remains of my two darlings, who had gone to their mother and to their long home, never to return. But I soon found the scene too distressing, and retired to my chamber, to meditate in silence upon my forlorn condition. I thought there was no sorrow like unto my sorrow. I thought my burden was greater than I could bear. I felt as though I could not submit to such a complicated affliction. My heart rose in all its strength against the government of God, and then suddenly sunk under its distress, which greatly alarmed me. I sprang up, and said to myself, I am going into immediate distraction; I must submit, or I am undone for ever. In a very few minutes my burden was removed, and I felt entirely calm and resigned to the will of God. I soon went down, attended to my family concerns, and gave directions respecting the interment of my children. I never enjoyed greater happiness in the course of my life, than I did all that day and the next. My mind was wholly detached from the world, and altogether employed in pleasing contemplation of God and divine things. I felt as though I could

follow my wife and children into eternity, with peculiar satisfaction. And for some time after my sore bereavements, I used to look towards the burying ground, and wish for the time when I might be laid by the side of my departed wife and dear little ones.

While I was thus under the correcting hand of Providence, I had great opportunity of gaining spiritual instruction. And though I was too stupid, yet I believe I learned some things, which I shall never forget, and for which I shall have reason always to bless God. I learned to moderate my expectations from the world, and especially from the enjoyment of children and earthly friends. I have scarcely ever thought of my present wife and children, without reflecting upon their mortality, and realizing the danger of being bereaved of them. And I have never indulged such high hopes concerning my present family, as I presumptuously indulged with respect to the family I have laid in the dust. I have likewise learned, by past painful experience, to mourn with them who mourn, and to weep with them who weep. I used to think before I was bereaved, that I heartily sympathized with the afflicted, at funerals; but I now know that I never entered into their feelings, and was a stranger to the heart of mourners. I now follow them into their solitary dwellings, and mourn with them after their friends and relatives have left and forgotten them. Their heaviest burden comes upon them while they are sitting alone, and reflecting upon the nature and consequences of their bereavements. This I now know was my case. How many painful hours did I experience in secret! And how many tears did I shed in silence! How dreary did my empty house appear! And how often did its appearance, after I had left it for a time, and returned to it, awaken afresh my past sorrows! The same causes, I am persuaded, have the same effects upon other mourners; and therefore I cannot easily forget them, nor cease to sympathize with them, in their solitary hours. In these, and various other respects, I have found it to have been good for me to bear the yoke in my youth.

In less than two years after my wife and two children died, I married a daughter of the Rev. Chester Williams, of Hadley. Her father died when she was young, and her mother married the Rev. Samuel Hopkins, D. D., the immediate successor of Mr. Williams. She was well educated by her father Hopkins, who treated her with truly paternal tenderness, both while her mother lived and after her decease. She then took the principal care of his numerous family, some of whom were quite young. This gave her an opportunity of becoming well acquainted with domestic concerns, and qualified her to pro

mote my personal comfort and public usefulness. By this second marriage I have had six promising children, two sons and four daughters. These all lived to adult age, and for nearly thirty-four years, I had but little sickness, and no breach in my family. I had peace in my parish, and some considerable success in my ministry. God favored me with three spiritual harvests, or revivals of religion, which rendered my church about as large and flourishing as any in the vicinity. But my days of prosperity were followed by days of adversity. In the year 1813, I buried my second daughter, Deliverance. In the year 1820, I buried my second son, Erastus. In 1823, I buried my third daughter, Sarah. I have now one son and two daughters living, who have young and growing families. After these sore bereavements, I experienced no peculiar troubles in my family, or among my people. I uniformly carried on the work of the ministry. I statedly preached on the Sabbath, and occasionally in private houses. I visited the sick and attended funerals. I catechised the children and youths once a year, in eight or nine school districts in my extensive parish. I always attended, and generally preached at religious conferences, in times of revivals; and from the year 1795 to the year 1813, I constantly preached a concert lecture once in three months. I constantly and punctually attended all my official duties for fifty-four years. But becoming more and more sensible of the common decays of nature and of the increasing infirmities of old age, I did, in 1827, entirely relinquish, and retire from all my ministerial labors, and opened the way for the settlement of another minister in my parish; and accordingly Mr. Elam Smalley was settled here in July, 1829. Within a few weeks after Mr. Smalley's ordination, I was bereaved of my dear consort, who closed her pious, exemplary life in peace to herself and all her surviving friends. I now enjoy, as I have generally enjoyed, a good state of health, and have good reason to say, " Hitherto the Lord hath helped me." I know the time of my departure is at hand; and I think I can say with some sincerity, I have fought a good fight, I have nearly finished my course, I have kept the faith, and cherish a comfortable hope, that I shall finally receive that crown of righteousness, which awaits all the faithful ministers and followers of Christ.

WHEN I entered into the ministry, I resolved to discharge all the pastoral services, which are usually and justly expected of a minister, and to pursue such studies as I deemed the most intimately connected with my professional usefulness. Accordingly I began to read pretty freely and to think pretty closely upon some of the most important theological subjects, that had been long and warmly agitated among different denominations of christians. I imagined, that people were generally becoming more fond of superficial, than of doctrinal preaching, and were imperceptibly falling into a state of gross ignorance of the fundamental doctrines of the gospel. Viewing our churches and religious societies in this dangerous situation, I thought I ought to contend earnestly for the faith which was once delivered to the saints. This led me to preach doctrinally to my people for a number of years, before I durst venture to publish any thing that I had written or preached. But after having committed several essays and single discourses to the press, I published numerous sermons on various subjects, time after time, in separate volumes. My principal aim in these publications was, to explain the meaning, to demonstrate the truth, and to illustrate the consistency of the primary doctrines and duties of Christianity, and thereby distinguish true religion from false. had no intention of starting any new scheme of divinity; for I was early and warmly attached to genuine Calvinism, which I believed to be built upon the firm foundation of the gospel itself. This system, I have thought and still think, is the very form of sound words, which the apostles and their successors taught, long before Calvin was born; and which has been constantly maintained by those who have been justly called Orthodox, in distinction from Heterodox christians, ever since the first propagation of the Christian religion. But Calvinism has lost much of its purity and simplicity by going through so many unskilful hands of its friends. This has given great advantages to its enemies, who have clearly discovered and successfully attacked some of its excrescences and protuberances. The Calvinists and Arminians are more directly and diametrically opposed to each other, than any other denominations of christians; and after many skirmishes together, they had long ago one great pitched battle, in which they concentrated their mutual attacks to a few