world, he preserved the golden mean between levity on the one hand, and a gloomy and sanctimonious manner on the other; and was serious or cheerful according to the circumstances in which he was placed. It may be said, however, on the whole, that one of the primary attractions of his Christian character was his winning cheerfulness. In seasons of public calamity, as well as of domestic affliction and personal suffering, his spirit always sustained itself in a filial reliance on the power, and wisdom, and goodness of God. His courage never failed, his tranquillity never forsook him, because he knew who

"Rides on the whirlwind and directs the storm."

There are few individuals who pass through the world in the enjoyment of so much public favor as did Dr. Dwight; and every Christian, who has had experience, knows that such a state of things is little adapted to aid the culture of religious affections. But, notwithstanding the besetting infirmity of his nature probably lay in this direction; and though, as has been already intimated, and as he himself humbly acknowledged, he did not always rise above this unhallowed influence; yet there is no doubt, that, on the whole, his Christian character was constantly maturing with his advancing years; and it never shone forth with such radiant attractions

as during the last year or two of his life, while he was struggling with the power of disease, and anticipating the speedy termination of his course.

There is always a curiosity to know how a great and good man dies. No doubt there is often an undue importance attached to this inquiry; for the last exercises of the spirit on earth may be modified by a variety of accidental circumstances, so as to be a very imperfect index to the true character; and hence it is quite possible that a bad man may appear to have a glorious path into the next world, while another, of whom the world is not worthy, may seem to die under a cloud. No man was more sensible of the fallibility of this test of religious character than Dr. Dwight; he gave proof of it in the most unexceptionable of all circumstances; for when he was asked by a friend, a short time before his death, concerning his views in the prospect of eternity, his reply was, "Do not ask a dying man; look at the life.”

But, notwithstanding the character is certainly to be judged by the life rather than the death, we naturally linger about the death-bed of a good man, to gather from the last exercises of his spirit the crowning evidence of his goodness. We love to see the sun, which has enlightened and cheered us in his progress, sink gloriously beneath the horizon; and even after he is gone,

we gaze with pleasure on the surrounding sky, still glowing under the influence of his lingering beams. There was everything in Dr. Dwight's last days and hours, that became the spirituality, the cheerfulness, the dignity of the Christian. During the many months that his health was declining, and that he must have been aware that he was relaxing his hold upon life, his mind uniformly retained its wonted cheerfulness, and he was constantly employed, according to the measure of physical ability that remained to him, in the discharge of his accustomed duties. In the intervals of comparative freedom from suffering, and even while he was enduring severe pain, he dictated to his amanuensis, both in prose and in verse, in a manner worthy of his brightest days; and his interest in everything that related to the general progress of religion, and the welfare of his fellow-men, continued unabated to the last.

His preparation for death was not like the putting on of a garment for an occasion; it was the result of a long and diligent course of selfdiscipline and fidelity in the service of his Master, by which his Christian graces had reached a glorious maturity. Everything connected with his closing scene was simple and natural; no eccentricity, no extravagance, nor yet any of that intense rapture, which sometimes glows in the

Never

last expressions of the departing spirit. theless there was majesty impressed upon it all; everything was sublimely appropriate to the circumstances in which he was placed. His confidence in the promises of the gospel, and of his interest in those promises, never wavered nor faltered. His sense of the goodness and mercy of God was never stronger, than while he was enduring the throes under which his earthly tabernacle fell. So long as his lips could move, they moved in obedience to the spirit of resignation and devotion; and when, at last, his majestic form lay low and lifeless, every one felt that his yet more majestic spirit had had a safe and glorious transition to a brighter world. If it were given to a good man to choose how he should die, perhaps he could not imagine a death-scene in every respect more desirable.

CHAPTER IV.

His social and domestic Character. Anecdotes illustrative of his social Qualities and Habits.

So intimate is the connection between the intellectual and moral and the social, that, when we have ascertained what an individual is, in

respect to the former, we have no small part of the evidence before us by which we may judge of him in respect to the latter. But, on the other hand, it cannot be denied that the social principle acts powerfully on the intellect and the affections, and that the diversity, which characterizes its development in different individuals, occasions, in no small degree, the various forms of character, and the various degrees of usefulness, that we see among men. It is quite possible that one may be gifted with fine original powers, and those powers brought under the highest degree of culture, and associated with some noble moral qualities, and yet, from a neglect to cultivate the social principle, he may live to comparatively little purpose. He may shut himself up in his chamber or study, and pass years of glorious contemplation, never coming into the world, except at the demand of imperious necessity. He might have a hand upon many of the springs of public action; he might mould, in no small degree, the destinies of his country; he might impart knowledge to the ignorant, and consolation to the sorrowful, and strength to the weary, if he would only come forth and put his mind in communion with other minds.

But no; he chooses to be a solitary being, to move, if he moves at all, where the eye of man shall not see him. He does not take the trouble