moved him. But whilst busy there with his
Greek and Latin, his heart was sorely wrung by the successive tidings of
the death of either parent. His father was willing to indulge a wish he
had now begun to cherish, and had left money enough to enable the young
student to complete his preparations for the Christian ministry. Of this
provision a self-constituted guardian got hold, and embarked it in his
own sinking business. His failure soon followed, and ingulfed the little
fortune of his ward; and, as the hereditary plate of the thrifty
householders was sold along with the bankrupt's effects, if he had ever
felt the pride of being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, the poor
scholar must have felt some pathos in seeing both spoon and tankard in
the broker's inventory.

A securer heritage, however, than parental savings, is parental faith
and piety. Daniel Doddridge and his wife had sought for their child
first of all the kingdom of heaven, and God gave it now. Under the
ministry of Rev. Samuel Clarke of St. Alban's, his mind had become more
and more impressed with the beauty of holiness, and the blessedness of a
religious life; and, on the other hand, that kind-hearted pastor took a
deepening interest in his amiable and intelligent orphan hearer. Finding
that he had declined the generous offer of the Duchess of Bedford, to
maintain him at either University, provided he would enter the
established church, Dr. Clarke applied to his own and his father's
friends, and procured a sufficient sum to send him to a dissenting
academy at Kibworth, in Leicestershire, then conducted by an able tutor,
whose work on Jewish antiquities still retains considerable value--the
Rev. David Jennings.

To trace Philip Doddridge's early career would be a labor of some
amusement and much instruction. And we are not without abundant
materials. No man is responsible for his remote descendants. Sir John
Doddridge, judge of the Court of King's Bench, would have blushed to
think that his great-grandnephew was to be a Puritan preacher. With more
reason might Dr. Doddridge have blushed to think that his great-grandson
was to be a coxcomb. But so it has proved. Twenty years ago Mr. John
Doddridge Humphreys gave to the world five octavos of his ancestor's
correspondence, which, on the whole, we deem the most eminent instance,
in modern times, of editorial incompetency. But the book contains many
curiosities to reward the dust-sifting historian. And wer