ented and turned to the right source for
consolation, it would be vouchsafed him. 'I feel that I cannot live,' he
replied, 'and my friends will be better satisfied to know that I am
repentant in my last moments, and that I am gone, than they would be to
think of me as a vagabond, let loose upon society: they will at least feel
that I shall 'cease from troubling.' I have not the excuse that many
delinquents have pleaded, early initiation into vice. My childhood was
passed with pious relatives, who labored to instil religious principles
into my mind; but I 'would none of their reproof.' My friends not being
wealthy, I was left at a proper age to my own resources. I found a
situation where my talents were appreciated by my employer, and perhaps
too highly estimated by myself. I had a brother who was ten years my
senior, whom I loved and esteemed--may Heaven keep him in blessed
ignorance of my fate!--but I thought less highly of his intellect when I
saw him excited by some sublime hymn, which angels might listen to, than I
did of my own, when I turned from the devotions of the Sabbath to join my
idle companions. In the situation I held, I might have gained
respectability; but my besetting sin betrayed me so often, that the kind
indulgence of a good master could no longer conceal my crimes. I now see
that the sting inflicted by vice must and _will_ remain! We may repent, we
may be forgiven; but the mind will not part with its bitter
recollections!' I was here called away for a few moments, and when I
returned, the unhappy young man was in the land of spirits! I learned that
he was engaged to a highly amiable young lady, who relinquished him, and
shortly afterward died of a broken heart. _Her_ sad fate threw him into a
brain-fever, and as you perceive, decided _his_ likewise. Incidents like
these I am aware have often been narrated; yet if the tragedy which I have
depicted should be blessed to the use of any young man abandoned to
temptation and addicted to small crimes, and lead him to reflection, it
will be a gratification to feel that my feeble effort, with Heaven's help,
has proved 'a word in season.'' . . . THERE are inequalities of merit in
the '_Dirge_' of 'D. D.' of Hartford, though the _spirit_ of the verse is
tender and touching. We annex a few stanzas, in illustration of our
encomium:

THRUST him in his narrow bed,
Heap the cold earth on his head,
But be sure no tear ye shed--
Not a tear for him!