ill not be extravagant if I say
that my soul was knit with his soul, as Jonathan's was to David's. I
have a letter, which I received from him in 1795. I have not language to
express my feelings. Oh, that separation! that cruel separation! How it
divided very friends!"

In a letter to his daughter Susan, we again find him looking fondly
backward. He says: "I often, very often remember the example of thy dear
mother, with feelings that no language can portray. She was neat and
tasteful in her appearance. Her dress was elegant, but plain, as became
her Christian profession. She loved sincere Friends, faithfully
maintained all their testimonies, and was a diligent attender of
meetings. She was kind and affectionate to all. In short, she was a
bright example in her family, and to all about her, and finally laid
down her head in peace. May her children imitate her virtues."

Writing to his daughter Sarah in 1845, he thus returns to the same
beloved theme: "I lately happened to open the Memoirs of Sarah Harrison.
It seemed to place me among my old friends, with whom I walked in sweet
unity and Christian fellowship, in days that are gone forever. I there
saw the names, and read the letters, of William Savery, Thomas
Scattergood, and a host of others, who have long since gone to their
everlasting rest. I hope, however unworthy, to join them at some day,
not very distant."

"Next day after to-morrow, it will be fifty years since I was married to
thy dear mother. How fresh many of the scenes of that day are brought
before me! It almost seems as if they transpired yesterday. These
reminiscences afford me a melancholy pleasure, and I love to indulge in
them. No man has experienced more exquisite pleasure, or deeper sorrows
than I have."

Perhaps the reader will say that I have spoken little of his sorrows;
and it is true. But who does not know that all the sternest conflicts of
life can never be recorded! Every human soul must walk alone through
the darkest and most dangerous paths of its spiritual pilgrimage;
absolutely alone with God! Much, from which we suffer most acutely,
could never be revealed to others; still more could never be understood,
if it were revealed; and still more ought never to be repeated, if it
could be understood. Therefore, the frankest and fullest biography must
necessarily be superficial.

The old gentleman was not prone to talk of his troubles. They never made
him irritable, but rather increased his