H. ADAMS. BROOKLINE, NOV. 12, 1831. The friend to whom the note was addressed hastened to see her. She found her in a large, and airy apartment. It was a fine morning; one of those days in which ‘Autumn seems to linger in the lap of Winter.’ The sun poured its rays into her apartment to her heart’s content. She was bright, and cheerful, and said with a smile she ‘believed some people thought she had lived long enough; but she was willing to remain as long as it pleased God to continue her,’ and then added, pointing to the prospect without, ‘how can any body be impatient to quit such a beautiful world!’ But little remains to be added to this short sketch, and that little perhaps is expressed in the Obituary notice which we subjoin. OBITUARY. Died at Brookline, near Boston, on the 15th inst. MISS HANNAH ADAMS, aged seventysix. Her literary labors have been long before the public, and have made her name known in Europe as well as in her native land. Her first work, the ‘View of Religions,’ was published at a time when this country had few authors, and when a book from a female hand was almost without precedent. She was not impelled by any desire of fame; and though the hope of usefulness was undoubtedly a strong motive to her literary exertions, yet this would not have availed, without the prospect of contributing by her pen to her own support, and the comfort of her nearest friends. It is gratifying to know, that she has left behind a simple and interesting memoir of her early life, which precludes the necessity of saying more of her literary history. Indeed, _literary_ claims are perhaps among the last that, at a moment like this, present themselves to the minds of her friends. The virtues and excellences of her character, her blameless life, her sensibility, the warmth of her affections, her sincerity and candor, call forth a flow of feeling that cannot be restrained. To an almost child-like simplicity, and singleness of heart, she united a clear and just conception of character; to a deep and affecting humility, a dignity and elevation of thought, that commanded the respect and veneration of those around her. Amidst many infirmities she retained the freshness and enthusiasm of youth. Society never lost its charms. To the aged she listened with submission and gentleness; to the classic and highly gifted, with a delight almost amounting to rapture. The young, and there were such who felt it a privilege to ‘sit at her feet,’ she viewed as ‘ministering angels’ dispensing joy and gladness. Her love of nature was exhaustless. The first beam of morning, the glory of noon, the last rays of the setting sun, were objects which through a long life she never contemplated with indifference. Those who were in the habit of visiting her, will recollect how constantly her apartment was