Mr. Day had many eccentricities, but they were unoffending in their nature, and no man was ever splashed or injured by his hobby-horse. We should be doing injustice to his memory if we did not mention a peculiar and very high trait in his character, and that was, his kindness to his servants; in a few words, he was their friend. He had a widowed house-keeper who lived with him for thirty years, and died in his life-time at a very advanced age. She had two very strong attachments, one to her wedding-ring and garments, and the other to tea; when she died, Mr. Day would not permit her ring to be taken off—he said, “If that was attempted, she would come to life again,” and directed that she should be buried in her wedding suit, and a pound of tea in each hand; and these directions were literally obeyed. This whim was highly illustrative of his good nature, for although he had an aversion to tea, and never drank it, he did not debar his servants the use of it; and in the instance of his old house-keeper, carried his liberality even into her grave, by providing her a commodity there, which she was so fond of here. And although a bachelor, no man honoured more the marriage state, as will be seen hereafter. Mr. Day enjoyed as much as any man his friend and pitcher, but he was temperate and regular in his mode of living, and very fond of the exercise of walking; by this means he enjoyed an uncommon share of health, until his death. We are now drawing towards that last scene which sooner or later must happen to the mighty and the weak, the rich and the poor, the good and the bad. A few years before Mr. Day’s death, a branch of the Old Oak received a shock, either by decay, by lightning, or storm; this operated upon Mr. Day as the warning of an old friend—it pointed out to him the instability of life, and the effects of time; and he received the call with the resignation of a christian, and the fortitude of a man, who was conscious of having performed his allotted part with propriety.