Of Dr. Samuel Merritt, whose name is in the list of passengers on board the brig Reindeer, I have something to say. An account of the chief incidents in his career I had from his own lips. He was a native of Maine, and came to Plymouth in 1845, and established himself in the practice of medicine. He was a man six feet in height and large in proportion, frank and honest in speech, hearty, but rough in manner, possessing great will and energy, and calculated in every way to win the confidence of the people. He was a bachelor, and at first had an office on Main street, in the Bartlett building, where Loring’s watchmaker’s shop now is. After Union building was built on the corner of Middle street, he occupied two rooms on the lower floor at the corner, one for an office, and the other for a sleeping room. When the California fever struck Plymouth it seized the Doctor with great virulence. Aside from the temptations of gold and sudden wealth, the idea of an expedition to the Pacific shores appealed to his adventurous spirit, and he at once determined to follow the wave of migration. Without a family to consult, he began his preparations. Collecting his professional bills, he invested his capital in the purchase of a snug and handy hermaphrodite brig of about one hundred and sixty tons, owned, I think, by Joseph Holmes of Kingston, which was then lying in New York. Having nearly finished loading her with such merchandise as according to the latest advices was bringing high prices, he found that he had about five hundred dollars unexpended. This amount, or a considerable portion of it, he determined to expend in tacks, so one afternoon he started to go to Duxbury and make the purchase at the tack factory carried on by Samuel Loring in that town. Before he reached Kingston, he was overtaken by a messenger on horse back, summoning him to return at once, and attend a man, who, while engaged in painting the house of Capt. Nathaniel Russell at the corner of Court Square, had fallen from a ladder, and was thought to be seriously injured. As he had no time to spare to go to Duxbury after that day, he lost the opportunity of making a fortune in tacks, which he found on his arrival in San Francisco were selling at five dollars a paper.