MUCH to my mortification, I was unable, as I had wished, to finish my letter, when I added the few lines about a month ago; but that slight effort brought on a return of my disability, and obliged me to be again quiet; and, were I to consult the suggestions of prudence, I should not, I believe, now venture on a few lines which I am desirous of appending by way of conclusion. But I am so thoroughly ashamed of both my apparent neglect, and the fussiness attendant on my endeavours to write to you the letter I have done, that I can keep my sheet by me no longer, and, though I seem to have many things to say to you, I must content myself with the assurance, that with unabated affection, and with every good wish for yourself, Mrs. C—, and family, in which Mrs. M— most sincerely unites, I have the pleasure to subscribe myself, Your long attached Friend And brother in the gospel, GEORGE MORTIMER. * * * * * After an interval of eighteen years, I saw my late beloved friend only for the second time after our leaving Cambridge and settling in life. I saw him for a few short hours in the year 1824, and, from that time, I had not that pleasure again until July, 1842, when I had the long-desired happiness of paying him a visit at Thornhill, and passing a week with him, in the society of his kind family, to whom I had never before been personally introduced. We used, when at college, to promise ourselves the pleasure of alternate annual visits, little thinking that, for so long a period, the bounds of our habitation were to be no nearer together than the eastern and western hemisphere. At Thornhill, I saw my endeared friend in different circumstances and relations to what I had ever personally known him before—as the pastor, the husband, and the father; and I was not disappointed in contemplating him in these characters. He was as venerable in appearance as grey—I might rather say white—hairs could make him, and which crowned a countenance of the most benignant aspect—serene, intelligent, animated, and beaming with tenderness and affection. There was also in his manners, in the tones of his voice, and, when speaking, in the peculiar expressiveness of his countenance, something remarkably sweet, mild, and engaging. The general contour of the upper part of his body, especially his long white hair behind, reminded me of the later likenesses of the justly celebrated John Wesley. His body was of low stature and deformed, which, at first sight, might have given to a stranger but a lowly opinion of him; but every disadvantage from appearance soon wore off, and the mind shone brightly through the mean and weak and uncommanding body, which contained it. A pleasing instance of this effect occurred when I was in Canada. He was kind enough to spend three or four days with me at my son’s—a visit to