Independent of the relation which this paper bears to the subject of these memoirs, it is a curious document, and will be interesting as such, as long as the history of the progress of the arts in this country excites the attention of posterity. I have now but little to add to these memoirs. But they would be deficient in an important event, were I to omit noticing the death of Mrs. West, which took place on the 6th of December, 1817. The malady with which she had been afflicted for several years smoothed the way for her relief from suffering, and softened the pang of sorrow for her loss. She was in many respects a woman of an elevated character; and her death, after a union of more than half a century, was to her husband one of those irreparable changes in life, for which no equivalent can ever be obtained. The last illness of Mr. West himself was slow and languishing. It was rather a general decay of nature, than any specific malady; and he continued to enjoy his mental faculties in perfect distinctness upon all subjects as long as the powers of articulation could be exercised. To his merits as an artist and a man I may be deemed partial, nor do I wish to be thought otherwise. I have enjoyed his frankest confidence for many years, and received from his conversation the advantages of a more valuable species of instruction, relative to the arts, than books alone can supply to one who is not an artist. While I therefore admit that the partiality of friendship may tincture my opinion of his character, I am yet confident that the general truth of the estimate will be admitted by all who knew the man, or are capable to appreciate the merits of his works. In his deportment, Mr. West was mild and considerate: his eye was keen, and his mind apt; but he was slow and methodical in his reflections, and the sedateness of his remarks must often in his younger years have seemed to strangers singularly at variance with the vivacity of his look. That vivacity, however, was not the result of any peculiar animation of temperament; it was rather the illumination of his genius; for when his features were studiously considered, they appeared to resemble those which we find associated with dignity of character in the best productions of art.