accountable things, with the promise of many more things yet to come. A bundle of letters also, of three folio sheets, is come from Mr. Drew, addressed to Mr. Woolmer, and sent by him for Mr. Benson, to publish in the Magazine. It is a dialogue between himself and a Deist, on the top of a coach." It will be evident that Dr. Clarke's confidence in his wife was perfect. He had no secrets to conceal from her, nor wished to have. Their minds were in sound and healthy unison. His own personal life, and his public life, with all its encouragements and discouragements, were perfectly known to her; and that, with a return of gentle and wise counsel, and holy comfort, which greatly smoothed his pathway. By her pen, too, she helped her husband not a little. She would transcribe a manuscript for the press; and at times, I imagine, she lent some aid in original composition, getting forward such works as admitted of that kind of participation. I speak not on this point with certainty, except the degree. of it which may be gathered from an expression here and there of the Doctor's. Thus, writing to her from Ireland: "Cannot you and John prepare a few sheets of the Concordance? The book is in the back study, and he knows the volume of Calmet from whence he is to correct the proper names. See you to the definitions, if there be any. A few sheets will do." While engaged on the Commentary, "it was his frequent practice, at the close of the day at Millbrook, to read the notes he had written to Mrs. Clarke, and take her opinion of them. Sometimes, after he had done work, she would read aloud to him and the listening family some amusing and instructive book."* Such was she of whom it is no small honor to say, that she was worthy of being the wife of Dr. Adam Clarke. And for a more ample account of this exemplary lady I refer the reader to a work published by her daughter in 1851, with Family memorandum. * the title of "Mrs. Adam Clarke, her Character and Correspondence;" a volume which deserves a place by the side of the Memoirs of Mrs. Fletcher, Lady Maxwell, Mrs. Hester Ann Rogers, Mrs. Tatham, Mrs. Agnes Bulmer, and those other sanctified females whose “Holy Living" has adorned so beautifully the religious communion to which they belonged. Dr. Clarke knew the value of the gift which heaven had conferred upon him in this companion of his days. With each passing year his love became more tender, and the honor in which he held her, more high and sacred. The anniversary of their wedding was always a time of grateful joy. On one of those days, being away, he writes to her: "This day I have kept with comfort for above forty years. You are more regardless of these kinds of observances than I naturally am: with me such things have much weight; and now, being absent, I wish to show you that I carry the remembrance of it, and my respect for it, two hundred miles beyond my own dwelling." On another, he presents her with a tender poem; and on another, with a gold watch, "the beautiful dial of which," he tells her, "is an emblem of thy face; the delicate pointers of thy hands; and the balance, of thy conduct in thy family." The only difference which the lapse of years made in his admiration of her was to strengthen it. Cowper's sweet lines seem as if they had been written to express the sentiments of this true-hearted spouse: "Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary. "To be the same through good and ill, In wintry change to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary." In truth, religion, with its ever indestructible and celestial 'band, had made their union everlasting. They were one in Christ, and were persuaded that neither death nor life, nor things present, nor things to come, could separate them. They knew that, when time with them would be no more, they should live together with the Lord; and in the years of this life they lived to him. For the God before whom they walked, and who had fed them all their days, and redeemed them, was their sun and shield, giving them grace, and about to give them glory, they walking uprightly. Their wish and vow, their purpose and their prayer, so to do, and so to be, might have been well told in the words which Lavater, in one of his household hymns, puts upon the lips of a Christian wife and husband: "To bear, endure, and love, and give, *"Dulden, tragen, lieben, geben, Wollen wir, bis wir Dich schaun!" 66 Or the twelve children of Dr. and Mrs. Clarke, two died in infancy, four others in childhood; and of the six who rose to be men and women, three daughters only survive. The loss of the six, one after another, bent the parents in unutterable grief. None," says the father, when the first of these afflictions occurred, "none can tell our woe. I feel I have lost part of my own being in the loss of my child. Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy upon us. Thou Eternal Power, we bow before thee, we submit to thee." In training aright those who lived, Dr. Clarke found the solace, as well as the solicitude, of his life. Though so extensive an itinerant, he was nevertheless greatly in love with the domestic state, and never so happy as when he had his children around him. Once when Mr. Ward of Durham called on him when in London, "on being ushered into the room, he found him seated with one child on his knee, encircled in an arm; another child in the cradle, which he was rocking to repose with his foot; a book in one hand, which he was attentively reading, and a potato in the other." A scene like this might have been often witnessed. When the labors of the study were over he used to amuse himself with his little ones, who quickly assembled at his well-known call of “Come all about me!" Then was heard the joyous shout, along with the rush of the youngsters to claim the first kiss, or obtain the best seat upon his knee. Sometimes he would dispose of them on his person; one round his neck, one hanging on each shoulder, one clasping his waist, one seated on each foot; and with an infant in his arms, he would, thus furnished, be the happiest of the group. The sports of the evening finished, each alternately kneeled at their mother's knee for prayer; and when ready for repose, Mr. Clarke, when not out preaching, "invariably carried them himself up to bed, put or playfully threw them in, and tucked them up for the night. But, before retiring himself, he always visited each bed, to see if all was right. To his well-known voice, pretty early in the morning, they would start up, unpin each child its own bundle of clothes, (which almost from infancy it had been taught to fold up,) and dress with all possible expedition; for, from childhood, he would never permit waste of time by dilatory habits, any more than slovenly neglect through affected attempts at expedition." So writes one of the family. In their secular education he not only afforded them the privilege of his own tuition, but, as his ministerial duties would render all systematic operation impossible, he was careful to secure them the best professional instruction within his resources. He was not content without giving his daughters a useful and elegant, and his sons a practical and learned education. But, above all, it was Mr. Clarke's supreme concern to give them a Christian one; to implant in their memory at the very outset of life, when dogmatic instruction becomes a necessity, those absolute truths which, under the influence of the blessed Spirit of God, will develop in the soul and the conduct the virtues of holiness and religion; to illustrate those truths in cheerful yet serious conversation; to try to exemplify them in his own spirit, temper, and behavior before their eyes, letting them see Christ in him, and thus drawing them by the cords of a man, and by the bands of love, to his Saviour and theirs. He knew that their renewal unto salvation must be the work of God; but he knew, also, that he, as their father, had duties to perform which might be instrumentally indispensable toward that blessed result. "Let those parents," he would say, "who continue to excuse themselves by observing, ' We cannot give grace to our children,' lay their hand on their heart, and say whether they ever knew an instance where |