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old complaint of dull times not only remains but increases. As to anything of a public nature you have the same means of seeing and judging that I have. I think however, that the gloom thickens, and in regard to business I am almost discouraged. My respects and duty to our honour'd Mother, my love to all the little ones. Let me hear soon and often from you. and believe me your ever affectionate brother

J. W. RUSSELL.

To Mr. Giles Russell, Winchester, Conn.

MY DEAR BROTHER:

BRISTOL, Nov. 9th, 1813.

Your favour of the 3rd inst. from Hartford I received in due course of mail, and am very happy once more to hear of the welfare of those so dear to me. My friends, that went to the Westwd. have returned-they came through Lenox, which route prevented their calling on you. I have all along had hopes of seeing you here this fall, but you must be the best judge whether it would answer. You made enquiry respecting clocks-this would be no time to sell any, on account of the great scarcity of money, and the peculiar pressure of the times*, which is already severely felt in a place situated like this-when corn-meal is scarce at $1.50 per bushel; and flour from $12 to 13 per bbl.; when the common labourer, who would always through the season, have his six dollars every Saturday night for his week's work, and has now probably not *During the War of 1812.

earned 10 dollars in the summer; when the crop of onions, which has usually sold for $60,000 in a year is now worth 0000; when the honest sailor who supported his family well and laid up a little every year, has now been three years almost out of employ—and living on his former little savings; when added to this we view the hopeful prospect before us, you will judge that it is not without reason, that we complain of hard times.

My little flock are all well. The boy grows finely and is greatly attached to his Aunt Betsey. My situation ought perhaps to make me feel melancholy— but I think, at times at least, that my Confidence in the goodness of our Heavenly Father is unshaken, and I know that I still possess many blessings—yea, many more than I deserve. Our little Ones were delighted to hear from you and send their love. Mine to my dear and honoured Mother, and to all yours. Brother

Believe me your affectionate

J. W. RUSSELL.

ANNUAL THANKSGIVING, NOV. 26, 1812

Dedicated to Parnell Russell.*

BY CAPTAIN JOHN W. RUSSELL

When God, in anger lifts his arm
And hurls the frowning dart;
When the bar'd bosom feels the stroke,
That rends the aching heart—

When Parents, children, brothers, friends,
Resign this mortal breath;

Or the dear partner of each joy

Lies pale and cold in Death

Though all creation then may smile

And songful groves be glad

The very music of the groves,

The very smiles seem sad.

Drear looks the face of cheerfull day
More drear the gloom of night,
And frolic scenes of harmless joy,
Are anguish to the sight.

If then, mid frowns-such killing frowns
(While virtue mourning lies)

The grief fraught soul, serene looks out
From sorrow streaming eyes-

*The second daughter of Captain Russell.

Resigned-looks up, to heaven's high throne,
And feels the strokes were right,
On those deep wounds-Jesus shall pour
The balm of sweet delight.

Consoling angels lend the hand

To guide the wanderer home-
And sing the wanderer too shall sing
My God, I come-I come.

All Heaven's bright host shall tune the lyre
To praise a glorious God;

All passing glorious when he smiles,
And glorious in the rod.

From Heaven's bright host let mortals lean
To join the angelic lays;

And know no time-though clad in gloom
But brings some cause for praise.

Then let the voice of praise resound,
In love's harmonious strains;
Glad tidings hear, Jesus has come,
The Lord Jehovah reigns.

Come-nature's offspring all unite
Let men begin the theme;
Yes-recent mourners, you may aid
This rapt, seraphic hymn.

I, too, would add my feeble voice,
Self-severed though I mourn,
Though all-near all, my earthly joy
Is flown, forever flown.

My soul shall still rejoice in God,
And still his succour crave-
Who's nigh to heal the broken heart,
The contrite spirit save.

Captain John Willard Russell died in Bristol, Aug. 20, 1814-Aged forty-four years.

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