he read during the period, of which we speak, would appear scarcely credible to one, who did not know the rapidity with which he looked through a book, and the almost intuitive sagacity, with which he seized and retained all that was valuable in its contents. That what he read was thoroughly digested, was apparent from the accuracy-so often observed and admired by his friends-with which he would discriminate the peculiar merits of different writers. I find, from some fragments of a journal of his studies, that, where he thought a book of particular importance, he was accustomed to make a copious analysis of its contents. It was, also, his habit to make references, at the end of a volume, to the pages where any interesting passages were found. Particulars like these are, it is true, unimportant in themselves; but they may, perhaps, gratify in some degree that natural and not useless curiosity, which we feel with regard to all the circumstances of a distinguished man's preparation for his future eminence.

The process of study and of thought, through which he passed in forming his theological opinions, cannot be too much praised.

It is strange, that a principle so natural, and so constantly observed in all other sciences—that of beginning with what is simple and clear, and gradually proceeding to what is doubtful and dark-should have been so often reversed in the study of theology. It

was not, however, overlooked by Mr. Buckminster. He avoided, as much as possible, all discussion of the controverted doctrines of systematic divinity, till he had given himself a thorough initiation in the evidences of religion, natural and revealed,-examined the nature and degree of the inspiration of the sacred writings, in order to determine what laws of interpretation are to be applied to them,—taken a general survey of the questions connected with the criticism of the Bible,—and sanctified all his investigations by the habitual study of the spirit and maxims of practical religion. Having by these inquiries, together with an accurate knowledge of the original languages, prepared himself for the interpretation of the more difficult and obscure parts of the scriptures, he commenced the study of them 'with the aid derived from a comparison of the opinions of of the best commentators of different sects. The writers on dogmatic theology he now permitted himself to consult; and he has often told me, with what eager curiosity, and even trembling interest, he read Taylor and Edwards on original sin, and pushed his researches into those high speculations, where so much caution is necessary to prevent the mind from becoming enslaved to a system, and shut for ever against the light of truth. Having, in this manner, gone over an uncommonly wide and extensive field of preparatory studies, in October, 1804, he yielded to a re

quest to preach to the society in Brattle Street, Boston. I cannot attempt to describe the delight and wonder, with which his first sermons were listened to by all classes of hearers. ihe most refined and the least cultivated equally hung upon his lips. The attention of the thoughtless was fixed. The gayety of youth was composed to seriousness. The mature, the aged, the most vigorous and enlarged minds were at once charmed, instructed and improved. After preaching for a few weeks, he received an invitation to become the minister of this society, and was ordained January 30, 1805. The fatigue and agitation of spirits, which he experienced on this occasion, produced a severe fit of illness, which interrupted his labours till the following March, when he recommenced them with the sermon on the advantages of sickness, which makes a part of the present collection.

The situation, in which he was now placed, introduced him to many new and most important duties. The task of a christian teacher can never be a light one to any conscientious man. There are, however, circumstances, in some respects, peculiar to the situation of a clergyman in Boston, which -while they are a source of constant interest and delight to him-serve to make his duties uncommonly great. It is the general habit of the place for the individuals of each society to make their minister a part almost

of their families, a sharer of their joys and sorrows, one who has always access to them, and is always welcomed with distinguished confidence and affection. There are many obvious advantages arising from this unreserved intimacy. Religion is more easily made to mingle, as it ought, with the common business and pleasures of life, when the idea of its ministers is not associated merely with images of awe and terror, of gloom and death. Both admonition and consolation come home to the heart with redoubled effect, when they are heard from the lips of one, who is not only respected from the sanctity of his office, but who is personally beloved as a friend. This intimate connexion with his people-although, to a man of any sensibility, a source of some of the most exquisite gratifications of the human heartmakes a great addition to his toils. It makes a deep inroad on the time he would give to study; and almost compels him to redeem it from the hours which ought to be given to exercise or repose. By the variety and painful interests, also, of the scenes and occupations, to which it calls him, the mind is often agitated and worn down ; while the reflection, which it is impossible always to exclude, of the insufficient ability, with which his duties are performed, and the inadequate returns he can make for the friendship and confidence he receives, must often come over and oppress his spirits.

The effect of these labours on the delicate frame of Mr. BUCKMINSTER could not fail to be soon visible. A disorder, A disorder, which had made its appearance some years before, was sensibly increased during the year 1805. It was one of the most tremendous maladies, which God permits to afflict the human frame; and to which it has often been found, that minds of the most exquisite structure are peculiarly exposed. The manner, in which this visitation was endured by Mr. BUCKMINSTER, I can never think of, but with increasing admiration of the fortitude, and reverence of the piety, which sustained him. Those who saw his habitual gayety of disposition, and observed the lively interest, which he took in his friends, and all the usual occupations of life; and especially, who witnessed all his cheerfulness and activity, returning almost immediately after the severest of these attacks-were disposed to think, that he could not be sensible of the terrific nature of his disorder, or ever look forward with any distinct anticipation to its threatened consequences. It was seldom that even his nearest friends heard from him any allusion to his calamity; and, perhaps, there was only one of them, to whom all the thoughts of his soul, on this subject, were confided. How little they knew of him, who imagined, he was insensible to any of its appalling consequences, will appear by the following extract from his pri