FROM MEMOIRS OF INCREASE WOODWARD, 1742-1822.

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On the first day of the year, 1800, my son William Woodward was visited with a solemn call to prepare for death; and I hope he did improve his short say in this world, which was four months and ten days. He departed this life on the 10th day of the 5th month, 1800.

Thus are the cares and exercise of my mind on account of my dearly beloved son, ended in his removal from this changing, uncertain element. And now, we hope, he rejoices in heave. So be it, - wishes the parent, who much desired his eternal peace.

Alas! my beloved son! how hast thou changed! Though thou wast like the goodly cedar, a little while ago, thou art now blasted and fallen! fallen as from high places, and brought down by an adverse wind, too powerful. The mildew, the blight, and decay have struck at thy root; and thou art fallen, withered, and g one form mutability; - thy prospects all broken, - and a final disappointment of thy hopes! Thus are the expectations of men cut off, as to the things of this world.

Thou wast endured with bright and quick talents; - flushed with earnest intentions to gain what is called an independent fortune, thou grasped at the vain shadow, - the perishing goods of this world! But, alas! the keen scythe of adversity and death, in one awful moment, has put an end to all thy prospects, thy hopes, and thy life! Cut off in the prime of thy manhood, thou art gone down forever to the silent grave. Though thy life was checkered with vanity, yet through thy Redeemer's mercy, thy close was favoured with a peaceful calm: and though night, a perpetual night, hath shut the scenes of this world, yet thy sprit liveth, and, we hope, rejoiceth in the mansions of eternal peace.