My moments now are few--the sand of life
Ebbs fastly to its finish. Yet a little,
And the last fleeting particle will fall,
Silent, unseen, unnoticed, unlamented.
Come then, sad Thought, and let us meditate
While meditate we may.
* * * * *
I hoped I should not leave
The earth without a vestige; Fate decrees
It shall be otherwise, and I submit.
Henceforth, O world, no more of thy desires!
No more of Hope! the wanton vagrant Hope;
I abjure all. Now other cares engross me,
And my tired soul, with emulative haste,
Looks to its God, and prunes its wings for Heaven."

On the 22nd of September he wrote to Mr. Charlesworth, and his
letter indicates the possession of higher spirits and more
sanguine hopes, than almost any other in his correspondence.
About the end of that month he went to London, on a visit to his
brother Neville, but returned to College within a few weeks, in a
state that precluded all chance of prolonging his existence; but
still he did not cease to hope, or rather sought to delude his
brother into the belief that he should recover; for in a letter
addressed to him, which was found in his pocket after his decease,
dated Saturday, 11th of October, he says,

"I am safely arrived, and in College, but my illness has increased
upon me much. The cough continues, and is attended with a good
deal of fever. I am under the care of Mr. Parish, and entertain