wretch who denied ground-room for his coffin. He was a man of more good qualities than bad ones. 'Tis true, he was naturally mean-spirited, too indecently inquisitive about trifles and other men's matters, fond of being entrusted with, and sometimes making secrets of, things not worth knowing, partial to his friend and cowardly towards his enemy. At the same time he was hospitable, charitable, generous and free. As a minister, he despised the enthusiasm and cant of the Dissenters, and had a disposition always ready to receive conviction, even in matters of which he had never doubted. He had a polite taste both in Greek and Latin, especially in the classics. His sermons, though on the common topics, were concise and correct, and his prayers decent, short and without tautology. He had a great faculty at transcribing: he wrote, spelt and pointed to exactness; a little more, I think, than became a man of sense. For this reason the papers of the late Mr. Moyle were put into his hands, with which he took vast pains, and at last fitted for the press, though they were afterwards unhandsomely taken from him, and given to a hackney writer to publish. He was a great lover of critical learning, and would have made a figure in it, if time and circumstances would have allowed him to pursue it. He was free and cheerful in conversation, and a professed enemy to that stiffness and affected gravity which most of his profession seemed to believe one half at least of their character. He never saw his great mistake till it was too late, which was his notorious attachment to the Exeter Asseinbly, which he always attended with great punctuality, and did as much as any to support their power. This fell very heavy on him at last, for that very power he was so fond of, crushed him quite, making him one unhappy example of falling into a pit which he had been concerned in digging for other people.

MR. JAMES PEIRCE.

This gentleman was very well known in the learned world. His character as a scholar was well established before he came to live at Exeter, on account of the Vindication of the Dissenters,

which he wrote against Dr. Nicolls; and what greatly added to it afterwards, was his writing in the dispute about the Trinity, and a Commentary on some of St. Paul's Epistles. In one of his pamphlets he has given some account of his parentage and education, which is all I know of either, for he was quite a stranger to me before he came into this country.

The occasion of his coming to Exeter was to succeed the old Mr. Trosse. He was settled at Newbury with a very encouraging congregation, when he had the invitation, and it was not soon or easily, to appearance at least, that he complied with it. He saw that great court was paid him, and very well knew how to keep up his dignity: accordingly, he first of all seemed to scruple the leaving of his old people, who were all in tears about losing him, on which account both London and West-country ministers were consulted, who were of opinion at last, that it might be for the glory of God and the interest of the Dissenters for him to move to Exeter. When this obstacle was removed, another came in view, which was, how far it might be consistent with his health to come into Devonshire. To make all easy, an eminent physician in London was consulted, who, after duly weighing the case, advised, that removing to Exeter could not prejudice that, and thus at last the eager desires of the Exonians were gratified. An extraordinary respect was paid him at and long after his first coming. He was looked upon as the first man of the party, and he was reputed a happy man who was admitted to the conversation and acquaintance of Mr. Peirce. This was as distasteful to some ministers as it was agreeable to him, and laid the foundation for that party which was afterwards formed against him, though, it was pretended that they acted purely from a zeal for truth, and the fundamentals of religion. He was, without doubt, a man of great parts and learning, and as such, made a much greater figure among the Dissenters than any among them for many years before him; and then he was always very indefatigable in his studies, and was so made, that his whole mind and thoughts and conversation were engaged in them. I have often heard him say, that a

thought would sometimes come into his head by night which pleased him, and that he then constantly struck a light, and went to his study to write it down; and that when he was writing against Dr. Nicolls, his usual custom was to go into his study when the bell rung at nine in Cambridge, (for there he lived at that time,) where he always sat till four or five next morning, and never thought the time long. I remember he told me of a passage which befel him one night, which was somewhat uncommon. His study window, which looked into a church-yard, being open, as he stepped to draw it fast, he fancied he saw a horse without a head. It being very dark, he imagined he might mistake, and, therefore, he looked more narrowly, and at last plainly perceived that it moved and walked as horses commonly do. He then shut his window, and though he was in no fear, having no opinion of such like things, yet he was willing to be satisfied, and went and looked again. The same very plainly appeared and moved as before, and he left it in very great uncertainty; but next morning, upon looking again into the yard, he discovered the delusion, for it was really a horse which was all white with a black head, and which, therefore, in the dark, could not be seen like the rest of the body. This he said confirmed his opinion, that all these things, fully examined, will prove mistakes occasioned either by a person's fear or some other accident, and this I mention to shew somewhat of his way of thinking of such matters. But to return. He was exceedingly well versed in the learned languages, but especially in the Latin, which appears by his Vindicia, &c., though I have been credibly told that it was corrected very accurately by the then Master of Westminster School, who was looked on as an exceeding great critic in that tongue. He was a very good philosopher and mathematician, but what he chiefly bent his studies to was divinity and explaining the Scriptures. He has given a specimen of his talent this way, in a Commentary on some of St. Paul's Epistles, after the manner of Mr. Locke. I never thought him a fine preacher; for his common discourses were loose and unstudied, and he had a sort of cant in delivering them

which pleased his hearers, because it chiefly affected the passions, and because he talked a great deal without notes. In his prayers he was often very jejune and dry, unless he happened to fall into a particular train of thoughts which touched him, and then he would proceed with great elevation, without cant, tautology or nonsense. His sentiments in religion were generally suited to those of the vulgar, and notwithstanding his genius, he seemed to go on in the common road with very great content; and though he never subscribed the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England, having nobly and honestly refused to do so on the true principle of a Nonconfor mist, yet he came down to Exeter in the full belief of them all excepting one. He was very well read in the fathers, and went very far into some points of chronology, and into the fashionable and abstruse parts of critical learning, which he always made use of in clearing and explaining difficult parts of Scripture. He seemed to have very high notions of his divine commission, and very well pleased to give laws at the head of the Assembly; and had not his falling into the Unitarian scheme convinced him that he should one time or other stand in great need of the charity of his fellow-christians, he would, I fear, have shewn but very little to such as should happen to differ from him; and he in some things gave, notwithstanding, very plain proofs of a haughty, bigoted disposition. He conversed where he was acquainted with very great freedom, and when he was well he liked to be jocose and entertaining; for he told a story with great humour, and would laugh immoderately when any thing hit him, whether told by another or by himself. He was quite a gentleman in his beha viour, and understood and practised good manners, and he knew how to behave himself to people of all ranks and parties without discovering any of that unpolite shyness, or mean sheepishness, with which most of his corps are infected for want of knowing and conversing with people better than themselves. He lived in his family with great decorum, if he was not sometimes a little too severe in exercising his authority, for I know he hath condescended to the discipline of

the horse-whip on some occasions. He was not over generous, or much given to hospitality; he had very seldom his friends to eat or drink; and though he would make free for several days together, and has been entertained with the best of all sorts, he has hardly invited that friend who entertained him to a single meal when he has next seen him. His love of money appeared at the time of the monstrous rise of the South Sea stock; for he would not sell at 500 or 600 advance, and staid so long till it fell, and he missed his market. He had some peculiarities. He never could be persuaded to sit for his picture, for he had a notion that pictures originally were the occasion of worshiping images. There was a creature to which he had a natural aversion, but he would never tell what that creature was, even to his own wife. He would not attend the marriage of his own daughter, because he had written against the ring in marriage. He was always remarkably close and secret about his own affairs, and, what is seldom, very incurious about the affairs of others. He used no manner of diversion nor any exercise, until the swelling of his legs and other disorders obliged him to it. And, indeed, he was one of those people who are never happy but when they are deeply engaged in thought, or in a conversation which suits their way and manner of thinking. He had some very great acquaintances, particularly Lord Chancellor King and Dr. Clarke, and was really known and esteemed more by the world than any man of his character for a century before; and this was the occasion of his disgrace and trouble in the latter part of his life.

I don't think he behaved under it becoming a person of his sense and dignity. After he was ejected, he removed from the city into a retired house in the suburbs; but he retired in a very ill-humour, for he suffered his pride to get the better of his philosophy. I was once walking with him in one of his orchards, which had a prospect of St. Peter's towers: upon my taking notice of it, he surprised me with crying out, in great resentment and bitterness, "Oh, that hated city!" and it was plain to every one that was intimate with him, that he had not greatness of mind sufficient to despise his enemies, and that he suf

fered the triumph they gained over him in his ejection to break his heart. He did not survive his trouble many years; for though he had many people of sense and fortune who stood by him; though he had a handsome meeting-house built on purpose for him, with an encouraging congregation; though he got great reputation by what he wrote in the controversy then on foot, and though he was handsomely provided for in the world; yet his constant vexation, added to his retired way of life, threw him into a bad habit, which impoverished his blood so much, that a vessel broke in his lungs, which discharged so largely that he died in two or three days. He was sensible of his danger when first his disorder appeared, and he told Mrs. Peirce, who happened to be near him in his kitchen where he was sitting, that he always thought a time would come when they must part. He spoke this with a firmness and composure which struck all who heard him. And one night he asked his apothecary, who watched with him, what he thought of his case, who making him an answer which implied that he was fearful of telling the truth, he said, Pray let me know the worst, for I am not afraid to die." He then said he doubted he had not long to live, upon which he answered, "I am satisfied; and go and tell my enemies that I die in peace; that I have true comfort in the part I have acted, and for which I have suffered, and that I hope one day to see my Saviour's face with joy, when some of them may hang their heads and tremble." He uttered this (as the gentleman declared) with an astonishing greatness, and all his behaviour in his last scene of life was becoming a good and a great man. He had some share of Mr. Gilling's treatment after he was dead. He was not, indeed, denied a grave in the church-yard, but they refused his friends the liberty of setting an epitaph over him which was prepared. But this made way for something much more significant though not so long, for it is cut on his stone, "Mr. Jumes Peirce's tomb," and this is enough to signify to the present age what he was, and what sort of creatures he was destroyed by to the future.

* American Unitarianism.' I have turned over its leaves and found nothing that was not familiarly known to me. In the preface, Unitarianism is represented as only thirty years old in New-England. I can testify as a witness to its old age. Sixty-five years ago, my own minister, the Rev. Lemuel Bryant; Dr. Jonathan Mayhew, of the West Church in Boston; the Rev. Mr. Shute, of Hingham; the Rev. John Browne, of Cohasset; and, perhaps equal to all, if not above all, the Rev. Mr. Gay, of Hingham, were Unitarians. Among the laity, how many could I name, lawyers, physicians, tradesmen, farmers! But at present I will name only one, Richard Cranch, a man who had studied divinity and Jewish and Christian antiquities, more than any clergyman now existing in New-England. More than fifty years ago I read Dr. Clarke, Emlyn and Dr. Waterland: do you expect, my dear Doctor, to teach me any thing new in favour of Athanasianism?--There is, my dear Doctor, at present existing in the world, a church philosophic, as subtle, as learned, as hypocritical, as the Holy Roman Catholic, Apostolic, and Ecumenical Church. The Philosophical Church was originally English. Voltaire learned it from Lord Herbert, Hobbes, Morgan, Collins, Shaftsbury, Bolingbroke, &c. &c. &c. You may depend upon it, your exertions will promote the Church Philosophic, more than the Church Athanasian or Presbyterian. This and the coming age will not be ruled by Inquisitions or Jesuits. The restoration of Napoleon has been caused by the resuscitation of Inquisitors and

Jesuits.

"I am, and wish to be, "Your friend,

"JOHN ADAMS.

"Quincy, May 15, 1815. "Rev. Dr. Morse."

Another charge has been made against Dr. Mayhew, which his daughter has power to contradict. It is confessed by the authors of it, that Dr. Mayhew, in the former part of his ministerial life, was an Arminian and Unitarian; but they assert that before his death he renounced these heresies, and became a Trinitarian and Calvinist. If this is a fact, it is strange that it was never communicated to his parishioners, his family and his intimate friends. The assertion is so entirely false, that the fact is, that his friend, Dr. Cooper, of Boston, visited Dr. Mayhew, on his death-bed, and inquired of him whether he still retained the religious sentiments which he had

preached and published, and his answer was, "I hold fast my integrity." This information I have received from Mrs. Wainwright; and there can be no doubt of its truth.

As, however, almost every false report is indirectly derived from something which is true, the pretence that Dr. Mayhew changed his religious opinions, may have originated from a fact which has come to my knowledge, and which, probably, as it has passed from mouth to mouth, with a fate not unusual to such reports, has at last reached the ears of some persons disguised and altered in its most material circumstances. The truth is, that not long before the close of his life he expressed to several of his friends, and among others to the late Dr. West, of Boston, from whom I received the account, his regret that he had published so many tracts on polemical divinity, and that he had treated some of his adversaries, particularly Mr. Cleaveland, with so much asperity and contempt. Though he was confessedly a good and generous man, yet it must be acknowledged that in his triumphant career of controversy, urged on as he was by the applauding shouts of those who admired the strength with which he wielded his arguments, he had sometimes aimed too rough and ponderous a weapon at the head of his opponents. But when, on serious and candid reflection, he perceived that he had unnecessarily inflicted pain, he lamented that he had not always preserved the mild and Christian spirit which becomes a disciple of the meek and benevolent Jesus. The amount of all which is this: Dr. Mayhew regretted that, in his controversial writings, he had been occasionally betrayed into the language of severity; and the expression of this regret is an honour to him: but there is no evidence, that he ever classed any of his theological sentiments among his faults, or repented of and abjured any part of his former creed.

To prevent misconceptions, it may be proper to observe, that when I style Dr. Mayhew an Unitarian, I use the word in the sense in which it is commonly understood in America, as denoting those Christians who deny the doctrine of the Trinity, whether they deny the pre-existence of Christ or not. Dr. Mayhew was an Unitarian