witnessed only the death of one daughter, Frances, and followed her immediately to the grave. The fourth brother quitted the navy, after the battle in the Brilliant frigate with two of the French, and determined to reside at home, as the only remaining prop there of his father's house, and entered into the militia under the patronage of lord Suffield. He is still living.

And now for a serious word or two about myself. I was born in London in the year 1766, on the eleventh of December. My dear father died with the asthma about two years ago. My mother was the sister of captain Matteate Brady: her father, Dr. Brady, I need but slightly mention, as he will have no interest in this relation, other than that which he derives from the feelings with which he inspired my mother. With a highly instructed, yet with a too feeling mind, she possessed sentiments which seemed, in the earliest stages of matrimony, to direct her attentions to the unlimited indulgence of her children; not estimating, perhaps-(may her blessed spirit forgive me if I err!)-the tendency of her extreme affection. My elder brother, her first child, having been nursed continually, during near two years, by the bosom of his mother, or in the arms of her attendant, and confined from Nature's generous air, which is too often the fatal error of our younger mothers, was one morning, for some childish error, placed by my father, as a punishment, out of the back door of our house: he caught cold, and all the most affectionate attentions of both parties were unavailing to save him from dissolution.

Soon afterwards my eldest sister, Henrietta, was born; who will be mentioned in the course of this work, as con

siderably interesting my welfare: she is still living; the wife of Mr. Danvers, nephew to sir John Danvers, residing at Hornsey, near London, with a fine family of children, and personally known to many inhabitants of Philadelphia.

It then pleased Nature to send on the surface of the globe, the romantic author of these memoirs: romantic I may well call him, for his opinions never accorded with the principles of this world, in general, and his conduct never has been guided by them.

I sucked the milk of hesitation, while my dear mother was struggling between the feelings heretofore indulged, and her duty's stern command; but my disposition soon assumed a decided tone.

She afterwards had the honour of offering to the world three daughters, Mary Ann, Frances, and Charlotte. Mary Ann married, after seven years' courtship, Mr. Hicks, a gentleman of independent fortune, and holding a good place under government. She is living, but has no children. Frances died in 1793, unmarried. Charlotte is still living, unmarried.

"Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclin'd."

The strongest impressions that are made on an infant's mind, are those which seize upon him, when in the moments of amusement he voluntarily pauses to attend to conversation. The observations from one parent to another, while their children are playing before them, will, when any thing interesting to either of them occurs, excite an ardency of attention that will convey with it to the mind the most lasting stamp.

So was it with me. The following apparently trifling circumstance, fixed the bias of my temper; my temper; and the perfect recollection of an occurrence which took place when I was only three years of age, sanctions the efficacy of the fact.

I had a tumour of some nature on the upper part of my right arm. The surgeon who had attended me had promised to return in the afternoon, to make the necessary incision. I was lying in the parlour, on a pillow, be. tween my parents. They had already placed a cushioned armed chair close by the window, with the necessary bandages. My parents had been conversing on the subject for some time, without any particular attention on my part, till the following words arrested my ears:"James is a brave child, and will bear it firmly." Parents! reflect on this apparently trivial occurrence. On the impressions then made I can found all my erroneous decisions through life-from them, as the descending spider from his web, I spun the attenuated thread that let me down-and to them I can trace the irrational instinct which induced a man to weave such feeble plans for present safety, as only proved the prey of future

blasts.

Parents! seldom have you read a history like mine. I plait no sins with gold, that on them the strong lance of justice may break hurtless-I arm them not with rags, that you may pierce them with a pigmy's straw they are in their native guise. As such contemplate them-make my errors useful to yourselves. Grave on my tomb-this man, at last, performed some goodmake it the means of service to your children, and, consequently, to your own happiness. Pause, then, nor condemn, too hastily, the anecdote of a child.

"James is a brave boy, and will bear it firmly." Fatal words; for they infused into an infant's mind, of course unacquainted with the nature of essential fortitude, the effluential spirit of reason-warring obstinacy. I have preserved it throughout my life, and it will prove the coffin of my errors. Had my father, instead of the above, observed, that "James was a good boy, and would submit with patience to necessity," he then would have instilled a widely different principle-had he taught me the nature of true courage, fearless of danger, to attempt whatever it was my duty to perform -had he taught me the nature of honourable fortitude, to bear with resignation and content what I was doomed to suffer had he taught me to elicit the vital spark of virtue, by confessing error, and withdrawing from the pursuit of it-to restrain those feelings which urge continuance in erroneous determination against the dictates of common sense-I then had been fortified by duty, and patient under the penance it imposed.

The doctor's carriage arrived: it was announced by the servant. I instantly started from my pillow, climbed into the chair, and laid my arm upon the window slab, prepared for the operation.

When the doctor entered the room, and found me in the situation above described, he foolishly observed, that I was a brave little fellow. This established my former feelings, and I really began to think myself a hero. On this presumption, unsupported by one vir>tuous feeling, I suffered uncomplainingly; but, as I suppose, fainted under the operation; for the only succeeding circumstance that occurred within my present recollection, was awakening from my mother's bed, and seeing her a ministering guardian by my side.

The fact above related, though apparently of trifling moment to the childless, will not, as I trust, be totally devoid of interest to the parent; for, though it happened at so early a period as when I was only three years of age, it determined the bias of my disposition, through life, and will remain impressed upon my warmest feeling, till it shall please Providence to call me to another

state.

I cannot recollect, that ever, even to the present day, though convinced of error, I have yielded up my first formed resolution. The advice of my best friends was generally acknowledged as good; but had no effect. I was as sensible of my own faults as they-my pillow told me of them the night showed me the perverseness of my ways but the morn threw the seven-fold shield of obstinacy around me, and blunted every anxious aim for my welfare.

At this present hour, my best, most generous, and steady friend, Joseph Hopkinson, esq. has ample proof, of the folly of my rejection of his advice. Experience has, long since, proved it good; but he threw his diamonds against a rock-they could not penetrate its surface.

But, to return-When we sow a seed, we do not bury it, as a dead body, in the earth to rot; we must expect it to spring up; and, when sprung up, to seek congenial nutriment. The weed will claim an equal title to the air and rain, as does the proudest flower: so will the error of a child, claim equal right to natural increase, till it is rooted out by a parental gardener's hand.

On my recovery, I was sent on a visit to an uncle of my father's, a bachelor, or a widower, without chil