s made to change this feeling were soon found to be
unavailing, and his commanding temper, as usual, had its way. After
the death of his brother, his visits to the village became less
frequent, and he was seldom to be met with, except at the house of
his son. It was a strange sight to see him, with two or three
grand-children on his knees, and playing, perhaps, with one of the
little ones, amusing itself with hiding behind the flowing majesty of
his long beard. A great part of his time was passed among the Indians
living on the banks of the Severn, to the amelioration of whose
condition and Christianization he devoted himself to the last.
And some insist that he never quite gave up the expectation of the
Millennium during his life, for early fishermen, passing his hut
before sunrise, are said to have reported that they had seen the
Solitary more than once, waiting for the rising sun, and heard his
bursts of passionate expectation. An occurrence, too, at his death,
which happened at the house of his son, justifies this opinion--when
sitting up suddenly in his bed, he stretched out his arms, and
exclaiming with a wild energy, "Lord, Thou art faithful and true, for
I behold Thy coming," he fell back upon the pillow and expired. From
respect to the memory of his father, his son bought the island where
the Solitary lived so many years, and having planted it with trees,
declares it shall never pass out of the family during his own life,
and so long as it can be protected by his will.

Judge Bernard, his wife, the doctor, and the Pownals are gone, and the
three former repose with their friends in the romantic burial ground,
to which we once before conducted our readers; the two latter in the
cemetery of the thronged city, undisturbed by the sounding tread of
the multitudes who daily pass their graves.

William Bernard, about the time of the marriage of his sister, made a
formal offer of his hand to Faith, but without success. He was refused
gently, but so decidedly, that no room was left for hope. But if the
enamored young man lost his mistress, he was satisfied there was no
rival in the case, and moreover that probably there never would be.
So selfish is the human heart, that this reflection mitigated the
bitterness of his disappointment. Convinced that the prospect of
altering her determination was hopeless, and unable to remain in her
presence, he made a voyage to Europe, where he remained five years,
and on his return, e