Though to every one of his children my father was gentle, forgiving, and full of love, yet toward no one of them did he have occasion for such patience, such tenderness, such unwearied devotion, as to myself.

Unlike many professional men, Dr. Woods never refused his children admittance to his study, even during his busiest hours. Seated in his large armchair, with the leaf attached, bordered by a compartment for the inkstand, sand-box, and wafers, his long goose-quill in his hand, he would turn a cheerful face to the slowly opening door, generally with the question, "What does my little girl want?"

How well I remember an occasion on which my father met my rash zeal with the tenderest forbearance! It was connected with his study-table. This was, from the beginning to the end of the year, covered with books and papers; to an unsophisticated child, as I was, presenting an appearance of the greatest disorder; to him, who could, almost in the dark, put his finger on any paper or book of reference, the very height of order.

One morning, when he was in Boston, I was seized with a strong

desire to fix up the study, and thus give my father a pleasant surprise. Without waiting to consult my mother, I at once proceeded to sweep and dust, without recollecting that I ought to cover the table with a large cloth kept for the purpose. At the end of an hour and a half, I had finished, and stood gazing about me, a glow of self-complacency flushing my cheek. The table, which usually stood in the centre of the apartment, I had with some difficulty pushed back against the wall. Every book on it had been returned to the shelves; but where were the papers? At first, I had thrown them on the floor, but suddenly recollecting that they might be of importance, I had gathered them up into a drawer in the closet, usually containing waste paper. For the first time in my life, I saw the table cleared from what I called "that old rubbish."

I cast one glance back, as I was going out, to announce my triumph to my mother. I confess I was startled. It looked so bare, so desolate, -as if somebody was dead. For the first time, doubts as to the propriety of my conduct obtruded themselves.

"Will father like it?" I asked myself with a beating heart. I went up to mother's room, and said, -

"Will you please come down to the study, a moment?" I can tell by her actions, I thought, what he is likely to think of my morning's work.

"Why Hatty! what have you done, child?" cried mother, lift-

ing up her hands. "Didn't you know that your father wishes his books and papers to be undisturbed?"

I began to cry, sobbing out the words, "I thought he'd like to see it look nice."

Mother soothed me, by saying she was sure I meant to do right; but I could see she was greatly troubled, and anxious about the result.

When father came home, instead of running to meet him, I locked myself into my chamber, crying as though my heart was broken; for my sisters and brother had spared no pains to set before me the enormity of my crime, each of them repeating over and over the exclamation, -

"Oh, what will father say!"

At length some one called me.

"Harriette, father wants you to come to the study, right away!"

A more abject, hopeless child than I was, I trust, never existed. Such a summons foreboded dreadful evil. I turned the handle to the study-door, quaking in every limb. What did I expect to see?

My dear, forgiving, patient father sat in his usual place, having pulled his chair out from the wall. I cast one glance into his grave but loving face, and, seeing no anger there, I ran and threw myself into his outstretched arms. For a minute or two he let me cry, and then I sobbed out,-

"I didn't mean to be naughty, father, I thought you'd like it. I thought you'd smile and say, 'Good girl'; I'm so sorry, father."

"What do you think I sent for you to come to me for?" he asked, putting his hand under my chin and lifting my tear-stained face. "I want to thank you, dear, for doing what you thought would please me. Your mother says you worked very hard; she says you didn't understand why I keep my table covered with books and papers. Now, let me tell you, my dear, where you did wrong. You should have consulted your mother; she would have told you that it would not be a kindness to me, as you intended; that it would give me great and lasting trouble. I am afraid to think how many weeks, perhaps months, I shall have to labor to get my notes and references in order again. If you have destroyed the papers, which, I suppose, seemed useless to you, it will be a more serious loss than you can conceive of."

"I have n't destroyed them, father, I saved every little mite of a scrap. I know where a good many of them were stuck in between the leaves of books. May I help you put them back?"

He sighed, and I now saw he looked very anxious. "I'm afraid that will be impossible, my dear; I want you to learn a lesson from this."

I pulled out the drawer and brought it to him. While he picked out his important references, which had, perhaps, taken him weeks

to prepare, I ran to the book-shelves and began hurriedly to take down one volume after another.

"There, father, a blue paper, all written over, was stuck here, just so."

My voice was so eager, father could n't help smiling, though he said, seriously, -

"When your mother first told me, I was afraid I should n't make up the loss of labor for months."

Many and many a time, even since I commenced writing these reminiscences, with my table covered with memoranda and dates, with old letters filed and placed in piles according to the subjects, with old sermons and books of reference, have I thought of my father's study-table and wondered at, while I admired, his forbearance and ready forgiveness of my involuntary error. I am sure any theologian will sympathize with him.

One of the early recollections of my childhood, in connection with my father, is his taking my hand in introducing me to General Lafayette, then, in 1824, on a visit to this country. My father, as acting president of the theological seminary, had made arrangements at the Mansion House ( a building erected on the hill, by Governor Phillips) for the reception of the distinguished guests. Theological students, members of Phillips Academy, and others were there to receive and welcome one who had been so true a friend in the time of our national struggle. I recollect that my

sisters and myself, with the children of the other professors, were arranged on one side of the room; my youngest sister, Sophia, being placed in a prominent position, where she stood on a chair. I well remember how proud I was of my father, of his commanding height and graceful ease of manner, as he escorted General Lafayette into the room, and introduced him to the ladies and gentlemen inside the parlor. Among those on the general's staff was Major Josiah Quincy, of Boston, conspicuous by being in full military costume, with gold epaulettes and bright buttons. Lafayette, on the contrary, was arrayed in a plain blue coat and nankeen pantaloons.

When my father, in passing around the room, came to us, an incident occured which made quite a laugh. My little sister, scarcely five years old, was much attracted by the magnificence of Major Quincy's appearance, and when Lafayette kindly took her hand, she snatched it away and put it behind her, exclaiming, "I don't want to shake hands with you, I want to shake hands with that man, there, " pointing to Major Quincy. This frankness so much pleased Lafayette, that he bent down and kissed her.

In the winter following my fifteenth birthday, in consequence of a fall upon the ice, on my way to school, my health was seriously affected. After few weeks, I was placed under the care of a most skilful physician in Boston, who ordered that I should be kept in bed until the inflammation of the spine was removed.

For more than a year I lay exhausted by suffering, and by the loss of blood from cupping and leeching. During all this time the devotion of my dear parents never flagged. My father's first visit on entering the house was to my bedside, his cheerful countenance lighting up my room. When able to hold a pen or pencil, I used to amuse myself by writing little notes to him, which no press of business prevented him from answering.

He went far and near to obtain little delicacies to tempt my appetite. He sang to me; he prayed with me. In his notes now before me, he repeatedly says, "You are seldom long absent from my mind." "I have thought of you almost all day." I insert here a letter, which he sent up to me from his study one day, when I had been suffering intensely:-

MY DEAR HARRIETTE, -But little time passes without turning my loving thoughts to you. God is showing you great kindness in giving you loving parents to watch over you, and especially such precious consolations of his Spirit. While under this visitation from the hand of God, I hope you will be striving after higher attainments in submission and meekness, and trust in God. Oh! you have reason forever to love your Heavenly Father with all your heart. And now you may honor him more, perhaps, than you ever have before. His design in this affliction is merciful and gracious, and the fruit of it will be precious indeed, if your heart looks to God

and seeks spiritual blessings. How happy, if our bodily disorders may promote our spiritual health! Labor, my dear child, after a constant sense of the presence of your blessed Saviour, and make known to him all your desires, and thank him for all your favors.

I trust you will have no feelings of impatience because you do not get well at once. Remember that word, "It is good for us not only to hope, but quietly to wait for the salvation of the Lord."

At the end of a year, contrary to the expectations of my physicians, I became convalescent. My father's joy was expressed in his countenance, his step, his whole manner. "I find myself making plans, " he said, "for your benefit. Do not be discouraged about your studies; you are young yet. When you are better, you shall have every advantage that I can give you."

At length my physician allowed me to begin to take exercise. My father contrived a low wagon (which I have kept to this day), upon which a narrow mattress could be placed, so that I could be drawn through the rooms in the second story, the arrangement of our large house being such that I could be taken from my own chamber round through the four square rooms to my apartment again. My father invariably assisted in removing me from my

bed to the carriage, and he himself drew me round and round as long as I could endure it. Before this he had purchased a piano for my use. I had been taking lessons in music previous to my illness, but he would not allow the instrument to be unlocked until I was able to be carried down stairs. In every possible was he endeavored to cheer and comfort me during my severe affliction, while in his letters he urged me to improve the time by a more entire consecration to God.