In looking over files of letters, one cannot help being impressed with the deep humility of the subject of our sketch. Indeed, there is no trait more conspicuous than his sense of own unworthiness in the sight of God. "I feel myself," he writes "a poor, perishing sinner. If I am ever received into heaven, I shall be astonished at the grace which can save such a one as I am. When I compare my low aims, my sordid ambitions, with the character of an infinitely holy God, I am bowed to the dust."

This sense of his own imperfections led to great charity toward the failings of others. As a public man, and living in the times of controversy, he certainly was not included in the curse, "Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you." He was often attacked in the public journals, his motives maligned, his smallest acts misrepresented. When those abusive remarks were brought to his notice, he only smiled, or brought forward some excuse for the accused. I have before me several letters from students, who in real penitence have acknowledged their fault. From one I quote: "I do not know whether you ever heard of my

unkind or unjust remarks. If you have, your kindness to me has been exactly what I ought to expect from one of your well-known character for forgiveness. It is a saying among us, 'If you want Dr. Woods to be your best friend, give him something to forgive.'" Like Sigismund, an illustrious monarch, Dr. Woods sentiment was, "Do not I effectually destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?" Had I space, I could, from papers before me, give many instances where he, in this Christian manner, won many warm friends.

Dr. Woods was methodical in his habits, especially his studies. It was his custom to retire to his study directly after breakfast, and after a short season of devotion, he took his seat in his arm-chair, his goose-quill making rapid progress on sheets before him. Occasionally, in winter, when the wind whirled too boisterously around his corner, he would bring his arm-chair to the sitting-room. Here he sat with his wife and five daughters; the mother busily at work, while at the same time she tried to keep within bounds the bouyant spirits of her young girls. "On a similar occasion," says his daughter, "father sat with his back partly turned to us, seemingly so engrossed in his writing that he did not notice our presence, when, from the mere sight of each others' faces, there was a slight explosion of laughter. He turned around, met ten eyes dancing with merriment, and, laying down his pen, said, in a good-humored

tone, 'Well, girls, have a good hearty laugh and let off the steam. Come, now!' He waited a moment, but we only looked foolish, when, with a very funny expression on his face, he resumed his writing."