Page:Records of the Life of the Rev. John Murray.djvu/129

Rh to do; and I conceived, to quit England, and to retire to America, was the next thing to be desired. Nights and days of deliberation at length convinced my judgment, and I was determined to depart for the new world. My few friends urged me most earnestly to let them apply to those, who had connexions in America, for letters of introduction, or recommendation. No, by no means, this would most effectually defeat my purpose; I would rather not go, than go thus. My object was to close my life in solitude, in the most complete retirement; and with those views I commenced preparations for my voyage. I visited the brother of my departed wife, and I beheld both him, and his children, with the same eyes a dying person would have beheld them; tears frequently stole down my face, and a thousand thoughts, that served to harrow up my soul, crowded upon me. I was determined not to repeat this scene, and I bid them adieu; could I have done this upon a bed of death, how much happier should I have been!

The place I now occupied, to which I had recently removed, was extremely beautiful; it was in the vicinity of London. I had a fine garden, and a delightful prospect; but my better self had fled this globe, and with her fled my soul's calm sunshine, every heart-felt joy. I was, as I have frequently said, extremely wretched; I spake to the master of a vessel, bound to New-York; I agreed for my passage, my heart trembled, it was worse than death. He fixed the time for my departure; every arrangement was made. My brother, my widowed mother, I met them in my parlour; it was torturing. "Sit down, my son," said my weeping parent; my brother appeared a silent spectacle of sorrow: "I know you, my child, too well to expect I can alter your resolution; it is now too late to beseech you to reflect; I know you have long reflected, and I am astonished to find you still determined. You have a charming situation; your prospects are good; could you but make your mind easy, you might still be happy; why, then, this aversion to life?" I interrupted her, by declaring, that the whole world would not, could not detain me longer in England; yet I passionately loved my country, and my few remaining friends shared the best affections of my heart. This voluntary exile was worse than death; but I was impelled to go, and go I must. My poor mother threw her fond arms about my neck: "Once more," said she, "you leave me, but not now, as before; then you left me in my native place, among my natural connexions; then too, I had hope you would again be restored to me—but now—" and she burst into tears; my heart was agonized. I entreated her to consider me, as on the bed of death,