1862.] g\ [Dunglison. 



Where royal foot hath never trod, 



Nor bigot forged a chain ; 

 Oh I would that I were safely back 



In that bright land again." 



His national hymn, ^' God for our Native Land," the words and 

 melody of which were composed by him in the last summer of his 

 existence, breathes the same elevated patriotism, and has been widely 

 disseminated in the hymn-books of the soldier. 



It was with real apprehension that the writer heard of his friend's 

 imprudent participation in the prevalent excitement; and it was not 

 long before his sad forebodings became painfully realized. In one 

 month afterwards (May 20th), he wrote to say that he had observed 

 a sleepiness in his left hand and arm, and after a little while some- 

 thing of the kind in the leg of the same side, from the knee down- 

 wards, but much less than in the arm ; and that he had called in his 

 friend Dr. Hosack, of New York, under whose treatment he had 

 improved, but was still not as well as he could wish. " My arm," 

 he says, "is pretty much the same, though far from being useless. 

 There seems to me, however, a slight paralysis. ' My head is clear, 

 and I have no pain;" and he adds: "I have, of course, felt the ex- 

 citement of these war times, and perhaps done more than I should." 



He now moved up the Hudson to Catskill, where he had taken 

 for the summer a most comfortable villa, beautifully situated on that 

 charmingly romantic river, and immediately opposite the locality on 

 which he had determined to build, and to pass the remainder of his 

 days in blest retirement. His attention had become so alive to 

 every morbid feeling and phenomenon, and his anxiety to under- 

 stand his actual condition so great, that the writer hastened to visit 

 him at Catskill. He had abandoned for the time all thoughts of 

 building, and had been recommended to go abroad in the autumn 

 for a more equable climate during the winter. The probable patho- 

 logical condition of his brain, and the danger of its aggravation, were 

 not concealed from him, but he was cautioned against the evils of 

 brooding over it ; and whilst temporary change of air, society, and 

 scenery, were recommended, the writer did not withhold from him 

 and his excellent wife his reluctance that so brilliant an intellect 

 should be permitted to rust out; that he would rather see him con- 

 tinue "in harness," adding, that, whilst emotion of every kind ought 

 to be avoided, no harm could be anticipated from the tranquil and 

 normal exercise of the great organ of intellection. 



A portion of the summer he spent at Long Branch, where he 



