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The cold, the changed,—perchance the dead, anew, 
The mourn’d, the loved, the lost—too many! yet how few! 
How agreeable Mr. Johnes was in conversation, 
his letters give some idea of, for they greatly re- 
semble his colloquial manner. Abounding in infor- 
mation, he was rapid, allusive, and obscure to those 
who had more limited knowledge than he possessed. 
The letters which remain of this lively and amia- 
ble correspondent are very numerous, beginning 
in 1794, and ending in February 1816, only two 
months before his death. 
The following, written after the loss of the be- 
loved object of his affection, is remarkable for the 
altered style, subdued by grief, yet full of resigna- 
tion to the stroke which severed the last branch 
from the parent tree. 
My dear Friend, Hafod, August 17, 1811. 
We are very much obliged by all your attentions, 
and wish you could have sent us better accounts of 
your own health. We came here this day se’nnight, 
and hope we may be able to endure it, although 
deprived of its brightest charm. It is here we can 
do most good, and that must now be our only en- 
deavour, to show some gratitude for mercies al- 
ready received, and they have been manifold, and 
to indulge a hope that we may all meet again here- 
after. By placing our dependence on the sole 
Source of happiness and comfort, we have been 
wonderfully strengthened, not only to bear our loss 
with resignation, but with thankfulness. 
My wife is still very low, though calm. She 
