Chapter I: Have Seen an End of All Perfection, 252 (5)

She then spoke of the plague that was raging throughout the country with violence, and said she chose to consider it as the especial allotment of the Almighty, and not, as some supposed, the result of disorder in the elements. After a pause, she added,

"This is the day appointed for explaining the first question in the Catechism. Were I able to meet with the class, I should hear, that whether in life or death, a true believer is the Lord's. Then be comforted, for whether I live or die, I am his. Oh! why do you afflict yourselves so? Yet, with weeping came I into this world, and with weeping must I go out. But, dear parents, better is the day of my death, than the day of my birth."

She requested her father to go to those who had instructed her in religion, and catechized her, and thank them in the name of a dying child, and tell them how precious was the memory of their words, now in the time of her extreme distress. She desired, also, that her gratitude might be expressed to those who had taught her, when very young, to read and work, and to all who had at any time shown her kindness and attention. When he told her of the satisfaction he had enjoyed in her proficiency in the various branches she had pursued, especially in her study of the Bible, her readiness to express her thoughts in writing, her constant filial obedience, and reverence for the ordinances of religion, she replied with a touching humility and sweetness,

"I bless God for granting me the means of education, and the example of such parents and ministers. This is a far better portion than gold, for thus have I been enabled to comfort myself from His Holy Book, with a comfort that the world could never have afforded."

"My child," said her mournful father, "I perceive that you are very weak."

"It is true, Sir, and my weakness increases. I see that your affliction also, increases, and this is a part of my affliction. Yet be content, I pray you, and let us both say with David, 'Let me now fall into the hand of the Lord, for his mercies are great.'"

She besought her parents not to indulge in immoderate grief, when she should be taken away. She adduced the example of the King of Israel, who after the death of his child, arose, and took refreshment, saying, "He is dead. Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." So ought you to say, when I am no longer here, 'Our child is well.' Dear mother, who has done so much for me, promise me this one thing before I die, not to sorrow too much for me. I am afraid of your great affliction. Consider other losses. Remember Job. Forget not what Christ foretold: 'In the world ye shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.'"

While thus comforting those whom she loved out of the Scriptures, it seemed as if she herself attained greater confidence of faith, for she exclaimed with a joyful voice:

"Who shall separate me from the love of Christ? I am persuaded, neither life, nor death, nor angels, principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature. Behold, Death is swallowed up in victory."

Afterwards, she spoke of the shortness of human life, quoting passages from the Bible, and of the necessary law of our nature, appointing that all who are born must die. Wisdom far beyond her years, flowed from her lips, for she had early sat at the feet of Jesus, and learned his holy word.

"And now, what shall I say? I cannot continue long, for I feel much weakness. O Lord, look upon me graciously, have pity upon me. I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. Dearest parents, we must shortly part. My speech faileth me. Pray for a quiet close to my combat."

She expressed, at various times during her sickness, the most earnest solicitude for the souls of many of her relatives, solemnly requesting and enforcing that her young sister should be religiously educated. Throwing her emaciated arms around her, she embraced her with great affection, and desired that the babe of six months old might be brought her once more. With many kisses she took her last farewell, and those who stood around the bed were greatly affected at the tender parting of these affectionate children.

"I go," said the dying one, "to heaven, where we shall find each other again. I go to Jesus Christ. I go to my dear brother, who did so much cry and call upon God, to the last moment of his breath. I go to my little sister, who was but three years old when she died. Yet when we asked her if she would die, she answered, 'Yes, if it be the Lord's will: or I will stay with my mother, if it be His will; but yet, I know that I shall die and go to heaven and to God.' Oh! see how so small a babe could behave itself so submissively to the will of God, as if it had no will of its own. Therefore, dear father and mother, give the Lord thanks for this his free and rich grace: and then I shall the more gladly be gone. Be gracious, then, O Lord, unto me, also: be gracious unto me. Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin."

Prayer was offered for her, and her spirit seemed anew refreshed with a sense of pardon and reconciliation to her Father in heaven. She conversed with pleasure of the last sermon that she had been permitted to hear in the house of God, little supposing at that time, her mortal sickness was so near. With surprising accuracy, she quoted several texts that had been used in the different parts of that discourse, proving with what profound attention she had listened, and how perfectly her retentive powers were preserved to the last.

She lay some time, absorbed in mental devotion, and then raising her head from her feverish pillow, besought her parents to forgive the errors of her childhood, and every occasion throughout her whole life, wherein she had grieved them or given them trouble. Then, with a clear judgment, she addressed herself to the only unfinished business of earth, the distribution of her books and other articles that she had considered her own. To her little brother she made an earnest request, that he would never part with the copy of 'Lectures on the Catechism,' that she gave him, but study it faithfully for her sake, and in remembrance of her. Being seized with a sharp and severe pain in her breast, she said that she felt assured her last hour drew nigh. Her parents, suppressing their grief, repeated their hope and trust, that God would support her in the last dread extremity.

In a dying voice, yet clear and animated by unswerving faith, she replied,

"He is my shepherd. Though I walk through the dark valley of the shadow of death, shall I fear when _He_ comforteth me? The sufferings of this present life are not worthy to be compared to the glory that shall be revealed.

My end approacheth. Now shall I put on white raiment, and be clothed before the Lamb with a spotless righteousness. Angels are ready to carry me to the throne of God." Her last words were,

"Lord God, into thy hands, I commend my spirit. Oh Lord! be gracious, be merciful to me a poor sinner."

Thus fell asleep, on the evening of the first of September, 1664, at the early age of fourteen, one, who for profound knowledge of the pages of Inspiration, judgment in applying them, love of their spirit, and faith in their promises, might serve as an example not only to those of her own age, but to Christians of hoary hairs. This good brother and sister teach, both in life and death, the priceless value of religious nurture, and of the fear and love of God, infused into the tender truthful heart.

The Waiting Child.

She lay, in childhood's sunny hour,
The loving and the fair,
A smitten bud, a drooping flower,
For death was with her there.

One only unfulfilled desire
Oppress'd her heart with care:
"Make smooth the ocean waves, dear Lord,
And home my mother bear."

Up rose that prayer, both night and day,
Heaven heard the tender claim,
The favour'd ship its haven found,
The absent mother came;

So then, like dove with folded wing.
Enwrapp'd in calm content,
A mother's kiss upon her lips,
She to her Saviour went.

The Adopted Niece.

Those who have extended to lonely orphan hearts the protection of home, and a fostering kindness, are often repaid by the most tender and grateful affections. A peculiarly striking instance of this kind occurred in the case of an adopted niece of the Rev. John Newton, of London, England. Suddenly bereaved of her parents and an only brother, she found the arms of sympathizing relatives open to receive her, as a trust and a treasure. She had just entered her twelfth year when she came to them, and was possessed of an agreeable person, a lively disposition, with a quick and inventive genius. Her judgment and sense of propriety were advanced beyond her years, but her most endearing qualities were sweetness of temper and a heart formed for the exercise of gratitude and friendship. No cloud was seen upon her countenance, and when it was necessary to overrule her wishes, she acquiesced with a smile.

To her uncle and aunt, her returns of affection were ardent and touching. She was watchful not to offend, or interfere with their convenience in the slightest degree, and often said, with her peculiarly sweet tones, "I should be very ungrateful if I thought any pleasure equal to that of pleasing you."

Her health, which had been for some time frail, began, in a year or two, sensibly to decline, with marked hectic symptoms. Whenever she was able, she patiently employed herself with her needle or book, her guitar or harpsichord. Though she knew no hour of perfect ease, she was remarkably placid and cheerful, and attentive to the wishes and comfort of others. If at any time the severity of pain caused a silent tear to steal down her cheek, and she saw that her uncle or aunt observed it, she would instantly turn to them with a smile or kiss, and say,

"Do not be uneasy. I am not so very ill. I can bear it. I shall be better presently."

Her religious education had been early attended to by her parents; and the excellent relatives who supplied their place, saw with the deepest gratitude the strengthening of her faith, for support in the season of trial. She said to her aunt,

"I have long and earnestly sought the Lord, with reference to the change that is now approaching. I trust He will fit me for himself, and then, whether sooner or later, it signifies but little."

Sufferings the most acute were appointed her, which medical skill was unwearied in its attempts to mitigate. To her attentive physician who expressed his regret one morning, at finding her more feeble than on the previous day, she replied,

"I trust all will be well soon."

Her spirit was uniformly peaceful, and her chief attention of an earthly nature seemed directed to the consolation of those who were distressed at her sufferings. The servants, who waited on her from love, both night and day, she repeatedly thanked in the most fervent manner, adding her prayer that God would reward them. To her most constant attendant, she said,

"Be sure to call upon the Lord. If you think He does not hear you now, He will at last. So it has been with me."

As the last hours of life drew nigh, she had many paroxysms of agony. But her heart rested on the Redeemer. To one who inquired how she was, she sweetly answered,

"Truly happy. And if this is dying, it is a pleasant thing to die."

In the course of her illness, to the question of her friends if she desired to be restored and to live long, she would reply, "Not for the world," and sometimes, "Not for a thousand worlds." But as she approached the verge of heaven, her own will seemed wholly absorbed in the Divine Will, and to this inquiry she meekly answered,

"I desire to have no choice."

For the text of her funeral sermon, she chose, "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord," and also selected an appropriate hymn to be sung on that occasion. "Do not weep for me, dear aunt," she tenderly said, "but rather rejoice, and give praise on my account."

As the close of her last day on earth approached, she desired to hear once more the voice of prayer. Her affectionate uncle, who cherished for her the love of a father, poured out his soul fervently at the Throne of Grace. Her lips, already white in death, clearly pronounced "Amen," and soon after added, "Why are his chariot-wheels so long in coming? Yet I hope he will enable me to wait His hour with patience."

Fixing her eyes on her mourning aunt, it seemed as if the last trace of earthly anxiety that she was destined to feel, was on her account. To one near her pillow, she said in a gentle whisper.

"Try to persuade my aunt to leave the room. I think I shall soon sleep. I shall not remain with you until the morning."

No. Her morning was to be where there is no sunset. All pain was for her ended. So quiet was the transition, that those whose eyes were fixed earnestly upon her, could not tell when she drew her last breath. She lay as if in childlike slumber, her cheek reclining upon her hand, and on her brow a smile.

She died on the 6th of October, 1785, at the age of fourteen years. During her short span, she communicated a great amount of happiness to those who adopted her as a child into their hearts and homes. The sweet intercourse and interchange of love more than repaid their cares.

They were permitted to aid in her growth of true religion, and to see its calm and glorious triumph over the last great enemy. That a child, under fifteen, should have been enabled thus to rejoice amid the wasting agony of sickness, and thus willingly leave those whom she loved, and whose love for her moved them to do all in their power to make life pleasant to her young heart, proves the power of a Christian's faith.

She desired to be absent from the body, that she might be present with the Lord. Now, before his Throne, whom not having seen, she loved, and raised above the clouds that break in tears, and all shafts of pain and sorrow, she drinks of the rivers of pleasure that flow at his right hand, and shall thirst no more.

The Orphan.

I love 'mid those green mounds to stray
Where purple violets creep,
For there the village children say
That both my parents sleep.

Bright garlands there I often make
Of thyme and daisies fair,
And when my throbbing temples ache,
I go and rest me there.

If angry voices harshly chide,
Or threatening words are said,
I love to lay me by their side
Close in that silent bed.

I wish'd a sportive lamb to bide
My coming o'er the lea.
It broke away and bleating cried,
"My mother waits for me."

"Stay, stay, sweet bird!" On pinion strong
It fled with dazzling breast,
And soon I heard its matron song
Amid its chirping nest.

"Why dost thou fade, young bud of morn,
And hide thy drooping gem?"
And the bud answered, "They have torn
Me from my parent stem."

Go happy warbler to thy bower,
White lambkin, gambol free,
I'll save this lone and wither'd flower,
It seems to pity me.

"Come mother, come! and soothe thy child!"
Methinks I hear her sigh,
"Cold clods are on my bosom pil'd,
And darkness seals my eye."

She cannot burst the chain of fate
By which her limbs are pressed.
"Dear father rise! and lift the weight
That loads my mother's breast."

In vain I speak, in vain the tear
Bedews the mouldering clay,
My deep complaint they do not hear,
I may not longer stay.

Yet ere I go, I'll kneel and say
The humble prayer they taught,
When by their side at closing day
I breath'd my infant thought.

God will not leave my heart to break,
The Orphan He'll defend,
Father and mother may forsake,
But He's the Unchanging Friend.

The Only Son.

How deep and full of anxiety is the love that centres upon an only child, none but parents who have watched over such an one can realise. "We trusted our all to _one_ frail bark," says a touching epitaph, "and the wreck was total."

Those who have neither brother nor sister, and feel the whole tenderness of parental affection centring in themselves, should strive to render in proportion to what they receive. The care and solicitude that might have been divided among other claimants is reserved for them alone. No common measure of obedience and gratitude, and love, seems to be required of them. Any failure in filial duty is, in them, an aggravated offence. It should be the study of their whole life to appreciate, if they cannot repay, the wealth of love of which they are the sole heirs.

Perhaps there has never been an instance, where this sweet indebtedness of the heart was more beautifully and perfectly reciprocated, than in the life of Joshua Rowley Gilpin. He was the only son of the Rev. J. Gilpin, of Wrockwardine, in the county of Salop, England, and born January 30th, 1788. During infancy, when the texture of character slowly, yet surely discovers itself, he displayed a mild, loving disposition, with no propensity to anger when what he desired was withheld. The sole care of his education was assumed by his parents, who found it a source of perpetually increasing delight.

His first infantine taste was for drawing. To imitate the forms of animals, and other objects with which he was daily conversant, gave him much pleasure. His friends discovered in these rude attempts, accuracy of execution, and progressive improvement. A dissected alphabet was among his toys, and a desire to furnish his little drawings with appropriate letters induced him to make himself master of it. Now a new field of pleasure opened to his mind, and from the amusements of the pencil he turned to the powers and combination of the letters; and at the age when many children are unacquainted with their names, he was forming them into phrases and short sentences. These were sometimes playful, and sometimes of such a devotional cast, that his watchful and affectionate parents cheered themselves with the hope that his tender spirit was even then forming an acquaintance with things divine. So docile, so industrious, so gentle was the young pupil, that they had never occasion to resort to punishment, or even to address to him an expression of displeasure.

As the higher branches of knowledge unfolded themselves, he devoted to them a studious and willing attention. He was ever cheerfully ready for any necessary exercise, and inclined rather to exceed than to fall short of his allotted task. He complained of no difficulty, he solicited no aid: the stated labours of each day he considered a reasonable service, and constantly and sweetly submitted his own will to that of his parents.

In the prosecution of the different sciences, his lovely and placid disposition was continually displaying itself. The rudiments of the Latin tongue, with which he very early became familiar, he wished to teach to the young servant woman who attended him from his infancy. By many fair words he persuaded her to become his scholar. He told her of the great pleasure there was in knowledge, and left no method untried to gain and fix her attention. If he thought her not sufficiently engaged in the pursuit, he would set before her the honourable distinction of surpassing in intellectual attainments, all the other young women of her acquaintance. He made for her use an abridgment of his Latin grammar, to which he added a brief vocabulary, and was never without a few slips of paper in his pocket, on which was some noun regularly declined, or some verb conjugated, for his humble friend and pupil. If the services of the day had failed to afford her sufficient time for his lessons, he redoubled his assiduity when she conducted him to his chamber at night, and was never contented without hearing her repeat the Lord's Prayer in Greek. This perseverance showed not only the kindness of his heart, but his love for those parts of learning which childish students are prone to think tedious, or are desirous to curtail and escape.

While busily pursuing classic studies, he saw one day a treatise on arithmetic, and immediately went to work on that untried ground. Such satisfaction did he find in it, that he begged to be allowed the same exercise whenever he should be at a loss for amusement. For three weeks it formed a part of his evening employment, or as he expressed it, his "entertainment," and during that brief period, he proceeded to the extraction of the square and cube root, with ease and pleasure. His father thought it best to withdraw him at that time from the science of numbers, lest it should interfere with his progress in the languages. Still, he would occasionally surprise him with abstruse numerical calculation, and, when permitted regularly to pursue mathematics, found in the difficult problems of Euclid an intense delight. He would willingly have devoted days and nights to them, and no youth was ever more intent on the perusal of a fairy tale or romance, than he to solve and demonstrate those propositions in their regular order.

Under the tuition of his father, he went through the text-books and authors used in the established seminaries, and probably with a less interrupted attention than if he had been a member of their classes. His memory was durably retentive, and whatever passage he could not perfectly repeat, he could readily turn to, whether in the writings of the poets, the historians, or the divines. His accuracy was admirable; he would never pass over a sentence till he had obtained a satisfactory view of its meaning, or lay aside a book without forming a critical acquaintance with its style and scope of sentiment. Earnest and untiring industry was one of the essential elements of his great proficiency; employment was to him the life of life, and whatsoever his hand found to do, was done with a whole-souled energy. His love of order was equal to his diligence. From early childhood, he discovered in all his little undertakings an attention to method, and a desire to finish what he began. These dispositions gathered strength as he became more fully acquainted with the importance of time. To each employment or recreation he assigned its proper place and season, filling each day with an agreeable and salutary variety, so as to be free on one side from listlessness and apathy, and on the other, from perplexity and haste. Highly gratifying was his improvement to his faithful parental teachers, and this species of intercourse heightened and gave a peculiar feature to their mutual love. Still, their attention was not confined to his intellectual attainments. It was their constant prayer and endeavour, that he might be enabled to blend with these the "wisdom that cometh from above." Anxious that he should not be unprepared for the honourable discharge of duty in the present life, they were far more solicitous to train him up as a candidate for glory in that which is to come.

Avoiding the danger of over-pressing or satiating him with theological doctrines which transcend the comprehension of childhood, they commenced their religious instructions with the greatest simplicity and caution. They put on no appearance of formality or austerity.

"We will show you, my dear son," said the father, with a smiling countenance, "a way that will lead you from earth to heaven."

The gentle pupil listened with an earnest attention. His tender mind was solemnized, yet filled with joyful and grateful hope. At his first introduction to the house of God, he was filled with reverential awe, and ever afterwards, when attending its sacred services, his deportment evinced the most unaffected decorum, humility, and piety. The greatest care was taken that the observance of the Sabbath at home, as well as in church, should be accounted a sweet and holy privilege.

"On that day," says his father, "we gave a more unlimited indulgence to our affectionate and devotional feelings. We conversed together as parts of the same Christian family, we rejoiced over each other as heirs of the same glorious promises. Some interesting passage of Scripture, or some choice piece of divinity, generally furnished the matter of our discourse, and while we endeavoured to obtain a clear, comprehensive view of the subject before us, it seemed as if a blessed light sometimes broke in upon us, removing our doubts, exalting our conceptions, and cheering our hearts. Then, with one consent, we have laid aside the book, that we might uninterruptedly admire the beauties of the opening prospect. Thus solacing ourselves with a view of our future enjoyments, and the place of our final destination, we have solemnly renewed our vows, resolving for the joy that was set before us, to endure the Cross, despising the shame, in humble imitation of our adorable Master. In such a frame of mind we found it possible to speak of probable sufferings, or painful separations, with the utmost composure. With such a termination of our course in sight, we could cheerfully leave all the casualties of that course to the Divine disposal; fully persuaded that whatever evil might befall us on the way, an abundant compensation for all awaited us on our arrival at home."

As he advanced in boyhood, his love of study and sedentary habits became so strong that it was feared he might not take sufficient exercise for the preservation of health. The friends of the family, therefore, urgently advised that he might be placed in a public school, hoping that the influence of companions of his own age would allure him to athletic sports.

In this counsel his parents acquiesced, but finding the idea of separation insupportably painful, they removed, and took a temporary residence near the Seminary of which he became a member. Here, every thing was novel, and his enthusiastic mental picture of what a school must be, was considerably darkened by discovering so much indolence and irregularity, where he supposed all would be order, intelligence, and progress. His academic exercises were performed with entire ease, so thorough and extensive had been his home culture; and though there were many in the different classes who were his seniors in age, he rapidly rose to the first and highest place. Of this post he had not been ambitious, and he occupied it with such modesty and affability, so as to conciliate his school-fellows, between whom and himself there was still such diversity of habit and feeling, as to repress all familiarity of intercourse. But with his instructors, a true and reciprocal friendship was established. Especially did the head master distinguish the talents of the young student with the strongest marks of esteem, designating him as the "pride of his school, and the pride of his heart."

The return of this excellent family to their beloved village, formed a delightful scene. An affectionate flock thronged to welcome their Pastor, while the youth on whose account they had for a time left their endeared habitation, gazed with unutterable joy on the trees, the cottages, the cliffs that varied the spot of his nativity, on every room in the parsonage, every plant in the garden, every vine that clasped the walls, and on the far blue hills, behind which he had watched from infancy the glories of the setting sun. To the congratulations of his friends, some of which alluded to the brilliancy of his prospects as a distinguished scholar, he replied with ineffable sweetness,

"No possible change in my situation can make any addition to my present happiness."

The love of home was one of the strongest features in his character. The vanities and gayeties of London had no power to diminish or modify it. After passing two months there, at the age of sixteen, he came to his retired abode with the same delight, the same unassuming manners and simplicity of taste. On entering the secluded vale where their humble rural habitation was situated, he expressed his feelings in a few extempore Latin verses, which at the request of his mother, were thus translated,

"Lives there a youth, who far from home,
Through novel scenes exults to roam?
Then let the restless vagrant go,
And idly pass from show to show;
While in my native village bless'd,
Delighted still, and still at rest,
Without disturbance or alloy,
Life's purest pleasures I enjoy."

While thus bearing in his bosom the elements of happiness, true piety, active goodness, and love to all creatures, and while diligently preparing for the sacred profession to which he was destined, a sudden attack of pulmonary disease, attended with hemorrhage, alarmed those to whom he was dear. But the consequent debility readily yielded to medical treatment, and a journey and residence of several weeks amid the pure atmosphere and rural scenery of Wales, combining with uncommon salubrity of weather, seemed to restore the gentle invalid to his usual state of health.

He was able again to resume his course of academic studies, and after the midsummer vacation, which he spent in a pleasant journey with his beloved parents, was summoned to sustain an examination as a candidate for two vacant exhibitions. When he took his seat before the collegiate tutors, clergy, magistrates, and a concourse of assembled visitors, a degree of that diffidence was observable, which is so often the concomitant of genius. But in every exercise and test of knowledge, he was so self-possessed, so prompt, so perfect, that there was an unanimous burst of approbation and applause. His parents were loaded with congratulations for possessing the treasure of such a son, and a paper signed by all present was addressed to the manager of the Funds, requesting that the sum allotted to a successful candidate might be doubled on account of his extraordinary attainments. With entire meekness he bore this full tide of honour, manifesting no satisfaction in hearing his own praises, and after his return home, never made the most distant allusion to this flattering event in the life of a young student. He was now entered a fellow-commoner at Christ Church College, Oxford, with the intention of not taking his residence there till the commencement of the ensuing term.

He most assiduously devoted himself to his studies, rising early and finding the day too short for his active mind. Knowledge was dear to him for its own sake, and not for the flattering distinctions accorded to it among men: for while advancing in scholastic acquirements, he was evidently an humble peaceful student in the school of Christ. His parents were comforted amid the painful prospect of separation, with the hope that from his early and growing piety, his temperance and modesty, his untiring diligence, and a certain firmness of mind, of which he had given indisputable evidence, he would in time of temptation choose the good, and refuse the evil.

In the meantime, his birth-day arrived, the last that he was to spend on earth. It had ever been their household custom to mark it, not by sumptuous entertainments or the invitation of guests, but by expressions of affection among themselves, and the most fervent ascriptions of praise to God, for the gift he had accorded and preserved. But it seems that their sacred anniversary had been discovered and was cherished by others. While interchanging their sweet and secluded memorials of love, a letter arrived addressed to the young student, containing a large number of banknotes, "as a joint token of the affection of a few friends, who desired permission to repeat the same expression of their regard on each return of his natal day, until he should have taken his first degree at the University."

This unexpected mark of the high esteem in which he was held, was received by him with strong indications of astonishment and gratitude. As the time drew near for his departure to Oxford, his parents could scarcely be restrained from uttering the impassioned words, "Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee, for where thou goest I will go, where thou lodgest I will lodge;" not knowing that it was the appointment of God, that only the cold hand of death should divide them.

Spring approached, and the wound in his lungs, which it had been hoped was permanently healed, burst forth afresh. Aggravated by the influenza, then an epidemic, it soon took the form of an incurable malady. With entire submission he met this sudden change in his state and prospects. No murmuring word was uttered, no trace of anxiety visible on his countenance. Neither loss of appetite nor decay of strength could impair his settled composure of mind. So admirable was the mixture of meekness and manliness in his deportment, that it was difficult to say whether patience or fortitude most predominated.

Constantly advancing in the knowledge of divine things, he withdrew himself from every pursuit that might divert his thoughts from the great end of his being, the entrance to a higher state of existence. The poets and orators of Greece and Rome, in which his proficiency had been so great, were meekly exchanged for works of experimental religion; and he sat daily at the feet of some master in Israel, from whose teachings he hoped to gain heavenly wisdom. By the advice of physicians, the scene was changed for a short time; but wherever they journeyed he was still making his solitary passage through the valley of the shadow of death. As the last hope of success, the waters of Bristol were proposed; and though he at first mildly resisted it, from an inward conviction that the trouble would be in vain, yet unwilling to crush the expectations of his beloved parents, he yielded to their wishes. On all similar occasions he had required quite a package of books; now he requested only an English Bible and a Greek Testament.

Notwithstanding every precaution of medical skill and care, consumption was accomplishing its fatal work. The parents and their only child, though convinced of what the result must be, still shrank back from harrowing up each other's feelings, by full conversation on the subject that most occupied their thoughts.

"As it was with Elijah and his attached successor," writes the sorrowing father, "at their approaching separation, so it was with us. They maintained towards each other a delicate reserve, as they proceeded from Bethel to Jericho, and from Jericho to Jordan; the one not daring to glory in his expected ascension, nor the other to express his mournful forebodings, lest they might mutually agitate the other, or disturb the order of the holy solemnity. But as the awful moment drew near and he was about to be gone, Elijah rose above the weakness of humanity, and openly asserted the purpose of Heaven. Thus the dear invalid, when made certain by some invisible token that his hour was at hand, thought it unsuitable to our common character to leave this world without giving glory to God."

With entire tranquillity and the utmost tenderness, he introduced the subject of his departure, spoke of his trust in his Redeemer, his gratitude for the goodness and mercy that had followed him throughout the whole of his earthly pilgrimage, and the joy he felt in having his own will perfectly bowed to the will of God. Even then, the last messenger was waiting for him. He accepted the anxious attentions of his agonized parents with ineffable sweetness, regarding them with a thoughtful benignity, not wholly restraining his feelings, nor yet allowing them a free indulgence.

It was in the autumn of 1806, at the age of eighteen, that his last day on earth closed. He lay as in calm and beautiful repose, seeming to have opened a communication with the celestial world, and fully resigned himself to intercourse with its unseen inhabitants. Kneeling around his couch in trembling expectation, were those whose sole earthly hopes had been bound up in him. There was a short and solemn pause, a few soft moans, and then, without the slightest change of posture, he peacefully breathed out his soul into the bosom of his Father and his God.

Life.

Life is beautiful! its duties
Cluster round each passing day,
While their sweet and solemn voices spot
Warn to work, to watch, to pray;
They alone its blessings forfeit
Who by sin their spirits cheat,
Or to slothful stupor yielding,
Let the rust their armour eat.

Life is beautiful! affections
Round its roots with ardour cling,
'Mid its opening blossoms nestle,
Bird-like, in its branches sing,
Smiling lull its cradle slumbers,
Guard with pride its youthful bloom,
Fondly kiss its snow-white temples,
Dew the turf-mound o'er its tomb.

Life is beautiful with promise
Of a joy that cannot fade,
Life is fearful, with the threatening
Of an everlasting shade.
May no thoughtless wanderer scorn it,
Blindly lost in folly's maze,
Duty, love, and hope adorn it:
Let its latest breath be praise.

A Remarkable Child.

The child of whose virtues and attainments the following pages give but an imperfect sketch, was the son of the late Dr. J. Smyth Rogers, and born in the city of New York, on the 28th of January, 1825. The beauty of his infancy struck every observer, and this continued to increase as added intelligence lighted up his noble features. As his brilliant mind expanded, amiable and generous dispositions were revealed, clothed with peculiarly winning manners. It would seem also that these graces and virtues, like wreaths of bright buds, and clusters of rich fruit, sprang from the best of all roots: a truthful and pious heart.

At the early age of three years, his excellent mother was suddenly taken away. That mournful event made a deep impression upon his unfolding character. For three years she had been permitted to watch over this fair opening flower; in three more it was to be laid on her bosom in heaven.

The night after the death of this beloved parent, his deportment was remarked as evincing a degree of reflection and sensibility to the magnitude of his loss, surpassing what is usually seen in infancy. It was Sabbath evening, the period in which she had been accustomed to gather her little ones around her, and impart religious instruction. Now, at the fireside, the happy circle was broken: the blessed mother's seat vacant. He yearned for her sweet smile, the sound of her tuneful voice. Turning from the other children, he walked long by himself with a slow and noiseless step; often fixing his eyes on his bereaved father with an expression of the deepest commiseration. No attitude of grief escaped his mournful notice, and it seemed as if he restrained his own sorrow that he might offer consolation to his afflicted parent. That mingling of perfect sympathy with the exceeding beauty of his infant countenance, neither pen nor pencil could adequately describe.

But the early maturity of his heart was fully equalled by the development of his intellect. Before acquiring the elements of reading, he listened so attentively to the recitations of an elder brother and sister, as to become master of much correct information. His desire for knowledge was insatiable. He was sensible of no fatigue while employed in attaining it. Though fond of amusements, he was always happy to quit them when the allotted hours for study arrived. The rudiments of science he acquired with astonishing rapidity. Before the completion of his fourth year he could read any English book with ease, and also with a propriety and understanding of the varieties of style, not often discovered by students at twice his age. At this period he was expert in the simple rules of arithmetical calculation. With the geography of his own country, and with the outlines of that of the world, he was intimately acquainted. At five years old he was well versed both in ancient and modern geography. In mental arithmetic, many problems requiring thought even in mature and long disciplined minds, he solved readily, and as if with intuitive perception. Of the history of his own country, his knowledge was well digested and chronologically arranged. At the age of six years, he could with the greatest fluency give a judicious abstract of it, placing in due order the events connected with its discovery and settlement, the period of its several wars, their causes, results, and the circumstances by which they were modified. From the characters who were conspicuous in its annals, he evinced discrimination in selecting those most worthy of admiration. The biography of the celebrated John Smith he related with animation, often mentioning their similarity of name. In repeating his feats of heroism and endurance, he seemed to identify himself with the actor and to partake of his spirit. But he regarded with still higher enthusiasm the illustrious Pitt. When rehearsing his speech in favour of America, he would involuntarily add the most bold and graceful gestures. These lofty and noble sentiments seemed to awaken a warm response in his bosom, and to rule, as if with congenial force, the associations of thought and feeling.

In the science of geometry he displayed a vigorous and highly disciplined mind, by the ready demonstration of some of its most difficult propositions. But in no attainment was the superiority of his intellect more clearly defined than in his acquisition of the Hebrew language. He commenced this pursuit when four years of age, at the suggestion of a cousin older than himself, to whose recitations he had attentively listened. Having been restrained by modesty for several days from mentioning his wishes, he at length ventured to ask his preceptor if he might be permitted to study Hebrew. Happy to gratify such a desire, he called him to his side, intending to teach him two or three letters, when he discovered, to his surprise, that he already knew the whole alphabet. From that time he continued to study the language with perseverance, and constantly increasing fondness. Soon, without aid, except from the grammar and lexicon, he could read, translate, and parse the Hebrew, with an elegance that might have done honour to an adept in that sacred language. Before his death he had read more than fifty chapters; and so great was his ardour and delight in prosecuting this study, that after having received two exercises daily, throughout the week, he would often be found on Sabbath with his Hebrew Bible, earnestly engaged in reviewing passages by himself. On one occasion, when his tutor was to be absent for a few days, he inquired, "How will you spend your time?" The prompt reply was, "In studying Hebrew." In Greek, also, he made such proficiency as to read the original of the New Testament with accuracy and ease. On every attainment, however difficult or abstruse, his genius seized, and almost without effort rendered it his own; so that this infant student seemed to adopt the sentiment of the great Bacon, and to "take all knowledge to be his province."

Yet with these astonishing acquisitions there mingled no vanity, no consciousness of superior talent, nor distaste for the simplest pleasures of childhood. He had all the docility and playfulness that belong to the first years of life. In the delightful country residence where the family were accustomed to pass the summer months, those who saw him only at the period allotted to sport and exercise, would have remarked him as an exceedingly beautiful, vigorous, light-hearted boy, without imagining him possessed of accomplishments that might have put manhood to the blush. Amid a flow of animal spirits that were sometimes deemed excessive, he was never regardless of the feelings of others. During the active sports of childhood, if he received unintentional injury from his companions, he was anxious to assure them, by an affectionate kiss, of his recovery and reconciliation. He possessed the most lively and amiable sensibility. This was fully depicted upon his countenance, so that the most careless observer could scarcely have mistaken its lineaments. He ardently participated in the joys and sorrows of those around him. His love for his friends was testified by the most tender care for their accommodation and comfort. He was found one evening in a flood of tears, because he feared his teacher had gone out in the rain without great-coat or umbrella. So great was his generosity, that whatever was given him he desired to share with another. He seemed incapable of selfish gratification. When from delicacy of health his appetite had been long subjected to restraint, if a small portion of cake or fruit was allowed him, he was never satisfied until he had imparted it. He would even urge the domestics to participate in his gifts. On one occasion, after a period of abstinence from fruit, four grapes were given him. Two of these he ate, and saved the remaining two to give to his nurse. The merit of this self-denial was enhanced by the circumstance often remarked by the servants, that the nurse was far less fond of him than of his elder brother, who, from being more immediately under her care, was the object of her partiality. But there was nothing of vindictiveness in his nature. His generosity was as disinterested as it was unbounded.

One morning his father testified approbation of his conduct by saying, "You may go into the garden and gather twelve strawberries." "And may I divide them equally?" he inquired with great animation. Amid a profusion of the finest fruits, for which he had an extreme fondness, and which he was accustomed to see hospitably dispensed to numerous guests, he would never transgress a prohibition to partake, or a limitation with regard to quantity. Obedience had been taught him from the beginning, and his fidelity in keeping the law of those who directed him, whether they were present or absent, was one of his prominent virtues. In the indispositions to which he was occasionally subject, he would cheerfully take the most unpleasant medicines, and submit to the most irksome regulations, if simply told that his father had desired it.

Openness and integrity of character were conspicuous in him. He seemed to have nothing to conceal. He had no disposition to practise mischief, or to devise means that any thing which he had done should be kept secret from those who had the charge of his education. As his course of instruction was pursued entirely at home, he was preserved from the contagion of bad example, and from many temptations to deceit. The little faults which he committed he confessed with the utmost ingenuousness, and complied with the precept which had been early impressed upon him by parental care, to solicit the forgiveness of his Father in heaven, if he hoped to obtain that of his best friends on earth. When he received any punishment, he made immediate returns of penitence and affection. He considered it as the appointed way in which he was to be made better, and so far from indulging in complaint or sullenness, was inclined to think it lighter than he deserved.

A tender and true piety pervaded his heart, and breathed its fragrance over a life as beautiful and transient as the flower of the grass. Accustomed from infancy never to neglect his prayers, morning or evening, and to keep the day of God sacred, he delighted in these exercises. To lay aside all implements of light amusement, and to read or hear only books adapted to that consecrated day, had been required of him from his earliest recollection. He was grieved if he saw any violate these injunctions. There seemed to have been laid in his heart a firm basis of Christian principle, on which he was beginning to rear a noble superstructure. He never discovered more ardent delight than while listening to the inspired pages, or greater brilliancy of intellect than when conversing on their doctrines and practical illustrations. The life and sufferings of the Redeemer, and the hopes held out to sinners through his mercy, were his treasured and favourite subjects. He often with great earnestness solicited instruction respecting them, and his absorbed and delighted attention would survive the endurance of his physical strength. Of religious books he was particularly fond. He conceived the strongest attachment for 'Doddridge's Family Expositor.' He would voluntarily resort to its perusal with the greatest apparent satisfaction. Observing that his cousin and sister received weekly lessons from that excellent volume, in the explanation of difficult passages, he said to his instructor with a mournful air, "You give the elder children a lesson in Doddridge, but you don't let me recite with them." He was told that it was probably too difficult an exercise for him, and that therefore he had not been permitted to join them. On being asked what he understood as the meaning of the expression, where John is said to come in the "spirit and power of Elias," and to "turn the hearts of the fathers to the children," he gave without mistake the two interpretations to which he had listened some time before. Thus, while this infant disciple was pursuing religious knowledge as a delightful and congenial study, he was also cherishing a lively sense of the obligations that it imposed. He received the truth in its love and in its power. It began to be within him a prompting and regulating principle. Whenever the full flow of childish spirits became excessive or ill-timed, they were restrained by suggesting a precept drawn from the Scriptures.

Among his modes of recreation, riding on horseback in the freshness of the morning was highly enjoyed and prized. One morning, when the usual period for this exercise had been somewhat delayed, his tutor asked, "Would you like to take your ride?" and he replied, "I am afraid we shall not be back in time for prayers. So I would rather not go."

Of his departed mother his recollections were tender and vivid. He delighted to speak of her as the habitant of a world of joy. His affectionate spirit seemed content to resign her that she might be with Christ. To a beloved relative, whose efforts for his religious instruction were unceasing, he said, soon after the death of his mother, "Aunt, do you not wish that the judgment day was come?" "Why, my son?" she enquired. "Because then I should see my _dear mamma_ and my blessed Saviour."

The religious exercises of Sabbath evening were to him a season of high enjoyment. After the catechism and other appropriate duties, some book of piety was read, and the children indulged in such discourse as its contents naturally elicited. Piety, disrobed of gloom, was presented to them as an object of love, and by his heart was most fondly welcomed.

On Sabbath evening preceding the Christmas of 1831, he was observed to enter with extreme ardour into the conversation that flowed from the perusal of 'Parlour Lectures,' an analysis of Sacred History adapted to juvenile minds. His father, whose labours in the pious nurture of his children had been as untiring as successful, being absent from the city, he drew his chair as near as possible to his aunt, listened eagerly to every remark, poured forth the rapturous pleasure that filled his breast, and desired to protract the enjoyment beyond its usual period. It was to be his last Sabbath on earth. In the course of the ensuing week he became a victim to the scarlet fever, and on Friday, December 24th, 1831, went to his Father in heaven.

Thus passed away, at the age of nearly seven years, a being formed to excel in all that was beautiful, intellectual, and heavenly. Precocity in him was divested of the evils that are wont to attend it. All his associations of thought were healthful and happy. There was no undue predominance of one power at the expense of the rest. No one department of character eclipsed the other. The mind and the heart pressed on together with equal steps, in a vigorous and holy brotherhood. The soul, like a lily, fed with dews of Hermon, breathed its first freshest incense in piety to God.