π1r

Essays;

Including
Biographies and Miscellaneous Pieces,
in
Prose and Poetry.

By Ann Plato.

Hartford.
Printed for the Author. 18411841.

π1v
1(1)r

To the Reader.

I have now taken up my pen to introduce to the notice
of the public, a book containing productions of an interesting
young authoress. The occasion is one relatively of
importance, and certainly of great interest to myself.

I am not in the habit of introducing myself or others to
notice by the adjective “colored,” &c., but it seems proper
that I should just say here, that my authoress is a colored
lady, a member of my church, of pleasing piety and
modest worth.

The book contains her own thoughts, expressed in her
own way. The best way to do justice to young writers,
is to weigh their thoughts without so strict a regard to
their style as we should pay in the case of elder writers.

The matter of this book is miscellaneous, in prose and
poetry. The topics are judiciously selected, and it must
be pleasing to the friends of youthful piety to see that
religion is placed first; and the more so when it is known,
that in this, the writer has followed her renewed turn of
mind. The article on religion is full of piety and good
sense.

1 1(1)v xviii

This is itself a high commendation to the book. It
contains the pious sentiments of a youth devoted to the
glory of God, and the best good of her readers. This is
an example worthy to be imitated. I know of knothing
more praise-worthy than to see one of such promise come
before the public, with the religion of Christ uppermost in
her mind. It will be well for our cause when many such
can be found among us. In her biographical sketches, she
shows in a very interesting way, her social piety. She has
paid a just tribute to the memory of a number of her
departed companions. This has been well conceived.
Departed worth deserves permanent tributes. If they
were youth, what is more fit than that their surviving
youthful companions should pay those tributes?

My authoress has a taste for poetry. And this is much
to the advantage of any one who makes an effort in this
difficult part of literature. The opinion has too far prevailed,
that the talent for poetry is exclusively the legacy of
nature. Nature should not be charged of withholding her
blessings, when the only cause of our barrenness is our
own indolence. There is no doubt that the talent for
poetry is in a high degree attainable. My authoress has
evinced her belief in this position. She is willing to be
judged by the candid, and even to run the hazard of being
severely dealt with by the critic, in order to accomplish
something for the credit of her people. She has done well
by what nature has done for her, in trying what art will
add. The fact is, this is the only way to show the fallacy
of that stupid theory, that “nature has done nothing but fit us
for slaves, and that art cannot unfit us for slavery!”

My authoress has followed the example of Philis
Wheatly
, and of Terence, and Capitain, and Francis
Williams
, her compatriots.

These all served in adversity, and afterwards found that 1(2)r xix
nature had no objection, at least, to their serving the world
in high repute as poets. She, like as Philis Wheatly was,
is passionately fond of reading, and delights in searching
the Holy Scriptures; and is now rapidly improving in
knowledge.

Should her book which is here offered, meet with due
encouragement, her talents will receive an impetus which
will amply repay her patrons, and the generation in which
she lives.

To those with whom my authoress is more particularly
identified, I must remark, that so far from having a pretence
to disparage her book, we have many considerations
which enforce the obligation to give it a prompt and ready
patronage. To some of these I beg leave to advert, in
conclusion.

1. Young writers are always in peculiar need of patronage
to enable them to set out in a successful and useful
career. It is often the case, that their fortune turns upon
their first attempt, and that they fail, not so much for
want of merit, as for want of that patronage which their
merit deserves.

Elder writers, in general, have gained a reputation, and
therefore have this acquisition to augment their chance
for patronage in any particular effort. But the young
writer has no such capital to begin with. In their first
effort for patronage the odds is against them, since they
have, at the same time, to try for reputation. Under
these circumstances they more naturally look to those
whose sympathies ought to be in favor of their success.

2. From the above general principle, our young
authoress justly appeals to us, her own people, (though not
exclusively,) to give her success. I say the appeal is
just. And it is just because her success will, relatively, be
our own. A mutual effort is the legitimate way to secure 1(2)v xx
mutual success. Egypt, Greece and Rome, successively,
gave their own authors success, and by a very natural
consequence, the reputation which they secured to their
authors became their own. The history of the arts and
sciences is the history of individuals, of individual nations.
When Egypt was a school for the world, all the Egyptians
were not teachers of the arts and sciences. The Romans
were not all Ciceros, nor were the Greeks all Homers, or
Platos. But as Greece had a Plato why may we not have
a Platoess?

3. This book has a claim upon our youth, and especially
those of the writers own sex. She has a large heart
full of chaste and pious affection for those of her own age
and sex; and this affection is largely interspersed over the
pages of her book. If you will reciprocate this affection
you will, I doubt not, read this book with pleasure and
profit. With these remarks, and my best wishes to you
and our authoress, I close, that you may pass on to her
own pages, and read for your improvement.

James W. C. Pennington,
Pastor of the Colored Congregational Church.

1(3)r

Miscellaneous Pieces
in Prose.

1(3)v
1(4)r

Religion.

Religion is the daughter of Heaven—parent
of our virtues, and source of all true felicity. She
alone giveth peace and contentment; divests the
heart of anxious cares, bursts on the mind a flood
of joy, and sheds unmingled and pertepreternatural sun-
shine in the pious breast. By her the spirits of
darkness are banished from the earth, and angelic
ministers of grace thicken, unseen, the regions of
mortality. She promotes love and good will among
men—lifts up the head that hangs down—heals
the wounded spirit—dissipates the gloom of sorrow
—sweetens the cup of affliction—blunts the
sting of death, and whatever seen, felt and enjoyed,
breathes around her an everlasting spring.

Religion raises men above themselves: irreligion
sinks them beneath the brutes. The one
makes them angels, the other makes them evil
spirits. This binds them down to a poor pitiable 1(4)v 22
speck of perishable earth; that opens up a vista
to the skies, and lets loose all the principles of an
immortal mind, among the glorious objects of an
eternal world.

The religon of Christ not only arms us with
fortitude against the approach of evil, but supposing
evils to fall upon us with the heaviest pressure,
it lightens the load by many consolations to
which others are strangers. While bad men trace
in the calamities with which they are visited, the
hand of an offended Sovereign, Christians are
taught to view them as well-intended chastisements
of a mericful father. They hear, amidst them,
that still voice which a good conscience brings to
their ear: “Fear not, for I am with thee; be not
dismayed, for I am thy God.”

Where can the soul find refuge but in the bosom
of religon? There she is admitted to those prospects
of providence and futurity which alone can
warm and fill the heart. Lift up thy head, O
Christian, and look forward to yon calm, unclouded
regions of mercy, unfilled by vapors, unruffled by
storms—where celestial friendship, the loveliest
form in Heaven, never dies, never changes, never
cools! Soon thou shalt burst this brittle earthly
poison of the body, break the fetter of mortality,
spring to endless life, and mingle with the skies.

How many of us are able to say that we are
persuaded that neither life nor death, nor things
present, nor things to to come, nor heighth, nor
depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to
separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ
Jesus
, our Lord. Religion confers on the mind
principles of noble independence. “The upright 1(5)r 23
man is satisfied from himself;”
he despises not the
advantages of fortune, but he centers not his happiness
in them. With a moderate share of them
he can be contented; and contentment is felicity.
Happy in his own integrity, conscious of the esteem
of good men, reposing firm trust in providence,
and the promises of God, he is exempted
from servile dependence on other things. He can
wrap himself up in a good conscience, and look
forward, without terror, to the change of the
world. Let all things fluctuate around him as
they please, that by the Divine ordination, they
shall be made to work together in the issue, for his
good; and, therefore, having much to hope from
God, and little to fear from the world, he can be
easy in every state. One who possesses within
himself such an establishment of mind, is truly
free.

The character of God, as Supreme Ruler of the
world, demands our supreme reverence, and our
cordial and entire obedience to his will. Hence
proceeds our duty to worship him; for worship,
external acts of homage, are the means of preserving,
in our minds that fear and reverence, a
spirit of obedience. Neglect of worshiping God
is inevitably followed by forgetfulness of God, and
by consequence, a loss of the reverence for his authority,
which prompts to obedience. We know
that God is love; and love among men is the fulfilment
of the law
. Love is the principal source
of other virtues, and of all genuine happiness.
From a supreme love to God, and from a full persuasion
of his perfect benevolence and almighty
power, springs confidence—a trusting in him for 1(5)v 24
protection, for safety, for support, and for final
salvation. This confidence in God, springing from
love, implying cordial aprobation of his character,
and obedience to his gospel, is Christian faith.
This is the anchor of the soul, sure and steadfast;
the foundation of the Christian’s hope; it is this
alone which sustains the good man amidst all the
storms of life, and enables him to meet adversity,
in all its forms, with firmness and tranquility.

It is impossible to love God without desiring to
please him, and as far as we are able, to resemble
him; therefore, the love of God must lead to every
virtue, in the highest degree. We may be sure we
do not truly love him, if we content ourselves with
avoiding flagrant sins, and not strive, in good
earnest, to reach the greatest degree of perfection
of which we are capable. Thus do these few words
direct us to the highest Christian virtue. Indeed,
the whole tenor of the gospel is to offer us every
help, direction and motive that can enable us to
attain that degree of faith, on which depends our
eternal good.

There are many circumstances in our situation
that peculiarly require the support of religion to
enable us to act in them with spirit and propriety.
Our whole life is often a life of suffering. We can
not engage in business, or dissipate ourselves in
pleasure and riot as irreligious men too often do:
We must bear our sorrows in silence, unknown and
unpitied. We must often put on a face of serenity
and cheerfulness when our hearts are torn with anguish,
or sinking in despair.

There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and
triumphant consideration in religion, that this: 1(6)r 25
of the perpetual progress which the soul makes
towards the perfection of its nature, without ever
arriving at a period in it. To look upon the soul
as going on from strength to strength to consider
that she is to shine forever with new accessions of
glory, and, brighten to all eternity; that she will
be adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge;
carries in it something wonderfully agreeable
to that ambition which is natural to the mind
of man. Nay, it must be pleasing to God himself,
to see his creation forever beautifying in his
eyes, and drawing nearer to him by greater degrees
of resemblance. With what astonishment
and veneration may we look into God’s own word,
where there are such hidden stores of virtue and
knowledge, such inexhaustable sources of perfection!
We know not yet what we shall be; nor
has it ever entered into the heart of man to conceive
the glory that will be always in reserve for him.

Thus make our lives glide on serenely; and
when the angel of death receives his commission
to put a period to our existence, may we receive
the summons with tranquility, and pass without
fear the gloomy valley which separates time from
eternity. May we remember that this life is
nothing more than a short duration, a prelude to
another, which will never have an end.

Happy thou to whom the present life has no
charms for which thou canst wish it to be protracted.
Thy troubles will soon vanish like a dream,
which mocks the power of memory; and what
signify all the shocks which thy feeling spirit can
meet with in this transitory world? A few moments
longer, and thy complaints will be forever at 1(6)v 26
an end; thy disease of body and mind shall be felt
no more; the ungenerous hints of churlish relations
shall distress, fortune frown, and futurity intimidate
no more. Then shall thy voice, no longer
breathing the plaintive strains of melancholy, but
happily attend, attuned to songs of gladness, mingle
with the hosts, mortals or immortals sung: “O,
Death! where is thy sting? O, Grave! where is
thy victory? Thanks be to God, who giveth us the
victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ;—blessing
and honor, glory and power, be unto him that sits
upon the throne, and unto the Lamb forever and
ever.”

Education.

This appears to be the great source from which
nations have become civilized, industrious, respectable
and happy. A society or people are always
considered as advancing, when they are found paying
proper respect to education. The observer
will find them erecting buildings for the establishment
of schools, in various sections of their country,
on different systems, where their children may
at an early age commence learning, and having
their habits fixed for higher attainments. Too
much attention, then, can not be given to it by 1(7)r 27
people, nation, society or individual. History tells
us that the first settlers of our country soon made
themselves conspicuous by establishing a character
for the improvement, and diffusing of knowledge
among them.

We hear of their inquiry, how shall our children
be educated? and upon what terms or basis shall it
be placed? We find their questions soon answered
to that important part; and by attending to
this in every stage of their advancement, with
proper respect, we find them one of the most enlightened
and happy nations on the globe.

It is, therefore, an unspeakable blessing to be
born in those parts where wisdom and knowledge
flourish; though it must be confessed there are
even in these parts several poor, uninstructed persons
who are but little above the late inhabitants of
this country, who knew no modes of the civilized
life, but wandered to and fro, over the parts of the
then unknown world.

We are, some of us, very fond of knowledge,
and apt to value ourselves upon any proficiency in
the sciences; one science, however, there is, worth
more than all the rest, and that is the science of
living well—which shall remain “when tongues
shall cease,”
and “knowledge shall vanish away.”

It is owing to the preservation of books, that we
are led to embrace their contents. Oral instructions
can benefit but one age and one set of hearers;
but these silent teachers address all ages and
all nations. They may sleep for a while and be
neglected; but whenever the desire of information
springs up in the human breast, there they are
with mild wisdom ready to instruct and please us.

1(7)v 28

No person can be considered as possessing a
good education without religion. A good education
is that which prepares us for our future sphere
of action and makes us contented with that situation
in life in which God, in his infinite mercy, has
seen fit to place us, to be perfectly resigned to our
lot in life, whatever it may be. Religion has been
decreed as the passion of weak persons; but the
Bible tells us “to seek first the kingdom of heaven,
and His righteousness, and all other things shall be
added unto us.”
This world is only a place to prepare
for another and a better.

If it were not for education, how would our
heathen be taught therefrom? While science and
the arts boast so many illustrious names; there is
another and more extended sphere of action where
illustrious names and individual effort has been
exerted with the happiest results, and their authors,
by their deeds of charity, have won bright
and imperishable crowns in the realms of bliss.
Was it the united effort of nations, or of priestly
synods that first sent the oracles of eternal truth
to the inhospitable shores of Greenland—or
placed the lamp of life in the hut of the Esquemaux
— or carried a message of love to the burning
climes of Africa—or that directed the deluded
votaries of idolatry in that benighted land where
the Ganges rolls its consecrated waters, to Calvary’s
Sacrifice, a sacrifice that sprinkled with blood
the throne of justice, rendering it accessible to ruined,
degraded man.

In proportion to the education of a nation, it is
rich and powerful. To behold the wealth and
power of Great Britain, and compare it with China; 1(8)r 29
America with Mexico; how confused are the
ideas of the latter, how narrow their conceptions,
and are, as it were in an unknown world.

Education is a system which the bravest men
have followed. What said Alexander about this?
Said he: “I am more indebted to my tutor, Aristotle,
than to my father Philip; for Philip gives
me my living, but Aristotle teaches me how to
live.”
It was Newton that threw aside the dimness
of uncertainty which shrouded for so many
centuries the science of astronomy; penetrated
the arena of nature, and soared in his eagle-flight
far, far beyond the wildest dreams of all former
ages, defining with certainty the motions of those
flaming worlds, and assigning laws to the fartherest
star that lies on the confines of creation—that
glimmers on the verge of immensity.

Knowledge is the very foundation of wealth, and
of nations. Aristotle held unlimited control over
the opinions of men for fifteen centuries, and governed
the empire of mind where ever he was
known. For knowledge, men brave every danger,
they explore the sandy regions of Africa, and diminish
the arena of contention and bloodshed.
Where ever ignorance holds unlimited sway, the
light of science, and the splendor of the gospel
of truth is obscure and nearly obliterated by
the gloom of monkish superstition, merged in the
sable hues of idolatry and popish cruelty; no
ray of glory shines on those degraded minds;
“darkness covers the earth, and gross darkness
the people.”

Man is the noblest work in the universe of God.
His excellence does not consist in the beautiful 1(8)v 30
symmetry of his form, or in the exquisite structure
of his complicated physical machinery; capable of
intellectual and moral powers. What have been
the conquests of men in the field of general science?
What scholastic intrenchment is there
which man would not have wished to carry—what
height is there which he would not have wished to
survey—what depth that he would not like to explore?
—even the mountains and the earth—hidden
minerals—and all that rest on the borders of
creation he would like to overpower.

But shall these splendid conquests be subverted?
Egypt, that once shot over the world brilliant rays
of genius, is sunk in darkness. The dust of ages
sleeps on the besom of Roman warriors, poets, and
orators. The glory of Greece has departed, and
leaves no Demosthenes to thunder with his eloquence,
or Homer to soar and sing.

It is certainly true that many dull and unpromising
scholars have become the most distinguished
men; as Milton, Newton, Walter Scott, Adam
Clarke
. Newton stated of himself, that his superiority
to common minds was not natural, but acquired
by mental discipline. Hence, we perceive
that the mind is capable of wonderful improvement.
The mother of Sir William Jones said to
to him when a child: “If you wish to understand,
read;”
how true, that “education forms the
mind.”

How altogether important, then, is education;
it is our guide in youth, and it will walk with us in
the vale of our declining years. This knowledge
we ought ever to pursue with all dilligence. Our
whole life is but one great school; from the 2(1)r 33
cradle to the grave we are all learners; nor will our
education be finished until we die.

A good education is another name for happiness.
Shall we not devote time and toil to learn how to
be happy? It is a science which the youngest
child may begin, and the wisest man is never
weary of. No one should be satisfied with present
attainments; we should aim high, and bend all our
energies to reach the point aimed at.

We ought not to fail to combine with our clear
convictions of what is right, a firmness and moral
courage sufficient to enable us to “forsake every
false way,”
and our course will be like that of the
just—“brighter and brighter unto the perfect
day.”

Benevolence.

Youth is the proper season for cultivating the
benevolent and humane affections. As a great
part of your happiness is to depend on the connections
which you may form with others, it is of
high importance that you acquire betimes the
temper and the manners which will render such connections
comfortable. May a sense of justice be
the foundation of all your social qualities. In your
most early intercourse with the world, and even i 2 2(1)v 34
your youthful amusements, may no unfeelingness be
found. Engrave on your minds the sacred rule
of “doing unto others as you would wish them to
do unto you.”
For this end, impress yourselves
with a deep sense of the original and natural
equality of men.

True benevolence ought to reign in every person;
it does not shut our eyes to the distinction
between good and bad persons, or between one
nation and another, or between two stations; or
to warm the heart unequally to those who befriend
us, and those who injure us. It reserves our
esteem for good and bad men, and our complacency
for our friends.

Towards our enemies it inspires forgiveness,
humanity, and a solicitude for their welfare. It
breathes universal candor, and liberality of sentiment.
It forms gentleness of temper, and dictates
affability of manners. If human understanding
apprehends any thing according to truth
and right, the benevolent character is the proper
object of the love of every rational mind, as the
contrary is the natural object of aversion. Every
human, or other finite mind, is more or less amiable,
according as it has more or less of this excellent
disposition; it is evident that infinite goodness
is infinitely amiable.

True benevolence and humility are always acceptable,
and always knows. We ought not to do
any thing benevolently, from vanity, or a desire
of having our deeds known or applauded. Strive
to remember those benevolent and immortal men
who have done so much good in our country, and
are still doing, and perhaps will not stop until 2(2)r 35
death shall have put an end to their labors, and
their works.

Think of the benevolent and immortal John
Howard
, putting pleasure far from him, to the
intention of promoting good. John Elliot devoted
his days to the instruction of the poor Indians.
And ever regardless of his own wants, supplied
others, and neglected himself.

We ought not one of us ever to be weary in
well doing. But feel, and esteem it necessary
for us to do good, in what shape soever it calls
upon us. It is the duty of the young, as well as
those who are grown up, to study the best means
of relieving the destitute.

To remove ignorance is an important branch of
benevolence. To distribute or lend useful, and
religious books, is an important branch of benevolence.
For what is better than instructing the
mind: it is certainly better than giving money or
clothes, which soon pass away, and may be
misused.

I have known Ladies forming themselves into
a society, for the purpose of assisting the poor;
and have done much good in the undertaking.
The young should always solicit the advice of
their parents, or older friends, in their charities;
for they may bestow charity without consideration.
The relief of the poor require more knowledge of
mankind, than those whose years are few, can be
expected to possess.

There was a gentleman, who was esteemed high
in the Courts of our land, who was rich in possessions,
yet refused an aged, and tattered beggar,
who asked alms of him. Said he, “if I had authority, 2(2)v 36
I would put you, and all such others into
close custody. Begone from my doors, I will not
give you a farthing.”

I should think this very improper, and very unnatural
for a person to say who was not wealthy,
much more, for a person who has a plenty
of this world’s goods, and professes Christianity.
I ask any one, “hoarded up, what is wealth?”
It certainly can afford no real comfort to themselves,
or others.

Says a writer, “Integrity, or the observance
of justice, then, is essential to private and public
happiness. It is the fundamental principle in all
the numerous concerns of society. Every deviation
from justice and rectitude among men, is a violation
of the divine commands.”

It is beautifully observed by a British author,
that, “there is happiness in the very wish to make
others happy.”
It is thus that the pleasures derived
from good actions comes in aid of moral precepts.
We are excited by our own happiness to
do what conscience dictates, and the laws of God
require. In all cases of this kind, our happiness
coincides with our duty. And it is thus that man
becomes a miniature likeness of his Maker, in
whom are inseperably united supreme moral excellence
and supreme felicity!

Let not ease and indulgence contract our affections,
and wrap us up in selfish enjoyment. Let
us ever accustom ourselves to think of the distresses
of human life: of the solitary cottage, the dying
parent, and the weeping orphan. Never sport
with pain or distress in any amusement, nor treat
even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty.

2(3)r 37

Diligence and Negligence.

A Babe slept in its cradle, and its name was
Diligence. It was joyful in the hands of those
who nursed it. It was healthful, and ever playful,
waiting for the fond caress of its parents. It
bid fair promise to become a man.

The babe grew to be a boy. Among the
thoughts which visit children, came one whose
name was Negligence. It came to him with pretended
diligence, and tried to enforce upon him
the name of Negligence. The parents said to
Diligence, “remove this Negligence far from you.”
But Negligence said, “trust in me, and I will tell
thee of what thou hast not seen.”

“And of what canst thou tell me,” replied Diligence.
Then answered Negligence, “Diligence
is an unknown path, and o’er scattered by many
thorns. Where none that are wise do ever travel,
and which, in the end, will cause you much
trouble.”

“I will not listen to thy idle tale,” said he,
“depart from me, I know you not, or from whence
you are. I have often heard said that you depart
from the right course, merely for making your
way easier. But I will have naught to do, or say
to you; I will try to walk in the path which my
fathers have walked in before me.”

The boy became a youth. Once, as he lay in
his bed, Diligence and Negligence came to his pillow. 2(3)v 38
Negligence was merry, and talked easy of
life. And said he, “follow me, and be regardless
of habit, and thy heart shall be merry as mine,
when I sing to thee.”

But Diligence said, “youth, be mine altogether;
for Diligence and Negligence cannot remain
together. Diligence is not slow to perseverence,
is active in duty, and will be a friend to him all his
life long.”

When he awoke, Negligence had left him, but
Diligence staid to bless him. He became a man,
but Diligence was constant with him. And he
drank deep at the fountains of Intelligence.

At length, age found the man, and turned the
hairs of his head white. His eye grew dim, and
the world seemed to him an altered place. But,
Alas! he had changed, and the blood was now
cold in his veins.

Diligence looked on him and spoke to him in
graver tones than in former times, and was to him
a long tried friend. He sat down beside him, and
the aged man said, “Diligence, thou hast been
with me. Thou hast staid me, and improved my
intellect, which might have been lost.”

Then answered Diligence meekly, “It may be
so. I trust that all who follow this principle, may
never disown their name. I have borne it for
years, and am not yet tired. I have lost none of
the precepts which its gems afforded, they are as
brilliant as when they first came into my hands.”

Negligence looked mournful, and ceased to ask
to be forgiven of her error. She stopped in her
career, and was no more to go forth, singing
naught but merry songs all the days of her life.

2(4)r 39

The old man laid down to die. “His spirit
ascended to God who gave it.”
Diligence tarried
with him till the last; but Negligence fled before
the time.

A glorious form bent o’er the dying man, whose
name was Religion. It wept over him, and his
friend, commended them to future happiness.
For said Religion, “Thou has been faithful over a
few things, Christ will make thee ruler over many
things. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

Two School Girls.

I heard two girls as they conversed. “Good
morning,”
said one, “where are you walking, and
don’t you calculate to attend school any more?”

The answer was, “I am going to visit our Natural
History Room
; and do not think of attending
school at present.”

With these two girls I was well acquainted.
Afterwards, I reflected, I could not help saying
to myself, “I think by her appearance in school,
that she does not gain as much useful knowledge,
as the one who was about to visit the Natural History
Room
.”

In school, she does not pay that attention to 2(4)v 40
studies as does her friend. She hastily runs over
them, and pursues the lessons that require the
least labor. Gives a short recitation of poetry
and dialogue. She undertakes mathematics, and
thinks them too dull for her—at length they are
dropped. Her writing is ill performed. Her rapid
and confused elocution, if not attended too, will be
found adhesive through life. On this account her
teacher is often obliged to speak to her, while at
recitation.

Her friend is an industrious and careful girl
while in school. She seeks knowledge from the
most difficult and useful studies, as well as those
which are less so. She collects her mind and
thoughts upon the lesson which may be marked
for her.

Although not in school as much as the other,
still she has gained more useful knowledge, and is
more prepared to encounter the world’s troubles.
She who is not willing to contend with difficulties,
is not fitted for this world. “The being who
best knows for what end we were placed here, has
scattered in our path something beside roses.”

Although she was not altogether distinguished
for fine talents, yet she was a thorough scholar.
Her answers were with entire correctness and
precision. When not in school, she employed herself
in that which would give her the most useful
and solid instruction. She visited scenes which
would help to deepen that knowledge.

She felt strongly, that strength of intellect is
acquired by conquering hard studies, and strength
of character by overcoming obstacles. She knew
that knowledge painfully gained was not easily
lost.

2(5)r 41

Look at them, after their course of scholastic
training! One, with her family, considering it
her ambition to make a showy appearance. No
rational economy—no patience to study, nor self-
control to practice. By her wasteful expenditure
of dress, and servants, their affairs became seriously
embarrassed; and she too helpless to do anything
in their distress.

The fortune of the husband of her friend was
not large; but by constant economy, she was
able to secure every comfort, and to remember the
poor. Her family was well regulated, and taught
order, industry, and perseverence which she herself
had learned. In observing these families, it was
clear whose was the seat of the greatest order,
comfort and happiness.

“Time was, when the temple of science was
barred against the foot of woman. Heathen
tyranny held her in vassalage, and Mahometan
prejudice pronounced her without a soul. Now,
from the sanctuary which knowledge and wisdom
have consecrated, and from whence she was so
long excluded, the interdict is taken away. How
does she prize the gift? Does she press to gain a
stand at the temple of knowledge, or will she clothe
her brow in vanity, and be satisfied with ignorance.
May we improve the influence which is now given
us, and seek for ‘glory and immortality beyond
the grave.’”

2(5)v 42

Decision of Character.

Decision means determination. Where a person
is decided in a point, we say that he has come
to a full determination. Those who wish to be
useful members of society, must come to decided
opinions. Such persons are most useful in the
domestic circle, and the most useful in community.

To be diligent in any one thing, it requires that
you should be decided. You cannot be diligent in
your studies, without coming to the decision that
you will be so. Columbus would not have discovered
America had he not come to the determination
that he would seek for a far distant country.

Amidst all difficulties, Columbus displayed those
traits of character which proved the greatness of
his mind, and his peculiar fitness for the arduous
duties of his station. He appeared with a steady
and cheerful countenance as satisfied with what
he had done. He soothed his companions by
holding out to them a prospect of riches and of
fame, and by offering a gratuity to him who should
first discover land.

Having fully made up his mind to seek another
country, he underwent all the threats and cruel
treatment of his companions. After having undergone
the siege of the first discovery, it was
given the name of America, in honor of a Florentine
Nobleman, named Americus Vespucius.

Think of the decision of Demosthenes; his 2(6)r 43
elocution was so incorrect, that he could not pronounce
some letters; and he was so short breathed
that he could not utter a whole period without
stopping. He at length overcame all these obstacles,
to the surprise of the nation. Cicero tells us
that his success was so great that all Greece came
in crowds to Athens to hear him speak; and he
was said to be a distinguished orator.

In some of the decided examples of ambition,
we almost revere the force of mind which impelled
them forward through the longest series of action,
superior to doubt and fluctuation, and disdainful
of ease, of pleasure, of opposition, and of hazard.

We bow to the ambitious spirit which reached
the true sublime in the reply of Pompey, a distinguished
Roman General, to his friends, who dissuaded
him from venturing on a tempestuous sea,
in order to be at Rome on an important occasion:
“It is necessary for me to go—it is necessary for
me to live.”

“A little ship, floating on the stream, is tossed
here and there by every little breeze and wave,
while the huge log ploughs its course majestically
along, undisturbed by the raging winds or foaming
billows. The former represents the undecided
man, the latter the decided man.”

The lightning, as it flashes from cloud to cloud, or
plays around the metallic rod, immortalizes the
decision of Franklin; the comprehensive mind of
Fulton grasped an object considered hitherto unattainable;
and, by his happy application of a
most stupendous power, he has triumphed o’er the
winds, conquered the elements, annihilated space,
extended the bounds of social intercourse; thus 2(6)v 44
cementing the bounds of union between distant
nations. Even now, the swift heralds of his fame
are dashing through the foaming billows, bearing
the spirit of enterprize from the Thames to the
Mediterranean, from the blue waters of the Hudson
to where Euphrates rolls its silver flood.

After Robert Bruce had been defeated twelve
times, as he lay on some straw in a barn, brooding
over his misfortunes, and on the point of giving up
in despair, he beheld a spider attempt in vain
twelve times to ascend the beam, but its thirteenth
attempt was crowned with success. He then
arose, and determined to make one more vigorous
effort in the cause of liberty; he did so, and it
was crowned with equal success. The use of
decision will raise you to elevated stations—its
neglect will sink you to ruin.

The Seasons.

In contemplating on the various scenes of life,
the vicissitudes of the seasons, the perfect regularity,
order, and harmony of nature, we cannot
but be filled with wonder and admiration, at the
consummate wisdom and benificence of the all
wise and gracious Creator. His consummate
wisdom and goodness have made the various seasons 2(7)r 45
of the year perfectly consonant to the refined
feelings of man, and peculiarly adapted them to
the univeral preservation of nature.

We say to spring, “dreary winter is passed; its
severe cold is mitigated; the returning zephyrs
dissolve the fleecy snow, and unlock the frozen
streams, which overflow the extensive meadows,
and enrich the teeming earth. The rapid streams
begin to glide gently within their banks; the
spacious meadows soon receive their usual verdure,
and the whole face of nature assumes a cheerful
aspect. By the refreshing showers, and vivifying
powers of the genial sun, we behold the rapid and
amazing progress of vegetation.”

In summer, men travel about, they wander wide
in pursuit of pleasure. Under the burning suns
of summer, the farmer works and is wearied. The
short nights scarcely refresh him, after the labor
of the long days. Summer brings flowers, and
permits us to admire nature’s works. During the
mild seasons, the father prepares what is necessary
in his family for winter; the mother calculates
garments for her little ones, to shield
them from the inclemency of that approaching
season.

In autumn, the farmer hastens to the field, to
gather his crops. And it is autumn that brings
us fruit, and repays us for the toils of summer.
The leaves fall from the trees, flowers begin to
fade, and die! This is a good period of the year
to contemplate the shortness of life; and like the
autumn, our bodies must decay and turn to dust.

In winter, nature enjoys repose. The trees
cease from putting forth leaves, and the plants lay 2(7)v 46
their sweet heads in their bed, the cradle of snow.
In winter the students gain much time for meditation;
and winter knowledge strikes a deeper root
into the mind. It is the season that the child sees
more of its father. The laborer gains strength
for the ensuing summer. It is then the time to
assist the poor, and show pity and kindness to the
sick.

May the contemplation of the seasons, lead our
minds to a great and glorious God, “the giver of
every good and perfect gift.”
So shall these seasons
be remembered in that world where no ice
binds the sweet stream, and where there is neither
storm nor tempest.

Obedience.

Obedience to parents is the basis of all order
and improvement, and is not only pre-emptorily
and repeatedly enjoined by Scripture, but even the
heathen laid great stress upon the due performance
of obedience to parents and other superiors. The
young rose up and gave place to them. They
solicited their opinion, and listened attentively
until they had done speaking. They bowed down
reverently before them, and sought opinions of
their hoary men; and withheld not the reverence
from them that was their due.

2(8)r 47

We read, indeed, that the Romans gave to
parents unlimited jurisdiction over their children;
and fathers were empowered to (and frequently
did) punish filial disobedience with stripes, slavery,
and even Death. “Honor thy father and thy
mother, that thy days may be long on the land
which the Lord thy God giveth thee,”
is the solemn
command of the Most High; and we may safely
assure ourselves that God will not only bless the
dutiful here, and hereafter, but that he will punish,
in the most signal and terrible manner, all those
who, by parental neglect and unfilial conduct, set
at definace his written law, and violate that holy
and just principle which he has implanted in every
human breast.

Youth, in particular, should constantly bear in
mind, that every comfort they enjoy, all the intellectual
attainments which render them superior to
the savage, they owe to their parents. Think of
the miseries of orphanage. The greatest loss
that can befall a child, is to be deprived of pious
and affectionate parents. While you are surrounded
by such blessings, never be so ungrateful as to
injure them by disobedience.

In their absence, their commands ought always
to be observed the same as in their presence. To
obey willingly, is a love of obedience. Who
would not doubt the obedience of a child, when
told by his superior to do as he was bid; when
some minutes after, to be asked, if he had done as
he was bade? I should doubt its obedience when
I heard the command.

It is a great duty of the young to treat old persons
with respect. The Bible commands them 2(8)v 48
“to rise up before the face of the old man, and
to honor the hoary head.”
This is too often forgotten,
although a command from the Bible. You
remember the scenes of a hoary headed man,
while in an assembly at Athens, but again in
Sparta, he was in a similar situation, but was
treated with respect. “The Athenians know
what is right,”
said he, “but the Spartans practice
it.”

May it never be said of us, that we understand
our duties, yet fail in regarding them. In walking
I have often observed a want of reverence
which is due to the aged. Years have given
them experience which is worthy of honor. If
the Bible were not disregarded in this, they would
at once receive the respect which is due to them.
If in nations the laws are disregarded, what safety
is there for the people?

When you are in school, consider it a privilege
to be there, and give your time and thought to
the employment which is marked for you, by your
teacher. Those who think thus will keep all the
rules, and consider it improper to break them.
If pupils refuse to obey the directions of their
teacher, no benefit can be received from their instructions.

If persons know not obedience how can they
teach it to others, which may in time be their lot?
A person who will not obey, is not capable of commanding
obedience. They know not how to estimate
a duty so valuable. Those who are distinguished
by faithfully discharging their first and
earliest obligations, will be prepared to act well
their part in future life. They will maintain good 3(1)r 49
order in their own families, and honor just government
in the land.

It is, however, certain, that in whatever situation
of life a person is placed in, from the cradle to
the grave, a spirit of obedience and submission,
pliability of temper, and humility of mind, are
required from them; and the most highly gifted
cannot pass over it, without injury to their character.
Let us ever live with principles of obedience;
and that with us we may carry it to our
graves; and when we lay upon our beds of death,
may we say to the living—live with this great
duty—Obedience.

Employment of Time.

To make a good use of time, each minute must
be well spent. It is well said, by a celebrated
author, that many persons lose two or three hours
every day for the want of employing odd minutes.
A certain regularity is absolutely necessary, to
make a proper use of time.

In the distribution of your time, let the first hour
of the day be devoted to the service of God.
Accustom yourselves to the practice of religious
duties, as a natural expression of gratitude to Him
for all his bounty and benevolence. Consider it 3 3(1)v 50
as the service of the God of your fathers; of Him
to whom your parents devoted you; of Him
whom, in former ages, your ancestors honored, and
by whom they are now rewarded and blessed in
heaven.

Time to you is every thing, if well improved.
“Time,” said Dr. Franklin, “is money.” An
Italian Philosopher said that “time was his estate.”
In employing your time, consider it your privilege
to spend your leisure hours in deepening the mind,
and preparing yourselves for future action.

The human mind was made for action. In
virtuous action consists its highest enjoyment.
Reading is good employment, and very useful, if
well understood. Some books are injurious to the
mind, as well as useful. Books have a silent, but
powerful influence in the formation of character.
Says a distinguished clergyman, “let me see the
private books of an individual, and I will tell you
his character.”
Says another, “let me write the
private books of a nation, and I care not who
makes the laws.”

The poems of Homer inspired Alexander with
an insatiable thirst for fame and military glory,
and they were the foundation of the superstructure
that covered the world. The memoirs of this
conqueror stamped a like character upon Cæsar;
these, and similar ones, made Napoleon a second
Alexander.

Whatever you pretend to learn, be sure and
have ambition enough to desire to excel in; for
mediocrity is a proof of weakness; and perfection
may always be purchased by application.
“Knowledge,” says an elegant writer, “is a comfortable 3(2)r 51
and necessary shelter for us in an advanced
age;”
but if you do not plant it while young it
will afford you no shade when you become old.

To instruct others is beneficial to the mind. It
deepens the knowledge which it already possesses,
and quickens it to acquire more. It is beneficial
to the moral habits. It teaches self-control. It
moves to set a good example. It improves the
affections. For we love those whom we make
wiser and better, and their gratitude is a sweet
reward.

Time is more valuable than money. If you
hinder a scholar from studying, you commit a robbery
against him; for robbers of time, are more
guilty, than robbers of money. The young are not
apt to value the importance of time. They forget
that time is money! If time was more improved,
there would be more happiness, and less discontentment,
than there is at this present date.

Perhaps many consider that their station in life
is too high, to admit of having employment. I think
some will say that none are in too high station, be
their knowledge ever so deep, to make a proper use
of time.

When the unfortunate Greeks stood in need of
assistance, ladies of the greatest wealth, plied their
needles industriously that the unfortunate people
might be clothed. Their servants also came offering
a part of their wages. They sat down by
their side, working for the same charity; while
the young ones said to each other, “Greece hungered,
and we gave her food; she was naked, and
we clothed her.”

May we not rest in our beds until we have made 3(2)v 52
up our minds to ask God for assistance, in making
a proper use of time. It will be for our edification,
and for memorable thoughts, in our declining
years of life.

Eminence From Obscurity.

Many instances are known of obscure youths
becoming the most distinguished men. There are
not the number in this country, who have passed
through so many hidden difficulties, and have overcome
the like obstacles, as in the Mother Country.

Perhaps you have seen the son of the rich man,
expensively dressed, having many attendants, and
exercising all the pomp and magnificence, which
worldly riches can give. You say in your heart,
how happy the man! He may be, and he may not
be. This depends upon the state of matters within.
As to knowledge, they may say, I have plenty of
time for it, my father is rich in possessions, and I
have naught to disturb me from learning, when I
choose.

But this is not the case with the poor. They
are compelled to practice industry. This protects
them from many vices and promotes health, and
self-approbation.

If their object is to attain an education, and they 3(3)r 53
are obliged to be partially occupied in those toils
by which subsistance is gained, of course, they will
value more highly, every fragment of time, than
those whose leisure is uninterrupted. A sense of
the value of time, is one of the first steps, which
some have made in improvement and wisdom.

Another privilege, is the habit of overcoming
obstacles. Strength of mind, and moral energy,
are thus acquired. Those who lead lives of indulgenc
e have not the opportunity of learning that
perseverance “which is daunted by no difficulty,
and without which genius avails little.”

Distinction is sometimes gained by those who
rise from obscure birth, by viewing the contrast.
The fame of Dr. Franklin, is heightened by the circumstance,
that he was a printer’s boy, and the
son of a chandler; and that of Bently, the celebrated
English scholar, by the fact, that he was the
son of a blacksmith.

Bloomfield, the poet, was the son of a tailor, and
an apprentice to a shoemaker. He was busily
employed at his trade, while composing the Farmer’s
Boy,
and being often destitute of paper,
retained great numbers of his lines in memory, until
he could obtain materials, and time for writing.

Inigo Jones, the great architect, was the son of
a cloth-manufacturer, and it was intended that he
should be a mechanic. Sir Edmund Saunders,
chief justice, in the reign of Charles the Second,
was an errand boy.

Winckelman, a distinguished writer on classical
antiquities, and the fine arts, was the son of a
shoemaker. He supported himself while at college,
chiefly by teaching younger students, and at the 3(3)v54
same time, aided in maintaining his poor, sickly
father.

The celebrated Metastasio, was the son of a
poor mechanic. The father of Opie, a distinguished
portrait painter, was a carpenter; and he, himself
was raised from the bottom of a saw-pit where
he labored as a wood-cutter, to the professorship
of painting, in the Royal Academy, at London.

The learned Dr. Prideaux, bishop of Worcester,
obtained his education, by walking on foot, to Oxford,
and getting employment, at first, as assistant
in the kitchen of Exeter College.

Haydn, the celebrated musical composer, was
the son of a wheel-wright, who officiated also as
sexton; and his mother, was a servant in the family
of a neighboring nobleman.

Dr. Isaac Milnor, who filled the chair as Professor
of Mathematics, at Cambridge, which Sir
Isaac Newton
occupied, was once a weaver; as
was also his brother, the author of the well known
Church History.

Dr. White, professor of Arabic, in the University
of Oxford, England
, was originally, a weaver: and
James Ferguson, the celebrated writer on Astronomy,
was the son of a day-laborer.

Having discovered, when quite a child, some
important truths in mechanics, he went on to illustrate
them, without teacher or book and with no
other tools, than a little knife and a simple turning
lathe.

While in the employment of a farmer, he emproved
every slight interval of leisure in constructing
models, during the day, and studying the stars at
night. He was elected a member of the Royal 3(4)r 55
Society
and King George, the third, after hearing
his lectures, settled on him an annual pension;
while his writing still continue the admiration of
the men of science.

The celebrated Benjamin Johnson worked as a
bricklayer and a mason. Thomas Sympson, an
able English scholar, Professor of Mathematics,
and Fellow of the Royal Society, was the son of
a weaver. Castalio, who translated the Bible
into Latin, was the son of poor peasants, and
reared by them, in the midst of privations, among
the mountains of Dauphiny. Avaigio, one of the
Italian poets, of the sixteenth century, though
working with his father, at the trade of a blacksmith,
till he was eighteen years old, found means
to cultivate his genius, and to obtain learning.

Those who have risen from humble stations,
often recur with satisfaction to the steps through
which they have been led on their upward way.
It was pleasing to Aurelian, to have it known that
he was the son of peasants. Dioclesian felt that
the splendor of his sway in Rome was heightened
by his obscure birth, of Dalmatia.

I have now succeeded in telling that eminence
has risen from obscurity. Remembering the
difficulties which they passed through, they were
naturally skilful, patient guides, and qualified to
impart somewhat of the perseverance and moral
energy which they themselves profited.

If the poor obtain distinguished stations, their
sympathies ought to be more active, more overflowing
than those of other men. They must
know how to enter the feelings of the humbler
classes of society, and to relieve, and take part in
their sorrows.

3(4)v 56

Dear youth of my country, her pride and her
hope, catch the spirit of well done Philanthropy.
If you cannot surpass the great and the good who
have gone before you, study their excellences,
walk in their footsteps, and God give you grace
to fill their places well, when they are mouldering
into dust.

Lessons From Nature.

When I was a child, I had great esteem and
affection for an aged sire. Years had brought
him wisdom, and he was kind as well as wise.
So I loved him, and rejoiced much when I saw
him coming towards me.

Once, as he talked with me, he said, “have you
learned the lessons from nature?”
I replied, that
his meaning I understood not. Then said he,
“Await here on the morrow, and I will hither
come; if that Almighty Being should spare our
lives,”
said he, pointing his hand upward, “thou
mayest doat upon our meeting.”

On the morrow I went forth, and looked for
his coming. At last, I heard a voice speaking
unto me, saying, “child, come hither.” I turned
about and saw the aged man coming towards me,
so I ran with joy to meet him.

3(5)r 57

Said he, “seat thyself down beside me, and
listen attentively to all that I shall say. You say
that you know naught of nature. What can be
more delightful to the human eye than the broad
and open field. We can look attentively upon all
that passes around. We can look forth, and
behold the brooks flowing on among sweet flowers;
observe the grass that grows, the birds that fly
high in the air; they soar aloft, and at last they
alight upon the ground.

The ducklings swim beside their mother in
the clear stream—the hen gathers her chickens
under her wings to shelter them from harm; we
cast our eyes on yonder pole, and behold the
spider throwing out her silvery threads from spray
to spray, and the bee hastening to her hive; the
ant carrying in grain for the approaching winter;
to them that admire the works of nature, the
fields lift up their hands and cry unto them, ‘industry
is happiness, and idleness is an offence both
to nature and to her God.’”

When he questioned me of knowledge, I confessed
that I knew naught of knowledge, save that
which I learned of the violets that grew, and the
lilly which appears from the vale, and the vines
which clime my father’s bowers. I was ashamed,
and felt that I had need to be taught of nature;
and I yet wished to turn from the wild scenery
around, and look into the moral and intellectual
views of mankind.

“After I have told thee this much, thou must
learn the rest for thyself,”
said he. “Go at the
beautiful dawning of the sun, and when I visit
thee again, tell me what thou hast seen.”

3(5)v 58

At length he came; I commenced to tell him
what I had seen. “I went forth, and looked
attentively upon all that moved around. But no
voice spake to me, and no eye regarded me. At
dusk, when the evening dews were lingering upon
the grass, I saw children who had played with me
upon the summer turf. They, too, were untaught,
unfed, and they spoke loudly, with unpleasant
tongues.

I asked them why they walked not in the
pleasant path of knowledge. And they mocked at
me. I said, these souls have the gift of reason,
and are born to die; but they spoke more loudly,
and seemed to say, ‘what seek you among us?’

I saw the babe that had received its last
caress from its mother, the youth that seemed
worn down by care, the strong man that was
reared like the Oak among trees, the hoary man,
that tottered like the babe, bidding a last farewell
to the world. The mourners stood by, and methought
that they soon would be no more.

I saw a widow standing near an open grave;
her children stood beside her, and were mourning.
The widow looked as if naught, save death, would
give her relief; yet, I dreampt not of her sorrow.
I spake unto her, but she was silent. At last I
said, what have made mothers forget their children,
and not pity them when they hunger?
What makes friends forget their early love, the
youth to lay low in the dust, the beautiful infant
to be committed to the grave? I heard a still
small voice saying unto me, ‘Disregard to my
laws, and for this reason, there is lamentation.’

I sighed, and said no more.

3(6)r 59

On my way I saw a youth, sitting by the road
side, I asked him why he wept? He replied,
‘Because all that was dear to me have fallen in
battle.’
Said I, tell me of battle! He answered,
‘thou canst not bear the thought.’ Then I
entreated him to tell me what he had seen.

‘I came,’ he said ‘at the close of day, when
the cannons ceased their thunder, and the victor
and vanquished had withdrawn. The rising moon
looked down upon the pale faces of the dead.
Scattered o’er the plain were many who still struggled
with the pangs of death.

They stretched out the shattered limb, yet
there was no healing hand. They strove to raise
their heads, but sank deeper in the blood which
flowed from their own bosoms. They begged, in
God’s name, that we would put them out of their
misery, and their piercing shrieks entered into my
soul.

Here and there horses, mad with pain, rolled
and plunged, mangling with their hoofs, the dying,
or defacing the dead. Then I remembered the
mourners who were left at home.’
Eere he had
finished, I said, ‘tell me no more of battle or of
war, for I am sick to heart.’
He then arose, and
I went onward.

I beheld a school house of white. The children
stood like lambs before their teachers; they bowed
their ears to instruction, they walked in the paths
of knowledge, they were simple and single hearted,
and followers of the truth. Sometimes they wept,
and again they rejoiced, when none knew why.
When I looked upon them, I remembered that our
Saviour ‘took little children in his arms and
blessed them.’”

3(6)v 60

Then answered this aged sire, “of nature thou
hast indeed seen much. Treasure it in they memory,
henceforth, never to be eradicated. We are
all God’s family, and he provides for all. Although
there are many nations, and many stations in life,
yet he watches over us, he has given us immortal
souls. Some have white complexions, some are
red, like our wandering natives, others have sable
or olive complexions.
“But God hath made of
one blood all who dwell upon the face of the earth.”

They inhabit different climes; some a burning,
some a frozen, and others a more temperate
climate, but the same sun gives them warmth, the
same cloud sends down rain to refresh them.
Some press the liquor from the grape, some drink
the juice from the palm tree, and many refresh
themselves at the fountains of pure water.

Some slumber on land, in their peaceful and
quiet homes; and some upon the tossing treacherous
sea. Yet God provides for all. Let us think
of our fellow creatures, as under the care of that
Merciful Parent, from whom all blessings proceed,
and let our good deeds to those who are less fortunate
than ourselves, have root in love.”

3(7)r 61

Description of a Desert.

“They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary
way. Thirsty, their souls fainted in them.”

Psalms.

It is difficult to form a correct idea of a desert,
without having seen one. It is a vast plain of
sands and stones, interspersed with mountains of
various sizes and heights, without roads or shelters.
They sometimes have springs of water, which
burst forth, and create verdant spots.

The most remarkable of deserts is the Sahara.
This is a vast plain, but little elevated above the
level of the ocean, and covered with sand and
gravel, with a mixture of sea shells, and appears
like the basin of an evaporated sea.

Amid the desert there are springs of water,
which burst forth and create verdant spots, called
Oases. There are thirty-two of these which contain
fountains, and Date and Palm trees; twenty
of them are inhabited. They serve as stopping
places for the caravans, and often contain villages.

Were it not for these no human being could
cross this waste of burning sand. So violent,
sometimes, is the burning wind, that the scorching
heat dries up the water of these springs, and then
frequently, the most disastrous consequences
follow.

In 18051805, a caravan, consisting of 2,000 persons
and 1,800 camels, not finding water at the usual 3(7)v 62
resting place, died of thirst, both men and animals.
Storms of wind are more terrible on this
desert than on the ocean. Vast serges and clouds
of red sand are raised and rolled forward, burying
every thing in its way, and it is said that whole
tribes have thus been swallowed up.

The situation of such is dreadful, and admits of
no resource. Many perish victims of the most
horrible thirst. It is then that the value of a cup
of water is really felt.

“In such a case there is no distinction. If the
master has not, the servant will not give it to him;
for very few are the instances where a man will
voluntarily lose his life to save that of another.
What a situation for a man, though a rich one,
perhaps the owner of all the caravan! He is dying
for a cup of water—no one gives it to him; he
offers all he possesses—no one hears him; they
are all dying, though by walking a few hours
further, they might be saved.

In short, to be thirsty in a desert, without
water, exposed to the burning sun, without shelter,
is the most terrible situation that a man can be
placed in, and one of the greatest sufferings that
a human being can sustain; the tongue and lips
swell; a hollow sound is heard in the ears, which
brings on deafness, and the brain appears to grow
thick and inflamed.

If, unfortunately, any one falls sick on the road,
he must either endure the fatigue of travelling on
a camel, (which is troublesome even to healthy
people,) or he must be left behind on the sand,
without any assistance, and remain so till a slow
death come to relieve him. No one remains with him, 3(8)r 63
not even his old and faithful servant; no one will
stay and die with him; all pity his fate, but no
one will be his companion.”

Residence in the Country.

“No situation in life is so favorable to established
habits of virtue, and to powerful sentiments of devotion,
as a residence in the country, and rural occupations.”

The great pursuit of man is after happiness; it
is the first and strongest desire of his nature;—in
every stage of his life he searchers for it as for hid
treasures; courts it under a thousand different
shapes; and, though perpetually disappointed—
still persists—runs after and inquires for it afresh
—asks every passanger who comes in his way,
“Who will show him any good;”—who will assist
him in the attainment of it, or direct him to the
discovery of this great end of all his wishes?

“No man, one would think; would feel so sensible
his immediate dependence upon God, as the
farmer. For all this peculiar blessings he is invited
to look immediately to the bounty of heaven.
No secondary cause stands between him and his
Maker. To him are essential the regular succession
of the seasons, and the timely fall of the rains, 3(8)v 64
the genial warmth of the sun, the sure productiveness
of the soil, and the certain operations of
those laws of nature, which must appear to him
nothing less than the varied exertions of Omnipresent
energy.”

I once passed several weeks in the family of a
farmer. It was once of the most pleasant, and useful
visits I ever had made. I ever saw, that industry,
contentment, and economy which constitutes
every happy household.

The whole family rose before the sun. Before
eating breakfast, the farmer commended himself,
and his family to the care of God through the day.
When breakfast was over, every one proceeded to
the regular business of the day. The farmer with
his sons, and workmen went to the field. The
mother and daughters to their stand to superintend
the household affairs.

When I looked about the house, and saw the
many comforts of the family, and that most were
wrought by the labor of their hands, I said what industry
and economy prevails here.

Masses of yarn were assorted to prepare stockings
for the father and brothers, and the fleece of
the lamb was sheared, and prepared for clothing,
in which they fearlessly braved the cold of winter.

The family were taught not to be ashamed of
honest industry, and it was a rule whatever was
done, to be done well. All seemed to obey, and
knew not how to forget this rule. There were sent
to market, in the best order, the surplus of the
dairy, and poultry yard, and loom. The mother
taught her daughters to consider the interest of
their father as their own, and instructed them by 4(1)r 65
her own example how to lessen his expenses. This
seemed to me the kind of industry, which more
than any other promoted cheerfulness and health.

The mother had no inclination to teach her
daughters to be fine ladies, or to have them make
a great appearance in the world; her constant aim
was, to make them useful, and to prepare them for
a future sphere of action.

Their countenances were pleasant and peaceful,
like those who do right. Their quietness of mind
seemed to proceed from a sense of justice, or of doing
their duty even to inanimate things; for we
owe a duty to every article in our possession, and
to every utensil with which we work; the duty of
keeping them in order, and in a good condition.

In reading we find that some of the most illustrious
men that ever filled our country, were the
sons of farmers. There industry was great to
elevate those means, by which to accomplish the
object in view. A sense of their industry alarmed
them not. They were willing to labor, on account
of studying the best means of relieving the
world.

“In the country, we seem to stand in the midst
of the great theatre of God’s power and we feel an
unusual proximity to our Creator. His blue and
tranquil sky spreads itself over our heads, and we
acknowledge the intrusion of no secondary agent in
unfolding its vast expanse. Nothing but Omnipotence
can work up the dark horrors of the tempest,
dart the flashes of the lightning, and roll the long
resounding murmur of the thunder.

How auspicious such a life to the noble sentiments
of devotion! Besides, the situation of the 4 4(1)v 66
farmer is peculiarly favorable to purity and simplicity
of moral sentiment. He is brought acquainted
chiefly with the real and native wants of
mankind: employed solely in bringing food out of
the earth, he is not liable to be fascinated with the
fictitious pleasures, the unnatural wants, the fashionable
follies and tyrannical vices, of more busy
and splendid life.

Still more favorable to the religious character of
the farmer is the circumstance, that, from the nature
of rural pursuits, they do not so completely
engross the attention as other occupations. They
leave much time for contemplation, for reading,
and intellectual pleasures; and these are peculiarly
grateful to the resident in the country.

Especially does the institution of the Sabbath
discover all its value to the tiller of the earth,
whose fatigue it solaces, whose hard labor it does
not interrupt, and who feels, on that day, the
worth of his moral nature, which cannot be understood
by the busy man, who considers the repose
of this day as interfering with his hopes of
gain, or professional employments. If, then, this
institution is of any moral and religious value, it
is to the country we must look for the continuance
of that respect and observance, which it merits.”

I have often been led to contemplate the character
of the farmer’s lot. He is the possessor of true
independence. His children are a part of his
wealth. If fortunate circumstances fail, they join
and help him, instead of burdening, and sinking
him into deeper waters.

“Did man control his passions, and form his
conduct according to the dictates of wisdom, humanity 4(2)r 67
and virtue, the earth would no longer be
desolated by cruelty; and human societies would
live in order, harmony and peace. In those scenes
of mischief and violence which fill the world, let
man behold with shame, the picture of his vices,
his ignorance and folly. Let him be humble by
the mortifying view of his own perverseness; but
let not his ‘heart fret against the Lord.’”

Life is Short.

The village bell solemnly tolled. Numbers of
people were seen slowly assembling at the funeral
call. The hearse stood before the door of an ancient
mansion, and seemed to be in readiness to
bear some human soul.

As I passed, I made a stop. I heard the minister
lifting up his solemn voice in supplication that
the living might be supported in willingness,
in their bitter parting with the dead. I heard
voices feebly mingling with his prayer. It was
the voice of two orphan children, from whom their
parents had been suddenly taken.

I followed with the mournful children to the
graves of their parents. They saw their parents
side by side, placed beneath the dark silent mansions
of the tomb. Methought, as I saw the tears 4(2)v 68
flow fast down their cheeks, that they said, “we
have neither father or mother on earth.”
Then
thought I, hush my dears, “God will be a father
to the orphan.”

The children returned, but in mental distress.
Now no earthly hand to guide them, and no friend
to their relief. The brother said, “I think of
the loss of our parents.”
Then methought I heard
a still small voice saying, “the righteous are rewarded
in heaven.”
The sister arose from her
knees, and seemed to bend calmly over the place
from whence the dead had been taken. “Brother,”
said she, “I fancy the smile of our mother; who
amid her tears, was an expression all sublime.”

With them, indeed, life was short. Ere a week
had sunk into its sorrowing vision, the orphans
were no more. The youth wasted; and his wild
eye shrank at the glance and footstep of the
stranger.

His sister companion repeated to him passages
of Scripture, with which her memory was stored,
and sang hymns, until she perceived that if he
was in pain he complained not, if he might but
hear her cheering voice. She made him more
acquainted with the life of the compassionate
Redeemer, how he left a blessing for those who
should trust in him. And a voice from within,
urged her never to desist from cherishing that
tender and deep-rooted piety, because, like the
flower of grass, he must soon pass away.

Seated upon his bed, she bowed her face to his
to soothe and compose him. The dying youth
pressed his sister to sing the hymn he loved. She
controlled her grief to cheer him once more with 4(3)r 69
its trembling harmony. “Sister,” said he, “I
should like to see my Uncle, before I resign my
body into the arms of death.”
She answered, “I
think, brother, that he will soon come.”
It was
then that he breathed away his soul, whispering
of the angels and their celestial melodies.

Gazing earnestly in his face, she saw the work
of the destroyer. “Brother! dear brother! are
you happy?”
“Sister,” he replied, with a faint
smile upon his ghastly features, “Christ’s ready for
me. I am willing to go to him.”
Tremulous
tones, like those of a broken harp, rose above the
grief, to comfort her dying brother. One sigh of
icy breath was upon her cheek, as she joined it to
his, one shudder and all was over.

Her Uncle entered thoughtlessly. She pointed
to the cold immovable brow. “Behold,” said she,
“my brother; see, he no longer suffers.” She
looked back to the fountains of other years, how
that her happiness had been augmented by the
presence of her brother, the sweet companion of
her infancy. With tears, she committed her only
seeming friend to the grave, beside her parents.

Ere another week closed, the sister was not
among the living. In broken dreams, she fancied
that she heard the voices of her parents, and her
brother. She longed for an abode with the righteous.
She felt the utter necessity of deriving
consolation, and the power of enduring her sufferings,
wholly from above.

It was evident with beholders, that life with her
was short. Her frame wasted; and her deathly
countenance, told that life’s abode was short.
No friend to mingle in her prayers, and naught 4(3)v 70
to soothe her dying pillow. In silence, and unknown,
she resigned herself into the arms of Jesus.

“Man that is born of woman, is of few days,
and full of trouble. He cometh forth like a flower,
and is cut down; he fleeth also as a shadow, and
never continueth in one stay.”

“I have seen a youth in the pride of his days;
his cheeks glowed with beauty; his limbs were
full of activity; he leaped; he walked; he ran;
he rejoiced in that he was more excellent than
those. I returned: he lay cold and stiff on the
bare ground; his feet could no longer move, nor
his hands stretch themselves out; his life was
departed from him; and the breath out of his
nostrils. Therefore do I weep because Death is
in the world; the spoiler is among the works of
God; all that is made must be destroyed; all that
is born must die.”
When I thought thereon, I
knew that life was short!

Death of the Christian.

The Christian, and he alone, can triumph amidst
the agonies of dissolving nature, in a well grounded
hope of future felicity. There is a genuine
dignity in the death of the real believer. It is
not the vanity of an Augustus Cæsar, who called 4(4)r 71
his subjects around him; and after reminding
them that he had lived in glory, bid them applaud
him after death.

It is not the heroic stupidity of an Andre, who
ostentatiously desired the spectators of his catastrophe,
to witness that he died as a brave man. It
is not the thoughtless courage of a professed hero,
in the heat of spirits, and amidst the confusion of
battles, rushing almost headlong upon certain
destruction. It is not the hardy insensibility of
an Indian warrior, exulting in the midst of surrounding
flames, provoking his tormentors, and
singing a merry song of death. He meanly
retreats from evils, which Christian heroism would
qualify to overcome by his exertions, or to endure
with patience.

The votaries of fame may acquire a sort of
insensibility to death and its consequences. But
he alone whose peace is made with God, can walk
with composure through the gloomy valley of the
shadow of death, and fear no evil. Behold Chesterfield,
after a life of pleasure, endeavoring to
act the philosopher in death! But, alas! it proved
fatal.

The man of intellectual genius may cause his
wit to flash, and blaze, and burn; and as Pollock
says of Byron, “He stands on the Alps—stands
on the Appenines, and talks with thunder, as with
friend to friend, and weave his garland from the
lightning’s flash in sportive twist,”
and then die,
and is gone; but where?

A cultivated mind, and an unsanctified heart
may become one of the most awful scourges of
this world. Such was Byron, such was Rosseau,
and such was Voltaire, and many others.

4(4)v 72

On the other hand, behold the amiable, the virtuous,
the pious Addison, in his dying scene.
How humble, and at the same time, how dignified
he appears. His setting sun shone bright. The
evening of his life was pleasant and serene. Observe
him, ye admirers of fortitude; view him in
that critical hour, which emphatically tries men’s
souls; and learn with what superior dignity of
mind a Christian can die.

Reflections Upon the Close of Life.

Written on Visiting the Grave Yard at New Haven, CT.

“When we contemplate the close of life, the
termination of man’s designs and hopes; the
silence that now reigns among those who, a little
while ago, were so busy or so gay; who can
avoid being touched with sensations at once awful
and tender? What heart but then warms with
the glow of humanity? In whose eye does not the
tear gather, on revolving the fate of passing short
lived man?”

The graves before me, and all around me, are
thickly deposited. The marble that speak the
names, bid us prepare for death. How solemn
is the thought that soon we, too, must lay low in 4(5)r 73
the grave. The generations that now exist must
pass away; and more arise in their stead, to fill
the places which they now occupy, and do effectual
good.

Some of the marble speaks of those who have
not long since died; others appear quite ancient.
Yet, memory can never fill the places of most of
these, who slumber here in tombs. Trace back—
their relations are not among the living. Ere
a day they slumbered in the silent grave.

In the grave by my side sleeps some sainted
priest; the marble speaks his fame. Perhaps he
has undergone the fatigues of life; he has been
an eminent servant in his Master’s calling, and
now has his reward in heaven. He has died the
death of the righteous; he has given up this world
“with joy and not with grief.” He has had different
stations in life; he has, perhaps, been in
various parts of the world, has proclaimed the
gospel to the heathen, he has experienced prosperity
and adversity; he has seen families and kindred
rise and fall; and he has now closed his
eyes upon this world forever more.

Methinks I see before me the family burying
ground. At the head sleeps the father and the
mother. The children are deposited within the
ground. The words about seem to say, live and
die as did this family; upon this saying I did
relent.

As I walked on, I seated myself down upon a
grave; it was the grave of an infant. It seemed
to be sleeping on until the resurrection “of both
great and small.”
I said, before this day shall
close, I too may sleep in death. Have I preserved 4(5)v 74
that cheerful, and innocent countenance which
this infant has shown? Then I prayed to the
Lord to shelter me, and to deliver me from all evil.

I saw a countless number of trees. Among
them was a willow. I thought of what a child
once said. “Tree, why art thou always sad and
drooping? Am I not kind unto thee? Do not
the showers visit thee, and sink deep to refresh thy
root? Hast thou sorrow at thy heart?”
Then
said an author—“but it answered not. And as
it grew on, it drooped lower and lower; for it was
a weeping willow.”

I stooped myself down over the grave of an aged
sire. I said to him, tell me of this grave! Methought
that he answered—“ask him who rose
again for me.”
Noble sire, thou hast seen peace
and war succeeding in their turn; the face of thy
country undergoing many alterations; and the
very city in which thou dwelt, rising in a manner
new around thee.

After all thou hast beheld, thine eyes are now
closed forever. Thou wast becoming a stranger
amidst a new succession of men. A race who
knew thee not, had arisen to fill the earth. Thus
passeth the world away; “and this great inn is
by turns evacuated and replenished, by troops of
succeeding pilgrims.”

“O vain and inconstant world! O fleeting and
transient life. When will the sons of men learn
to think of thee as they ought? When will they
learn humanity from the affliction of their brethren;
or moderation and wisdom, from a sense of
their own fugitive state?”

4(6)r

Biographical.

4(6)v
4(7)r

Lousia Sebury.

Lousia Sebury was born at Hartford, Connecticut,
1816-03-12March 12th, 1816. An ingenuous temper, a
quickness of understanding, a benevolent spirit,
a flexibility of nature, and a solemn sense of
divine things, were observed in her tender age;
and in the dangerous ascent of life, her feet were
guided and preserved in the paths of rectitude and
goodness; so that she was not only free from the
stain of vice and vanity in her rising years, but
looked to things superior to the world, and its vain
and trifling amusements.

Her thirst for knowledge was great, although
she had not the advantage which many have, who
less improve it. But although not skilled in the
depths of knowledge, yet she possessed Christian
virtue, which often the profound historian does
not.

In friendship, she was firm, affectionate, and 4(7)v 78
confiding. She rendered every service in her
power to those whom she loved. She regarded all
with whom she associated with Christian kindness,
and by a warm and generous sympathy, she made
their sorrows her own.

Though she was agreeable in her person, she
did not sacrifice her time to the decoration of dress.
She was always neat in her apparel, but did not
allow the toilet to interfere with other duties. Her
feelings were the kindest, and the most social;
and her manners were unaffected. For empty
ceremony and ostentatious fashion, she had neither
time nor taste.

All her deportment was marked by true humility.
And though her excellence could not shield
her from enmity, and from the slanders of that
envy which follows eminent goodness, and “like
the shadow, proves the substance true,”
she avoided
resentment, and considered herself thus called upon
to exercise the Christian virtue of forgiveness.

She was often a subject of ill health. Her last
sickness was occasioned from a violent cold which
she had taken. This terminated her existence.
Now the value of that religion which she had chosen
was fully realized. She was enabled to endure,
without murmuring, severe affliction.

As religion was the subject of her meditations
in health, it was more forcibly impressed upon her
mind during illness. She knew the duty of resignation
to the will of her Maker, and of dependence
on the merits of a Redeemer. These sentiments
were often expressed by her, to persons who
visited her dying bed.

“A life so blameless, a trust so firm in God, a 4(8)r 79
mind so conversant with a future and better world,
seemed to have divested death of terror. He came
as a messenger to conduct her to that state of purity
and bliss for which she had been preparing.”

All future hopes of recovery, by her friends,
were at length given over. To her it was not
unwelcome news. Her parents mourned to think
of the loss of so affectionate a daughter; great
was her loss, seemingly, to her sisters; and society
mourned the loss of a valuable friend.

Death to her was no unwelcome messenger.
The close of her life was like the fading of a
serene Sabbath into the holy quiet of its evening.
The virtues which made her beloved, continued
to flourish, and put forth new and fresh blossoms,
until her life’s end.

With so calm and peaceful a mind, so blessed
and lively a hope, did this resigned friend of Christ
wait for her Master’s summons. It was on the
1838-12-1616th day of December, 1838, that her spirit departed.
And methought I heard a voice saying,
“Such shall hunger no more, neither thirst any
more; for they have washed their robes, and
made them white in the blood of the Lamb?”

4(8)v 80

Julia Ann Pell.

Julia Ann Pell was born at Montville, Connecticut,
in the year 18131813. She did not enjoy the privilege
of living with her parents when a child.
Her age did not exceed eight years, when she was
sent to live with a family, were she served as an
apprentice until she was eighteen. From thence
she went to East Granby and lived some years
in the family of the Pastor of that village, where
she was much respected for her honesty, and stability
of character.

In the year of 18361836, she thought to benefit herself
by coming to Hartford: she therefore was
obliged to leave the family, who much regretted
her loss.

She remained in Hartford till the close of her
life. She was esteemed for good behavior, and
assistance in society; attending to the concerns
of her own, and leaving alone those of others. She
did not figure in the gay and more fashionable forms
of society, nor had she any particular relish for
those external attractions, which wear such an alluring
aspect to the fashionist and votary of worldly
pleasure.

While young she had not the advantages of a
school education. Perhaps not attending school
more than one or two days in a week. Yet, even
then, it was her most eager desire to be a scholar,
though fortune seemed to forbid it. She gained 5(1)r 81
some of the rudiments of knowledge with great labor
and difficulty; and her perseverance was put
to a most severe trial.

The years of her childhood being spent in the
country, she had less advantages of education than
many. There being but one school, the scholars
were quite numerous; and those whose station
was inferior to many in the school, were neglected;
their rights trampled upon, and their time abused.

She had a permanent regard for the Sabbath,
and for religious services; attending both the Sabbath
School
, and divine worship three times upon
that day. The intervals of worship, she spent in
reading the Holy Scriptures, or religious books.
She was exceedingly strict in her improvement of
time. By rising early, she secured the best part of
the day for her domestic employments, and for the
necessary duties devolving upon her station. Simplicity
of living and industrious habits, she particularly
regarded; ornaments seldom known, among
the nobility of a republic.

She took good care of all that was entrusted to
her. Order she had practiced from a child, and
she took delight in it. “A place for every
thing and every thing in its place,”
was one of
her characteristics. Said she, “a constant habit
of putting the same things in the same places,
and performing the same duties at the same times,
will always enable us to find what we want, and to
do what is to be done, readily, pleasantly, and
without any annoyance to others.”

In the year of 18381838, she became a member of
the Church of Christ. The society of religious 5 5(1)v 82
persons was very pleasant and agreeable to her;
and to the end of her days she was anxious to
live in the fear of God, and to walk before him
with a humble heart.

Her last sickness, which terminated in death,
was painful in the extreme. She bore it with
Christian patience. When physicians and friends
had hopes of her recovery, said she, “I shall never
recover.”
Under all trying circumstances, she
enjoyed the sweet peace of the believer, founded
on the Christian hope.

When she had the smallest prospect of life, she
seemed far from being alarmed with the view of
her dissolution. She expressed her willingness
either to live or die, as it should please Divine
Providence. “If,” said she, “I had any hopes of
recovery, it would be my soul’s desire to bring glory
to the name of the Lord, proportionable to all
the dishonor I have done Him, in my whole life:
and particularly by endeavors to convince others
of the danger of their condition, if they continue
impenitent; and by telling them how graciously
God has dealt with me.”

All the faculties of her mind were perfect until
the last. It is thought that few people see death
approach them, as she did. In short, her death
was like her life; easy, unaffected, and pious.

The morning that she died, she came down stairs
with little help, and appeared to be gaining health.
But such appearances are often deceptive. She
sat down awhile, when she was persuaded to return
to her room; she seemed to be unwilling, and said
that she would like to sit awhile. She had grown 5(2)r 83
weaker by leaving her room, and required much
help to get back. When she reached her room,
she threw herself upon her bed and exclaimed,
“Never again shall I see, what I have seen.”

Between six and seven in the evening, a friend
went to her room, and said that she was going to
hear a lecture on that evening. She expressed her
willingness and wished to have her repeat to her
what she heard when she returned. The friend
had not been long seated before some one called
for her. Said she, “Is Julia dead?” It was indeed
true. She had ceased to breathe. Thus
she peacefully died, in the 27th year of her age,
1839-03-17March 17th, 1839.

Eliza Loomis Sherman.

Eliza Loomis Sherman was born at Hartford,
Conn.
, 1822-12December, in the year 1822. She was
the daughter of Henry Sherman, and enjoyed the
benefit of the example of pious parents. She
early displayed an amiable disposition, a mind of
strong powers, and an affectionate heart.

The subject of this sketch, from a child, never
enjoyed good health; but was always feeble and
inclined to disease. She was ever pale, and looked 5(2)v 84
like one that was smitten in youth, and was
declining every day.

While small, she was not like most children
which many have seen; she was diligent and
thoughtful, and always seemed to take an interest
in the God of creation; she was never quick or
unsubmissive, but always bore the same composed
and pleasant countenance.

Though not having the advantage of many children,
on account of her health, yet, while at the last
school she attended, and at others before, she
gained a common school education. But it is
probable, had she had the advantage which many
have, she might have been more learned. But
the time which health permitted her to attend was
very irregular.

Her moral sensibilities were uniformly strong.
To do right, to avoid wounding the feelings of
others, and always to speak the truth, were her
rules of action. Her conscience was tender, and
if she had committed any fault, she acknowledged
it with frankness.

She was a favorite with her teachers. They
were gratified by her proficiency, and pleased
with her amiable disposition. She realized the
importance of a good education, and while persevering,
reaped the reward, prepared for every
faithful scholar, increase in knowledge and habits
of self-control.

When quite young her excellent father died,
and she, with a younger sister, was then under
the care of a tender and pious mother. In the
winter of 18381838, she made a public profession of
her Christian faith. In this act, she always rejoiced, 5(3)r 85
as giving strength to the confidence which,
from still earlier years, she had placed in her
heavenly protector. She now sought the society
of the wise and pious, as she had ever been wont
to do, that of those who were older than herself.

At the age of fifteen, she was capable of superintending
her mother’s largest tables; if she saw
any thing go on wrong among the servants, she
would forbear mentioning it to them, until she
had first spoken to her mother. She would say,
“I would rather you would speak to them, for I am
younger than they are.”
So would this young
person try to keep friends among all individuals.

All who knew her, spoke of her being singular
from most persons of her age. She was an example
for all who did, and do not put their trust in a
crucified Saviour.

In the winter of 18391839, her health began visibly
to decline. Symptoms of pulmonary consumption
were plainly revealed. She employed physicians
from several places; but help for her was now
given over. And had she wished for shelter beneath
a Georgian clime, that privilege would not
have been granted for her, on account of the laws.

The following spring disease becoame seated. She
was no more to go among her friends, or to behold
her school room. Her frame wasted to a skeleton,
and a hollow, racking cough, told that she was
soon to die.

Said a friend, “I called upon her one day, I
found her reclining upon the sofa, her head resting
upon the side; she exhibited great difficulty in
breathing, but seemed calm and serene, trusting 5(3)v 86
in God, who had been with her through affliction.”

She lived a life of prayer. The Bible which
she had loved and obeyed, was her stay, as she
passed through the dark valley. Like a child
yielding to its parents, she laid herself in His everlasting
arms.

The lovely works of God were then brighter to
her than they ever yet had been; the precious
truths from the Bible, which from earliest memory
she had loved, tarried with her, till the Angels
came.

It was in the evening, month of 1839-08August, 1839,
that death came upon her like a friend, soothing
her into gentle slumber. Without a gasp or struggle
she slept in Jesus, “patience having had its
perfect work.”

Let the young, in forming their own characters,
be assiduous to secure the same sources of happiness,
which cheered this lovely and exemplary
young lady, and enabled her, during long decline,
to comfort others with her own radiant countenance,
and to close her life like a music strain.

The pleasing contemplation of so peaceful and
happy a conclusion of life as this, and others
which we often read, is sufficient, to elevate the
soul, and to make all the glories and enjoyments
of this transient scene sink into nothing. Ah!
these are favored, precious moments, when the
divine power of religion breaks in upon us, dissolves
the enchantment of the world, dissipates the mist
of vain doubts and speculation, and raises a fervent
aspiration, that whatever may be our allotment
through life, we may die the death of the righteous,
and love of God be our portion for ever!

5(4)r 87

Elizabeth Low.

Elizabeth Low was born in Cooperstown,
New York
, 1818-06-10June 10th, 1818. She appeared to
possess a truly noble mind, an amiable and benevolent
temper. Her pious resignation, and religious
deportment, under the pressure of very deep distress,
afford a highly instructive example, and an
eminent instance of the glory of religion to sustain
the mind, in the greatest storms and dangers,
when the waves of affliction threaten to overwhelm
it.

This young lady spent a great part of her time
in perusing the Holy Scriptures, and other religious
books. She had a just esteem for all persons
whom she thought religious and virtuous. She
appeared to be happily disposed from very early
life, being good and gentle before she was capable
of knowing that it was her duty to be so. This
temper continued with her, through the whole
course of her life.

At the age of fourteen, she made a public profession
of her Christian faith. Whatever her
other virtues, their lustre was greatly increased by
her humility. She was strict in the observance
of religion. She adopted the rule of the Psalmist,
“evening, morning and noon, will I pray,” and
retired three times a day for secret prayer.

But her health which had always been feeble,
began to decline. Consumption was deeply seated. 5(4)v 88
At times she was able to leave her room, and would
attend a benevolent institution. From thence she
took a piece of work, and endeavored to finish it;
but it seemed as though her health would not permit.
She had such a desire to finish it, that she
would seek her bed for rest, and then rise and go
to her work. At length she finished it, and sent
it to the Society.

She was at last confined to her room, no more
to go out of it. She was visited by many pious
persons, to whom she expressed a desire and willingness
to die; to depart from this world of sorrow,
to be with her God. The whole time of her
sickness, she was in a cheerful, thankful frame of
mind; leaving all to God, and referring to the disposal
of Providence.

She was continually blessing those around her,
as death approached. “May we meet in an eternal,
a glorious world!”
Beseeching them to press
forward, for a glorious prize awaited them; to be
faithful unto death and they should obtain it.

She expressed a wish to a female friend to have
her present, when she should breathe her last.
When the time approached, she said to her mother,
“send for this dear friend, that she may witness
my death.”
Ere that friend reached her,
she had fallen asleep in the arms of her Saviour.

A short time before she died, she said to this
friend, “I have an article of dress in such a place,
which will answer for my shroud. If you will
have the goodness to prepare my grave clothes,
and have them in readiness, that I may see them
before I die, you will be rewarded, and I receive
satisfaction.”

5(5)r 89

According to her wish, those garments were
prepared, and brought to her room. The friend
told her mother, that she need not show them to
her unless she called for them. She did not however
call for them, until this friend arrived. At
length she called for them; they were shown to
her. A benignant lustre enkindled in her dim
eyes, while surveying the robes, which, at her own
request, had been prepared to deck her for the
tomb!

At one instant, she found death stealing upon
her; a little while after, and she would be singing
that sweet song,—“Blessing, and honor, and glory,
and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne,
and to the Lamb for ever and ever!”
She made a
request to see all her dear friends around her beside.

She mentioned the names of those, whom she
thought would take the most interest in witnessing
her death. They were sent for; all of them came
except one; he being a minister of the Gospel,
was out of town. As soon as they gathered
around her, she said that one was absent. On being
told the cause, she appeared satisfied.

Thus she lived, and thus she died. An eminant
instance of Christian fortitude, patience, and
meekness. Thus was she prepared to say, “Oh!
death, where is thy sting! Oh! grave, where is thy
victory!”
It was on the 1838-09-1515th of September, 1838,
that her spirit departed, to become an inhabitant
of those regions above, where just spirits reign.

5(5)v 5(6)r

Poetry.

5(6)v
5(7)r

Advice to Young Ladies.

Day after day I sit and write,

And thus the moments spend—

The thought that occupies my mind,—

Compose to please my friend.

And then I think I will compose,

And thus myself engage—

To try to please young ladies minds,

Which are about my age.

The greatest word that I can say,—

I think to please, will be,

To try and get your learning young,

And write it back to me.

But this is not the only thing

That I can recommend;

Religion is most needful for

To make in us a friend.

At thirteen years I found a hope,

And did embrace the Lord;

And since, I’ve found a blessing great,

Within his holy word.

Perchance that we may ne’er fulfill,

The place of aged sires,

But may it with God’s holy will,

Be ever our desires.

5(7)v 94

Lines,

Written upon Being Examined in School Studies for the
Preparation of a Teacher.

Teach me, O! Lord, the secret errors of my way,

Teach me the paths wherein I go astray,

Learn me the way to teach the word of love,

For that’s the pure intelligence above.

As well as learning, give me that truth forever—

Which a mere worldly tie can never sever,

For though our bodies die, our souls will live
forever.

To cultivate in every youthful mind,

Habitual grace, and sentiments refined.

Thus while I strive to govern human heart,

May I the heavenly precepts still impart;

Oh! may each youthful bosom, catch the sacred
fire,

And youthful mind to virtues throne aspire.

Now fifteen years their destined course have run,

In fast succession round the central sun;

How did the follies of that period pass,

I ask myself—are they inscribed in brass!

Oh! Recollection, speed their fresh return,

And sure ’tis mine to be ashamed and mourn.

“What shall I ask, or what refrain to say?

Where shall I point, or how conclude my lay?

So much my weakness needs—so oft thy voice,

Assures that weakness, and confirms my choice.

Oh, grant me active days of peace and truth,

Strength to my heart, and wisdom to my youth,

A sphere of usefulness—a soul to fill

That sphere with duty, and perform thy will.”

5(8)r 95

Reflections,

Written on Visiting the Grave of a Venerated Friend.

Deep in this grave her bones remain,

She’s sleeping on, bereft of pain,

Her tongue in silence now does sleep,

And she no more time’s call can greet.

She liv’d as all God’s saints should do,

Resign’d to death and suffering too;

She feels not pain or sin oppress,

Nor does of worldly cares possess.

White were the locks that thinly shed

Their snows around her honor’d head,

And furrows not to be effac’d

Had age amid her features trac’d.

I said, my sister, do tread light,

Faint as the stars that gleam at night,

Nor pluck the tender leaves that wave

In sweetness over this sainted grave.

The rose I’ve planted by her side,

It tells me of that fate decri’d;

And bids us all prepare to die,

For that our doom is hast’ning nigh.

Oh! that the gale that sweeps the heath,

Too roughly o’er your leaves should breathe,

Then sigh for her—and when you bloom

Scatter your fragrance o’er her tomb.

5(8)v 96

Alone I’ve wander’d through the gloom,

To pour my lays upon her tomb;

And I have mourn’d to see her bed

With brambles and with thorns o’erspread.

O, surely, round her place of rest

I will not let the weed be blest,

It is not meet that she should be

Forgotten or unblest by me.

My sister said, “tell of this grave!”

Go ask, said I, the thoughtless wave;

And spend one hour in anxious care—

In duty, penitence, and prayer.

Farewell! let memory bestow,

That all may soon be laid as low,

For out of dust, God did compose,

We turn to dust, to sleep, repose.

I Have No Brother.

I have no Brother! for he died

When I was very young;

But still his memory round my heart

Like morning mists has hung.

6(1)r 97

They tell me of his infant form,

With whom I often played;

And of a soft and gentle hand,

Our youthful thoughts had weigh’d.

The image of my Henry dear,

A sister has wept below;

“Art thou with Christ, the sinners friend;

Dost thou of Heaven then know?”

My young companion in the dust,

My one—my morning friend;

The youthful one I lov’d at first—

The last o’er whom I bend.

But soon that little flower must rise,

Its light must then be known:

Lo! thence its spirit sought the sky—

The sister mourn’d alone.

Short, like thine, some transient date,

They drink the morning breath,

Yet, my brother, thou must sleep,

Thy spirit sank—in death.

Brother! thou wast my only one,

Belov’d from childhood’s years,

A sweet companion of my youth,

How doleful it appears!

Alas! he died; oh, grief restrain—

The silent anguish of the mind;

Intrinsic love these lines do prompt,

Revive my spirits, be resign’d.

6 6(1)v 98

On the Dismission of a School
Term.

Ah, children dear, the hour draws near,

The sentence speeds—to part, to part;

Come try and treasure in each heart,

Instructions of superior worth,

What we have gain’d the winter past,

O, let it not be lost at last,

And let it not be turned to mirth.

Guide thou their steps to endless love, and bliss,

Rule thou in peace their Father. And in this,

Forgive in us, whate’er has been amiss.

Improve your privileges while you stay,

Ye pupils; so that on that great day,

Humbly may have to say,

Judge Father! For in thee we trust,

Christ our Saviour deign’d to die,

And we believe—we altogether must:

And thus conclude my lay.

6(2)r 99

The True Friend.

Young persons, it is true, admire

The heart that burns with ardent fire—

Where comes no sob or sigh,

They bear the summer’s heat in measure,

If they enjoy it all with pleasure,

Fatigue and trouble fly.

She is precisely like yourself—

In habits, principles, and wealth,

In beauty’s opening prime;

Her eyes and voice are of the same,

And like you is array’d in name,

Useful alike in time.

Our dearest friends on earth do die,

We mourn disconsolate—and why!

Their bodies are at rest!

But now the friend of whom I speak,

Is one whom all of you should seek,

This friend is really best.

In language beautiful, might she

From Ruth and Time address thee;

“With thee, I ever go,

Where thou diest, I will die,

Where thou art buried I will lie;

Lord deal with me thus so.”

An introduction to this friend,

So surely ought you to attend,

6(2)v 100

Strive daily to improve;

Are you industrious, pious, good?

If true—the same is understood—

By friendship ne’er to move.

If you persist in wrongful deeds,

She has a way in which she heeds;

The heart has weight of stone:

’Tis said by some a punishment,

Severe to wrongful sentiment,

The feelings never won.

Be punctual to appointed time,

Frank to the questions that are mine,

Agree as I propose:

Set down at slumber, wait for me,

And answer what I say to thee,

And unto me disclose!

She, several questions you will ask,

Happy if you say yes, in task,

This Friend most true in heart;

That gold most pure, that rust cannot,

That thief nor robber, can’t corrupt,

This Friend is ne’er to part.

6(3)r 101

Memory of Mary.

Sleep on, dearest, take thy rest,

Address thy dreamless bed,

Thou art surely now more blest,

Then any worldly head.

Thou wast simple in thy day,

Quiet in thy death,

And ere enur’d to childish play,

Yet now in ceasing breath.

“Suffer children unto me,”

Is what our Saviour said;

Oh! how delightful that must be,

How blest the early dead!

Ere sin might wound thy tender breast,

Or sorrow cause a tear,

Rise to thy home of sacred rest,

In yon celestial sphere.

Thy daughter kneels before the throne;

Ah, mother shed no tear,

Give up, nor do in sorrow mourn,

Remember God is near.

Parents ne’er wish thy Mary hence,

She was as only lent,

Oh! never wish her back from thence,

Strive to be confident.

6(3)v 102

When the arc-angel’s trump shall blow,

And souls to bodies join,

Millions will wish their lives below,

Had been as short as thine!

The Infant Class.

Written in School.

This, my youngest class in school,

Is what I do admire;

Their sweetest, ever perfect praise,

Their eyes as sparkling fire.

How oft I’ve blessed them in my heart,

Besuoought that every grace

And consolation, might there dwell,

To cheer each youthful face.

I love them all as children each,

How happy they appear:

O, may no dull unclouded path,

Make happiness to fear.

How sweet their prayerful voices join,

To say what I do teach:

Their infant voices, how adorn’d,

How full of music each.

6(4)r 103

When out of school, how oft I think

Of these, my little ones,

But when in school, how glances all,

They shine like many suns.

They gather round me, one by one,

Like darlings to be taught;

Ah, there behold my orphan dear,

For me she now has sought.

Dearest, we soon must say farewell,

May God your steps approve,

If then on earth we no more meet,

Or nev’er do this course more greet,

May we in Christ e’er move.

The Residence of My Father.

How pleasantly my home does stand,

The scenery round is all but grand,

The noise is lull’d by rippling stream,

There all the rays of sun-shine gleam.

Thence at the foot of some lone tree,

Lull’d by the hum of wandering bee,

Or lisping to the whispering wind,

Proves satisfaction for the mind.

6(4)v 104

The morning lays are birds in song,

So often o’er the house they throng;

They perch upon the loftiest trees,

Where hum some very busy bees.

Delightful garden; now art thou

Among the beauties shining now:

The flowers are now in vareiied bloom,

They shine as does the sun at noon,

The moss-cup, and perennial flowers,

Are too, refresh’d by genial showers.

You rest, meek plants, nor do intrude,

Or trouble this deep solitude;

Behold the vines that twine the bowers,

Adorn’d with decorating flowers,

Observe the violet modest blue,

It is a ever changeless hue,

The snow-drop and the lilly white,

Are ting’d with meekness ever bright.

Heaven bless you, O ye groves,

Of which my father knows,

I thank you to ye sounding stream,

How oft you’ve woke the musing dream,

And blent thine echo with my thought,

How oft I’ve thank’d thee for thy draught.

I soon may bid you all adieu,

For we cannot always stay,

And meet a scenery quite anew;

I’m sure to leave it, may be true,

And then we hasten and away:

Then may this Eden, beauty be

The same to stranger as to me.

6(5)r 105

The Inquiry.

“Why art thou dull and dreary”?

I ask’d a lonely man,

“Why is thy look thus sad?

Thy countenance thus wan?

Do you for country pine?

Does care now wound your breast?

Are you with grief oppress’d?

Of friends and hope bereft?

Does memory love to linger With bright and joyous hours, That brings a gleam of happiness, Ere life around you lowers? And think a dream all useful That lingers round the past; And brings bright images to view, Of joys that cannot last? Are you remote from home, Upon a stranger shore? A suffering son of Italy? And delt with as of yore? Have you upon the battle field, Beheld your brothers’ cries? Ah! then upon the slaughter’d land, Behold him,—there he dies!”

He paused, and solemnly did he

Upturn his holy eyes;

6(5)v 106

“Thou hast not had one solemn thought;

I mourn for kindred skies.

I mourn for sin and death alone,

It does my frame oppress.

I think of all the heavenly joys,

Although I can’t possess.”

From thence, I turn’d about to think,

And overwhelme’d in grief,

I felt the heavy load oppress.

O! speed me to quick relief!

Forget Me Not.

When in the morning’s misty hour,

When the sun beems gently o’er each flower;

When thou dost cease to smile benign,

And think each heart responds with thine,

When seeking rest among divine,

Forget me not.

When the last rays of twilight fall,

And thou art pacing yonder hall;

When mists are gathering on the hill,

Nor sound is heard save mountain rill,

When all around bids peace be still,

Forget me not.

6(6)r 107

When the first star with brilliance bright,

Gleams lonely o’er the arch of night;

When the bright moon dispels the gloom,

And various are the stars that bloom,

And brighten as the sun at noon,

Forget me not.

When solemn sighs the hollow wind,

And deepen’d thought enraps the mind;

If e’er thou doest in mournful tone,

E’er sigh because thou feel alone,

Or wrapt in melancholy prone,

Forget me not.

When bird does wait thy absence long,

Nor tend unto its morning song;

While thou art searching stoic page,

Or listening to an ancient sage,

Whose spirit curbs a mournful rage,

Forget me not.

Then when in silence thou doest walk,

Nor being round with whom to talk;

When thou art on the mighty deep,

And do in quiet action sleep;

If we no more on earth do meet,

Forget me not.

When brightness round thee long shall bloom,

And knelt remembering those in gloom;

And when in deep oblivion’s shade,

This breathless, mouldering form is laid,

And thy terrestrial body staid,

Forget me not.

6(6)v 108

“Should sorrow cloud thy coming years,

And bathe thy happiness in tears,

Remember, though we’re doom’d to part,

There lives one fond and faithful heart,

That will forget thee not.”

Memory of Gusteen.

How blest thy infant daughter now,

How sweet is her repose;

Before Almighty God does bow,

Forever—and no close.

Thy infant is a seraph now,

Parents shed thou no tear;

But then in God do thou

E’er trust,—and like him do appear.

Thy beauteous smile was ever fair,

Thy lip and eye was bright,

Thy mother mourn’d the ceasing care,

Which was to her delight.

A fairer babe there hast not been,

Clung to its mother’s breast;

But with thee then decease was seen,

It ceas’d,—and thou didst rest.

6(7)r 109

Then parents count her death no loss,

But rather count it gain;

Nor do with looks of sore remorse,

Ever wish her back again.

Then at the last—the judgment day,

Thy infant dear shall rise,

And heavenly scenes to her portray,

Her home—the heavenly skies.

Then at that solemn, trying hour,

The wicked oft will say,

O! that divine almighty power,

Would send a heavenly ray.

Alone I’ve Wandered.

Afar alone I’ve wander’d,

Brisk at the evening tide;

Where no footsteps were heard,

Where fate was not decried.

Alone, I love to wander,

Slow musing by my way,

And think of God’s creation,

And the weary man astray.

6(7)v 110

Before the sun-shine sinks,

I bend my way from home,

To admire the works of nature;

And thus I like to roam.

The verdant lawn seems dazzling;

I smell the scent of flowers.

How precious are those moments,

Delightful, are those hours.

I look up to the heavens,

Behold each solemn star;

Their glittering light allures me—

How beautiful they are!

Then God who made all worlds,

At the last solemn day,

Unto righteous men will say,—

Ye join the heavenly lay.

The Natives of America.

“Tell me a story, father please,”

And then I sat upon his knees.

Then answer’d he,—“what speech make known,

Or tell the words of native tone,

Of how my Indian fathers dwelt,

And, of sore oppression felt;

And how they mourned a land serene,

It was an ever mournful theme.”

6(8)r 111

“Yes,” I replied,—“I like to hear,

And bring my father’s spirit near;

Of every pain they did forego,

Oh, please to tell me all you know.

In history often I do read,

Of pain which none but they did heed.”

He thus began. “We were a happy race,

When we no tongue but ours did trace,

We were in ever peace,

We sold, we did release—

Our brethren, far remote, and far unknown,

And spake to them in silent, tender tone.

We all were then as in one band,

We join’d and took each others hand;

Our dress was suited to the clime,

Our food was such as roam’d that time,

Our houses were of sticks compos’d;

No matter,—for they us enclos’d.

But then discover’d was this land indeed By European men; who then had need Of this far country. Columbus came afar, And thus before we could say Ah! What meaneth this?—we fell in cruel hands. Though some were kind, yet others then held bands Of cruel oppression. Then too, foretold our chief,— Beggars you will become—is my belief. We sold, then some bought lands, We altogether moved in foreign hands. Wars ensued. They knew the handling of firearms.
Mothers spoke,—no fear this breast alarms, 6(8)v 112 They will not cruelly us oppress, Or thus our lands possess. Alas! it was a cruel day; we were crush’d: Into the dark, dark woods we rush’d To seek a refuge.
My daughter, we are now diminish’d, unknown, Unfelt! Alas! no tender tone To cheer us when the hunt is done; Fathers sleep,—we’re silent every one. Oh! silent the horror, and fierce the fight, When my brothers were shrouded in night; Strangers did us invade—strangers destroy’d The fields, which were by us enjoy’d. Our country is cultur’d, and looks all sublime, Our fathers are sleeping who lived in the time That I tell. Oh! could I tell them my grief In its flow, that in roaming, we find no relief. I love my country; and shall, until death Shall cease my breath. Now daughter dear I’ve done, Seal this upon thy memory; until the morrow’s sun Shall sink, to rise no more; And if my years should score, Remember this, though I tell no more.”
7(1)r 113

Christ’s Departed.

Christ’s departed are at rest,

Their souls are free from care,

Their last abode is with the blest;

None but the blest are there.

They thought not of the world at large,

But trusting in their God;

They learn’d their duty to discharge,

On earth’s yet dreary sod.

They trusted in the Lord above,

Commended him their frame,

Thought on a Saviour’s dying love,

And cherish’d long his name.

Such spirits hence, shall never mourn,

Or wailing tears be shed;

But firmer in their trust be borne,

To glories far ahead.

They wake no more with greeting smile,

Gay voice or buoyant tread;

And yet some voices say the while,

Of sleepers,—they are dead.

The bless’d in Christ, ’tis true do sleep

They sleep, but are not dead;

Angels around their beds do keep,

They lightly, softly tread.

7 7(1)v 114

Like theirs—our transient date must come,

How soon we cannot tell;

But if in God we trust like some,

Henceforth, forever well.

To the --08-01First of August.

Britannia’s isles proclaim,

That freedom is their theme;

And we do view those honor’d lands,

With soul-delighting mien.

And unto those they held in gloom,

Gave ev’ry one their right;

They did disdain fell slavery’s shade,

And trust in freedom’s light.

Then unto ev’ry British blood,

Their noble worth revere,

And think them ever noble men,

And like them, hence appear.

And when on Britain’s isles remote,

We’re then in freedom’s bounds,

And while we stand on British ground,

You’re free,—you’re free,—resounds.

7(2)r 115

Lift ye that country’s banner high,

And may it nobly wave,

Until beneath the azure sky,

Man shall be no more a slave.

And oh! when youth’s extatic hour,

When winds and torrents foam,

And passion’s glowing noon are past,

To bless that free born home;

Then let us celebrate the day,

And lay the thought to heart,

And teach the rising race the way,

That they may not depart.

A Mother to her Fatherless
Son.

It was a mother, who at eve,

In thought so holy did believe;

Who sat within an ancient dome,

That once had been her favor’d home.

The father slept in vaulted walls,

He who had own’d those graceful halls;

And o’er his grave a marble stone,

Proclaimed his earthly grandeur gone.

7(2)v 116

And ’mid the eve the mother came,

And call’d aloud her son’s bright name,

“Come unto me my own dear son,

Thou art to me an only one.”

Then came the beauteous boy so bright,

And then methought, you do love right,

And sat beside her, who had been

His guide through life, through faith unseen.

My son,—the faithful mother said,

Your sire is sleeping ’mid the dead;

Remember though on earth we part,

That we must give to God our heart.

Although of royal men was he,

The greatest of them all to be;

Still he was of a spirit meek,

It teaches you his place to seek.

Attend to all my son I say,

And do the Bible’s gems display;

This book will teach you wisdom all,

And how the first of us did fall.

Improve your ever precious time,

Listen to Homer’s page sublime,

Attend to Cicero’s words so strong,

Ere long complete a Virgil’s song.

And when afar from me you’re moved,

I oft shall think,—how much improved?

If you your father’s talent bear,

Thou art prepared for worldly care.

7(3)r 117

You have as great a chance to be,

As good, as wise, as lov’d as he;

’Mid darkness and amid dismay,

He went rejoicing on his way.

My son,—thou bear’st his noble name,

Behold those walls, their stately fame,

The hand that used to lead you there,

Is sleeping silently,—oh! where!

Thy father sleeps in yonder tomb,

Forever is shaded by the gloom;

Possess his blood within thy veins,

And more than this for thee remains.

This world shall try thee o’er my son,

Thou ever dear,—thou lovely one;

Prepare to meet a worldly foe,

May God be with thee when you go!

Daughter’s Inquiry.

I asked if father’s to return,

He left some years ago,

And I have never seen him since,—

That all sad parting blow.

7(3)v 118

I said, my father, if you please

Do guide the ship no more,

Some other can your place fulfill,

And others can explore.

If not, dear father, do resign

This ever roaming life,

Oh, do not spend your life in this,

An ever mournful strife.

Perchance that you may ne’er return,

The billows thence your grave,

O’er which no storied wind shall rise,

No music but the wave.

Thus you have roam’d the southern seas,

And riches with you flow;

You have beheld the bread fruit tree,

The yam and millet grow.

You’ve been around the world again,

And view’d it o’er and o’er;

Then why do you thus wish to go,

And speed the parting hour?

I never may behold you more,

Or seek advice so dear;

Oh! how can I to strangers tell,

Or trust a feeling near.

Some say there’s danger on the sea,

No more than on the land;

I think we’re liable to this,

On sea, or desert sand.

7(4)r 119

I begged him, father do not go,

For when you left me last,

You said you would not go again:

My childish joys are past.

The speed the long farewell;

You must depart in haste,

The seamen are on board her decks,

To plough the billow’s waste.

He knelt, and pray’d of God above,

My dearest daughter spare;

If not on earth, in heaven to meet,

Sure trusting in Thy care.

And oft I sit me down, and think

My father’s absence long;

I wonder if he will return,

To bless my childish song.

Some say, “he must be dead, I think,

Or we should from him hear;”

Sometimes I think it must be true,

And shed a mournful tear.

If then he is on distant shores,

May God his steps approve,

And find a rest in heaven at last,

And then with Christ to move.

7(4)v 120

The Grave.

Who sleeps in silence ’neath this mound?

Whose dust does here repose?

Is it unholy, sinful ground,—

And blood upon the rose?

Does there a hero sleep beneath?

Some chief of spotless fame?

The flowrets here no fragrance breathe,

No marble speaks his name!

Does an historian’s wither’d form,

Here lie so dark and low?

I hear no requiem but the storm,

No mournful sound of wo.

Is it a humble, Christian child,

Who free from care lies here?

Around this spot, thus drear and wild—

And not one friendly tear!

No,—the dust that moulders here enshrin’d,

Was here an infant heart,—

A wreath by beauty’s hand entwin’d

Did love to it impart.

The parents wept about its grave,

And friends its loss did mourn;

But tears could not their darling save,

It died,—they thought it wrong.

7(5)r 121

Author’s Farewell.

Farewell my reader, I must close,

Yet I feel anxious to compose

As much again, if I could find

Words all important for the mind.

Some time before I dare begin,—

A work commencing with my pen,

But stiill encourag’d by each friend,

I hope the time to rightly spend.

It does become us all full well—

To act the part that will excel,

And keep each precept in our heart,

That never ought, but may depart.

Our days pass onsa fleeting year,

Once more has swept our broad career;

What if our tongues in silence sleep,

And we no more time’s call can greet!

Oh! let the soul her slumber break,

Let thought be quicken’d and awake—

How soon this life is passed and gone,

And death comes softly stealing on.

Swiftly our pleasures glide away,

Our hearts recall the distant day,

The moments that are speeding fast,

We heed not—but the past—the past.

7(5)v 122

Death is most sure for all mankind,

It’s what our Father had design’d;

He has prepared all future time,

And He can say,—all nature’s mine.

Grant that we each trust in the Lord,

And ne’er forget His holy word;

It is all wise, the better book,

And all who care will in it look.

Then shall our glories rise, and fair,

Nor spot, nor stain, nor wrinkle bear,

Then shall we reach our Saviour’s home—

And never, never, more to roam.

Oh! deep the horror, fierce the sound,

A voice from its sepulchral ground,—

Says,—“I am the grave, the still dark womb,

Where mortals all must find a tomb.”

7(6)r 7(6)v