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ffo 95. 
 
 DANIEL MURRAY, 
 
 Late Lieutenant in the American 
 Wavy. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM A LETTER WRITTEN 
 BY A PIOUS LAWYER. 
 
 When I arrived at the residence of. our late 
 friend Mr. Daniel Murray. I found him apparently 
 dying. He had arranged all his affairs, talked fn 
 the most cheerful, consoling manner to his family 
 and friends, and sent messages of affectionate re- 
 gard to those who were absent. He received me 
 with great animation, and a smile that showed he 
 was filled with "all joy and peace." He express- 
 ed his thankfulness at my visit, spoke of his many 
 and great comforts, the perfect peace and happi- 
 ness he felt, and the sure hope which enabled him 
 
to welcome death, that he might be with his Sa- 
 viour. He declared that it was to him alone he 
 looked with this confident hope ; that he was him- 
 self unworthy, and trusted entirely to the merits 
 of his Redeemer. Hours were passed in conver- 
 sions like these. 
 
 Though weak, he seemed to gather strength 
 from the exercise of holy thoughts and affections. 
 "Psalms and hymns and spiritual songs," and 
 passages of Scripture, were continually, .by his 
 desire, read and repeated to him ; and his counte- 
 nance, lighted up by the emotions they awakened, 
 showed the fulness of joy which his lips labored 
 to express. He wished all .his domestics and 
 laborers, and his neighbors and acquaintances, to 
 be present, each of whom was called to receive 
 an affectionate farewell, with kind and solemn 
 words of suitable admonition and encouragement. 
 
 These exertions, he said, did not weary or dis- 
 tress him, and ho wished, in the short time he had' 
 left, to say and do every thing in bis power that 
 might be useful At one time he requested, in 
 our prayers with him, that we should use the 
 prayers for the dying, after one of which be told' 
 me he had hoped that he should have departed 
 while we were using that prayer. He requested 
 some of the psalms hymns from the prayer-book to 
 be. read to him. These all seemed to give him 
 the greatest delight, but he was particularly ex- 
 cited by the one beginnings "How firm a founda- 
 tion/' etc. 
 
At one . apparent revival gave hopes 
 
 of his restoration to others, but not to himself — 
 He spoke of his death as near and certain ; and 
 though willing to submit to a recovery, it was 
 manifest that he neither expected nor desired it. 
 He was right in his opinion — the^e hopes disap- 
 peared. His strength declined very gradually., 
 till these interesting communications with him 
 could no longer be continued ; but the peace and 
 joy of his soul, when they ceased to be littered by 
 his lips, were still radiant m his countenance to 
 the last. A few minutes before he expired, he 
 was told his departure was near, and asked if he 
 still felt the hopes and happiness he had expir- 
 ed. He expressed bis assent by a smile and the 
 pressure of his hand ; and soon these, and all 
 other indications of life, gently and almost imper- 
 ceptibly disappeared. 
 
 And now permit me to say something of him 
 who thus died. Upwards- of thirty years ago he 
 made profession of religion. From that time to 
 his death, during a retired and domestic life, he 
 was known as a warm, consistent Christian. — 
 All this you know. But I knew him long before 
 this. At eight or nine years of age, he being a 
 year older, we became intimate, and were brought 
 up together almost in the same family. We con- 
 tinued thus until he entered the navy, I think in 
 the year 1798; and ever since we have been 
 much together, and always on terms of the closed 
 friendship. 
 
From my earliest recollections of him, his char- 
 acter and conduct were so remarkable, that lie 
 seemed to me without a fault. No .temptations 
 ever seemed to surprise him. No allurement or 
 persuasion led him irom his course. I remember 
 well how strong his influenco was over me,* and 
 how it was always used for my good. But I as- 
 cribed to natural causes altogether the peculiarity 
 and excellence of his character, and did not see 
 how religion could change him, who seemed 
 already as perfect as a human being could be. — 
 This was not only my thought ; all who knew him 
 well thus estimated him. 
 
 I remember being present at a "conversation on 
 the subject of religion between the late John 
 Randolph and Commodore Decatur, who had 
 known Mr.- Murray while in the navy. The latter 
 was expressing his difficulties about the universal 
 sinfulness of man's nature. Tt surprised him that 
 the very best people in the world should always 
 speak of themselves as sinners. He mentioned' 
 his. own mother as .an instance; and then turning' 
 to me said, "There, too, is our friend Murray ; 
 you know what «i man he is : who ever saw any 
 thing wrong m him ? Ts it not absurd to think 
 of such a man as a sinner ? And yet he accounts 
 himself such." I shall never forget Mr. Ran- 
 dolph's reply to this. He ■ rose from his sofa, 
 walked towards Decatur, stood before* him, and in 
 his emphatic manner said to this effect; "I well 
 know how dark and unintelligible this subject ap- 
 
pears to you, and why it is so. But I trust a 
 time will come when you will know. and feel it to 
 be nil true — true of all, true of yourself; wHen 
 you will be self-arraigned and self>eondemed ; 
 found guilty of sin — not of the sin of cowardice, 
 falsehood, or any mean and dishonorable act, but 
 at least of this, that you have had conferred upon 
 you great and innumerable favors, and have re- 
 quited your Benefactor with ingratitude; This 
 will be guilt enongh to humble you, and you will 
 feel and own that you are a sinner." 
 
 The ■ difficulties, however, that I had felt from 
 tljis appreciation of his early character, were all 
 cleared up at the death-bed of my friend. On 
 my first seeing him he said. "You witness my 
 most comfortable and happy sfate. I cannot de- 
 scribe it to you. Now I owe it all to you, though 
 I never told you, and you never knew it." — 
 Shortly after this, when we were alone, he called 
 to me and said, "Now, I will tell you wl Kit I 
 never told you or any one. When we first met, 
 and you were a little boy, your good' mother had 
 taught you a hymn, whi:-h you used to repeat 
 aloud every night in getting into bed. That 
 hymn made a remarkable nnd deep impression on 
 me, 'which was never effaced. Without your 
 knowing it, I got it by heart from hearing you 
 repeat it; and from that time to this, I have nev- 
 er gone to my rest at night without repeating to 
 myself fhat hymn and praying. This had a most 
 salutary effect upon me all my life. When at 
 
sea, I never, under any <jke*#iasfca$9«Sj omitt$£ifc; 
 and under the influence produced by it, I remem- 
 ber that when I was once for a abort time -in com- 
 mand of a small brig we had captured from the 
 French in the Mediterranean, one of the- first or- 
 ders I gave, was for the regular meeting of all 
 hands for reading and prayer, which was well re- 
 ceived, and had a good effect. " He then repeated 
 it to me, and I took a pencil and wrote it down. 
 I had forgotten every word of it. 
 
 Here then I saw the true source of all that bad 
 so charmed and surprised me in his life. "What I 
 had attributed to the impulse of a gentle and no- 
 ble nature, were the "fruits of the Spirit, 1 ' and 
 the excellence that shbne forth in his conduct and 
 character was "the beauty of holiness."' This 
 he acknowledged with all thakfulness, and with 
 the deepest humility ) speaking' of it as an infi- 
 •nite and undeserved mercy, which he had not im- 
 proved as he ought. Tt now seems strange to me 
 that I had never discovered this, but I was walk- 
 ing in darkness, and therefore perceived not the 
 light by which he was directed. 
 
 Surely God has here shown us some of the do- 
 ings of nig wonder-working hand. A pious 
 mother, .teaches her child a hymn. It makes no 
 impression upon his heart, and is soon effaced from 
 his memory. But its work is done, and it3 fruits 
 appear in the heart and life of another. .> 
 
 Shall she complain that the seed has been blown 
 
From the soil over which she so carefully 
 cast it, to take root in another? Xo. 'As the 
 heavens are higher than the earth, so are G6d's 
 ways higher than our ways, and his thoughts than 
 our thought-/' -Who will say unto him, what 
 doest thou?" That seed, thus blown away, pro- 
 duced its rich fruits, and they were then brought 
 back to the spot whi$o her prayers bad desired 
 they should bless. Her wayward child had for- 
 gotten her instructions, but they had made for 
 him a friend, whose influence and counsel and ex- 
 ample restrained and strengthened him in the 
 dangerous paths of youth, whose life had taught 
 him how to live, and whose death hath now taught 
 him how to die. 
 
 Well may he bless God, for this "his servant 
 departed this life in faith and fear ;" and ask " his 
 grase so lo follow his good example, that with 
 him he mxy be a partaker of the heavenly king- 
 dom/' 
 
PRAYER FORTBRUffMES FROMEOME. 
 
 BY B. MANLY, JR., D. D., OF S. C. 
 
 f . •* . ■ . • * 
 
 Father, who in heaven hearest 
 
 Always when thy children pray. 
 Smile upon our best and dearest, 
 Far, far away. 
 
 When their voices rise to Heaven, 
 
 Incense sweet at close of day, 
 
 May thy grace to them be given, 
 
 Far, far away. 
 
 When in sadness, dark and dreary, 
 
 Hearts are sunk that once were gay, 
 Calm the troubled, soothe the weary, 
 Far, far away. 
 
 'Mid the roar of battle's thunders, 
 
 When war's fiercest lightnings play, 
 Save them, thou that doest wonder^ 
 Far, far away, 
 
 Soon, Lord, in peace' restore £h.cm, 
 
 Safe in happy liGines to "Stay, 
 Heaven's rich blessings smiling o'er them. 
 Not far away. 
 
 And when all their toil is over, 
 
 Take them, Lord, to dwell with thee> 
 Freed from care and sin forever," 
 Far, far away, 
 
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