zr O:* 5^ 03 O^ ^^^ O^ "^2- UK TllK IT PRINCETON, N. J. » C* :V -^ •!• I t* >f <» IT SAMUEL AG NEW, OF P II I I. A I) E I. F II I A . PA. Q4^. BV 3625^ .t6 C69 1835 Cox, Melville B. 1799-1833 Remains of Melville B. Cox, late missionary to Liberia f\ i • Al' ITv ^, ^5-^ , KEMAINS MELVILLE B. COX, LATE MISSIONARY TO LIBERIA. MEMOIR BOSTON: LIGHT AND HORTON. 1835. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, BY LIGHT AND HORTON, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. PRESS or LIGHT AND HORTONi Samuel Harris, Frioter. PREFACE. The materials of the following Memoir have been derived principally from the various documents left by its lamented subject. They were voluminous, particularly his private journals, and it may be in- ferred from that circumstance, by some, that a more ample portion of them might have been introduced into this volume with propriety and advantage. The writer deems it his duty therefore to remark, that while parts of these papers, here and there, either were obviously intended for publication, sooner or later, in one shape or another, or wear at least an aspect proper for such use, other and very considera- ble passages — the great bulk of the manuscript, indeed — were as obviously intended at most, only for the eyes of private and intimate friends, and are moreover of a character chiefly to interest that com- paratively small class of our readers. We have of course been compelled, under these circumstances, IV PREFACE. lo use a diligent discretion in the selections we have made, and have hoped, if we erred at all, to err on the safer side. "We believe, however, that nothing of essential interest in the illustration of the purpose of a Memoir like this, has been omitted. The publication of the Remains of such a man as Cox was, certainly requires no explanation or apology. They will be preserved as a precious relic of one of those, whose memories " smell sweet, and blossom in the dust." MEMOIR OF COX. MEMOIR. Melville B. Cox, the first Methodist Mis- sionary from America to Africa, was bom at Hallowell, in the State (then District) of Maine, on the 9th of November, 1799. He was twin brother of Gershom, now a member of the Maine Methodist Conference, and at this time the only survivor of a family of seven children. Two of them died at sea, as did the father in the West Indies, all in the com- mand of merchant vessels, and neither having scarcely attained the age of mature manhood. The grandfather, James Cox, was a Bosto- nian by birth, passed the earlier years of his life in that city, and was considerably distin- guished among his fellow citizens, particularly as a military man. Tradition makes him a member of the celebrated Tea Party. It is also stated that he commanded a company at the taking of Louisburg, and was at the head 8 MEMOIR OF of the little party who gained possession of the first gun taken from the enemy on that occa- sion. The latter report is probably true, but the former may be considered doubtful ; as it is known that he migrated to the State (then District) of Maine, about the year 1757, and it is not ascertained that he ever returned. He was a millwright; but after his establish- ment on the Kennebeck, (where he was the third settler in the territory of Hallowell, since Augusta,) settled himself down as a farmer, in which occupation he died, in the year 1808, at the age of seventy-four. The parents of the subject of this Memoir were in what is called moderate circumstances, and his means of receiving an education were no better than those of farmers' sons usually were, in similar situations, at the time. He went occasionally, like most boys in this coun- try, to a public school, — generally the well known " District School, as it was," we may fairly presume — probably never to any other, in the course of his life. Even this privilege, however, (as those few who have lacked it can best attest,) humble and cheap as it is, — so humble as to be almost overlooked, and so cheap as to be sometimes despised by the poorest and humblest of those for whose bene- fit it was designed — has been found, neverthe- MELVILLE B. COX. \) less, in the history of these New England States especially, of most essential service, alike to the interest of individuals, and through them to the public weal. The framers of the Republic were, many of them — not to say most of them — educated, as far as they were educated, in a literary sense, at all, in com- mon schools ; and the general officers of the Revolution, as well as a large proportion of those of inferior standing — the men upon whose conduct the fate of liberty throughout the world was hung — were indebted to the same source, in almost every instance, for the knowledge even of reading, and writing, and casting accounts — and few of them were masters of any scholastic accomplishments, beyond these — which proved indispensable to the discharge of the duties committed by their country to their charge. Even our renowned characters in the literary and scientific departments, themselves, those whose fame, if not their lives, has extended down to our own day, and especially the men who, by their mechanical inventions, have done most for the wealth and prosperity of the great mass of the people, and of their race at large, have derived the earliest resources of stirring reflection from books which they neither could nor would have read, but for the simple elements communicated perhaps 10 MEMOIR OF by the forgotten old ruler of the village school, " with spectacles on nose." Some of the presi- dents of our colleges have passed their whole boyhood and youth upon farms, with privi- leges of education hardly so good as these; and it is stated of one who was afterwards at the head of Harvard University, that his first journey to Cambridge, from his father's cabin in the woods of New Hampshire, (where he studied his first Latin by the light of a pitch- pine knot inflamed,) was performed on foot, for the want of a better conveyance, and with his shoes and stockings carried all the way, for economy and habit's sake, in his hand. James Logan, the friend of Penn, and for some time governor and chief justice of Pennsylva- nia, though apprenticed to a linen-draper early in life, had studied the Latin, Greek and He- brew languages, previous to his thirteenth year. He acquired the French, Spanish and Italian afterwards, in the same manner, without in- struction ; and meeting, in his sixteenth year, with a small book on mathematics, he made himself an adept also in that difficult science. But, not to be tedious in our illustrations, and not to go out of our own country for examples, of which no other on earth is or ever was so full as our own — and to say nothing of the Perkinses, and Bowditches, and Websters of MELVILLE B. COX. 11 our own times — let anybody, and particularly, any hoy^ who is disposed to disparage the ad- vantages of the means of education-which are within the reach of the poor, study the history of George Washington, the surveyor, or Roger Sherman, the shoemaker, or Robert Fulton, the farmer, or Benjamin West, the Quaker's son, or David Rittenhouse, the ploughboy, or Benjamin Franklin, the poor printer ; of the boys, in a word, who became in their man- hood the explorers of science with the scholars of the old world, the ornament and glory of the arts, the counsellors and defenders of their country, in the forum and in the field, the in- ventors of the great practical improvements now in the daily use of the people — the im- provements in building, in living, in working, in travelling, in the saving of labor every way, in everything but life itself — which, within the last fifty years, have utterly changed the face of society all over the civilized world. Let him study the history of these men, we say, and complain of his poverty and his privileges if he can. There can be no situation, in a country like ours, out of which a determined spirit will not force itself into distinction, — at least, that best of all its kinds — the distinction of an honora- ble and useful life. ^'' Since you received nvy 12 MEMOIR OF letter of October last,^' — wrote "Washington,* from a camp among the ridges of the Alle- ghany moflntains, when but sixteen years of age — "/ have not slept above three or four nights in a bed ; but after walking a good deal all the day, [in discharge of his duties as a surveyor,] I have lain down before the Jire^ upon a little hay, straw, fodder, or a bear skin, vhich ever vas to be had, and vitJt man, wife, and children, like dogs and cats ; and happy is he, who gets the berth nearest the fireP NoAv, it is by no means necessary that every lad, in these days, should go into the woods, like Washington, any more than that he should go to college, in order to acquire the means of a good discipline of his faculties, which is the main part of all education; but these cases may suffice to convince him that his educa- tion, and his influence, and his usefulness, and his success every way, through life, will depend a great deal more on the disposition he feels, and cherishes, to make the best of his opportunities, such as they are, than upon the opportunities themselves. — This is something of a digression, but we hope not without point. It is too common for boys to imagine that unless they can get what is called a libe- * In a letter, which is still preserved. MELVILLE B. COX. 13 ral education, or, at all events, go to schools and academies as much as they please, and work as little as they like, they can never be able to accomplish anything beyond the pre- cincts of the shop or the farm. That is a great mistake; and the example of the subject of this Memoir is a new proof of it ; — if not so distinguished an instance as many others, in the same proportion more likely, perhaps, to be imitated by the humble class from whose ranks it was so recently taken. We have remarked that the literary privi- leges of Melville, while he remained at home with his parents, were of the humblest order. It is allowed, however, by those who remem- ber him at that period, that he improved them to the utmost ; and this is the trait in his char- acter, and the point in his history, to which we have intended to call the especial attention of the younger portion of our readers. We do not hear it said, indeed, that he accustomed himself to sit up all night, or half of it, very often, like Franklin in the bookstore, to read when he ought to have been sleeping ; or that when he was sent to drive the cow home from the pasture, he was found, as an illustrious Scotch astronomer used to be, in his boyhood, flat on his back, watching the stars by the aid of a thread strung with small beads, while his 14 MEMOIR OF mother was waiting for milk to make his sup- per of. No such pranks are recorded of him. We cannot even show that he robbed Grimal- kin of the fur on her tail, for a paint-brush, like West ; or, if he was big enough, while with his parents, to hold a plough, or to drive one, that he used to amuse himself, as Rittenhouse did, when left to himself, with making out all manner of diagrams and " cyphering," on the handles and share. Not so much as one anec- dote of the customary precocity is preserved in this case. He had genius enough to be "a good boy,"' in the old-fashioned sense of the word, and to make as much as most boys do, out of circumstances humble enough to give him an opportunity to try his skill; and that is the best evidence of the best genius, in a poor boy, that we know anything about. Not that he was dull, by any means, as Adam Clarke says he was ; and still less, that he was considered, like him, " a grievous dunce," (according to his own showing,) good for nothing but "to roll big stones." He does not deserve the honor of ranking with Sir Isaac Newton, in being, as the great philosopher records of himself, " inattentive to study, and ranked very low in the school, till the age of twelve." Melville, wisely content to await the ordinary and whole- some development of his powers, was, at the MELVILLE B. COX. 15 same time, early impressed with that important lesson of the value of time, which it takes so many men all their lives to learn. He seemed to understand instinctively, also, what the ma- jority seem scarcely to believe, that everybody in this world, under God, is the maker of his own fortune and his own fame. Melville had an early ambition, of the best kind. He was ambitious — anxious — laborious, to qualify him- self " to act well his part," in life, whatever he should be. It will be seen how far he succeeded. At an early age, he had discovered, under all his disadvantages, so strong a propensity for study — and his proficiency at school al- ways attracted notice — that his parents seem to have considered it the best they could do for him, to put him somewhere within sight and reach, at least, of books^ knowing that he would be pretty sure to look within the covers as often as his leisure allowed. A bookstore in the thriving village of Hallo well, therefore, was his next advance ; and here he doubtless enjoyed an increase in his opportunities of im- proving his mind, (though not very considera- ble after all,) which his thrifty use of the "one talent" of his first situation seemed to have both deserved and procured. This, indeed, is among the secrets of the success of the 16 MEMOIR OF diligent. Tlieir diligence soon makes itself known; and the clank of the tinman's ham- mer who begins his work in the dewy calm of the day-break, is not more sure to bring him custom. The diligent always have custom, for they always have character. They not only make the best of the facilities which are common to them with olliers — and of the fac- ulties, too, — but in nine cases out of ten, they will have friends to work for them, and lead them on, and to give them new opportunities, from time to time, — friends who are made such by the silent but sure recommendation of modest merit. The world is bad enough, per- haps, at the best ; but it will always — were it only for its own benefit — 'Mend a helping hand " to those whom they find resolutely and conscientiousl}^ determined to help themselves. We have called the new position of Melville an advance. It was so, in regard to the scope it gave him for literary cultivation. It was still humble enougli, indeed, to have satisfied the most self-denying, on the score of luxuri- ous leisure; but it was better than it had been. He had to work hard, and keep close within doors, most of his time ; but few booksellers' boys — as all the distinguished men who have been early trained in that honorable calling MELVILLE B. COX. 17 will testify* — are necessarily without some considerable opportunities of indulging their inclination for study. Our lad, in the village, could now enjoy also the occasional benefit of popular lectures, and other privileges, not many years since wholly unknown even to the higher classes, in the cities themselves. He watched them all narrowly, from his little confinement, and seldom, if ever, it is stated, when he could be at liberty, suffered them to pass unimproved. Thus, " little by little," (as the fable says of the bees and the birds,) he filled his hive with the honey of knowledge. Some distance he had to fly for it sometimes, to be sure ; and he found part of it in rough and wild places ; but neither himself nor the honey was any the worse for that. There is a homely adage about " the nearer the bone, the sweeter the meat ; " and the spirit of the saying is as true of the boy as it is of the bee. As it has been stated that more people in this coun- try, no\v-a-days, suffer, and suffer more, physi- cally, from eating and drinking than from having too little to eat and drink — so, in the literary life, is there more harm done by a re- pletion of resources, than by the necessity of * Such as, in this country, Franklin and Knox. 2 18 MEMOIR OF making the most of a few. There is both a sharper appetite, and a better digestion, in both cases; not to mention that a man, or a boy, who has to earn his fare with his own hands, be it liis books or his bread, will be tolerably sure to economize his leisiu'e and his labor, in either case, and to husband the results of either, to the utmost possible advantage. But eno'.igh of discussion. The boyhood and youth of Cox passed swiftly away, — no more eventful than may be inferred from the humble quietness of his situation. It was an important period to liim, for he was laying the foundations of his usefulness, in the hardihood, industry, energy and intelligence of his char- acter ; but to the world, it presents otherwise no aspect of interest. We shall leave it, with a brief account of his religious career, such as we find supplied at our hands by his own pen; for we prefer, upon this subject, quoting his own language. In a letter, (which we find a copy of among his manuscripts,) addressed to the Reverend Bishop McKendree, under date of May, 1S32 — about the time of his appoint- ment as missionary to Liberia — and profess- edly in reply to queries proposed to him by that venerable prelate, and "dear father," as he calls him, he says— MELVILLE B. COX. 19 " In July, 1818, God, for Christ's sake, forgave my sins, and imparted to my soul ' peace and joy in the Holy Ghost,' while, almost from the depths of despair, I Avas pleading for mercy alone in the woods. In a few weeks after, I joined myself to a small class in the neighborhood ; and from that lime to this, ray name has been among them. I preached my first sermon, December 17, 1820. In March, 1821, I was licensed as a local preacher, by the Kennebeck District Conference, and immediately commenced travelling, under the direction of the presiding elder. At the Bath Conference of 1S22, I was received on trial, and put in charge of Exeter Circuit. I travelled as an effective preacher till May, 1825, Avhen I was taken sick, and left, that year, a su- pernumerary, without little hope of recovery. In '26 andj27, I was superannuated; and in '28 located, and took charge of the ' Itinerant.' In the winter of 1830, finding myself about 1000 dollars poorer than when I commenced my editorial labors, under deep family affliction, and with lungs too sensitive to endure the cold, I left Baltimore for Virginia and the Carolinas. The kind manner in which I was received by my Virginian brethren induced me to join that conference, and, live or die, once more * try ' to preach to sinners. I was stationed at Ra- leigh, and preached and prayed as long as I could keep from my bed. My time of effective service was short. I preached but little after the first of May. But some souls were converted; enough to 20 MEMOIR OF satisfy me that I had followed the leadings of Provi- dence, though it had cost me my life." We have introduced the whole of this state- ment in this connection, — tliough it goes some- what in advance of our narrative, and will be the subject of explanation hereafter, — rather than divide a document into parts, which was intended to be read together. In regard to the earlier period to which it refers, we find some additional notes, in the shape of a journal. From these we learn that in childhood, he was taught the principles of the christian religion " with unremitting attention,'' — the greatest of the many services which he owed to an excellent mother, and sufficient, alone, to account for the devoted affection with which he uniformly mentioned her name. Oh ! Miiat is the influence of such a woman ! The ex- ample which she sets, the lessons which she teaches, — her words, actions, thoughts them- selves,— how silently, as snow-flakes on the face of the calm waters, do they melt, one by one, as they fall, into the soft heart of child- hood ! It may seem almost to see nothing, and hear nothing; but nothing, in fact, escapes its notice, and scarcely anything fails of its legitimate effect; for though the seed be buried for a time, it is but buried to be fostered in the MELVILLE B. COX. 21 bosom of a warm soil, and to spring forth, under the sunshine of future occasions, into greenness and beauty. These are the name- less benefactors of their race. The praises of the great, and even of the greatly wicked, — of the conquerors and oppressors of their race, — the praises of mere wealth, and power, and of so frail a thing as even beauty — have been always rung, in all changes, till the ear is weary of the sound ; — " And green along the ocean side, The mounds arise where heroes died;" and men — good men — multitudes of them — who have devoted themselves to the cause of humanity in countless ways — have gained, in their death and their fame, at least, the ac- knowledgments which their lives deserved. But where is the fame of " The thousands that, wncheered by praise, Have made one offering of their days ? " " Where sleep they, Earth ? — by no proud stone Their narrow couch of rest is known; The still, sad glory of their name Hallows no mountain unto lame ; No — not a tree the record bears Of their deep thoughts, and lonely prayers ! " Yet though no record tells them, they are not lost. The mother's monument is in the virtue 22 Memoir op and usefulness of those whom she rears fot God's glory and man's good ; and mountains of marble caimot raise a fame like that. Witness the working of this leaven in the mind of Cox, again. " 1 do not recollect." he says, " to have felt any obligation to my Ma- ker, sufficient to amount to a religious convic- tion, until I was ten years old. I had however such coujidence in the instruction of my parents ^ that any deviation from rides laid down by them^ -produced the most painful recollections and fear- ful apprehensions.'''' And, at the age of twelve, " so deep and lasting were the sentiments im- pressed with the first dawnings of reason, that time nor distance could eflace them. Prayer I had always been taught to believe a duty that I owed to God; I \\o\f fell that it was the result of my obligations to him, flowing from the relation I stood in to my Creator and Pre- server." What he calls the first serious impression which he recollected as the consequence of a public ordinance, was derived, at the age of eleven, from the preaching of an old and eccentric Methodist, whose singularity of man- ners, and especially his simplicity of language, so strongly attracted the lad's attention, that for some time after he could repeat the greater part of the discourse. The immediate effect oi" MELVILLE B. COX. 23 it was to induce him to study the Holy Scrip- tures, as he says, " in search of the way of life." He read them through by reading two chapters every day he labored, and ten on the Sabbath. The services of the church now wrought powerfully upon him at times ; his " head seemed like waters ; he was filled with anxieties." Occasionally, on the Sabbath, at this period, he would take his Testament, and enter the woods, and spend hours in some act of devotion. These little incidents may seem trivial to some of our readers, but not to those who are willing to ponder the philosophy of the human mind, in all its states and stages, and get " good from everything." One of these juve- nile illustrations of the tenderness of his feel- ings, occurred at the age of twelve, on the occasion of a visit from his mother and twin brother, which at this time was a rare plea- sure. The lads engaged in boyish sports, and enjoyed themselves as boys commonly do — roughly — when, in wrestling, one had a fall on his knee. A discussion arose as to its being a fair fall, or not, and it gradually grew warmer till some harsh words were dropt by either party. The sport was abandoned at the same moment, for both perceived they had gone top 24 MEMOIR OF far. The sequel we shall leave the journalist to tell in his own language : " About ten o'clock they left me for home. I watched them till out of sight. But to describe my feelings would be impossible. The most painful regret seized my mind, that I then had ever experi- enced. Had I been like Cain, the murderer of my brother, I could hardly have felt worse. Could I have seen him, I thought I would have fallen on my knees, and with tears asked his forgiveness. But he was gone — and thought I, ere I see him again, my soul will be in eternity. I went to a place of solitude, and poured out my desires to God for pardon. I wept as if my head had been waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears. Thought I, he was my brother ; yea, my tioin brother ; that I had not seen him for a year, and now, when favored with the privilege, I had indulged in anger. I wept, and prayed to be forgiven for that one sin — I labored, perhaps one, and perhaps two hours — till, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, I felt that God had forgiven me, and rose feeling as much jus- tified from that sin, as if I had never been guilty of it, and with a peace and calmness I can never forget. Thus passed days and months sinning and repenting." We shall now transcribe his account of the change, already referred to in his statement to the Bishop, which took place in 1818 : MELVILLE B. COX. 25 " It was Avhen religion was at an unusually low ebb, that I professed the religion of Jesus. There were indeed some who had the form of godliness in the village, but there were few that had the power. Some Methodists in the outskirts of the town were contending strongly against the wiles of Satan, but looked on as enthusiasts or bigots. Whoever had sufficient firmness to confess himself such, was sure to incur the one or the other. " The spring had passed away with me in a care- less indifferent manner. Never, perhaps, had six months witnessed against me so much vanity and folly — so much thoughtlessness upon religion, and stifling of convictions. I felt hurried into the com- pany of the careless, and become almost the last that would leave it. " The summer came, and with it brought the intelligence of the death of an uncle, who had once been a Methodist preacher. I attended his funeral in company with other relations, and heard a dis- course from Rev. Mr. T., though with but little effect on me. After the obsequies were over, I was invited to a walk with several cousins, among whom was a daughter of my uncle, who had lately pro- fessed religion, in a revival, about twenty miles back in the country. She was warm in her first love, and, while her father was cold in death, felt what nature alone is a stranger to. She knew well how dear the soul of the sinner was, and felt the importance of the cause of Christ. We walked in 26 MEMOIR OF company with perhaps eight or ten. At about half a mile, and just as I was about to take leave of them, Mary stepped forth in view and presence of all, and with an unaffected interest, invited me to seek for religion. Said she ' You need not believe what I say of it, hut come and see for yourself; taste and see how good the Lord is.' Her words sank deeply in my heart. I however kept myself as composed as possible, and after thanking her kindly for her advice, and telling her that I hoped I should or would ' try to,' bade them good evening, and left them. " But my feelings were unutterable. My sins appeared in terror before me. One, above all the rest, seemed to haunt me — that of grieving and re- sisting the Holy Spirit. I thought it had left me forever. While passing through a sm.all grove, on my way home, I fell on my knees, and poured out my soul to God, and begged him that I might re- solve in his strength to seek him. " For three weeks I know not that I smiled once. My greatest fear was, that God had so often called, and I had so often resisted, that now he would laugh at my calamity, and mock when my fears had come upon me. I however strove to conceal my feelings from every one, but sought every means of grace where I thought I should not be suspected of seriousness. In June, I attended the Conference on Sunday. Bishop George preached from — ' And this gospel shall be preached in all the worldj Melville b. cox. 27 Sec. — and then shall the end come.' His de- scription of the gospel was lovely, but that of the * end ' was awfully alarming. I felt deeply afflicted Under it, and the constant language of my heart was, 'God be merciful to me a sinner.' In the evening, I attended in the grove, to hear Rev. Mr. R . I recollect nothing, but that my feel- ings were indescribable. I thought I would give worlds, if I had them, if a christian would speak to me, and take me by the hand and lead me to the altar ; but none came to me, and I returned ' groan- ing, being burthened.' This, however, seemed to direct me more and more to Christ : it was vain to seek help elsewhere. My case seemed hopeless. I thought myself forgotten of God and his children. I resolved, hov/ever, that I would go mourning all my days — that I would always pray, ' God be merciful to me a sinner ' — that in the ago- nies of death I would continue to call, and that while I was descending to the burning lake I would repeat the cry, ' God be merciful to me a sinner ! ' Thus I continued for days, with a weight and dis- tress of mind that no one knew, but he who drank the ' wormwood and the gall.' One Sunday evening, after having attended church, an old promise which I had heard from a preacher, revived Avith some comfort to my mind. He had said, while trying to encourage mourners, that however great our sins, if we were fully determined to seek God with all our hearts, the Lord would not suffer us to die without 28 MEMOIR OF forgiveness. This for a moment seemed to break the gloom of despair, and I resolved to ask once more in /wpe, and if disappointed, still to adhere to my former resolution, though given up to despair. I went to a little grove full in my view, and con- tinued to pray for some time, without any change of feeling. Finally, I concluded I must give up ; and between despair and hope, I was about to do so. But that moment — in the twinkling of an eye — my heart was filled with joy. I praised God — I felt light. I looked round to see the 'new sun and new earth,' that I had been taught to expect. 'T was the same, only they now wore a smile instead of gloom. The change was in me." Of the interval which elapsed between this event and the time already mentioned, when Mr. Cox commenced preaching, little informa- tion in detail is left us. It appears, however, that his apprenticeship was not served out, a separation being mutually agreed on by his employer and himself; and also that a portion of his nonage was passed with one of his un- cles, by his invitation. Here, probably, he had an opportunity of preparing himself more systematically than before, for the work before him, which, by this time, must undoubtedly have wholly engrossed his thoughts. It was about this period tliat he lost one of his brothers — James. The only record we find MELVILLE B. COX. 29 of it in the journal is contained in the follow- ing passage : " AiiGTJST 3, 1820. — While in prayer meeting, just as I had finished opening the meeting, my brother came, and beckoned for me to go to the door. I went, immediately apprehending the burthen of his thoughts, — ' James is dead ! ' Our dear mother fol- lowed us immediately out, and called from some distance, with the hurried anxiety of a mother, ' Is James dead ? ' — all too painfully true." There would seem to be something more meant here than meets the ear, which, for some reason, Mr. Cox forbore to communicate. The elucidation has been furnished us, while in the act of collecting the materials of this Memoir, from an authority which, as regards the facts, stated as facts, at least, no one of our readers, we venture to say, would feel disposed to gainsay, whatever his opinion may be of the comment attached. We do not hesi- tate to insert that also, in the language of the writer : — New York, July 25, 1835. " My Dear Sir : — There is one circumstance in the life of the late Mr. Cox, which, at least to some of his christian friends, may claim a degree more of attention than he has given to it, and which it is probably out of your own power to give, without 30 MEMOIR OP some additional facts in the case. If I recollect rightly, he has merely recorded the fact, and that rather incidentally. A relation of the circumstances is the more important, as without the detail, the fact may become a subject of ridicule by the semi-infidel, but with this detail, may afford him a suggestion, the truth of which he cannot so easily gainsay. I am aware, too, that the occurrence may be passed over, as have been thousands of others, of a similar, and even of a more striking character, without acknowl- edging any supernatural agency ; but it must be on the ground of admitting greater mysteries in the explanation than would be found in frankly con- fessing even the agency of the Deity. " The following are the facts : — they occurred when Mr. Cox was about twenty years of age. At the time of this singular incident, his brother James, who, it will be seen, was concerned in the affair, was at sea — being master of the brig ' Charles Faucet,' which was then on her passage to New Orleans. This young gentleman, although well fitted for his business in every other respect, and irreproachable in his conduct among men, was destitute of religion. " From the hour that James sailed for New Or- leans, Melville, with another brother of his, and who was alike partner in his ' precious faith,' made the absent brother a constant subject of prayer. Such, indeed, were their feelings for James, and so absorbing to them was the great question of hia MELVILLE B. COX. 31 soul's salvation, that it became, for a few week&, with them, their first and last thoughts for the day. " One evening, just as the sun had fallen, the two brothers, as they were sometimes wont to do, visited the edge of the woods, back of the village, where they then resided, and there knelt down to pray. The first object of interest before them was their ab- sent brother, whose image came up to their view with more than ordinary distinctness, and Vv'ho, it seemed to them, was not only far away on the sea, tossed upon its waves as the spirit of the storm might drive him, but 'without hope — without God in the world ' — and liable to fall into the gulf of wo. As they prayed, their own spirits seemed in agony for James, and they poured out their feelings in alternate offerings, with a depth of sympathy' — of religious fervor — of faith in God, never before ex- perienced by them for him. It was given to them to wrestle with God in prayer, and to importune as for their own souls. And thus they did, uncon- scious of the nightly dews that were falling upon them, until the conflict seemed past, and the blessing they sought gained. They both rose from prayer, and without exchanging a word upon the subject of their feelings, went to their different homes for the night. " The next morning, the brothers met ; but the feelings of the past night were yet too vivid to be dissipated. Said Melville to the younger, ' What did you think of our feelings last night ? ' 'I think,' 32 MEMOIR OF said the younger brother, ' James has experienced religion.' ' Well, I think,' said Melville, ' that he IS DEAD ; and I have put it down in my diary ; and you will see if it is not true.' A few weeks passed away, and tidings came that James was dead. He died within a few days' sail of the Balize, in the evening, and, as the brothers supposed, by a com- parison of the letter they received with Melville's diary, on the same hour in ivhich they were engaged in prayer for his sonl. The above letter contained no reference to his religious feelings, so that the correctness of the younger brother's impression was yet to be deter- mined. On the return of the brig, however, it was ascertained, by conversation with the mate, that the feelings of both were equally true. It appeared from the mate's testimony, and other circumstances, tliat immediately after his sailing, James became serious, abandoned profaneness, to which he had been accustomed for years, and forbade the indul- gence of this profitless and degrading crime on board his vessel ; and this seriousness continued to the hour of his death. He communicated his thoughts, however, to no one, excepting to his friends, upon paper, which they received after his death. Yet it does not appear from any of these circumstances, that he found peace to his mind, unless it were in his last hour. " On the morning of the day on which lie died, he said to his mate ' he thought he should die that MELVILLE B. COX. 33 day ; ' and accordingly, made what arrangements he could for such an event. He gave some direc- tions about the vessel, and requested a lock of hair to be cut from his head, which, with a ring that he took from his finger, was handed to his friends. He then gave himself up to his fate. In the evening, the mate went below ; and seeing quite a change had taken place in his appearance, and that death was rapidly approaching, he took his hand, and thus addressed him : — ' Captain Cox, you are a very sick man.' 'Yes, I know it,' was calmly, though feebly articulated. ' You are dying,' continued the mate. ' Yes, I know it,' he again whispered. ' And are you willing ? ' ' Yes, blessed ' and burst into a flood of tears, and expired. " To the christian, I have nothing to say on the above circumstance. To him, all is clear as the light of day. But to the infidel, I may propose one question. How was it possible that the event of James's death, and the change which he evidently experienced in his feelings — call it by what name you please, and the consolation of which no one would take from the dying— how is it possible that the event should be so strongly impressed upon the minds of these two brothers, when he to whom they related was thousands of miles distant ; and how could it occur, too, on the very hour when the events were taking place ? Affectionately yours, F." 94 MEMOIR OF We return to the course of the memoir of Melville. The condition of his mind at this period — we presume, in anticipation of his ministry — may be inferred from the following passage of his journal : "July 10, 1820. — I think I can say with the Psalmist, ' the Lord is my shepherd ; ' and it is my desire to follow him whithersoever he goeth. All I want is the mind that was in Christ Jesus. Many times he maketh me to lie do\vn in green pastures ; he leadeth me by the side of still waters. Oh, that my peace may be like a river, and my righteousness like the waves of the sea. Though I pass through the valley and shadow of death, I will not fear ; though the thunders roll, and from pole to pole rend this earth, if God be my refuge, what can I want beside ? " Now, Lord, hear my prayer ! Restore my soul to full health. Lead me in the path of true holi- ness. For the sake of my Redeemer, may thy rod and thy staff comfort me. Anoint me with the oil of thy kingdom ; may my cup run over with gladness. May thy mercy follow me all the days of my life. May I dwell in thy house forever. Lord, help me to be thankful for thy past goodness. This I ask for Christ's sake." The interesting occasion of the delivery of his first sermon is thus recorded : MELVILLE B. COX. 35 " Dec. 17, 1820, is a memorable day to me. I rode out to Readfield, and by the advice of Rev. James Williams, attempted for the first time to preach. The meeting was held in Carleton's school house. I trembled so that I could scarcely see a letter in the hymn book, till I rested my hand upon the pulpit. Text : — ' Trust ye in the Lord forever ; for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength.' The text I thought quite as applicable to myself as any I had heard. " The calmness, the sweet, unruffled peace, and the inward satisfaction which I felt, after the ser- vices were over, I can never forget." He mentions that his second sermon was preached in what was formerly called Malta, near his friend James Wingate's. On this oc- casion, an unusual eifect was produced by his discourse, and he speaks of it with evident satisfaction. The life to which Mr. Cox had now devoted himself is one of which little has been said, by those who have gone through with it, and of which, therefore, the community at large have probably but a vague conception. Humble enough, in human eyes, it must be admitted that it is ; and yet few are aware of its trials and hardships, on one hand, or of the good account, on the other, to which it may be turned, and has been, by those disposed, (as 36 MEMOIR OF the subject of our memoir was,) to make the most of it as a disciphne for themselves, at the same time that they labor unsparingly for the benefit of the people committed to their charge. A better school for the study of human na- ture, especially — the knowledge of which is so valuable, not to say indispensable, to the preacher, of all other men — cannot easily be imagined. He was stationed by the Conference, during this period of his labors in Maine, in various parts of that state, but generally in those where the services of an efficient minister were sup- posed to be most needed ; that is, for the most part, where there were fewest of all the com- forts of civilized, as well as religious society. The personal equipments with which he sup- plied himself for this career in the wilder- ness were, from his circumstances, as well as from principle, necessarily of the simplest quality ; scarcely beyond the example of the primitive christians themselves, when they went out " two by two " — a social consolation, (and an aid, doubtless,) which our wanderer was in no situation to enjoy. A good deal of the time, he was without the substantial companion- ship of a horse, — an appurtenance commonly regarded, in such cases, we take it, as a mat- ter of necessity. He speaks of walking eight MELVILLE B. COX. 37 or ten miles to hold a meeting. This was sometimes in the daytime, and sometimes in the night, and by high-ways or by-ways, over field or flood, as the case might be. Whether he got anything to eat, too, on the way, — or what he got — or what his accommodations generally might be — were in a great degree ac- cidental ; and he probably considered himself fortunate at this ; — fortunate if his sufferings consisted chiefly in temporal or trivial things, and especially in mere privation and exhaus- tion alone. A specimen or two of this manner of life, at random, may better illustrate what we mean. He stopped at a dwelling house by the way- side, on one occasion, and made a dinner, and doubtless a most acceptable one after a long walk, on a plain dish of bread and fish, with- out gravy or butter, but with the extra addi- tion of a comfortable cup of tea. This was well. He was extremely weary, however, which was perceptible enough to any ob- server ; and this was a family of his own per- suasion, it would seem ; but no one invited him to tarry with them, and he had to set off and walk four miles through the woods, before he could find a shelter for his head. But this was doing well, for he found one at last, and that among friends. At other 38 MEMOIR OF times, he was disappointed more grievously. There was a want of ordinary hospitahty, even with those for whose benefit he was in- tending to labor, and who must have been aware of the fact. This afflicted him, and though he probably did not complain, which was rarely his practice, his reflections show how he felt it. " I have been visiting," he says at one time, " some of my brethren ; but truly they appear more like distant relations, than children of one family. They are unwilling to help in distress, or to open their houses to the needy. I rode from house to house, to get my horse kept one night, but could not, and was obliged to go to a tavern. I returned, and cried out, ' Oh, that I had a lodging place in the wilderness : ' — nay, death seemed desirable. I wept in solitude — among strangers ; but God was with me, and will raise me up. ' Why art thou cast down, my soul ? hope thou in God, for thou shalt yet praise him.' O Lord, may this trial wean me from this world, and fix my soul on thee. Show me the worth of souls. Raise thy work, God. How can I live — how can I live, unless thy work prosper ? " In another instance, he had been preaching at some remote settlement in the wilderness of the Penobscot country, (as it then was,) at the MELVILLE B. COX. 39 time he was upon his Exeter Circuit, when it had got to be late in the evening of a cold winter night, after a hard day's work. Under these circumstances, he was told by the family with whom he had taken tea, that they could not accommodate him with a bed. He ex- pressed his gratitude to them, of course, for what he already owed them, and started off in the night — through the woods — a perfect stran- ger in the country — with roads and crossings running by him and about him in every direc- tion — to find the house of a former acquaint- ance, which luckily he at length succeeded in doing. Another night in the winter, he rode on horseback from half past nine till two or three in the morning, between Sebec and Exe- ter, to attend a quarterly meeting the next day. This was rather rough travelling — and he had a good deal of the same kind — but "that night," he says, "and that deep forest, were to me as a Paradise." We are not cer- tain that this was not, on the whole — and es- pecially considering his health, and a good degree of success in his ministry — the happiest portion of his life. We should dwell less on these little vicissitudes — as he considered them — but that they may furnish serviceable hints to some persons who, if they think more of the drudgery, as well as of the dignity, of this 40 MEMOIR OF profession, will be more ready than some of Melville's calculating acquaintances were, to ^^ open their houses to the needy. ^^ " If," he somewhere says, " I had confined myself to the limits of the Plan, I might have had rather an easy time of it. But there were too many calls for help to permit this ; and wherever I had an in- vitation, if possible, I would go, and at least preach once. Sometimes I had to wade swamps, some- times follow a foot-path through the woods. Once I went to Ripley, to Frazerville, and to Sebec, and to several other towns, which I do not now recollect, &c." Neither could it be considered that his pecun- iary inducements were such as to excite much of a covetous spirit within him. If he thought of such, when he abandoned the comforts of home, for the life we have here been describ- ing, the reality must speedily have corrected his error, though it does not appear to have al- tered his conduct. He received in one circuit less than five dollars for about a quarter's la- bor. Repeatedly he resorted to keeping school, in addition to all his other duties, that he might supply himself with what most persons would count among the necessaries of a poorer man than himself. While at Bath, he taught three months, preaching twice or thrice on the MELVILLE B. COX. 41 Sabbath at the same time, and lecturing once during the week besides, part of which ser- vices were rendered in neighboring villages, at a considerable distance from the district in which he resided. On Hamden Circuit, also, he taught a grammar class. Subsequently to this, a horse which had been of some service to him became disabled, and he sold the ani- mal for fifteen dollars — perhaps a tolerable in- dication of his worth at the best of times. However, he found he could hardly dispense with such an aid, in some shape, so he bought another ; and to pay for him, went to keeping two grammar schools, which, he adds, did not at all interfere with his appointments, as he attended them at hours appropriated to sludp or 7-est. Twenty-four lessons of an hour each constituted this course of instruction. He was of opinion that his pupils in this way obtained more critical knowledge of the English lan- guage than in six or twelve months of ordi- nary instruction ; and we presume that he might have made the same remark of himself. There is scarcely any exercise equal to this of teaching, as an intellectual discipline, where the teacher is disposed so to use it; and the more intelligent the pupils, and the more am- bitious the preceptor, in such a case, the better, other things equal, for either party. A very 42 MEMOIR OF large proportion of the young men educated at our best colleges, including many who have since been highly distinguished in church and state, have been, by their own acknowledg- ment, eminently indebted to this, among the means of their proficiency. Every minister of the gospel, at least, it seems to us, should train himself strictly to a teacher's duties. They will compel him to cultivate both plainness and thoroughness ; and to be plain and thor- ough, he must think distinctly, and work sys- tematically ; and all these, aside from very important moral and practical considerations, will be found promoted, by faithful teaching, a good deal more in the preceptor's mind, than they can be under common circumstances, in the pupils'. One more specimen : — One Sunday, after having gone a considerable distance to preach, and having preached twice, and being greatly fatigued, as well as in want of food, he went to the door of the dwelling house of an ac- quaintance who had very kindly entertained him on a former occasion, and probably in- vited him to make a home of his house, when he came in town. He knocked repeatedly, but no one came or spoke. He ventured to walk in, threw off his cloak, and was making his way to the sitting room, in the hope, doubt- MELVILLE B. COX. 43 less, of a cordial christian welcome, that should do both body and soul good, when his ancient host abruptly encountered him. His looks were those of deep displeasure, though more of embarrassment. A word of courtesy was passed, and he addressed his weary friend : — "I was independent once," said he; "I en- tertained whomsoever I pleased ; 1 did as I pleased. But now I am dependent on friends ; and my friends say that unless I turn you out of doors^ they lo'dl wre." Mr. Cox was shocked, of course, with such a reception; but besides that he was quick to discern and appreciate the circumstances alluded to by his "dependent patron," he was on all occasions as active to avoid, not only a controversy, but an unpleas- ant word, as too many men are to seek one. He instantly thanked the poor man kindly for what he had done, expressed his regret at the necessity, such as it was, imposed upon him, bade him a good evening, and left him. But he could not forget the incident. As he with- drew, he thought, he says, of these words : — " He that loveth houses or lands more than me, is not worthy of me." He adds — " I went directly to the woods, and passed the time in prayer. At the hour of worship, I went and preached. A few moments before the services 44 MEMOIR OF commenced, the house took fire, but it was soon ex- tinguished. If ever I preached, I did that evening. It was awfully solemn, and so silent that you might have heard the falling of a pin. I warned the peo- ple to flee the wrath to come, bade them farewell, and left them, for the want of either a place to preach in or accommodations for myself. I rode six miles after sermon, to a friend's, much com- forted that I had once been counted worthy of suf- fering for Christ's sake." But it was not all thus, as a single passage will show : " From Hamden I went to the District Confer- ence, held in Fairfield ; from thence to the Bath Conference, as near as I can recollect. From this Conference I received my first appointment from the bishop. As was usual in such cases, with no- vitiates, I was sent to ' Exeter ' Circuit, then called the ' Methodist College.' I wept like a child, when I heard it 'read out.' Alone, but hoping in God, I left home, friends, and almost every comfort, and started for my new charge. Exeter was a new part of the country, and the inhabitants generally poor, though it had many precious brethren in its humble log huts. Many of them, too, were men of sterling sense, and well educated ; but with an en- terprise peculiar to New England, they preferred a forest, with good prospects in future, to the homes of their fathers. We had many good seasons to- MELVILLE B. COX. 45 gether. Religion, though not much extended, was revived among the brethren, many prejudices were softened, and Methodis^n, I believe, assumed a higher standing than it had before." In 1824, Mr. Cox, though he still continued laboring, (at and about Kennebeck, &c.) as usual, with all his might — for he was one of those men who could not labor "moderately," as it is commonly understood — began to feel the effects of his exertions and exposin-es in his health. Indeed, this circumstance, instead of operating to warn, seemed rather to hasten him. He writes, in one case — " as if in antici- pation of what awaited me, I Jiastened to do my work, under many apprehensions of soon being called to account for my stewardship. For three weeks, nearly, before my illness, these" words were again and again impressed upon my mind, as if spoken to me — ' Your work is done.' " It will be seen in the sequel, how nearly these apprehensions were realized. His career as a preacher in Maine was already closed. He fell sick early in 1825, at Captain Lord's. And here he breaks out, with his characteristic warm-heartedness, in fervent acknowledgments of the great kindness with which he was treated, both by the family and by others. Few persons were more keenly 46 MEMOIR OF alive to such tenderness than he was. Those who read this memoir, and remember, as they read, even the sHghtest service rendered him, may be almost certain it was never forgotten while he lived. For him, injuries were writ- ten in water, but kindness in letters of stone. In June, he was able to ride ; and he trav- elled by slow stages to Belfast, where his brother resided ; and there he remained till the last of August. Here he received a proposi- tion from the bookseller at HallowcU, who had once employed him, offering him his stock in trade, with his " stand," on terms of a very favorable character, as he considered them. Finding himself disabled from preaching, and yet most anxious to be doing something, he ac- cepted the proposal, and went into trade again. He continued in it over a year, during Avhich time he was generally unable to speak aloud. We need not go into details. The business turned out unfortunate. He washed his hands of it as fast as possible — sold out for the most he could get — " gave up the last ninepence he had in his pocket — and without a decent suit of clothes, and with borrowed money to pay his passage with, left Hallowell " on the 19th of November, 1826, for the south — having, how- ever, been able to preach once or twice not long previous to leaving. MELVILLE B. COX. 47 From this time he was destined to rapid and trying vicissitudes, which the condition of his heahh poorly qnahfied him to encounter. This, indeed, was now completely broken down, never to be restored, though his energy and his ambition for active nsefulness still continued as fresh as before. He travelled for some months in various directions, searching for employment, and hoping at the same time to meet with a congenial climate. He con- cluded to establish himself in Maryland ; and here were experienced, within the brief space of a year or two, both his happiest and most keenly afflicted days. It would almost have seemed the intention of the overruling Provi- dence which ordered his steps, to try him with all that he could bear of both extremes, in the shortest possible allowance of the little time which remained to him. It was here that he married, on the 7th of February, 1828, Ellen, the daughter of Mrs. CroniAvell Lee; and never, probably, on earth, was a union which promised more satisfaction to the parties, or one that, for the brief space it lasted, produced more. Her character ap- pears to have united every lovely trait which even a fond husband could desire, and the af- fection between them was most fervent, and interrupted only by death itself He lived with 40 MEMOIR OF her some months in the family of her mother, (a lady whom he mentions always in terms similar to those applied to his own,) about ten miles ont of Baltimore, where, at her solicita- tion, he occasionally assumed the direction of her beautiful estate, and became gradually a good deal engrossed in the pleasing cares of the charge. Some of his letters written at this period, from "Clover Hill," are filled with ag- ricultural sketches, and convey a lively idea of the interest he took in his new labors. They were probably found favorable to his health, especially as they not only afibrded him little temptation to exhaust his remaining strength in professional services, but, with his other domestic duties, so entirely occupied him as to prevent much of the corroding mieasiness which he generally felt when deprived of such opportunities. "Once in two weeks," he says, " we are visited by our circuit preacher, who finds a congregation of from 50 to 100 to preach to, in a little church about the size of a large school house. Our house is a home for him when he pleases to call, and I assure you "we look with pleasure when he is expected. * * I preach but seldom. My lungs are still too weak to speak with ease." This is the picture of a quiet life — very unlike what he had been accustomed to — still more strangely MELVILLE B. COX. 49 contrasted with the sequel, which remained as yet undisclosed. He removed to the city in process of time, and became the editor of a weekly religious paper called the Itinerant, which, though ably conducted, proved more laborious than profita- ble, and ended with leaving him burthened with debt. But meanwhile, more serious grievances were impending. The blue sky of his life was overcast, never to be bright again. The story is soon told, and it is too painful to dwell upon. "Surely," he says himself, months afterwards, as he looked back, " surely I have passed (if it were right to call afflic- tions such) a moonless night, the year that is gone (1830.) Three brothers-in-law, a dear wife, and a sweet little child, (beside two bil- ious attacks upon myself, and one on a sister- in-law at my house,) have followed each other to the grave in rapid and melancholy succes- sion." These were indeed severe trials, to fol- low so closely a period of such enjoyment, and especially for a man of the ardent temperament of Cox. Now was the time to test the strength of his character, and the value of his religion. Nothing else could support him ; and this was sufficient for the crisis. Even as he tells over the list of his losses, with a heart still bleed- ing, he adds — 4 50 MEMOIR OF •' It is well. If I only have rig-hteousness by- things which I have suffered, I am content. It is all nothing, when put in competition with the smallest degree of moral improvement. Whom God loveth. he chasteneth. If it all end in the fruition of a holy and joyous hope, I may hail it as a means, in the hands of God, of the salvation of my soul." This spirit we find even in those letters to intimate friends, written in the deepest gloom of his bereavements, which dwell most feelingly on the then absorbing subject of his thoughts. The following is without a date : " Mv DEAR AND ONLY Brother : — Your last gave a momentary consolation ; I read in it the deep feel- ing of a brother for a brother's weal, both in this and in another world. But an almost broken heart Avho can comfort, but God ? The fearful cloud has broken — the dreaded moment has come — and I am alone. My dear, dear wife is no more. She died on Thursday morning, at twenty minutes past one ; and was buwed on New Year's Day. Bitter in- deed, my brother, would seem my cup, if God had not prepared it. But I know, I feel, that he is too wise to err, and too good to be unkind. Yet I have feelings that none can tell — hours of loneliness that seem almost a void in duration. But God hath been better than my fears — ' he hath helped me ; ' and the pangs, the recollections, the touching scenes through which I have passed, might have even MELVILLE B. COX. 51 pained a heart far less sensitive than mine, had he not, in my great Aveakness, vouchsafed the support of his grace in an unusual manner. What seems to have given point to the arrow of death is, that she died a few moments after giving 'premature birth to another pledge of our constant and mutual love. The cause., however, was a chronic diarrhoea, which kindness of friends nor skill of physicians could relieve. " But my Zoss, I believe, is her infinite gain. For most of the time during her protracted illness, there seemed a want of confidence in every answer ; but blessed be God forever and ever, three days before her death, she partook of the broken body and spilled blood of a dear Redeemer. This awakened all her feelings for a brighter evidence. She cried to God, and he heard her, tranquillized her mind, and gave her that assurance, I trust, which sustains in nature's dying struggle. The following are some of her expressions : — To a minister who had called to pray with her, she said — ' I want a bright, unerring evi- dence of my acceptance with God, before I can be reconciled to leave this (taking hold of my hand) dearest, tenderest and best of husbands. I cannot rest void of it. I want the faith that wrestles con- stantly with God — that says, I will not let thee go, unless thou bless me. Lord, thou hast blessed me, and wilt thou not again ? Is mercy clean gone for- ever ? Sun of Righteousness, arise, with healing in thy wings. Jesus can make a dying bed feel 52 MEMOIR OF soft as downy pillows are. Then, come life or death, all is well.' Her mother mentioned to her that she had often comforted many a weary soul. ' Do n't tell me, my dear Mother,' said she, ' any- thing that I have done ; I am a poor smwer.' " At another season of prayer, after the above, she said, with great fervency — ' Oh, pray ! — every hreath should be a breath of praj'cr. I never can .praise God enough. I will exhaust mj-self in his praise: ' and immediately, witli a feeble voice, commenced singing — * And let tliis feeble body fail, And let it faint and die ; My soul sliall quit this mournful vail, And soar to worlds on high.' Her friends then commenced singing — ' How happy every child of grace ; ' and she joined through the whole. When she came to the clause — ' I feel the resurrection near,' she stopped, and seemed in an ecstacy, and cried out — ' Blessed be God ! ' " I cannot say anymore in this." The following bears date the 27th of Jan- uary, 1830. " I am indeed deeply afflicted, my dear brother; too deeply to write — too deeply to utter it. My heart feels ready to break forth like waters. I mourn in silence, by day and by night, the absence of one who would console when distressed, and support when weary. I feel a loneliness which mocks the power MELVILLE B. COX. 53 of language. ' Lover and friend has been put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness.' Hitherto it has seemed but a dream, in which thought had scarcely a consciousness of exertion ; but now all is a reality. ' I go back — she is not there ; ' and if I go forward, ' I find her not.' My room — my bed — ah, my brother, can you. feel as I feel when I revisit them ? Fain would I call her back, or hear the whispers of her friendly spirit. But the grave cov- ers her emaciated form, and the worm perhaps al- ready riots on what was so dear and so lovely in life. I sincerely believe the world has not her equal, in some, at least, of the most essential virtues. She sought no pleasure, no company, but mine. Her house was her home, and if it numbered me and our little one, it was enough. Her image is constantly before me, awaking each kind, endearing look, bestowed in sickness and health — but only to tell me I shall enjoy them no more. " I see, too, her dear form struggling in sickness, and hear in each moaning wind the tale of her ex- cruciating sufferings. In her sickness, I was too sick to afford those attentions health would have enabled me to show. I could only kneel by her side, and weep that I could not relieve her ; and at her death, I could not realize that she was gone, nor feel how great was my loss. But now there is no dreaming — all is real; no mingled fear and hope — all is stern truth. Ellen is no more. Well, be it so, my dear brother. Sometimes my path seems a thorny 64 MEMOIR OF one ; but God is infinitely better — yes, I feel that he is infinitely better to me, than I deserve. Wise pur- poses may be accomplished by this. Sure I am that I was unworthy of so great a blessing. She was taken from evil to come ; and the future may show to vie the ill she was unable to bear." To his sister, he expresses himself, if possi- ble, in still more toiicliing terms. But enough has been cited to illustrate the points of his character which it was to be expected the cir- cumstances of these afflictions would draw forth ; and the subject is too melancholy to be dwelt upon beyond what is necessary to such a development. His health, at this time, was nearly as bad as it could be. His fever had left him without strength, and his lungs were so irritable that almost the slightest exertion of his voice, even in the way of conversation, was a source of severe pain. It is a striking indication of the force of his character, that, under these circum- stances, he not only did not entirely yield to them, but his mind was filled with schemes of activity, which scarcely suffered him to rest for a moment. He had concluded that he must go farther south ; but the question was, what he should do, — for he could not endure the thought of being useless. Movements were made for a newspaper, but failed. He then MELVILLE B. COX, 55 pondered the notion of travelling with a view to collect facts for the composition of a His- tory of American Methodism, which he be- Ueved to be much needed. Other projects were discussed. Finally, he received a com- mission from his friend, the Rev. Dr. Fisk, to act as an agent to collect subscriptions in behalf of the Wesleyan University; and his journal shows that he labored some in this vocation before leaving Baltimore. But it did not suit him, nor his situation ; neither would anything have induced him to engage in any species of mere secular business. Thus he re- mained — anxiously seeking for something to do, while, in fact, he was unfit for doing any- thing — till, in February, 1831, we find him suddenly resolved "i^o go and offer myself, all broken down as I am, to the Virginia Confer- ence." "If they will receive me," he adds, " I will ask for an effective relation [charge.] Then, live or die, if the Lord will, I shall be in the travelling connection. Out of it I am unhappy ; and if not watchful, I may wander from the simplicity of the gospel." This reso- lution was formed at Annapolis, whither he had travelled, in the midst of the severities of the coldest season and roughest travelling of the year — slender and sick as he was — with the view of directing his lonely steps as far as 56 MEMOIR OF Georgia. The idea of preaching again, wild as it may seem, was perhaps not without jus- tification in the principles of common sense, even for a man who had already sacrificed himself, as Mr. Cox was aware he had done, to his earnestness in his cause. That employ- ment was congenial to him. He longed to be engaged in it again ; and disabled as he was from doing almost everything else, it is not improbable that the misery of lying idle, or of being undetermined, to a mind like his, might have affected his health itself more unfavorably than even an ardent renewal of his favorite pursuits. In other respects, it met his desires precisely. '"I can only die," he says; "and perhaps that were better than a long and use- less life." It was, no doubt, a difiicult case to decide, and he felt its perplexities, and labored and prayed fervently to be rightly guided ; but on the whole, his heart was fixed; and, as he somewhere says, it beat with joy at the thought. He only regretted ever leaving the ministry : " Had I not, I might to be sure have been in my grave, but I believe it would have been a triumphant end. Life is of no consequence — nay, it is worse than useless, unless it be profitable to others and ourselves. I do not say a man may not accomplish even as much good by suffering as by doing the MELVILLE B. COX. 57 will of God ; but my impression is, that I was not only called to the ministry, but there to spend my life — there to die ! And I most devoutly pray to God, if it be his will, that there I may fall, crowned, not with gold, nor with a diadem of worldly honor, but with the honors of the ' cross of Christ.' I see much that I think might have been saved ; I lament, too, a want of gospel simplicity and heavenly mind- edness. I pray that God would protect me from it in future. A minister, it is said, should be, like the Avife of Csesar, ' above suspicion.' His countenance, his manners, his dress, should all speak to every man, of the dignity and divinity of his high and holy mission. Oh that the love of the world, its hab- its, maxims, and everything of it not in accordance with the pattern set by the Saviour of the world) might be crucified to death within me. ' The dearest idol I have known, Whate'er that idol be. Help me to tear it from thy throne, And worship only thee.' " Full of these views, he left Annapolis for Norfolk, and thence, after a short visit, trav- elled by slow stages, as he was able to bear the movement, to the Conference at Newbern.* * " I dined in North Carolina," says the journal of the 9th of the month, "and my companion in Virginia, though both of us sat at the same table." This was at the half-way house between Norfolk and Elizabeth City. 68 MEMOIR OF Here he received an appointment to Raleigh. We quote from the journal — the best evidence of his feelings : — " I am now a member of the Virginia Conference. I have asked, too, for an effective relation. What a fearful duty, with my state of health ! But, live or die, I have passed the resolution to work in the cause. The Lord grant me strength to fulfil it. Oh ! that in his infinite mercy, he would restore and sustain my health. " Saturday, 19. — To-day, for the first time for months, have I attempted to preach the gospel of Christ. I went to the pulpit with some sense, I trust, of the divine prese7ice, and preached from — 'Is the Lord among us or not ? ' " I made but little exertion — but little effort ; still I trust it was not altogether in vain. There seemed to be much feeling in the congregation, and much in myself Everything appeared pleasant, and left me less exhausted than J had feared. I have now noth- ing before me, but to preach and die. Oh that God would help, sustain, and direct me. I have no evi- dence, however, feeble as I am, that I shall die the sooner by moderately exerting my lungs. I vtay, and I may live the longer for it. This is not within my province. My calling I have thought to be that of preaching the gospel. I know of nothing in Scripture which requires me to forsake it, though fallen. I may yet rise ; but if not, I feel safer in MELVILLE B. COX. 59 the travelling ministry than out of it. Others can do as they think right ; this, at present, seems my task. And I only pray that '■God may be with me.'' " Mr. Cox proceeded from Newbern, as fast as he was able, to his station at Raleigh, and there entered at once on the discharge of his duties. The result was such as most of our readers must have made up their minds to ex- pect. It was an earnest, constant, laborious struggle between disease and determination, with various degrees of superiority sometimes apparent in either, but even its victory going, on the whole, against the body. It is wonderful to what exertions the "willingness " of the spirit — and especially of such a spirit — will occa- sionally arouse the feeblest frame; and there are few instances of this all-powerful religious energy more striking than the one before us. But these advantages, in many cases, are too frequently gained at great expense. They were so in this. They wore him out more and more, in spite of himself He rallied, and re- turned to the contest again, but again he was beat back, and again and again, till finally nothing remained for him but to drag his fag- ged forces altogether from the field. It would be curious, though melancholy, to trace the fortunes of the battle with more minuteness, as 60 MEMOIR OF shadowed forth in the journal ; and tlie more so as the truth has been told with such evident simplicity, and withal, so little with the idea in the writer's mind of making out what would even appear as a continuous and single sketch. On the morning after his first sermon, the journal assumes rather an encouraging tone. He felt exhaustion, and pain too, — he had scarcely even conversed moderately for five years without feeling it, — but less than he had anticipated. The thought of what he may yet do kindles in him like a flame : — " I never felt more hope of yet being able to preach than now. Who knows but that I yet may be able to preach twice on the Sabbath ? Who knows but God has work for me to do here, which another could not have accomplished ? Ohi I do pray, that he who directed a Jacob, may have di- rected my appointment, and that he will be with me, and bless my labors for this people. " I pity the people — have no doubt they are dis- appointed. But this, God can overrule for their good. He can bring hght out of obscurity. If here I fall, I have but one prayer : — May I go in the faith and triumph of the humble christian. Life certainly is of no consequence, except so far as it prepares us and others for a future world. It is the good we accomplish, not the number of days we MELVILLE B. COX. 61 live. And with this view, a short life, if it answer life's great end, is the better one. Ah, me — why am I so slow to believe ? Does not God number the hairs of my head ? Will he forget even me ? Ah, no ! he has pledged his promise. I will venture upon it. I will lean upon his almighty arm. And then, if I fall or rise, I am alike safe in the protection of him who holds the keys of life and death in his own hands ? Oh God, increase my faith. Com- mission me anew. Anoint me afresh for the work committed to my charge. Oh let my word be as the thunder's voice, though uttered in tones scarcely audible. Give energy to thy truth. Let thy word, though spoken by a worm of earth, be as a hammer to break in pieces, and as a fire to burn." Immediately after this animated passage, we find him lamenting that his eyes failed him as well as his lungs, and that reading had be- come painful. The next day, he acted as a preacher in charge for the first time in five years, and made a zealons day's work of his duties. Then came pain in the night after — pain between the shoulders, and in the breast — and the physical effect of the preaching seemed just now to have become apparent ; and then he begins to reason again on his course, and to pray God to direct him. On the Sunday fol- lowing, the journal runs thus : 62 MEMOIR OF " I have preached again, till I was nearly exhaust- ed. I cannot but hope, from the appearance of so- lemnity, and evidence of divine influence, that some special good will result from the labors of the even- ing. Oh my God! shake terribly this place. Oh, breathe over its inhabitants. Speak with that voice to sinners which will awake the dead. Oh, come, come, my dear Redeemer ; come in mercy to this people, and save the purchase of thy blood. " I preached one hour and ten minutes. I will try to do better next time. How much, and how painfully we have to learn wisdom. God of good- ness, save my feeble lungs from any evil effects from this evening's labor. " I feel much more sensibly my evening's labor, than at this night week. My pulse assumes its old fretfulness and frequency." The next extract succeeds at the interval of a fortnight, and shows him still inidiscouraged. A good deal of aid which "was promised him at this time, had failed. He was also wnthout "local help," which he greatly regretted. " For four weeks now in succession, I have preached once a week, — a labor I have not performed in the same time for nearly six years. And yet, though I had thought it might kill me, I am not certain that I am really and truly the worse for it. At this viovient, to be sure, I feel a great weakness MELVILLE B. COX. 63 of the lungs. I feel exhausted ; but I hope by six days more, to be as able to talk as when at Balti- more." Again : " Thought it better to stay at home this evening, than to trust myself at a prayer meeting. It is diffi- cult for a minister to sit, and say nothing, through a whole prayer meeting ; and my lungs are too feeble for exercise." # =^ ^ # # #: " Saturday, March 19. — I begin to feel more and more, that my having joined the Conference is all for the best. If / die, I think it will be so. I feel happier, more given up to God, more commun- ion with him, more confidence in his protection. I feel a sweetness in its contemplation, that I have not for a long time. I do not think that I am sanc- tified, but I am ' groaning for it.' I want a holy heart. And he who has begotten the struggle for it, I trust will grant it unto me. 1 want to knoio all that a man can knoxo of God and live.'''' ^ ^ " Sunday, 20. — I hope my brethren will bear with my weakness for a little while. I may yet be able to supply the place of an effective man. My soul at this moment feels a little dull. But oh, I pray that God may speak to-day to some one. I long to hear of one, who has been pricked to the heart, through my instrumentality, in Raleigh. " I know the soul is ■precious. I feel sensibly that it outweighs worlds ! But I cannot make others 64 MEMOIR OF feel it. Did sinners see what I see, and feel what I feel, there would be no rest for them, till they had an assurance of salvation. " I am sure that the soul which is eternally saved, at the expense of human life, costs nothing, compared with its real value. But God requires not murder for sacrifice. "I have preached once more. I think I did a lit- tle better than on the last Sabbath ; still I preached too long. When shall I overcome it ? " This effort reduced him probably more than usual, but it will be seen that the effect seemed, after all, to be chiefly to suggest to his restless mind, more vividly than ever, the thought of what must be done! " I am much exhausted. I am fearful that gen- eral debility will soon unite with local. Should it, why, I must die. I only pray — ' Lord, prepare me for it,' and it is of the least consequence when I meet it. I should be glad to live ; to preach the gospel ; enjoy its consolations ; to see sinners con- verted, and christians built up in virtue and holiness; to see my dear family and friends, my mother, brother, and dear sister ; and last, though not least, to leave in the form of a book, a legacy to careless sinners. I have the outlines in my mind, and sketched on paper. I doubt, however, if it ever be accomplished. Should I live all this year, I think it will. Oh that, if done, it may speak as with a thun- MELVILLE B. COX. 65 der's voice, when the hand that shall have penned it, is mouldering in the tomb. " But though these be my desires, they may not be for my good. God, for aught that I know, may say to this poor, fainting, suffering, worn out, and dying body, ' It is enough.' I can do but little here, at best. Should I be permitted to enter the ' holy place,' disease and painful suffering, shall no longer cut short my energies." About the first of April, his health became such that his physician forbade his farther la- boring, "for the present;" but in a fortnight, we find him preachhig again — that is, once on the Sabbath ; and it should be understood that his congregation were often disappointed of a service he had engaged for them, by the failure of the persons relied on, to appear in season. This fact, and the circumstance that an unusual interest began to be manifested by some of his people, and sometimes other peculiar trials, operated forcibly to increase the difficulty of a self-denial less rigid than he practised. He says in one place : — " I attended church. Brother B disajyjwinted us. In attempting to do something myself, I was al- most entirely prostrated." His great anxiety was not, as might be inferred from some of these detached remarks, about himself, for his own sake. It was for his people ; and the consid- 5 66 MEMOIR OF eration of their necessities compelled him, ere long, most reluctantly to resign the charge of the station into other hands. He gave up, at this time, his long cherished yearnings for "effective service," though he continued anx- iously laboring, as he found opportunity. " Saturday, June 4, — I am better to-day. My pulse has fallen from a hundred and over, to seventy- five. A vegetable diet, I believe, is good for me. It may be that I yet may get well. " I feel very sensibly the loss of preaching. I know not how it is with others ; but it seems harder for me to live as I should as a sufferer, than as an active laborer. When I can preach, the worth of souls, the sense of responsibility which rests upon a minister of God, make too deep an impression vipon my feelings to give them time to cleave to earth. The labor and the prize, time and eternity, seem but as one and the same thing ; — but a moment, and the whole will be realized." ^ # * # "June 21. — This day, one year, I lost my little rose-bud. Dear little one, thy father loved thee, but God loved thee more. Thou art now safe. Storms cannot blow upon thee, nor can danger either injure or alarm thee. Thou art in heaven. This moment sweet praise falls from thy infant tongue, to Him who loved thee, and gave himself for thee. Happy little spirit, and happy he who, under God, gave birth to thy immortal existence, in the thought that MELVILLE B. COX. 67 his child is loith God. Oh, that it may stimulate the father to holiness — to a watchful vigilance, thought and action. God of goodness, help me to live for thee, and for thee to die. Oh ! fix my heart more constantly upon thee. Dry up the fountain of sin, O God ! let me meet the child of my hopes and its mother, with thee in heaven." Under the depressing circumstances to which these various extracts allude, and some others to which they do not, it must have been a source of great comfort to a heart like Mr. Cox's, to meet everywhere, as he did, with the kindest personal treatment, from those who proved themselves his true friends. This fact is illustrative of his character ; for it was not an interest felt in him for his profession, or for his religion's sake, alone. It was not merely a respect, but a tender affection. He somewhere says himself, — for he felt it most keenly — in reference to attentions he received in the course of an excursion of a month or two, made during the summer he passed at Raleigh, as far as Hillsborough, and in portions of the neighboring counties, — " In the midst of afflictions I am surrounded with many bless- ings. The Lord gives me friends ivherever I go. Strangers become as fathers^ mothers, sisters and brothers. Oh ! that God would bless my "benefactors!" Here is a beautiful instance: 68 MEMOIR OF " Tuesday, July 12. — Left Hillsborough at half past five in the morning, for the Sulphur Springs in Virginia. Mrs. Blount has been more than kind to me. She sent for me to Raleigh ; has kept me for three weeks with all the kindness of a sister ; put her carriage and horse at my command ; tendered me her horse, gig and servant, to go to the Springs ; and, to overshadow the whole, when I left her this morning, she slipped into my hand a note enclosing eighty dollars ! " Again : " Saturday, Oct. 1. — I have just left Major and Mrs. H . I have spent with them about five weeks very pleasantly, though most of the time con- fined to my bed. They have treated me with great kindness — gave me up their own sleeping room — ■ and went up stairs for my convenience. I pray that God may reward them. I want to leave a blessing behind me — not that of silver and gold, but the bless- ing of a merciful and compassionate God. He can sanctify the weakest means for their spiritual good. " I am now at Brother L 's, a young gentle- man who was once a travelling preacher, but located for the want of health. He has been exceedingly kind to me, and offers me a home while I am sick, whether it be a short or a long time. Mrs. L has given me up her drawing-room. Surely this is the kindness of friends — friends whose hearts know well the mellowing influences of the gospel of Jesus Christ." MELVILLE B, COX, 69 Of his female friends he says — *' Some sisters are among them, and now and then one who approaches near the character of a mother. One, Mrs. R C , I have cause to hold in the most grateful remembrance. Her taste, her feelings, her situation and standing in society, just fit her to do for me what others usually forget. She has not loaded me with silver or gold, nor clothed me in scarlet ; but she is always adding to my com- fort. If a cravat become old, a pocket handkerchief torn, or a bosom worn out, I am supplied with new ones. A day or two since, she sent me a beau- tifully fine flannel vest, and soon I am to have its fellow. Not long since, she sent me a fine silk vel- vet vest, with other articles ; and almost every day, the footstep of her servant is heard, bringing a cup of jelly, a bowl of custard, a chicken liver, sponge- cake, preserves, or some little delicacy, which ' she hopes I may eat.' And this is not half A most excellent servant of hers has always been at my command, to dress my blisters, or to do anything that required particular attention; and she herself, when necessary, has watched at my bedside, and made my pillow, in sickness. To God I am indebted for it. Lord, help me — Oh help me, that I may appreciate it." Speaking of this class of his benefactors elsewhere in the same terms — and the excel- lent lady in whose household he was settled 70 MEMOIR OF many months comes in for a large share of his gratitude — he corrects himself, by stating that they approached as near to the character of such as strangers could. For him, however, it was impossible they should ever satisfy those yearnings of affection which went back to the haunts of his early home. This is evident from the language in which he alludes to the letters he occasionally received from his mother and sister. All that his nature was capable of, he says, he had felt for them, — and yet they asked him if he had not forgotten them. The reflections excited by such a question may be inferred, perhaps, from an eloquent passage (apparently taken from a newspaper) which we find among the leaves of his journal : " It is a sad thing to feel that we must die away from our home. Tell not the invalid who is yearn- ing after his distant country, that the atmosphere around him is soft, that the gales are filled with balm, and the flowers are sparkling from the green earth ; — he knows that the softest air to his breast would be the air which hangs over his native land ; that more grateful than all the gales of the south would breathe the low whispers of anxious affection ; that the very icicles clinging to his own eaves, and the snow beating against his own windows, would be far more pleasant to his eyes, than the bloom and verdure which only more forcibly remind him MELVILLE B. COX, 71 how far he is from that one spot which is dearer to him than the world beside. He may, indeed, find estimable friends, who will do all in their power to promote his comfort and assuage his pains ; but they cannot supply the place of the long known and long loved — they cannot read, as in a book, the mute language of his face — they have not learned to wait upon his habits, and anticipate his wants, and he has not learned to communicate, without hesitation, all his wishes, impressions and thoughts, to them. He feels that he is a stranger ; and a more desolate feeling than that could not visit his soul. How much is expressed by that form of ori- ental benediction — May yoti die among your kin- dred ! " — Greenwood. Such, probably, were the thoughts revolving in his mind, in spite of every more cheerful effort, when, in one of his excursions in the neighborhood of Raleigh, disabled by exhaus- tion on the road-side, and suffering extreme pain, he " felt a little sad," as he expresses it at one time ; and at another, '• walked into the woods alone, and was so affected that I sat down and wept at the thought of my situation: but He who comforted Hagar comforted me," He was reduced at this period to such a degree that it was with the greatest difficulty he succeeded hi getting to Hillsborough, a few miles, with the aid of a mattrass in a car- 72 MEMOIR OF riage. "Once, indeed, I feared," he says, af- ter he arrived there, " the road would be my death-bed." — " But I yet hve," he adds, "and for tliree days past, have improved beyond all expectations." Mark now the use which he makes of his first ability ! " I have written to Raleigh, that, the Lord willing, I shall be with them next week, and shall jveach to them on Simday morning ! ^^ This was after his re- signing his charge. Indeed, it seemed as if Death himself could scarcely keep him from the pulpit. He felt invariably a good deal of pain after preaching, and sometimes was exhausted for days ; but this, he says, somehow or other, he forgot; and when the inducements seemed pressing, could not but persuade himself that duty re- quired him to try once more. And then he could never be " moderate." He never was boisterous in his manner, indeed ; no man's taste, sense or religion could be farther than his from what is termed rant ; but he could not keep his feelings from being roused to the bottom of their depths, and his feeble frame was racked with contending emotions till it seemed utterly disabled. This, of course, was to be regretted. And yet we have some doubts, after all, whether, in other respects, his experi- ence itself discredited the soundness of the MELVILLE B. COX. 73 reasoning which had induced him to join the Conference, and assume a station. His own opinion, certainly, continued the same. As late as September of this trying season, and during a three months' confinement to his room, he says — " I cannot mourn that I have joined the travelhng Connection again, though I die fifteen years sooner for it. I beheve this is my place, sick or well. * * If God called me to it, he will temper the circumstances in the best manner for my good. If I am sick, that sickness may accomplish more than my health." Occasionally, his thoughts on the subject were less cheerful, but the conclusion was always much the same. The Raleigh church, he believed, (notwithstanding his af- fection for them,) had always abused spiritual privileges ; and it might be God's intention to remind them of it through him : " Bat even with this view, I seemed to look upon myself as the cause of the affliction. Had I not been sent here, perhaps they had been better supplied, and — perhaps worse. Their preacher might have died., or have been such as they would not have thought profitable for this place. At least, I will yet hope for the best. Still I do feel unhappy at times, for the moment, at its recollection. Some good, however, has been done. A few were plucked as ' brands from the burning,' who still hold on their 74 MEMOIR OF way. These I hope to meet in heaven, as fruits of my ministry here, and as evidence that the hand of God was in my coming to Raleigh." Nor will the attentive reader of the private journal, on the whole, find anything in the impression it conveys of the spiritual condition of the mind of the writer, to alter the opinion which this reasoning is intended to express and confirm. True, it contains evidence of many anxious, doubtful, desponding hours; — it would be wonderful, indeed, were it other- wise. The trials which beset him were many, and hard to be borne — the trials as well of body as of soul. To be so utterly incapacitated from active service, with such responsibilities over him, and such calls upon him, and such an in- satiable and burning eagerness in his bosom to be doing the work whereunto he believed him- self to be sent — this was no ordinary affliction, alone. To be without help at all in the first instance, and so grievously disappointed in the second — to be dependent npon everybody, and able to depend upon nobody — to be personally a burthen to all around him, and yet in a land of strangers, Avho knew him not — to be suffer- ing for privations which he could not allude to, or indebted for kindness which he never could expect to repay — to be filled with all the thousand wearing cares of an official situation, MELVILLE B. COX. 76 which, in imagination, in effort, in feehng, in anticipation of the future, if not in actual super- intendence of the present, he still continued to fill; — these also were among his trials. That, under these, — and with excruciating agonies of bodily suffering frequently added to a con- stant inability to converse even, without feel- ing the pain of a whisper in his lungs, — he could still maintain the spirit which the record of his days sets forth, — what volumes does it speak for the mighty power of a spiritual and fervent faith, through prayer and holy striv- ing, to conquer, under God, every enemy that may beset the soul. He here alludes to a course of severe medical treatment to which he submitted : " About two or three hours after the operation, I was taken with the most excruciating agony in the spine, about the small of the back. I had just been down in the dining-room, when I was taken, and there I lay till Saturday evening. " My pains were indescribable. It seemed as if the spinal marrow were separating — as if, without relief, I must die or go crazy. I called on the Lord to save me from another such paroxysm, after I had suffered two or three, and he heard my cry. " I had many fears that the lower extremities would be paralyzed. But, thanks be to God, I am better ; — can walk a little. 76 MEMOIR OF "Oh! that this affliction maybe for my good ! May I see the hand of God in it. May I be puri- fied in it as by fire. Oh ! that he Avould fit me for his kingdom. Sure I am that it is a loud voice. If pain can profit the soul, I ought to learn. Such agonized feelings I think I never experienced before. I felt as if the soul of sensation were suffering, if not dying. " What this will end in, is yet uncertain. But be it what it may, I think a few months, say six, at most, will make a change for the better or the worse. It is now six years since I was taken ill. Since then, I have not known a well hour. I do not think the tide will stand much longer where it is. I think the Lord will either take me hence or send to me more health. His will be done, only may he pre- pare ME for the consequences. May he give me a holy heart. Then, neither a burning world nor dis- solving nature can alarm me. Then, nothing but God shall make me afraid. In his arms, the fire must cease to burn, and the waters to flow. If I am be with me — if God in truth show himself mine — it is enough. Oh ! that this moment my soul were wholly consecrated to him." ■*■ ^ ■^ ^ " September 19. — Once more I can stand on my feet, as an evidence of God's mercy toward me. But I am not thankful as I should be. My heart is cold. I still love earth and earthly enjoyments. Oh! that I were weaned from every object. Oh! that I did love and honor God as I should. Oh ! MELVILLE B. COX. 77 that all my words, my actions, my looks, and my thoughts, might tell that I am constantly seeking for the fulness of God. I do pray that my afflictions may not be in vain to those around me, more than to myself. May my sick-room become a chapel, where preaching shall be heard, though no voice speak. Let patient submission tell, God, how good thou art." The same spirit pervades the following : " That providence which has permitted my pres- ent, apparently unnecessary affliction, no doubt, to many, seems dark. I was before deeply afflicted, and the doctor's new practice has, instead of reliev- ing me, as was expected, given me a lameness in my back, which has made me more helpless than all my other afflictions put together, and has relieved me of nothing whatever. Still I believe this to be well also. Had I not been detained here, I might now have been food for the inhabitants of the mighty deep. This very circumstance, though dark in its appearance, may have been necessary to prevent a greater evil, or — which would be still more grateful to my feelings — to accomplish some greater good in Raleigh than I could elsewhere. Short as is my sight, I can see many possible circumstances, which, had they been permitted, would have made my present situation an object of the most grateful feel- ings. Be it as it may, I have not a murmuring thought. I believe God ' has done all things well.' 78 MEMOIR OF ' It is not in man to direct his steps.' In permitting this hist treatment, I was governed by the best light I had. If in doing it I erred, I will still be- lieve that God will overrule it for my good, and make even this dark cloud yet as the sunshine of heaven." # * * # " October 17. — My feelings this morning were a little sad. I begin to doubt for the future about the poor, perishing engagements of earth. And yet I have no cause to. God is still merciful. His arm is not shortened, nor has his eye forgotten to pity. In the midst of afflictions he has sent me many mercies. Nay, I doubt if any man in health, in the city, has had. more enjoyment for the last itvo months than I. My mind has generally been unusually tranquil, and in my severe sufferings, I have felt an almighty arm near to support. Lord, save me from unbelief — from distrusting thee — from those fears about being burthensome to others which, sometimes in my life, have been as a gnawing worm to all my joys. Oh turn the tempter away. Lift a standard when he cometh in like a flood, and give me that confidence in thee that will not doubt." ^ =* " Sunday, Oct. 30. — I have once more attempted to preach. I spoke over an hour, from Rev. xx, 11 — 15, an awfully terrific subject. I did not have the liberty I wished for, nor that which has been usual. I need to be humbled ; — I pray that I may soon learn more sensibly what a poor, weak creature man is — I, in particular. I am sure, how- MELVILLE B. COX. 79 ever, that my feelings for the week past have been very sincere. I think I desire the glory of God, above everything. But the heart is deceit- ful, and probably it often deceives its possessor under his most watchful vigilance. The Lord help me to do better next time. Preach I must, when able to speak, or suffer spiritiial loss." The effort which is alluded to in this pas- sage cost him as severe a penalty as usual — perhaps more so; it is certain that he seems about this time to have made up his mind finally on the necessity of abandoning, for the present, all hope of laboring in his favorite department. Under these circumstances, his restless thoughts again began to scheme new plans of active usefulness. He could not en- dure, for a moment, the idea of lying idle; contention itself was not more as death to him, — to use an expression of his own — than the necessity of suspending his 7oork. At one time, indeed, he talks a little of visiting Europe for his health. That would have been delightful to a man of his inquiring mind; he might have indulged freely that longing to know and lear?i which, even in the midst of his afflic- tions — lungs, back, eyes, head, and all, could not prevent him from gratifying with the dili- gent perusal of his books. But that was out of 80 MEMOIR OF the question, and he thought no more of it ; it was no habit of his to waste his strength in wishing for impossible things. A missionary enterprize, in some foreign land, next occurred to him ; and in November, we find him discus- sing the project of going to South America with those views : there he thought the state of his heahh, even if the voyage gave him no benefit, would still permit him to be essentially useful to some of his fellow men. He trusted, how- ever, that it would restore him to his native strength once more; and "I long," he says, " to preach the gospel to those who have never heard it. My soul burns with impatient desire to hold up the cross of Christ on missionary ground." In December, as the following pas- sage shows, he was still undecided : " I have now fo7ir anchors out, and I hope that some of them will hold on. In view of my inability to preach, my mind has been constantly inventing something by which I might support myself without being burthensome to others. I have an eye to the editorship of a paper in Georgia, and to another to be published in Kichmond, provided it should be under the direction of the Virginia Conference ; and I have made some inquiries about an agency for the Colonization Society ; also a mission to South America." MELVILLE B. COX. 81 This, as he humorously expresses it, was having all his irons in the fire at once, includ- ing his poker and tongs with the rest. Yet there was another plan, not here alluded to — that of a religious paper at Raleigh, for which we notice a copy of the printed "proposals," among the leaves of his journal, marked by himself in a manner which indicates an expec- tation of being concerned in it; and the style apparently his own. This must have been a mere passing thought. Late in the month, we find him resolved that he would like to be connected in some way with the Conference, but without undertaking to preach, or ride ; for he had at last concluded that to " keep preaching a little" would just keep him con- stantly sick — too sick to labor, though too well to be idle. On the whole, he was in great doubt. His mind inclined, however, to Geor- gia, from which quarter he continued to be urged. When he left Raleigh, indeed, on the 2Sth of the month, for Halifax, it seems to have been with almost an intention to make that journey a test of his ability to go farther, and, if he found himself able, to keep on ; — but still hoping that some new light might be given him. The first stage, it must be al- lowed, was not particularly calculated to en- courage him. He says — 6 82 MEMOIR OF " I have been in many scenes of wickedness, but never heard so much profanity, in the same space of time, as I did in riding three miles. There were five beings who called themselves ' gentlemen,' in the stage, and four out of the five were just drunk enough to fear neither God nor man. They all swore vengeance against the stage-driver, and some Avent so far as to swear they would shoot him. One attempted to stab him with a sword-cane, and an- other to knock him down with a loaded one, but both were prevented by the interference of their so- ber companion. The fears for my back, and not a few for my life, made me think it most prudent to stop at the first place where I could find accommoda- tions. "When we arrived at my friend J 's, I begged the driver to let me get out. My baggage was put down in the road, and I left them to pursue their way in drunken madness, glad, and thankful indeed, that I had escaped with no other inconven- ience than a few wrenches of my poor back, and some horrid shocks to my feelings." From Halifax he travelled by land to Peter- borough, Avilh much difficulty, arriving there on the last day of Jaiuiary, and having been about a month in performing a journey which formerly, he says, he could have accomplished on horseback in three days. At one place on this route, he mentions the sight of the skull and hat of a negro recently executed, dur- MELVILLE B. COX. 83 ing the general excitement occasioned by the Southampton affair. A number more had shared the same fate at the same place. At Norfolk, Mr. Cox attended the meeting of the Conference, and was invited to act as Chairman of the Committee for drafting a pas- toral letter ; a labor which, Avith others, he was compelled to decline, though he felt the gratiii- cation of the compliment it implied, especially considering his age. Here also he received a pressing invitation from his brethren in Maine, to undertake the management of the Maine Wesleyan Journal. At another time, attached as he was to the land of his birth and the friends of his youth, it is not improbable that this proposal might have determined the se- quel of his career. As it was, it came too late. A new subject had dawned on his mind. We have noticed the first allusion to the Coloniza- tion scheme. This, from the moment of its suggestion, seems to have grown upon his af- fections, till it became, as will be seen, decid- edly a favorite project, even his heart's desire. He speaks of meeting Bishop Hedding, and of proposing the South American mission to him, in a private interview; "and he, in return," he says, ^^ proposed one for me to LiheriaP And he promptly adds, " ^/ the Lord will, I think I shall go ; much, however, yet remains 84 MEMOIR OF to be considered," «fcc. Of this Conference he asked and obtained leave to travel, for the ben- efit of his health, — the destination, of conrse, remaining undecided. He then went to Balti- more with the Bishop, and spent a few weeks there, "very solicitous" about his appoint- ment to Liberia, and " wanting much to go," but compelled to wait patiently for the devel- opment of events. Thence he directed his course for Wilmington, in company with Bish- ops Hedding and McKendree. Here he at- tempted to preach once more, but seems to have been mortified with what he considered his failure. Probably his physical power dis- appointed him, as little as he now relied on it, for he speaks of going to bed the moment he was done, and there lying till late the next day. Towards the last of April, the warm weather reviving him in some degree, he passed on to Philadelphia, where the sixth General Confer- ence was in session, and there he took his seat as a member ; by Avhat authority he does not mention. His mind was still full of the en- grossing subject. On the 5th of May he says, " I called on Bishop McKendree. He does not hesitate to say that he is prepared to send me to Liberia." He adds that his feelings had become deeply interested in that scheme ; so much so, that if the appointment should not MELVILLE B. COX. 85 be made, he could not but feel it deeply. " The Lord direct, and help me to be submissive, to believe in his goodness, and to trust my all in his hands. Oh ! that I may be holy. Surely I shall need it, to dare the climate of Africa." Again : " Sunday, May 6. — A pleasant morning. My breast feels acutely the effort of yesterday, to con- verse agreeably with a few friends. Liberia swal- lows up all my thoughts. I thirst for the commis- sion to go. The path looks pleasant, though filled with dangers. Death may be there, but I trust this would be well also." ^ ^ * * " Monday, May 7. — The Episcopacy has con- cluded to send me to Liberia. I hail it as the most joyful appointment from them that I have ever re- ceived. The prospect now is, that, feeble as I am, there I may be 2iseful, while the energy of life re- mains ; that there I may ' cease at once to work and live ! ' I thirst to be on my way. I pray that God may fit my soul and body for the duties before me ; that God may go with me ; then I have no linger- ing fear. A grave in Africa shall be siveet to me, if he sustain me." Weeks afterward, he continues to use the same expressions of eagerness and joy. Death, life, labor, suffering, but above all, Liberia, looked pleasant to him. He saw, or thought he saw, resting upon Africa, the dew of Zion, 86 MEMOIR OF and tlie light of God. He thirsted to know that the winds of heaven were icaftin^r Jiim to its shores. This beautiful expression is repeated elsewhere. Sometimes, his hopes were depressed, even in regard to his African mission. His health troubled him. It not only reduced his animal spirits for a time — an influence which he was sensible of, and guarded against — but really presented, or appeared to present, occasionally, a real, rational, and almost insurmountable obstacle to his usefulness. He counted much, doubtless, on the genial effect of resting from labor at home awhile, the warm weather, travelling, visiting his friends, the African voyage, and also upon the hope of laboring effectively — a favorite word of his — in Liberia, without exposing himself to a repetition of the trials he had just undergone in North Carolina. But still appearances were sometimes against him, and he could not overlook that fact, though, on the whole, lie was encouraged — especially with the idea that God could bring blessed results out of even his sickness and death, if it so pleased him — and so he went on his way northward in good hope. At New York, he attended the anniversary of the Young Men's Missionary Society of that city, (the same with which he was afterwards more MELVILLE B. COX. 87 closely connected,) and spoke a few moments, as he did also, on one occasion, at the Brom- field Street Church, in Boston. On the 21st of June, he met his brother in Portland, and the 27th found him at his sister's (Mrs. Lom- bard's) in Hallowell. The feelings aroused by his brief interview with these friends, and with the venerable and beloved parent who now embraced him for the last time, hardly suffering herself, as he parted with her, to be left behind — the intefest excited in such a mind, at such a moment, by the sight of every familiar object which had greeted his eyes in the distant but unforgotten days of boyhood, now never to greet them again — even the sim- ple circumstance of being called on, in the farewell hour, as he stood at the threshold of the old home which his tears had hallowed to his heart, to administer the baptismal cere- mony for his sister's two little children — (a scene to which he often afterwards alludes) — how must these things have moved afresh the deep fountains of feeling and of thought, in a nature so capable of emotion and of reflection as his ! He writes their names for a tender memorial of the solemn ordinance, " Dear lit- tle Anne and Charles," he calls them. " They are all the children my sister has, and it will be sweet to me to remember that they were 88 MEMOIR OF dedicated to God by my office and ministry." And wlio doubts that it was sweet? Who can doul)t tliat, in weariness and sickness, in a far land, by night and day, his afTections were soothed by the memory of this dehght- ful, though mournful serv'ice; and that even in the last dreams of the dying martyr, on heathen shores, the faces of the angels that beckoned him gently up to his rest in heaven, were blended with the loving and grateful eyes of the "dear" immortal spirits, whose consecration to the divine life they were born for was committed to his hands ! Remembrances of another character were revived, too, by his visit : " It is now about five years since I left home. In this long absence from friends, the sun hath shed but a few beams on me. One bright one rested on me for a while, till infinite wisdom saw it necessary to interpose a cloud. But though earthly prospects have been clouded, all, I believe, has eventuated in my spiritual good. To-day, I find myself at home, with friends, with those that I love and those that love me. Through all God hath been my guide and my deliverer. His hand hath blessed me ; — his, afflicted ; and I both see and feel that unchanging goodness prompted the one as well as the other. " Thursday, June 28. — I can scarcely realize that, after an absence of five years, I have again met MELVILLE B. COX. 89 my dear mother and sister. Hallowell and home never looked more lovely than now ; but the ab- sence of her that I had so often hoped would one day meet them with me, has chastened our joy to melancholy. The past has all been called up afresh. My dear Ellen and little Martha mingle in all our recollections ; and the thought that they are no more, has spoken to us so impressively, that we are happy only as we hope for immortality." Surely this weakness, if it be one, will be forgiven him at such a time. It is not required of man that he should cease to be human. There is a time to weep, as well as a time to pray, and to prevail, in the might of faith, over all things. There could not be the triumph without the trial. Mr. Cox had the experience of both. He felt — felt to his heart's core — felt till the tears were wrung from his manhood like drops of blood ; — but he faltered not in the high purpose to which the days of his life, and the capacities of his character, were devoted. It was because he felt, that he faltered not : " The strength whereby The patriot girds himself to die, — The unconquerable power that fills The freeman battling for his hills, — These have one fountain, deep and clear, The same whence gushed that child-like tear." 90 MEMOIR OF He speaks frequently of what might be the issue of his enterprise, but it should not be understood that he thought it, on the whole, a desperate one in that respect ; or that he rushed recklessly, like a Roman Stoic, as it were, on the point of his fate. He perceived the hazard, and prepared himself for the result, and especially trusted in God's wisdom, (after making up his mind that it was God's will,) to bring good out of it, whatever it should be ; but that he appreciated the motives which he had for living, instead of dying, as other men would, is evident throughout. For example : " I have left my friends, perhaps forever. Still I trust that the God who has so often blessed, and so long watched over me, will return me once more in safety. Oh, that he would ! But his will be done. His ways are above ours, and every day's experience teaches me that, if I ruled my own destiny, I should have but a dark path of it here, and perhaps darker hereafter." " I do not wish to be prcsumphtous,^^ he says in another connection, and this we believe to have been a principle with him. He was ex- posed, on his return southward, to great dan- ger from the cholera, and would gladly have made arrangements, as he endeavored to do, for embarking without the necessity of linger- MELVILLE B. COX. 91 ing in the cities, where it then raged at its height. There were sixty cases on the day- he reached Philadelphia, and one hundred and seventy-six on the next, with over eighty deaths. Here he received intelligence from the Colonization Society, at Washington, of a vessel to sail from Norfolk, and he went on. At Baltimore, he received a few hundred dol- lars, (the residuum of an estate of his wife :) and it is characteristic of his spirit, that the first appropriation from this little sum was for the manimiission of a slave boy, whom, it will be seen, he took with him on his mission, in- tending to keep him under his personal charge. He enjoyed greatly a short visit to Mrs. Lee's. The air of the country, too, much revived him; and it is remarkable how his enthusiasm for his mission regularly swells up in proportion to his apparent ability to do it justice. He speaks of feeling better, "but duty calls, and I must go. Africa is my home. Thither must all my energies be directed. I pray God to fit me for the work." Here the cholera again beset him closely in the city. There were thirty or forty deaths daily, and, among the rest, two in the family with whom he lodged. Word came to the master of the house that one of them was ill, and his decease followed before he could get to him. In Richmond, also^ 92 MEMOIR OF he found the disorder raging; and at Hampton, where he hoped to get, among other things, some books for his mission hbrary, four persons died out of the family he visited, including a particular friend, his host. He felt himself now in some danger, though gradually too much accustomed to it, if nothing more, to be alarmed — in which, probably, much of the hazard, physically speaking, consisted — hav- ing been now a month in a close cholera at- mosphere ; not to mention the fact that at Wil- mington, the small pox was raging, at the time of his visit, in a house directly over the way. The following letter, from Norfolk, dated the 13th of October, will continue the narrative ; and it will forcibly show how reso- lutely Mr. Cox, in respect to his mission, (and in other things it was the same,) was in the habit of relying, next to God, upon himself: "My Dear Brother: — These are perilous times. For nearly three months, I have been in the atmos- phere of the cholera. Hundreds have been dying around me, and in almost every place I have vis- ited, men have literally been buried ' in heaps.' But God hath spared me. Though frailer than the flow^er of the field, and frequently under a poisonous influence from the atmosphere, or some to me un- known cause, in the most sensible manner, a gra- cious God, with a tender care that it seems as if I MELVILLE B. COX. 93 had never realized before, has sustained me ; and to- day, I am as well, and perhaps better, than when we parted. But, my brother, in what accents should this desolating scourge speak to the living ! Why, why live we, while others are dying ! " My mission has ' neither form nor comeliness ' to many, nay, most of my friends. One advises that I should take my cofHn with me ; another thinks it is offering murder for sacrifice ; and a third, that it is flying directly in the face of a providence which hath more than thrice said, ' the ivhite mis- sionary shall not live there.' But these see as I see not, think as I think not, and feel as I feel not. One circumstance, however, has given me some pain — that, of the ministry, there vA'as none to help me. Still, I have frequently thought that God hath guided this also. Every effort made by myself or others to obtain help, has been thwarted in a man- ner apparently providential, and entirely beyond our control. All. has seemed to say, if I go to Africa, / must go alone. But, brother, it is well. I shall have none to lean upon but the missionary's God ; I trust I shall cleave the more closely to Him. His smiles, and the assurance of his protection, will be better than the society and aid of thousands. He can bring strength out of weakness, and give effi- ciency to things that are nought. True, it some- times looks dark to me, and seems impossible that I should accomplish any good ; but faith bids me hope that there is light ahead, and that, though 94 MEMOIR OF dark, the storm is not only directed by the same hand which has marked the coarse of a noon-day sun, but that it frequently accomplishes quite as much good. Abraham once went — he knew not where : — I will trust in Abraham's God. " I am now nearly ready, and the time of my de- parture is at hand. We are looking for the Jupiter, every moment, in which, God willing, I am expect- ing to take passage. She will touch here only long enough to take in a few emigrants, and some arti- cles for the Colonization Society ; and — we shall be on our way. " In haste, afieclionately, M." It should be understood, in explanation of part of this letter, that when he accepted, as he had done, (though the date is not given,) the appointment to the superintendency of the mission of the New York Young Men's So- ciety, (auxiliary to the Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church,) it was with the confident expectation that a companion would accompany him. That hope he aban- doned with reluctance. In some measure, he was relieved by the arrival of two young men from Princeton, appointed as missionaries to Africa by the Western Society. These were Presbyterians, but their denomination was no hindrance to the love and joy with which he received them. No consideration of that char- MELVILLE B. COX. 95 acter ever moved him to restrain either his respect for principles, or his atfection for men. Some of his expressions suggest, indeed, that he suspected this movement might have been quickened a good deal by the efforts of the Methodists. So far, it was a delightful confir- mation of the reasoning which he had loved to cherish in regard to the usefulness of his own mission, whatever otherwise its result. "If my move," he says, '■'■has done but this good, it is worth something. The Lord help us to help each other, as brethren of the same family ! " — a beautiful exemplification of his prevailing spirit. The prospect was darkened again by the death of Mr. 13arr, owlj a week subsequent to his having spoken at a public meeting of the free blacks of Nor- folk, at which Mr. Cox himself presided; and then once more came a reviving light from the north, in the intelligence of Bishop Bedding's appointment of Messrs. Spaulding and Wright, " to labor under my direction, in connection with me, at and near Liberia." This was an inexpressible consolation to him. He had dreaded at any time to go alone, only on the score of his want of strength to be suffi- cient, alone, for his work. He felt now secure on that point. And he felt also as if God had chosen this way of showing himself in the 96 MEMOIR OF 4- mission. He thought he saw why his own ef- forts to get company had been sulFered to fail. For the opposition, too, which he met with in his views of the propriety of the mission — a sincere opposition without doubt — he received something of an offset, in the sympathy ex- pressed by here and there a friend, of a spirit congenial with his own. The following lines, taken from the Richmond Christian Sentinel, are an example : TO THE KEV. MELVILLE B. COX, Methodist Missionary to Africa. Go ! child of the cross, to tliat distant land. Where the hurning sun tints the golden sand With its glowing beams; where the Niger rolls Its beautiful streams : — Go I friend of the souls Of Afric's children ; and teach them the way To approach thy God ; and how they should pray To the Spirit of Light, that He may impart Immortal joy to the heathen heart. Go ! and in sickness shall angels be near, To wipe from thy cheek eacli burninpj tear. Go ! and in danger thy God shall be nigh, And shall open the way to faith's bright eye. Go I and in death, — Oh that glorious hour For bursting the bonds of the tempter's ])ower, — The seraphs' harmonious numbers shall wake, On heavenly harps soft music to make, Around thy couch ; — and Afric's sons Shall bury thy corpse where some bright stream runs ; And the native children repeat their prayers Around thy grave ; and when evening stars f MELVILLE B. COX. 97 Ride bright through the sky, thy converts shall bow To the God of him of the sunny brow, Who led their children along in the way, From the ills of life, to eternal day. Go! — and when Gabriel's trump shall resound Through ocean's caves — when the solid ground Shall yield its dead, and the dread display Of the hosts of Heaven proclaim the Day, — Then rise with thy ransomed from that dim shore, To dwell with thy Saviour for evermore. About the same time, he was deeply touched by the receptiou of a very kind communication from Mrs. Sigourney, which, especiahy as it explains the whole matter in the best way for itself, we will not deny ourselves the pleasure of inserting at length : " Hartford, Sept. 21, 1832. Rev. and Dear Sir : — Seldom have I perused a letter that so strongly awakened my sympathies as yours, delineating the character of your beloved and departed wife. It reached me only last evening, and I hasten to reply, lest my compliance with your re- quest should prove too late for your purpose. The interval of almost three weeks, which has transpired between its date and my answer, has been princi- pally devoted to an absence from home, in a pursuit of health upon the sea-shore. I have seen your name in the public prints, announced as missionary elect to that suffering clime, where my heart has so many years lingered in painful pity, and in trem- 7 98 MEMOIR OF f bling hope. God be with you, white you bear the message of his mercy to mourning Africa, bereft of her children, and too long sorrowing like those who have no hope. The Redeemer of souls grant you strength to reap a full harvest in Liberia ; and from thence may his gospel go forth in brightness, until the whole of Ethiopia shall stretch forth her hands to God. That all your adversities and toils may be sanc- tified to your spiritual gain here, and made to en- hance your ' durable reward ' hereafter, is the prayer of yours. In tho faitb and liope of the gospel, L. H. SIGOURNEY. THE missionary's FAREAVELL AT THE GRAVE OF HIS WIFE. Once more, 'mid autumn's moaning blast, I seek thy narrow bed ; — And is this gusli of tears thclast, I o'er its turf may shed ? — Though seasons change, and years depart, Yet none shall here recline. To twine thy memory round his heart With such a love as mine. Bound to a suffering, heathen clime, For our Redeemer's sake. What tides of sympathy sublime At thy blest image wake ; — Thy tender care — thy fearless trust — Thy fond, confiding tone, — But what avails — since thou art dustj And I am all alone ! MELVILLE B. COX. 99 Thou too, dear infant, slumbering nigh, How beautiful vvert thou ! Thy mother's spirit in thine eye, Her smile upon thy brow ; — A little while, thy rose-bud light O'er my lone path was shed ; — A little ichile, — there came a blight, And thou art of the dead. I go ; — ni}' best beloved, farewell ! Borne o'er the trackless sea, "When its wild waves like mountains swell, Still shall 1 think of thee ; Thy meekness 'mid affliction's strife, Thy lifted glance of prayer. Thy firmness 'neath the storms of life. Shall be my pattern there. And when, o'er Afric's bleeding breast, The scorned of every shore, The chained, the trampled, the oppressed, Salvation's balm I pour, Thy zeal to spread a Saviour's name, Thy love with cloudless ray, Like ancient Israel's pillared flame. Shall cheer my pilgrim way. If toiling 'mid that sultry glade, The spoiler's call I hear. Or 'neath the palm trees' murmuring shade It hoarsely warns my ear, Oh ! may the faith that fired thine eye, 'Mid pangs untold and strong, My dying pillow hover nigh. And wake the triumph-song." 100 MEMOIR OF The first of November was the day appointed for the saiUng of the Jupiter, in which Mr. Cox had taken passage ; and pubHc prayers on board, with all other suitable preparations, were made accordingly. It was not, however, till the Gth, that they weighed anchor for the sea. There was time enough, meanwhile, for calm reflection. The journal acknowledges a "little sadness" at the thought of leaving country and home, but blesses God for the consolations excited by the thought of the fu- ture, and for a cheerful hope in His protection. Again, he says — " Many dangers have presented themselves for reflection this morning, and thought has suggested, as it frequently has, that the hope of life in Africa must he but as a dream. Perhaps so. In making up my mind, and in search of a passage to go out, I have followed the best light I could obtain. I nowr leave it all with God. My life, my soul, my all, I renewedly resign to him. I believe he careth for me. Wliy should I doubt but that he will do all things well ? " * *" *" "^ " When I think of the responsibility I have taken upon me, where I am, and where I am going to, I am surprised. Something beyond nature, it does seem to me, must have moved my heart to the work, and sustained me under the undertaking, or I should not be where I am. The Lord knoweth. I MELVILLE B. COX. 101 pray that he may support me. Never before did I need it so much. Never before did I stand in so responsible a connection to the church. God help me to do honor to him, and justice to the cause in which I am engaged." On the 10th, several hundred miles out, and after severe sickness, he writes — " Liberia has seemed sweeter, in my contempla- tions of yesterday and to-day, than ever. I hope — oh, I do hope, that I may yet live there to do them much good." On the 19th, "dreadfully sick," and so weak as scarcely to be able to walk, he says — " I pray God to sustain me. I want at least to tread on the soil of Africa — to inhale its air ; and I would that I could be spared at least long enough to see the mission fairly established. " O God, look on me in love and in mercy. Re- member how frail I am, and lift up both my body and soul to praise thee." The following striking passage occurs on the 24th : " Appearances of the weather a little more favora- ble. Sweet peace within me this morning. God is good. In the midst of this watery world — these mighty winds and this trembling sea — my mind has 102 MEMOIR OF been greatly comforted. Heavenly suggestions have occurred to me, and, in view of the work, I have been enabled to commit everything to God, without perturbation. • I praise God for his mercy. My heart cries out for more of his love, and more of his abiding presence. I want to breathe in him — to feel that my very breath is prayer, and communion with God. " My mind is planning for the good of my mis- sion. A mission-house, a school, and a farm con- nected with it, and finally an academy, rise up in perspective before me. Hope stops not here. Young converts, churches, circuits, stations, and conferences, I trust, will yet be seen in Liberia." What a situation for the encouragement of thoughts like these ! On the 27th, the storm raged high, and he was compelled to take refuge in his berth. He writes — " When has my heart been so much comforted as this morning? God has been very gracious to me. He hath not dealt with me according to my sins. He hath been very gracious and kind, condescended to my weakness, made to my poor heart such heav- enly and consoling suggestions, as none but a being of infinite goodness could make. Oh that I may ap- preciate his mercy. Lord, help me. I want to do right. I want to be holy. Fit me in soul and body for the great work to which I trust Thou hast called me." MELVILLE B. COX. 103 This spirit generally pervades his reflec- tions, — quickened, doubtless, by the salutary influence which he believed himself to be feel- ing in his frame, from the voyage. On the 15th of December, having now been out the unusual time of six weeks, without making the land they had reason to look for long be- fore, and having suffered exceedingly from sea-sickness and rough weather, (not to dwell upon some inconveniences of which we have concluded that a sketch may as well be spared,) his expressions are thus strong : " I thank God for the consolations of his grace which I this morning feel in my heart. It is sweet — oh ! it is sweet, to my lonely heart. Afar from all that nature holds dear, in the midst of a boundless ■ocean, and among sinners who care but little for God or their own souls, it is sweet — oh ! it is sweet, to feel that God is with you, and that his Holy Spirit is within you. Such, I trust, are my feelings this morning. O God, take care of me. Let me not sin against thee, nor do anything that will grieve thy Spirit, or cause it for one moment to leave me to myself." And the next day, after a religious service on deck — " I know not when I have engaged my mind bet- ter, for the same length of time, than since I left 104 MEMOIR OF land. This evening', in particular, I feel sweet peace, and even joy. I am greatly comforted. The Lord be praised. He has condescended to all my weaknesses, granted me heavenly suggestions in hours of trials, and borne up my mind in its loneli- ness, and the weakness and sickness of my body, in a manner almost beyond hope. Oh ! I do pray for a grateful heart, and an unreserved dedication of all I have to Christ and his cause." Occasionally, the scene around him was de- lightfully in unison with these feelings. On the 19th, he says — " It is a lovely morning. Spring was never more bland. The sea is lulled to a calm ; a light breeze is bearing us along about three knots an hour ; a few clouds are floating in the atmosphere, tinged with all the softness and mellowness of a May or June morning ; and everything, on which the eye can rest, seems in perfect harmony with the scene." But laud was still hidden behind the deep blue swell of the eastern sea, though it re- mained for days so calm that the slightest boat might ride it with safety ; and the listless crew could find no employment but to scatter them- selves about the sunny deck, mending the sails, while the captain painted the long-boat, and the mate, for his amusement below, idled his *' watch " away in adorning the cover of his MELVILLE B. COX. 105 "log" with the draft of an American eagle. The number of the ship's company, we might have before remarked, was fifty-four, includ- ing thirty-nine emigrants, and one passenger, (Mr. Willis,) with Mr. Cox, in the cabin. His communication with these people helped to pass the time ; and it is curious, how, under such circumstances, the mind busies itself with the trifling incidents of the voyage, magnify- ing them into events^ and working out of them tissues of thought that invest more or less the reflections of days. These, however, are of little interest to those who read. They are scarcely concerned to discuss the luminous phenomena of the waves, or to moralize on the spouting of a troop of whales, the dropping of a weary sea-bird on the deck, the evolutions of a flock of flying fish, or the passage of a squadron of the beautiful nautiluses, (Portu- guese men-of-war the sailors call them,) with their delicately-colored little sails run up, and spread out to the breeze of the morning. At length, early on the 24th, all hands were roused by the cry of land, dimly discerned, or thought to be, at a great distance, but not fairly ascertained till the 27th, when they put into Port Praya, or St. Jago, one of the Cape de Verds. Here was the melancholy sight of the poor natives, still perishing daily with 106 MEMOIR OF famine, although two vessels, laden witli stores, had arrived from America. INIr. Cox was re- freshed with the feeling of the soil once more, after being deprived of it for over fifty days, and with the society of the American Consul, (with whom he dined,) and some other coun- trymen. They sailed again on the first day of the new year, passing for hours along under the banks of the beautiful island of Mayo. On the 8th, the African coast was made, at Cape Verd. The next day, they put into Goree, but without remaining long, ran down the coast to the Gambia, with a fine breeze, in sight all the way of the green and gentle undulations of the shore, everywhere spot- ted with splendid palm-trees, and presenting to the eye of the missionary, who now hailed it as his home, the most interesting and lovely aspect. On the 12th, they made their way up the noble stream of the Gambia, and an- chored off the English town of Bathurst, on the Isle of St. Mary's. Here they remained a week, and ample opportunities were enjoyed for exploring the country, which, it will be seen, were improved diligently by Mr. Cox. His acquaintance here with the governor's chaplain, and especially with Mr. Moister, the Wesleyan missionary, proved a source of equal benefit and pleasure. Here he preached to MELVILLE B, COX. 107 heathen, strictly, for the first time in his Hfe, with an interpreter's aid, and having a house nearly filled with an audience as attentive as civilized congregations generally are, and some of them deeply serious. This service, as well as his conversations with the Mohamme- dan priests who came to see him, moved him in the liveliest manner. He left Bathurst on the whole greatly encouraged, and with a de- cidedly improved opinion even of the African climate. He commenced studying the Man- dingo language as soon as they put to sea again, though still suffering from the motion of the ship. They were driven off" to a great distance from the land, by terrible gales, con- tinuing for days ; but his heart "■ was fixed." " I know not," he says, " when I have felt such strong desires to be wholly given up to the work of the ministry — to be entirely freed from selfish views and selfish feelings in my labor — as now. I believe I never have been stronger, since the commencement of my ministry. My cry to God is that my whole soul may be absorbed in the work committed to my charge, and that I may do justice to my mission. Many of my brethren, though they did not directly say so to me, thought, I am sure, that my ap- pointment was a very injudicious one. I am not surprised at it. In human view it did look like ' the day of small things.' But, I bless God, faith 168 MEMOIR OF taught me that He, through the weakest instru- ments, could accomplish his greatest purposes. Be the consequences what they may, I never was surer of anything of the kind, than I am that the provi- dence of God has led me here. I have seen his hand in it, or I do not know it Avhen seen. Oh, I trust the result will prove to the world, and to my brethren, that weak as I am, feeble and worn out as I am, the Lord hath something yet for me to do in his church." The next time they made land, it was in the dark of the morning, and so closely under the coast, that there was just room to swing off, after hastily casting the anchor. Luckily, they got clear with only the loss of one of the captain's ostriches, which jumped overboard in the alarm. Of this shore he says : " Its appearance is beautiful — hilly, and delight- fully verdant, hideed, the land on the Avhole coast, so far as we have run it down, has the appearance of a healthy and fertile country, as inviting to man as any part of America. My fond hopes may all be disappointed, but it would not surprise me, if in half a century, Africa were to show herself as far ih the advancement of civilization, religion and learning, as America in the same space of time ; nay, I doubt if she does not equal anything in the history of the rise of nations. She has slum- bered long, but the hidden waters have been gather- MELVILLE B. COX. 109 ing Strength. Genius will burst forth, and grow, with the luxuriance of the trees of her own forests." He passed next hy the De Las islands, a charming group, stretching high up from the sea, and everywhere covered with verdure and abundance of trees. The sim now was for the first time oppressive, in the African sense, and the voyage became rather, as he calls it, a school of patience ; the more so that he knew himself to be so near to the destination he was still so slow to reach. The 29th, at last, found them moored off Sierra Leone. Here he was destined to spend a month, making four, at his departure, since hauling off in the stream at Norfolk. Mr. Moister had given him letters to his reverend brother Ritchie, who, with his colleague, treated him very kindly during his stay here, most of which seems to have been at the Mission-House. A good deal of useful infor- mation concerning the country and the natives was gathered here, and some progress made in collecting the facilities for studying the dia- lects, in which he was particularly indebted to Mr. Raban, the Church missionary, whose establishment he visited at Foiu'ah Bay. On his passage down the coast, the captain was taken sick, entirely disabled, and even deliri- ous. Mr. Cox, (who had no especial cause to 110 MEMOIR OF be personally attached to him,) attended him anxiously during his illness, acted as his phy- sician, and had the pleasure of seeing him the better for his treatment. At the same time, he aided the mate in taking his " observations," and otherwise made himself of service. His anxiety now hourly increased, as the journal shows. It illustrates also his first impressions of the colony, with some of his plans, and the energy with which he set himself to his icork : " At twelve, took another observation. Accord- ing- to mine, we are eight miles north of our long looked-for port. The mate made it one more. I have perhaps never felt more anxiety to be on shore than now. The sight of the bay, and the thoughts of my mission here, have awakened within me a degree of impatience to be where I ought to have been months ago. But, if a fault, it is not mine. Eight or wrong, I believe God will overrule the whole for the good of his cause, in which I trust I am engaged. " Half past three : — I have seen Liberia, and live. It rises up, as yet, but like a cloud of heaven. " Friday, March 8. — Thank God, I am now at Liberia. We anchored off the town last evening, about ten o'clock. This morning, about eight, I came on shore. The governor received me kindly, and I am now at Rev. Brother Finney's room, where I am to tarry till farther provisions arc made for me. MELVILLE B. COX. Ill " Captain Peters is quite ill ; and my care of him, and loss of rest and sleep, have made me quite in- disposed. " Saturday, 9. — Rev. Brother Williams, the act- ing governor of the colony, has very kindly given me up his own room, until I can obtain a house. The governor bids me board with him. Sunday, 10. — I can scarcely realize that I have attended church in Liberia, and heard the gospel where, twelve years since, were heard only the shouts of the pagan, or perhaps the infidel prayers of the mussulman. But why wonder ? God's light and truth have long since received that divine im- petus which will stop only with the conversion of a world. " Tuesday, 12. — I love Liberia more than ever. It is humble in its appearance, compared with Ba- thurst and Free Town ; its buildings are smaller, and have less neatness, less taste, and less comfort about them. But, after all, I doubt if this be a real fault. The emigrants were mostly poor on their arrival, and necessity, in the true spirit of the pil- grims of New England, as the mother of virtue, compelled them to be economical. Time and in- dustry will remedy the evil, if evil it be. The great question is — Is there a good foundation ? are there resozirces in Liberia for a great and growing republic ? I have no doubt of it. There is, how- ever, much yet to be done. We need missions — missions by white men here. We need, too, schools, ITSi MEMOIR OF and 7ohite teachers in them. Should a gracious God spare my life, I propose — " 1. To establish a mission at Grand Bassa, to connect with it a school, and to give the care of both into the hands of a local preacher who has just arrived from Virginia. " 2. To establish the ' New York Mission ' at Sego, on the Niger. Our brother, to get there, must go by the way of the Gambia river. He can ascend this river within ten days' walk of the Tanen. At Tenda, Mr. Grant, a merchant at Bathurst, on the Gambia, and a great friend of the Methodists, has a factory ; and by the time our missionary can get there, he will have another at Sego. " 3. I want to establish a school here, which will connect with it agriculture and art. I propose the Maine Wesleyan Seminary as a model, as near as may be. There should be a large farm. This, in a few years, would support the whole school. There must also be shoemakers, tanners, blacksmiths, car- penters, &c. The native children must be taken and boarded, kept entirely clear from their parents or associates, and bound to the school until they are eighteen or twenty-one. " 4. I have another mission on my mind, either for the interior or at Cape Mount. I am not yet satisfied which is the better place. " I have purchased a mission house at Monrovia, for which I shall draw on the Society for five hun- dred dollars. It has connected with it considerable MELVILLE B. COX. 113 land, left by the devoted Ashmun for missionary purposes. I consider the purchase as particularly providential, and worth, at least, to the mission, a thousand dollars." The house mentioned above was one which, with the land around it, had been left by Mr. Ashmun to the Basle Mission. This had been transferred to Sierra Leone, where Mr. Cox had met their agent, and negotiated with him conditionally. He considered his bargain ju- dicious, inasmuch as the house cost three times as much as he gave for it, and would be neces- sary for himself, as boarding was out of the question, even if no other missionaries should follow him. He began living in it, accord- ingly, on the 21st, though in rather humble style, having at that time no bedstead, nor a single thing to cook with, nor anything to cook but half a barrel of flour, which he purchased. He now considered himself in better health than he had been for months ; and as late as April 4th, four weeks from his landing, his opinion was the same. Meanwhile he had spared himself but little. He had visited and carefully examined the Sunday schools; com- municated in private freely with many of his brethren of the church ; set in motion at Cald- well the first camp-meeting, probably, that 114 MEMOIR OF ever was known on the continent ; attended to special appointments of fasting, thanksgiving and prayer ; and called together two Confer- ences, for the transaction of the important business of his mission. This was in addition to all his private labors. Unusual anxiety and exertion also were attached to the affairs discussed by the Conference. We need not here enlarge upon them. It is sufficient to ob- serve, that, while it was voted to receive Mr. Cox in the capacity of his appointment, the Conference refused, by one or two votes, to adopt what he considered an indispensable re- formatory regulation, intended to prevent, for the future, the administration of the holy sa- crament by any persons not authorized so to do, regularly, by the regular Episcopacy of the parent church in America. This point, however, could not be yielded, in the opinion of Mr. Cox ; and he pressed it so efficiently, and at the same time in such a spirit, that at another meeting, soon after, of preachers and people, which was cogently addressed by him- self, "the result," as he expresses it, "was of God," for almost all present gave in their names. Meanwhile, he had convened a, vigor- ous Sunday school meeting : this gave the cause an impulse, and the next Sabbath, he began himself with a school of 70 children, MELVILLE B. COX. 115 with appearances "warranting high hopes of the result." But here he was destined to sus- pend his labors. The influence of the climate, which perhaps his very solicitude and occupa- tion had parried for a while, was probably ag- gravated by them in fact ; and the first out- breaking, when his chief troubles were just over, was severe in proportion. He felt the African fever on the 12th of the month, for the first time, and it almost immediately struck through his whole system. For twelve days it kept him on his bed ; and it was not till the 27th that he was able to walk a few steps in his room. He now experienced in his own person the benefit of his medical science ; the doctor visited him but twice. He took cold, however, by damp clothes or otherwise, and grew weak again. Death had visited the houses around him ; the periodical rains were setting in ; the governor and doctor were both confined to their beds ; and now, (it is not to be wondered at,) ^'- Ids eye began to turn to the grave.'' ^ " But," he adds, " if I gain heaven — if, after all, I get where Jesus is — it will be enough ; — it will be enough. I shall see him as he is. Nor pain nor death will be there. I commend to him my body and my spirit ; his they are." ll§ MEMOIR OF If he felt a little solitary, or even "a lit- tle sad," in his present situation, it were no great marvel. It was a most melancholy time around him, especially among his fellow emi- grants. The colonists were probably disposed to look rather coldly on the coming of a white man, to rule over them, especially with re- forming authority ; and much cordiality, even in his sickness, was hardly to be expected from them. A nurse, meanwhile, could not be had much of the time, for love or money. The rains kept everything gloomy outside, and eve- rything damp within ; and his house was not as yet furnished with so much as a chimney. That, suifering the pains of a fever the while, he could be at ease under such circumstances, speaks something for the power of the prayer of the righteous man ; for this was his consola- tion. "Most of the day, yesterday, I spent in breathing my soul out to God, either to be restored to usefulness, or fitted for heaven ; and to-day I feel that it has not been in vain. This evening, my soul has been much comforted." On the 11th of May, previous to which he had what he calls " another fall-back," with se- verer chills than he had before known, he ex- presses himself as folloAvs : " Oh ! sweet, sweet has been this morning to my soul. Such a morning I have not seen, in all my MELVILLE B. COX. 117 sickness in Africa. For eight years past, God hath chastened me with sickness and suffering ; but this morning, I see and feel that it has been done for my good. Infinite mercy saw that it was necessary, and perhaps the only means to secure my salvation. Through it all I have passed many a storm, many temptations ; but this morning, doubts and fears have been brushed away. My soul was feasted ' while it was yet dark.' When no eye could see but his, and no ear hear my voice but his, I had those feelings, that made pain sweet, and suffering as though I suffered not. Yes, I can never forget this blessed Saturday morning." Some days after this, he began to feel better, but "hardly dared to express it." He derived much pleasure from an occasional call of Mr. Pinney, whom (a Presbyterian) he invited, in the absence of any regularly ordained elder, to preach and administer the holy sacrament, for his people. Some of the neighbors now began to show him a good deal of kind attention : their prejudice was removed and changed into admiration and love, as they became better in- formed of his character : and they brought and sent him the little delicacies which the place afforded. This faculty of making friends he felt the benefit of, even in the acquaintance of an intelligent young Krooman, whom he had conversed with a little on the day of his leav- 118 MEMOIR OF ing the Jupiter. The good fellow frequently afterwards came "to see how he do." He called during his sickness, expressing great so- licitude for him. " Suppose me no poor man," he said, "then me bring you fowl — me bring you sheep, to make soup — so you get well ; but me have none ; me want to see you — so me come." He then added, with evident emotion, " when me go home, me beg God that he make you well ! " The idea of this poor fellow, whom many considered beyond the power of the gos- pel, going home to pray God for his recovery, was a ^Wepasf to the soul of the sick man. Another incident gratified him much. This was the reformation, as he believed, of the col- ored boy he had purchased at Baltimore, and brought with him to the colony. The conduct of the lad, at times, had tried him sorely. At Norfolk, he had been detected in stealing, un- der aggravated circumstances; and then he was strongly tempted to abandon him to his fate. He concluded, however, that he could take as good care of him as anybody else, and perhaps better ; and that he was, in some sort, responsible for him : — he kept him, therefore. At Sierra Leone, he made great trouble again, by going to the authorities, and making false representations of his relation to. his benefactor. He had patience with him still, and now re- MELVILLE B. COX. 119 joiced the more over the repentance which had been wrought in him at the Caldwell meeting. It matters not, he says, how he has treated me ; it is enough if God has forgiven him and saved him. A somewhat similar evidence of his kind and tender disposition appeared not long after, on the occasion of the death of a next door neighbor of his, with his wife — probably fel- low emigrants — leaving one little orphan boy, of six years old, to the mercy of the world. " He is a fine little boy (colored,) and as he has no one to take him in, I have offered him a home for a while ; and should I think it the will of God, after reflection, / intend to take him and educate him, as a child of mine. I know what it is to have been an orphan. I pray God to help me to train him up in his fear." This was one of the last acts of the life of Cox, and it was beautifully characteristic of the man. A house-keeper he had hired, at this time, was sick; and her little boy was the only person about him, to make him now and then a cup of tea ; and when he was able to eat, to boil him the rice, which, with a little palm-oil, composed his frugal meal. The poor mission-house, in a heavy rain, " looked as if tubs of water had been poured into one room." It began also to be infested with some of the 120 MEMOIR OF vermin of the climate. In reaching for a book from a slielf, about this time, he started a scor- pion with his finger. The house-species have not generally a fatal sting, though this animal made attempts to infuse his poison, such as it was, by the vigorous management oi liis. On the 21st, Mr. Pinney, having resolved on returning to America till the end of the rains, came in to take leave of his sick friend. This visit suggested, for the second time, (according to the journal.) the idea of his own return, upon the same plan. He appears to have thought over the matter, but, on the Avhole, did not feel justified in taking that course. Had his brethren joined him, any of them, he would have felt at liberty to do so : as it was, he considered it his duty to maintain his post, as well and as long as he might. The trial was the greater, as he now saw the greatness of the work to be done around him. " There is labor in Africa," he says, "for thousands;" and he had a firmer belief than ever in the prac- ticability of performing it. Many were discour- aged as to missions among the natives ; but he had seen and heard, with his own eyes and ears, the effects of faithful labors on the banks of the Gambia ; and he kneio, also, without such facts, he says, that Africa must be re- deemed, and that there was power in the gos- MELVILLE B. COX. 121 pel to do it. The obstacles, which seemed to some men as a lion in the way, were to him ajs a "spider's web." In this faith he ap- parently continued unfaltering to the last. As long as any strength remained, he continued to use it, as well as he could, in the prosecu- tion of his work. His anxieties in regard to the movements he was compelled to suspend, may be inferred, but of them he has said little ; his great purpose now was to possess his soul in patience. He busied himself, at intervals, in making, or trying to make, some arrange- ments for the improvement of the mission- grounds, but could do but little. Little more, indeed, remained for him to do. His career was drawing rapidly to its close. On the 27th of May, the next day after the adoption of the little orphan, he was taken down with a bilious attack, more violent than any which had preceded it. On the 28th, he says, "I am very weak. I pray God to pre- serve me. Never did I feel the need of his aid more — perhaps never so much." Then it came on again, racking him through and tlirough. And now the records of his journal grow few and far between ; and the characters of the only two pages which remain, for the last two months of his life, are tremulously traced, with fingers whose every movement 122 MEMOIR OF told but too plainly how the yet lingering vigor of a once iron constitution had retreated from its dismantled and tottering extremities for- ever. We copy the whole ; for feeble, and al- most illegible as it is, it breathes, to the last pulses of weary thought, the spirit of the in- flexible christian soldier, who had set up long before, for his dying mottoes — '^ Never give np the mission / " and, ^^ Africa must be redeemed^ though thousands perish ! " " Wednesday, June 19, — My fever has left me a mere shadow — perhaps I shall soon be but a spirit. I am content. God has graciously supported me. I have been much comforted. God is my rock — Christ my salvation — the Holy Spirit my sanctifier — and a triune God my eternal all. " Friday, 21. — I still grow more feeble. This morning-, my stomach seems too irritable for any- thing. It is all well. Nature dies, but I shall live again. I think I feel patience, peace, and resigna- tion. " To-day, I expect the governor to make a few arrangements in my business. My brethren ought to have been here, to have relieved me from it. " Sunday, 23. — My poor body is emaciated to a degree never before known. My first fever was very violent, and ten or twelve days long, and re- duced me much ; my second, which was short, but no less violent, helped it on ; but my third, which MELVILLE B. COX. 123 has been more violent and longer than either, has left me mere skin and bones. Every day tells me the chances are against me. But why write it ? God I know is doing all things well. This is enough. " Wednesday, 26. — It is now four days since I have seen a physician. The Governor is confined to his room. My fever was dreadfully high last night. This morning, I feel as feeble as mortality can well. To God I commit all." Two days previous to the date of the last entry, he had affixed his signature to a paper intended as a codicil to a will formerly drawn up at Norfolk, and forwarded to Maine. This was confirmatory of the disposition of his little property there indicated, with a few trifling ad- ditions, including the bequest of a pair of maps to the Sabbath and parish school lately under his charge, and the distribution of a few me- morials among his relatives. From the com- munication of his friends Gripon and Ward, to whom he entrusted the care of this document, it appears that by a later verbal request, he directed a similar disposal of his watch, his desk, and a lock of his own hair, together with a lock which they say they "found bound with riband," his mother's miniature, and a ring of gold from the Gambia. He lingered, 124 MEMOIR OF but it would appear in little more than a merely vital condition for the most part, im- til three o'clock on the morning of Sunday the 21st of July, when he calmly ceased to breathe. Some additional particulars, in regard to the closing scene, are conveyed in the following letter from Mr. Savage, the missionary, pub- lished in the Maine Wesleyan Journal. We insert it entire. " Monrovia, July 22, 1833. Dear Sir : — As you wish to know of the last mo- ments of Br. Cox, though I had intended to write to the editor of the Journal, I now put in your posses- sion all I know of the conversation we had, trusting that you will not fail to give all you deem important to his bereaved and mourning friends. When I first came on shore, having a package for him, I took an early opportunity to call, having previously under- stood that he was low with sickness. At my call he seemed highly gratified, and spoke with freedom and apparent ease on all subjects connected with the mission. He expressed his regret that the assistant missionaries had not arrived, and mourned over the low state of Zion in this place. I inquired of him if he intended to return to America ; he seemed to hesitate in his answer, and said he did not know. He was at this time quite cheerful, and his nurse informed me that he appeared much better than he MELVILLE B. COX. 125 really was, probably owing to his having heard from America, as I was the bearer of a letter from the Eev. Mr. Drake, of New Orleans. The next time I called, he appeared to have thought more of return- ing home ; and when he found that I intended to return, he expressed his regret, urging the necessity of laborers in this part of the vineyard. At this time I supposed it necessary for me to return, but after visiting Millsburgh I came to a different conclusion. Before I left, when speaking of the probability of returning home, he said he thought he should return with Capt. Abels, but still appeared low in spirits. When endeavoring to ascertain the cause of it, and asking him if he enjoyed his mind, he said, though depressed, he knew not that he had ever doubted his acceptance with God ; he had long since made a covenant v^^ith him, and did not distrust his mercy, but had sometimes doubted whether he was in his proper sphere. ' Though,' said he, ' I know I had good motives in coming to Africa, yet- 1 may have erred in judgment, for even the best may some- times err.' He further said — ' I have strong attach- ments in America.' He spoke with emphasis on all subjects connected with his mission, especially the schools, one of which was about commencing at Grand Bassa ; and seemed much to lament that the teacher had not arrived for this place. The above is the tenor of his conversation. About this time I left for Millsburgh, and was absent about three days. On my return I found him much worse, having taken a 126 MEMOIR OF relapse ; and although I had made my arrangements to return in the same boat in which I came down, having made up my mind to stay in Africa, yet at his request I dismissed the boat, concluding to remain until Monday, it being Saturday morning. At this time he was very weak and unable to say but a few words at a time ; still he seemed anxious to return home, and spoke of it, but at the same time appeared resigned, and seemed conscious of the probable near- ness of his death. He also said everything was arranged, and though I frequently asked him if there was not some person whom he wished to see, he uniformly said everything was arranged. He also said his whole trust was in God. Mentioning the infinite love and condescension of the Lord Jesus, in giving himself a ransom for his rebellious and guilty creatures, he added, ' all my hope is through him.' When near his last, and unable to speak so as to be understood, except in monosyllables, he again said — 'I am not afraid to die.' This was pronounced at intervals of some length, and with much exertion. Though from the nature of his disease respiration was very difficult, and he apparently suffering much, yet he uniformly said he was in no pain. Soon after, he appeared engaged in prayer, and then articulated several times in succession — ' Come ' — a considerable pause succeeding, leaving the inference that he re- peated the whole sentence — ' Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly.' Reviving a little, he pronounced dis- tinctly, 'Pen,' which I immediately stepped to get; MELVILLE B. COX. 127 but he, supposing I did not understand him, said, ' Ink,' — both of which I brought to his bedside, but he was so overcome by this last exertion, that he could say nothing more except at intervals — 'Come.' This was about one o'clock. About three he turned on his side and seemed easy ; his nurse thought best not to disturb him, as he had frequently given direc- tions when he was easy not to be disturbed. But his ease was the moment of his departure. The conflict now closed, and he breathed forth his soul into the arms of his Redeemer, leaving Africa and his christian friends to mourn their loss, though infi- nitely his gain. Your affectionate brother in the Lord, A. W. SAVAGE." Such was the life, and such the death, of the first Methodist missionary from America to Africa. His remains were solemnly inter- red, with more than ordinary marks of atten- tion ; for he had been long enough already in the land of his adoption, brief as his stay was on its shores, to win the warm regard of all who knew him. Where he was buried, we have not asked ; nor whether so much as a stone points to the place where the lips of the preacher of glad tidings are silent, and the bones that ached so long shall ache no more. It matters but little. He thought so himself of the graves of the good men who fell at Ba- 128 MEMOIR OF COX. thurst, when, looking for one of them in vain, he discovered another ahnost screened from sight by the sprouts of the mangroves, and lifted the rank fohage from the mouldering bricks that covered his body, and could not repress the reflection that "Ae too might find a bed on African soil." It matters but little. Let but the good be done which he hoped for, even from his death, and it will be monument enough. Let but the sacred dust that lies in Liberian ground speak — as to his own soul the tombs of Bathurst, in their cold solitude, cried out — and the work to which he " thirsted" for the winds to waft him, and which alone he could weep to leave undone, will be finished. The living will rush to the help of the dead, whose voices issue from many a holy mound, that needs no marble for its lips. The gospel will be preached ; and the truth of God will go forth conquering from sea to sea. Then will the monument, which Cox himself would have chosen, be reared to his memory, and to the memory of all who went before him and shall follow him; for "Africa tvill be re- deemed." REMAINS OF COX REMAINS. The Sketches of Western Africa, which we insert first among the following Remains of Cox, were composed on the ground which they describe, and in the midst of all the cir- cumstances of difficulty which every reader will infer, even from the little that appears on the subject in the preceding memoir. Still, they will be found intrinsically interesting, as well as characteristic of the writer ; and not the less so from the fact that the region refer- red to, however much the object of attention in our day, has, for various reasons, been suf- fered, by the few intelligent travellers who have visited its shores, to remain almost as much in obscurity as though civilization and Christianity had not only made no inroads as yet on the domains of its barbarism, but were apparently destined to make none for a long period to come. Such, however, is certainly 132 REMAINS OF not the belief of the religious world, at least. Their interest in Africa has not been extin- guished by the loss of a few of the champions of the Cross. That sacrifice has hallowed the ground, rather, and will hallow it, we trust, more and more, in the hearts of all who put their faith in the promises of God, and in the prevalence of his gospel. SKETCHES OF WESTERN AFRICA. rORT PRAYA. Port Praya is situated at the south-east part of St. Jago, in latitude 15-^ north, on a table-emi- nence of land, about seventy or a hundred feet above the level of the sea. The town — or city, as it is called — is surrounded at a distance by mountains without number, thrown into every variety of form which a bursting volcano could give to an uplifting mass of earth. To me, the appearance of the place is perfectly unique. There is nothing analogous to it in the United States ; and to an American who has never been out of them, all descriptions of it must be more or less deceptive. Search for the poorest litde vil- lage on our rivers, or in some of our farthest Avilder- nesses, nay, I might say, by the side of a good mill- MELVILLE B. COX. 133 Stream, and in appearance it would have by far the pre-eminence. When you enter the village, there is something a little redeeming about it ; the sight of what is called the public square, and a garden or two, make it quite tolerable ; but at best, to use the homely phrase of our supercargo, " it is a beggarly place." In the harbor, it strikes one as nothing but ancient ruins crumbling under the weight of years. In its midst, you see it animated with human beings, too ignorant to make it better if they would, and too indolent to do it if they could. Still, as a port for water and refreshment for ships, it is one of great importance, and seems to have been thrown from the bottom of the great deep, as a com- mon resting place for vessels from every quarter of the globe, by that Hand which so constantly and so abundantly provides for the wants of his creatures. The buildings are generally remarkably low, built of a dark colored kind of free-stone, stuccoed with plaster, and covered with tile, or thatched with grass. The number of inhabitants is estimated at from two to three thousand. It has a church, a custom-house, a jail, and a " palace," as it is called, though less like one than almost any ordinary house in America. Religion here, as in countries in general exclusive- ly Catholic, consists in mere ceremony. I saw nothing that looked like the gospel in church or out of it, except in a few gentlemen from America. The Sabbath has but little respect paid to it, though on that day they profess to worship God ; but morning, 134 REMAINS OF noon, and evening, the market was open ; and hides, horses, and clothes, as well as provisions, were exposed for sale. Form obliges them not to forget that there is such a day, but when it comes, instead of the evangelical worship of a holy and intelligent Spirit, you see nothing but the show of military parade, and the merest mummeries to which a ration- al being could stoop. At nine o'clock, the Sabbath I passed there, the bell rang, the drums beat, and the fife blew, and in a few minutes his excellency and suit were escorted to a neat little church by a company of soldiers, with a " pomp of circumstance," which, to a dissen- ter, was really pitiable, if not ridiculous. They were soon followed by some eight or ten gentlemen and ladies, and perhaps tw^enty or thirty of the poor- er classes of society, making in all about forty-five or fifty. This was all the congregation, out of a population of twenty-five hundred. When comfort- ably seated, at a heavy tap of the drum, all fell on their knees, while the fife continued to play, and the drum to beat. The devotions lasted from fifteen to twenty minutes, and consisted only of kneeling twice, making a (ew crosses, a little tattooing with the drum, an air from the fife, and about a dozen words from the priest. I am not sure but that while we were kneeling, the holy sacrament was administered to his Excellency and suit. But such an exhibition of Christianity I never saw before, and hope never to see again. Men of common sense MELVILLE B. COX. 135 cannot believe in such nonsense ; and viewed in the most charitable light, I believe it is only made a step- ping-stone to further the designs of a set of men whose only object is self-indulgence and a lordly pre-eminence over their fellow beings. I do not believe they either know or fear God. How much they love their fellow beings, their recent interest for the dying will tell. This is the place where, a few years since, " his Holiness " ordered a public bonfire to be made of some Bibles, which had very kindly been sent out to them by the American Bible Society. What greater proof can be given to the world, that Papists are wrong, and that they know it ? Else why fear they the light of the word of God ? Our stay was too short on the island to become familiar with the manners and customs of the people ; but we were there long enough to witness some of the sufferings which this group of islands has recently experienced. They are not yet at an end. They are still dying daily, and some of the poor I saw picked up by the limbs, as a butcher's boy would pick up a slaughtered sheep, carried through the street without even a " grave-cloth," and buried as you would bury a horse or a dog. Famine is sweeping over these little " specks on the ocean," with far more fearfulness than has the cholera in America. Not less than thirty-three thousand, out of a population of one hundred thou- sand, have perished within the last twelve months ; 136 REMAINS OF and the prospect of any relief from the produce of their own country is still very dubious. A vessel from Portland, and another from Philadelphia, we heard had just arrived, laden entirely with provisions for the dying. They will be as life to the dead. What we had was but little among thousands, but it will no doubt save the lives of some. The scenes of wretchedness, as pictured by those who had witnessed it at Antonio, Bravo, and Togo, are beyond description. At St. Jago there was but little of it, comparatively, except from those who flocked there for relief from the other islands. Those of them who still lived were grouped together in a large yard, under the direction of the police, or the American consul, and fed from provisions which our country has so kindly sent to them. The scene was an affecting one. Here and there I was pointed to little orphan children, who had neither father, mother, brother, nor sister left. Some of them were sitting on the ground, with a little gar- ment thrown over them to screen them from the harmattan winds — which were then blowing very coldly — so far gone as to be entirely insensible of what was passing around them, and as if patiently waiting for death to relieve them from their suffer- ings. Others were walking as mere skeletons on earth, crying with piteous moans for " bread," but whose stomachs, when supplied, were grown too weak to derive any nourishment from it. Mothers, with nothing but skin and bones themselves, were MELVILLE B. COX. 137 bowing and courtesy ing for a copper to buy some- thing for their children, with an importunity that might move a stone. Such a sight I had never before witnessed, and it has left an impression which cannot be forgotten. But God is just and good. Sin, sin, hath done it all. Mercy has cried to heaven for the rod of correction, and mercy and love, though unseen to us, are directing and measuring its stripes. The misery of these poor little children is only preparatory for a bliss where death and want are unknown, or designed impressively to teach them, and a guilty world, that this is not the home of man. The weather was not so intensely hot while we were on the island as has generally been represented. Most of the time it was pleasantly cool ; sometimes too much so for comfort ; and no day, I believe, was the thermometer above summer heat at noon. BATHURST. Bathurst is a beautiful little village on the south side of the river Gambia, about ten miles from its mouth, and in between 13 and 14° north latitude. It is situated on a little island called the St. Mary's, which is separated from the main land only by a very nar- row creek. The soil is evidently alluvial ; the island rather barren, from four to five miles in length, and perhaps two in breadth. The town receives its name, I believe, from an English lord, who possibly 138 REMAINS OF rendered it some assistance in the early history of the place. Like English settlements in general, it is well for- tified with a fort on the island, and protected by another about three miles below, which might easily be made strong enough to command the whole mouth of the river. The appearance of the village is almost enchanting to one who has seen little else than a wide waste of waters for more than two months. The European houses, though few, are well built, handsomely finished and furnished, and some of them tastefully ornamented in front with a row of trees. The huts of the natives are apparent- ly new, and neatly and conveniently constructed, though built of bamboo. The population is variously estimated, but gen- erally at a little more than two thousand, chiefly Jaloofs,"^ and " liberated Africans." Now and then you meet with a Mandingo — rarely with a Moor. These, with eighteen or twenty Europeans and two white ladies, make up what I suppose is the prettiest little village on the whole coast of Africa. It is a place of considerable trade, and must ulti- mately become one of great commercial interest. Vessels are constantly entering and clearing from England, France, and America. They supply not only the settlement itself, but, through the merchants, the whole valley of the Gambia, with European * Sometimes written Walloors, Jalofa, or JoUoofs ; but properly, Jol-ufs, giving the v its second sound. MELVILLE B. COX. 139 goods, and receive in return, hides, ivory, gold, bees' wax, and oil, which are brought from the interior by the natives, and some of the merchants who have occasionally ascended the river. Religion. — The cause of the blessed Redeemer here is yet in its infancy ; but a good foundation, I trust, is laying. The confidence of the natives in its excellency is every day increasing, and Christianity evidently holds an ascendency in the place, that will justify the hope of great ultimate success. No churches have yet been built, but the town has for several years past engaged the constant labors of a Wesleyan Methodist missionary, and the chaplain of the island from the English National Church. The lower part of the mission-house, for the present, is occupied as a church and as a school room : the chap- lain officiates in the court-house. The number of communicants in the English Church I did not learn, but from frequent conversations with the chaplain, I am under an impression that, though very small, it is not less prosperous than usual. The Wesleyan Mission is doing well. The sta- tion is now in charge of the Rev. William Mois- ter, an amiable and devoted servant of Christ. He has endured his two years' toil with far better health than he expected, and is now daily looking for one to supply his place, when he will return to his friends. Several have been added to his charge the last year, and he now has about eighty native com- municants. Five I believe have preceded him in 140 REMAINS OF this labor of love, two of whom perished in their toils. The tomb of one was pointed out to me. It was mouldering in ruin amid the sprouts of man- groves, which almost screen it from human observa- tion. I could not repress the thought, as I lifted the green foliage from the bricks that covered his remains, that I too might find a bed in African soil. The spot of the other could not be found. But though dead, and the place where one of the good men lay is lost in the recollection of those for whom he nobly toiled, " they still speak," and their works follow them. Their labor has not been in vain, and their names at least are still as " ointment poured forth " among those who are yet their living epistles, known and read of all men. At M'Carthy's Island, three hundred miles up the Gambia, this mission has another station, now under the charge of a native preacher, who promises great usefulness to the church. As yet, only fifteen have joined themselves in communion with him, but it is expected to exert, and indeed it must of necessity, with the blessing of God, soon exert a mighty influ- ence on the wildernesses of Africa. Light and truth, when thrown from such a beacon, must be seen, and their influence must be felt. The School at Bathurst far exceeded my expec- tations. Under the fostering care of both Mr. and Mrs. Moister, who have taken a deep interest in instructing the scholars, it refutes the pitiful slander, that the black man, under similar circumstances, is MELVILLE B. COX. 141 inferior in intellect to the white. Many of them read with propriety and ease the English and Jaloof, and speak the one almost as well as the other. There are in the school fifty boys and twenty girls : most of them are from four to fifteen ; one or two were perhaps eighteen or twenty. They write well, read well, and commit admirably. I was forcibly struck, on a visit to the school, with the improvement of one little fellow about nine or ten years of age ; he repeated his whole catechism, both in English and Jaloof, without scarcely a word of prompting. After this he repeated with the same fluency and accuracy a long chapter from the New Testament. He speaks three languages with great readiness, and on all occasions seems as a little interpreter in the purchase of domestic articles for the family, or in private con- versations with the Mandingoes and Jaloofs upon the subject of religion. I might say much of his piety; though so young, he evidently knows the power of the gospel. I cannot but think, from the spirit he breathes, and the mental capacity which he exhibits, that Providence is preparing him for the sacred ser- vices of the sanctuary. He frequently prays with his little associates, and speaks in class meeting more like a man than a young boy. And these are the natives who have no intellect — who have been class- ed with the brutes of the field, and treated in a manner perfectly corresponding with such exalted sentiments ! 142 REMAINS OF But our missionary has not confined his labors to children only. Every Sabbath afternoon he devotes an hour to the instruction of a large class of adults. These are laboring men ; and such is their anxiety to learn, that for the want of other opportunities, they assemble between the intervals of the Sunday service to learn the Book of God. It was really afTecting to see them. Each one had his Bible, and, with finger pointing to every word, they would wait with the deepest interest until their turn came, then read as if each letter were a syllable, and each syl- lable a word written by the immediate finger of the great I am. Oh, had these poor creatures our advan- tages, would they not shame us in the improvement they would make of them ? Once I had the plea- sure of preaching a few minutes to them through an interpreter. Seldom have I spoken Avith more pleasure — never with feelings so peculiar. All seemed deeply serious, and at the close of the ser- vices, one wept aloud. Our Wesleyan brethren have shown their usual wisdom in selecting this as a point of moral efTort for western Africa. I rejoice that so powerful a lever is found here. The Gambia is a noble river, and must ultimately become the Mississippi of Africa. It is about eleven miles wide at its mouth, and about four opposite Bathurst. How far it extends into the interior is yet unknown. My map sets it down at seven hundred and fifty miles, but some assured me MELVILLE B. COX. 143 from actual observation, that it is much longer. One gentleman, with whom I conversed, stated that he had himself ascended it from twelve to fifteen hundred miles. It is navigable three hundred miles for ships of almost any size ; and I saw a vessel with eight feet draught of water, which had ascended it between seven and eight hundred. What renders this river of still greater importance for moral effort is, that throughout its vast valley the Mandingo language is spoken ; — an advantage which can seldom be found, where languages are multiplied like the tongues of a Mohammedan para- dise. Here too may be found every comfort of man. It has cattle in great abundance, horses, sheep, swine, rice, cotton, corn, and fowl, and fruit of almost every description, and in great profusion. It has too its mines of pure gold, as well as soil of the best quality; and the farther you go into the interior, report says, the healthier is the climate and the more intel- ligent the people. Indeed the Mandingoes, wherever found, are noted for their shrewdness, their strong propensity to traffic, and their intelligence. In appearance, compared with others, they are men of lofty bearing, some of high intellectual foreheads, a quick, sagacious eye, and national attachments which nothing can overcome. They are tall and well made, and remind me more of an American Indian than anything I have seen in the African character. I doubt, however, if, as a general thing, they have the Indian's strength of intellect. 144 REMAINS OF The Natives of Bathurst. — The natives settled at Bathurst still retain many of their ancient man- ners and customs, though they have mingled much with the Europeans. The breasts and arras of females of the first rank, except when they have intermarried with the whites, are generally exposed, and the pang or skirt, which is drawn around the waist, falls but a little below the knee. A scarf, called also a pang, of the same size and form with the other, is sometimes thrown over one shoulder, but with no apparent motives whatever, or any deli- cacy of feeling. Beneath the lower pang, mothers have another piece of cloth in which they carry their little ones, precisely in the style of an American squaw. They have beads in abundance round the neck, the wrist, the ancles and waist ; and with all these I have seen a gold necklace, worth from twenty to thirty dollars in its weight of gold. These, with a cap or hat on the head, wooden or leather sandals for the feet, rings in the ears, and perhaps on the fingers, constitute the dress of an African lady. The wealthier ones frequently have manillas, made of large bars of pure gold or silver, round the waist. I am quite sure that I have seen from one hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars' worth of pure native gold on many of them. The ear ring, though of gold, is so enormously heavy, that an African ear is obliged to have it supported by a string attached to the hair. MELVILLE B, COX. 145 Nearly all that are not christians, wear charms or gree-grees,* as they are called. These are of various forms, sometimes made very beautifully of leather, at others of a plain piece of cloth. Their virtue is found in a small scrap of paper, with a few Arabic sentences written on it by a Mohammedan priest, for which he charges from five to ten dollars. The amount of the inscription is — " If this be worn, the bullet shall not harm thee," or " the pestilence shall not come nigh thy dwelling." I suppose that the charm is always suited to the various fears and dangers of those who purchase them. Inferiority of Females. — As in all barbarous countries, the female here is always considered much inferior to the male. I think, however, that there is less difference than among the American Indians, though this difference arises, probably, more from the natural indolence and indulgence of the African character, than from any proper estimate of female worth. One trait in the Indian character is self-denial and self-severity. There is no passion but that he has learned to conceal — no propensity but at his pleasure is controlled. The African is the very antipodes of this. He loves pleasure, but * " Gree-gree, pronounced greg-o-ry, is a word of European origin, though adopted by the natives. The Soosoos call them seb'bay. Some derive the word fetish from the Portuguese fides, from feiticeira, a witch, or from feiticana, witchcraft." — Fn its use among the natives it has great latitude of meaning. Anything that is supposed by them to possess a supeihuman power, if either good or evil, is called fetish. Thus the tiger, the snake, Uie alligator, tlie lizard, and the hyena, are the fe,tishes of the different parts of the coast. 10 146 REMAINS OF has not energy enough to make many sacrifices to obtain it. His only object seems to be present enjoy- ments ; at whose expense they are had, is of little consequence, so that he is not tasked to gain them. But to return. The following little circumstance struck me as illustrating very forcibly how much the " polished lady " is indebted to the gospel of Christ for the stand she holds in society, while perhaps she is trampling his precious blood beneath her feet. On a visit to one of their most genteel huts, I i/egged leave to look into the bed-room. It was well furnished, though small ; had a high posted single bedstead, curtained in European style. Aware that the person of the house had a wife and family, I asked if both slept in so narrow a bed ? " No, one sleep dare." Your wife not sleep with you? said I. " No ; she have one baby, she no sleep wid me." On further inquiry, I learned that the poor mother and her little one lodged on a mat on the floor, while her lord enjoyed the comfort of a good bed- stead. The native hut is very simple, but quite com- fortable. I know of nothing that looks so much like those at Bathurst, at a distance, as the New England hay-stacks. They are made of split cane, woven or " wattled " as you would weave a basket. The body of the house is generally circular, though sometimes an oblong square, from five to eight feet high, and from ten to twenty or twenty-five in diameter. The roof is conical, built also of cane or MELVILLE B. COX. 147 small poles, and thatched with long grass or the leaves of the bamboo. Many of them are well plastered with lime inside, and occasionally outside, but either affords a shelter that would be very desirable to almost any one when wet or weary. The country villages, I presume, of course, are much inferior to that of Bathurst. Labor-saving machines are here unknown. There is no ploughing or drawing with horses, or turning with water or steam. Barrels, stone for building — in a word, everything portable — are carried on the head or shoulders. What cannot be raised, is rolled or dragged — but all done by manual labor ; and yet they have fine spirited horses, and bullocks in great abundance. I saw in one herd not less than a hundred and fifty, or two hundred. Arts. — I saw a few, but fine specimens of native art at Bathurst, such as I had never dreamed of seeing with my own eye in Africa. The best was in an ear-ring, woven throughout with gold wire. The gold is first beaten, then drawn through small holes, (perhaps drilled through an old iron hoop,) until it is drawn down to the size wished. The ring, or drop, as the American ladies would call it, is woven round a wooden mould, made to any pattern desired, and when finished, the mould is burned to ashes within the ring. The wire of which it was wrought, was about the size of fine cotton thread. Its beauty, when burnished, is equal to anything of the kind in an European jeweller's shop. The bellows with 148 REMAINS OF which this smith of Africa blew his fire, was made of a couple of goat skins, sewed up as you would sew a leathern bag, attached to two short pieces of an old gun-barrel as nozzles for the bellows, with small apertures at the other end of the skins in place of valves. The skins were then raised up and pressed down, alternatel}-, by the hands of a little boy. His forge, anvil and bellows, were all on the ground, and might all, with every tool he had, have been put into a half-bushel measure. They also spin and weave ; but destitute as they are of proper wheels and looms, it is done with great labor ; though when done, their cloth is much more durable than ours. A beautiful specimen of it was shown me from Sego, on the far-famed Niger, which, but for the best of evidence, I could not have believed ever came from the interior of Africa. I have a sword, made in the kingdom of Bondoo, that would do credit to a regular artist. I have also the head-stall of a war-bridle, that exhibits considerable taste as well as ingenuity ; the bit is made o[ 7iative iron. They tan leather very handsomely, and I am told do it in a few hours. Baskets, mats, reticules, and money-purses, are made in a great variety of forms, and some of them very handsomely, from the cane, and shreds of the bamboo. Literature. — The literature of course is very limited. I have seen nothing myself except Alco- rans, gree-grees, and a few Mohammedan prayers, written in Arabic on loose sheets of paper, but care- MELVILLE B. COX. 149 fully enveloped in the form of a book, some larger and some smaller, and encased in a handsome leather covering. Some of the priests can write modern Arabic with great facility, and now and then you meet with those who can read an Arabic Bible or Testament. I was forcibly struck with the readi- ness with which one wrote for me the Lord's prayer, with Arabic characters, but in Jaloof orthography. There are those, I am told, in the interior, who form a regular code of laws written in Arabic. Of this I have some doubt, except so far as it may have refer- ence to the Alcoran, or the tradition of the Mussul- man priests. These have almost unlimited control. I have had a few interesting conversations with some of them upon the claims of Mohammed to the character of a prophet. One in particular, with whom I had rather a long argument, seemed deeply interested in hearing anything about the gospel. His faith in the Alcoran had evidently been shaken. Before he left me, he confessed that he had found Mohammed was no prophet, and finally begged me to tell him how or ivhat he must do to obtain the blessing of God. I pointed him to Christ, bid him pray to Christ, and assured him that he would hear him — would talk " with him" — would quiet all his fears, and fill his heart with peace. " Will he hear," said he anxiously, " if I pray to him in Jaloof? " "Yes — Arabic, Jaloof, Mandingo, and English are the same to him." With this we parted, and he really seemed to tread more lightly on the earth — to walk as if he had heard " glad tidings of great joy." 150 REMAINS OF Climate. — The weather here is much more tem- perate than I had expected. I have found no " frying of fish on the quarter-deck, nor roasting of eggs in the sand." Though in the " dry season," we have occasionally a light shower of rain, the sky has been more or less hazy, and we have generally had either a land or sea breeze, that has made even the noon-day heat comfortable. Indeed I have felt oppressed with the heat but one day since we left America, and that was on the ocean. I still wear a winter's dress, except occasionally a thin pair of pantaloons and a roundabout. The thermometer has generally ranged from 68 to 78°, seldom above summer heat. Once, and once only, it rose to 84° at noon. I of course cannot judge as those who have had several years' residence here, but with all the light which I have been able to gain, I should sooner by far hope for health at Balhurst than at New Or- leans. In March it will no doubt be warmer ; — in the rainy season fevers will probably be frequent; but I am confident that a civilized population, and a well cultivated and drained soil, will make an Afri- can climate a healthy one. It is now about half a century since colonization in Africa, with reference to civilization, was first contemplated in England. Shortly after, a society was formed among the Quakers,"* as they were then called, for the abolition of the slave trade ; and the great and good Mr. Wilberforce was the first, I * Goldsmith's History of England, p. 536. MELVILLE B. COX. 151 believe, who introduced the subject into the British Parliament. Public sympathy thus enlisted, neither plans nor means were long wanted for its active exercise. Sierra Leone was fixed upon as a point well suited to the objects in view, and some were readily collected for the purpose ; but, like too many of the foreign British settlements, this, the most im- portant English colony in Africa, was first settled by materials fitted only for a poor-house or penitentiary. Some of the slaves, who, during our revolution served under the British standard, were, after the peace of 1783, sent to Nova Scotia. Not contented with their situation there, many of them repaired to London, where, it is said, they " became subject to every misery, and familiar with every vice." A com- mittee was soon formed for their relief, in which Mr. Granville Sharpe took a distinguished part ; and in 1787, about four hundred blacks and sixty whites were embarked for Sierra Leone. The whhes were chiefly woman, of the most abandoned character. — This hopeful colony of American refugee slaves and London prostitutes, was the first that were sent out by English philanthropy to enlighten and civilize Africa ! But God seeth not as man seeth. In kind- ness to the name of Christianity, soon after their arrival, death commenced his ravages among them, and in a few months nearly half of the whole had either died or made their escape from the colony. Desertions continued, and in less than a year, the 152 REMAINS OF whole were dispersed, and the tov\n burned by an African chief. In 1791, an association was formed by some of the friends of Africa, called the " St. George's Bay Company." * By the efforts of this society, some of the dispersed colonists were collected again, and about twelve hundred more free negroes were trans- ported from Nova Scotia. In 1794, the town was again destroyed by a French squadron ; and in 1808, disappointed and discouraged, the company transfer- red the whole establishment to the British govern- ment. Under the banner of Zion and the Cross, the colony has found security from enemies within and without, and since its transfer, till wiUiin the last j'^ear or two, lias been rapidly increasing in its commercial interests and in the number of its inhabitants. The population now amounts to thirty thousand, about one hundred of whom are whites. Perhaps such a motley mixture were never before collected on the same amount of territory. It is more than Africa in miniature. They are almost literally of " all nations, tongues, and people ;" En- glish, Scotch, American, Irish, West Indian ; and to these must be added those from an endless list of tribes from the interior of Africa ; and their com- plexions have all the variety of shades from a beau- tiful white to an African jet. But to speak without a hyperbole, there are between thirty and forty of the African languages spoken in the colony. * Misaionary Gazetteer. MELVILLE B. COX, 153 The burden of the whole are " liberated Africans," — those whom the humanity of England has wrested from that curse of the human species, the slave stealer. It is a proud thought to the African, that, come from where he may, whether from Christian, Pagan, or Mohammedan servitude, or from the floating hell that is unworthy of the name of either, the moment he treads on the soil of Sierra Leone, that moment he h free. Oh, it must be a proud thought too, to the monarch who has bequeathed this high privilege, however humble and degraded tlie objects of his mercy. England has no slaves ! May the same soon be said of all the colonies where her flag waves its authority. The government of Sierra Leone extends its jurisdiction over all the British settlements ■ on the western coast of Africa, between 20° north and 20° south ; but Sierra Leone proper, is only SO or 90 miles in its greatest length, and about 40 or 50 wide. Over this territory there are scattered some ten or a dozen villages, all of which are more or less under christian tuition, and the civil juris- prudence of the colony. FREE TOWN. The principal place in the colony is in lat. 8° 30' north, on the south bank of the river Sierra Leone, and about six miles from the western extremity of the cape. It is built at the foot of 154 REMAINS OF a range of mountains, which, in nearly the form of a semi-circle, shelters the whole village, and which, when the breeze happens to be southerly, in very hot weather, must render the heat of a noon- day sun almost insupportable. The town opens handsomely as you approach it up the river, and enlivened as it was the evening of our arrival by the sound of a keyed bugle and an occasional gun from the fort, we felt ouselves nearer something more like home than anything we had seen since we left America. The morning light made the scenery still more beautiful. Everything on which he eye could rest was rich with luxuriance ; the hills and ravines were covered with verdure, the forest was green with foliage, trees were loaded with fruit, and the town seemed alive with human beings — such as might have been naturally expected — neither wholly civilized, nor entirely barbarous. Mixed, as the population now is, and receiving, as it constantly does, new accessions from the captured slave ship, it must be a long while before European manners and customs will be wholly adopted by the natives. In- stead, however, of expressing surprise at seeing a part of the population half naked, and some of the little boys and girls entirely so, perhaps we ought rather to thank God and rejoice for the hundreds, who, with a change of residence, have left their paganism and rudeness in " the bush," and are becoming pious christians and good citizens. Quite a proportion of the native population have already MELVILLE B. COX. 155 adopted the European dress, and the congregations, in general, appear quite christian in their Sunday costume, if we except the strange custom which almost all the ladies have adopted, in substituting the hat for the bonnet. The town is rather handsomely laid out, — most of its streets running at right angles, and, with its bar- racks, its ordnance, churches and other public build- ings, has an air of finish about it that really glad- dens the heart in this vast wilderness. Most of the public buildings are of a coarse kind of free-stone ; perhaps half of the private dwellings are of the same, or of wood, the others of " wattle " — a kind of coarse basket stuff — with grass or bamboo-leaved roofs. The number of the inhabitants I did not learn, but suppose, including the suburbs of the town, there are some six or eight thousand, about eighty of whom are whites. Morals of the Place. — The morals of Free Town are fearfully, /e(zr/?