M' ggg7;:gQSg^agj£c/^g/2(;gg^g,gc;gg}g: ^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. % Chap. 3 S).2.9.feS Shelf .:.-^'b.'Zr.%,. \f^^\ '*v ^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ^5 > \ i- . t '*%,::''_ . -*— THE RHODE ISLAND COTTAGE ; OR, A GIFT FOR THE CHILDREN OF SORROW. A NARRATIVE OF FACTS, BY A PRESBYTER OF THE CHURCH. SECOND EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS AND, TWO ENj AND THE SUflFERER Price, 18| Cents Kt\\i "ST 1 h : PRINTED BY W. B. & T. SMITH, 89 Nassau, and 128 Fulton Streets. 1841. i^:& C\^ TO THE DAUGHTERS OF THE LATE JOHN JAY, WHO H/VVE BEEN EYE WITNESSES OF ITS TRUTH. THIS LITTLE SKETCH IS DEDICATED BY THEIR AFFECTIONATE FRIEND. y0 NOTICE BY THE Rev. Dr. SEABURY, FROM THE Phurchman of September 12, 1835. CYNTHIA TAGGART. A SKETCH of this most remarkable sufferer has been lately published by Messrs. Swords, Stanford & Co., under the title of " The Rhode Island Cottage/' which may bo ascribed, we presume, to the pen of the Rev. James C. Richmond, who has so benevolently interested himself in her behalf. The narrative is one of mournful and intense interest, and written with beautiful and af fecting simpliciiy. The object of it we understand to be, to excite an interest in the public mind in favor ol the poems of Miss Taggart,* an edition of which was publish- ed some time since, a part of which yet remains unsold. The object is most praiseworthy ; and while we heartily conunend " The Rhode Island Cottage"' as a narrative which cannot be read without tears by any not devoid of «ill human sympathies, we would entreat every reader to let the interest awakened by the narrative lead him to inquire after the poems, if, indeed, he do not already pos- sess them. These poems are on many accounts re- markable: they are the productions of a native and un- tutored genius : in their images and allusions they are singularly characteristic of humble life, as it exists in our own country : they are the essays of one who for eleven years has been the victim of unremitted anguish, incom- * Poems by Cynthia Taggart, 2d edition, for sale at 28 Ann Street, and 111 Nassau. parison of which all the ordinary forms of sickness and sorrow vanish into nothing: they pour forth a continued flow of sorrow in a versification seldom harsh, always perspicuous, often strikingly peculiar in sentiment and diction, and occasionally disclosing gleams of poetic genius; and they are still more remarkable as the monu- ments of the efficacy of the Gospel of Jesus Christ in mitigating with consolation, and even illumining with joy, the most appalling, and, in respect to worldly relief, the most desperate extremities of human wretchedness. One further recommendation they have : they have been pub- lished by some friends, whom Providence has raised up to succor the sufferer, with the benevolent intention of averting the evils of poverty and dependence from one whose life, even without this aggravation, is no better than a propagated agony. With all these claims to no- tic4B, might we not expect that every American and every Christian would own the poems of Cynthia Taggart? Or must it be left to a future generation to pay an empty tribute to sorrow and genius, which the present have passed by in apathy ? From one of the poems of some length, entitled "The Heart's Desire," we will venture to detach the follow- ing verses, and insert them under the title of an Ode to Health, Let the reader turn to No. 48 of the Rambler, and compare with them a celebrated ode to Health, one of the beautiful remnants of Greek antiquity, as trans- lated and eulogized by the Colossus of English literature,* and see how lame and spiritless is the exquisite polish of the Grecian specimen, by the side of the impassioied burst of prayer, the touches so true to life, the descrip- tions so intensely powerful, wrought by nature, as it ■were, in the strains of the obscure inmate of the Rhode * Dr. Johioson. Island Cottage ? How insipid the wish, M-Cra (Tov vanijii To XeiTTOjj.ei'ui' 0Lotai, ■compared with the fnll-soulcd adjuiation tl:at sues, " By all the pangs of wasting life, By gasping iiruure"s cliiliing strife, I'o gain one lingering view Of thy fair aspect, rniidly sweet, And kiss from off thy airy feet The healing drops of dew." How wretchedly impertinent and common-place seems the allusion to the influence of health in enhancujg the pleasures of wealth and power, and biith and love, com- pared with the touching lamenjatioji of domestic lone- liness, and banishment from social enjoyments, niduced by protracted disease : "And separate fromthe household band, Disconsolate and Jone, • With no swiei converse social charm, One pain imj erious to disarm, And quell the rising moan ." The truth and, force of the allusion in this stanza can hardly be conceived but by those who have beheld a fel- low-creature cut otF from social sympathies, and com- • pelled month after month, and year after year, to turn the energies of a vigorous mind in upon itself, and feed upon its own agonies, " While every thought that filled the brain Gave maddenmg energy to pain." an ©Kc to jEJcnllf). O Health I thy succoring aid extend, While low, Avilh bleeding lieart, I bend, And on thine every rraans attend, And sue with streaming eyes ; But more remote thou fliest away, The humbler I thine influence pray, And expectation dies. 8 Twice three long years of life have gone, Since thy loved presence was withdrawn, And I to grief resigned ; Laid en the couch of lingering pain, Where stern disease's torturing chain Has every limb confined. And separate from the household band. Disconsolate and lone, With no sweet converse's social charm, One pain imperious to disarm, Or quell the rising moan ; I lie in hopeless doom to grieve, While no kind office can relieve, Korean 1 sustenance receive But. from anotliei's hand. While anguish veils the body o'er, And balmy sleep is known no more. And every Ihougiit that Uirills the brain Gives frantic eneray to pain, And the cold dew drops copious drain Through every opening, rending pore. Health ! wilt thou not, for the black stream, That bears keen poison through the veins, A cordial swift prepare ? Bring back tlieir own bri-lit crimson glow, And°lhe true circulating flow. And mitigate de>pair] Once more my pleadings I renew, And with my panting breath I sue. Goaded by potent pain, By all the pangs of wasting lite, By gasping nature's chilluig strife, To°gain one lingering view Of thv fair ai^pect, mildly sweet. And kiss from off thine airy feet The healing drops of dew. O bathe my burning temples now. And cool the scorching of my brow. And lisht the rayless eye ; . My strength revive with thine own might, And with thy footsteps firm and light, O bear me to thy radiant height. Where, soft reposing, lie Mild peace, and happiness, and joy. And nature's sweets, that never cloy, - Unmixed with direful pain's alloy ; Leave me not thus to die ! THE RHODE ISLAND COTTAGE. The approaching dissolution of a very dear mo- ther had cast a deep shade of sorrow over the minds of two brothers. The younger of them relates thefollowing unadorned incidents, as they then occurred, in the fervent hope, and with an earnest prayer, that they may be to many who are sorrowing, as they proved to him, a lesson to bear, with resignation and meekness, the trials sent by a merciful God, to wean our souls from the world, and advance them to a heavenly and enduring inheritance. He trusts that many sons and daughters of suffering may thence derive encouragement to receive, with devout submis- sion, afflictions that dwindle into trifles, compared with the sore and heavy burden that God is pleased to lay upon these childr(>n of sorrow. On a pleasant day in the spring of 1832, we determined to leave the noisy and bustling town for the more tranquil scenes that surround the rural graves of our forefathers. Our way lay across that beautiful island which has sometimes 1* 10 been called the Eden of our land. And indeed, the peaceful vale which lies within it, refreshed by cool and healthful breezes from the sea, and enlivened by the waves whose snow-crested sum- mit may be seen, and sometimes heard, as they roll in and break upon the distant beach ; the green meadows.brighleninginthesudden glances of the sun, now hidden, and now beaming forth again from the hasty clouds, while the flitting shadows are seen running along the sloping hill- side, or quickly crossing the little valley; the fertile fields, relieved at intervals by clustering trees, or here and there adorned with a quiet habitation, whose industrious and healthy in- mates, dispersed over the valley, give animation to the scene; the birds and the flocks who may here feed or sing undisturbed; the bright and lively rivulets that are heard murmuring over the pebbles, or seen opening upon you unexpect- edly, and therefore doubly refreshing and de- lightful; the sight of a sail at sea, or the beautiful country-seat on the summit of the distant hills, which but just reminds you of the troubled world you have left behind ;— these, and a thou- sand untold beauties, demand for Rhode Island a little more than that passing tribute of admira tion which we bestow on all the lovely works of God. 11 Through such scenes wound our way, until, at length, it brought us to a bank, overlooking the eastern arm of the ocean, which there sepa- rates the island from the main-land. In the beautiful bay beneath us lay the ferry-boat; but unfortunately, as we then thought, the ferryman was absent. While one of the brothers remain- ed on the rocks to raise a signal for the boat on the opposite side, the other approached a small farm-house, on the hill that rises gently sloping from the shore, for the purpose of trying the hospitality of its inhabitants. And here he must pause to acknowledge the infinite goodness and wisdom of Him whose ways are not as ours, and who ordereth every step of man to the accomplishment of His bene- ficent purposes, although, as in the present case, the unconscious instrument see nought in the Providence of God but disappointment and delay. Had the ferryman been at home as usual, the subjects of this humble sketch might have re- mained in their poverty and obscurity, unseen, unheard of, and unassisted. Had he been at his post, as we several times fruitlessly wished, a gifted creature of God might have lain till this hour, in a measure undiscovered ; the powers which her Creator bestowed, might have died with her unknown, and the instructive example 12 of a suffering, but eminently resigned and Chris- tian family, would have been lost to the afflicted. Many a time from childhood had we crossed that ferry, and the ferryman had never once been absent. Never before had we occasion to visit "the Rhode Island Cottage." On approaching the rail fence that formed the ^nly entrance to a small patch of ground, culti- vated as a garden, I observed in front of the house a feeble old man, bowed down with the weight of sickness and of lengthened days. With some difficulty, on account of his deafness, I drew his attention from the little household cares over which he was bending. He kindly ap- proached the fpnce, and leaning upon it, entered into conversation, which soon showed that his mind was not altogether of the common order. On my remarking thesuperiority of his language over his station and opportunities, the old man quietly replied, with some slight appearance of conscious intelligence, "Why, Sir, there are two things which I always attended to, the right mean- ing of words, and the right spelling of words." "These are certainly sufficient," I replied, "if you always put them, as I observe you do, in their right places. But when you were young the country was distracted by the revolution, and you had neither leisure nor opportunity for edu- cation." 13 "'Tis true, Sir, I was engaged in hard strug- gles, and made hair-breadth escapes in the old war, but God carried me safely through them all ; and as he gave me a wish to learn, and to read, I found time and books, and obtained some know- ledge, with the help of a good father, who knew the advantages of learning. They say the Tag- garts were always inclined to be a reading family. Sir." He then entered into a short history of his revolutionary days, which he wrote out just be- fore his death, and which has been prefixed to his daughter's poems.* It soon appeared that he was intimately acquainted, and, during the war, had lived with some of the very men whose graves we were about to visit. When I disclosed my name, he exclaimed, " Why, Sir, you are one of our own folks !" and his kindness was in- creased, if possible, towards a descendant of one of his old comrades in war. But though willing and anxious to comply with my request to furnish us with food, he expressed his fears lest he should be unable, on account of the state of his family. " I suppose, Sir," he said, " that I have the most afflicted family on this island. I have one * Poems by Cynthia Taggart, second edition, Cam- bridge, 1834, p. xxvii. 2 14 daughter who has been lying on her bed in that house, more than eleven years,* and the physi- cians can do nothing for her. Her sister has worn herself out in watching over her, and now she is a cripple, and has to be moved about the house. Another daughter is deranged, and my wife is old and feeble, and troubled with a bad cough. She does all she can, Sir ; but I cannot work as I used to do : and I have had very heavy doctors' bills to pay. It is but a little while since I paid more than four hundred dol- lars. I have been obliged to mortgage my little farm ; and it is almost all gone. I hope it will be enough to carry us through this world to a better. It is all right. I know that the Supreme Ruler of the universe does what is best for us." As the venerable old man concluded, and I looked upon his silver locks, I could not help loving him. My interest was the more strongl}?" excited because I thought I discovered in his ap- pearance, language, and piety, some resemblance to the good Dairyman. Indeed, I have often wished the whole scene might be delineated by that beloved and excellent disciple of Christ, who has described, with so much feeling and beauty, similar cases, which show that we should " Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace ; • Now seventeen years. 15 Behind a frowning providence, He hides a smiling face." But he is gone to his rest, and cannot behold a sct=ne peculiarly fitted to awaken the interest of all who delii{ht to know " the Annals of the Poor." Had he looked upon that humble cottage, it would have drawn from his rich mind some pious remembrance of the Master who had not where to lay his head. Had he gazed on the broad ocean which you may see from the cottage- door, he would have recognized the emblem of God's infinity in its boundless expanse, seen his peace reflected from its calm blue bosom, or heard the terrible voice of the Lord in the ma- jestic thundering of its waters against the rough rocks of the opposite Seconet. He could not have looked upon the beautiful and peaceful Mount Hope, without reminding you of the love- liness of Mount Zion, and the eternal peace of heaven. He could not have cast his eye upon the rock,* where the Indian warrior smoked the * Colonel Church, the boldest of the early warriors against the Indians, made a treaty with Awashonk^, the queen-sachem of the Seconets, at a rock on the farm of Edward Richmond, 1675. This treaty destroyed the power, and ruined the hopes ofKing Philip. — See History of Colonel Church. See also " An Historical Memoir of the Colony of New-Flyviouth, by Francis Baylies,^' vol. ii. part Hi. p. 14f>. # 16 pipe of peace with the white man, without lamenting that the foted race was passing from the earth, and that the white man had told the Indian little, very little, of the great peace to be made at the cross of Christ, the Rock of Ages. But he rests fiom his labors, and we would not call him back, no, not even to do that which another may accomplish unworthily, to tell "the simple Annals of the Poor." No, not even to be- hold face to face the countenance of that modern disciple of heavenly charity, whom, having not seen, we love. " Might one wish bring thee, would I wish thee here? I would not trust my heart— the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might; But no, what here we call our life is such, So liule to be loved, and thou so much, That I should ill reqiiite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again." Sure I am, that I shall be pardoned this pass- inof remembrance of the "Friend"' of "the Cotta- ger," though it has detained me a moment from the cottager himself This good old man was a deacon in the Bap- tist communion. When shall all that bear the name of Christ be filled with the spirit of cha- rity, that appeared in his answer to my half doubtful inquiry? — "I have a brother below 17 who is a Christian minister, but he is of the Episcopal Church, and perhaps you do not de- sire that he should visit your afflicted family!" " O, Sir, with great joy," he replied, "for though there are many paths, there is only one Lord and one heaven." And 1 hastened down the hill to my brother on the shore, and in a few moments we were standing before the door of the cottage. It was opened by the old man himself Never shall I forget the appearance of this aged soldier, who had contended for the rights of his country in his morning days, and, in the noon and evening of life, had girded on the sword of the Spirit, and faithfully fought the battles of Christ. He was now, as ii afterwards proved, about to lay aside the earthly imple- ments of his Christian warHire, to receive the crown of victory and glory from the hands of the great Captain of his salvation. He had removed the hat from his head, which bore the furrows of nearly seventy-eight sum- mers. The white locks were carefully combed and fell on each side of his temples. It was evident that he now felt all the dignity of a pa- triarch in receiving an ambassador from his heavenly Prince. There was something inde- scribable in his elevated demeanor, which seem- ed to say to my brother, "I know that you are 2* 18 coming on the highest erabassy of God to man ; that you are a herald of the consolation, and pardon, and peace of the gospel, and I would stand at the door of my house and bid a worthy welcome to the servant of my Lord." In the impressive service appointed by the Church for her afflicted children. " Peace be to this house, and to all that dwell in it." My heart responded, Amen. Walking slow- ly before us into the room, the old man said, " Wife, here are some of our own folks come to see us," and we were welcomed by a feeble and aged woman, who seemed worn out with fatigue and watching, and troubled with a consumptive cough. The old man left the room, but soon returned, moving with difficulty his eldest daughter, the cripple, by rocking the chair in which she sat from si le to side. He then placed himself by the clergyman, and from the conversation that ensued, it was evident that his heart was at rest, in contemplation of the tran- sient nature of earthly sorrows, and the never- .ending joys of heaven. " These great afflictions are doubtless intend- ed," said the minister, " to free us from our at- tachment to the world, and to set our minds on the things above." " Doubtless," replied the 19 old man, as he quoted the scriptures slowly, and with solemn reverence, " for we have here no continuing city, but w^e seek a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." This spirit of entire resignation, which shone forth triumphantly in every sentence uttered by the good and venerable man, was indeed delight- ful. The character of the mother was, perhaps, less chastened and subdued. She was, it may be, under the necessity of being more like Martha, "careful and troubled," in providing for us. Indeed, she has since confessed, that when she first saw me standing by the fence, in conversation with her husband, she exclaimed, " O, there is a stranger ; I hope he will not come in to see our poverty and misery." She now acknowledges that the stranger's steps were guided thither by God. She soon placed a table before us, neatly covered and furnished with those little delicacies that are found ready for the expected, or the unexpected guest, in almost every New-England cottage, but which sur- prised us here, for the house is on a very seclu- ded spot, distant from any road, and seldom visi- ted. Yet in all this obscurity, affliction, and poverty, we w^ere most hospitably entertained. Our hostess was not a little disturbed, when it was discovered that her insane daughter, Maria, 20 had hidden the tea-spoons. As she hastily went to the door, and in a very shrill but feeble voice, called her amiable little grand-daughter, Elizabeth, whose mother is now no more, I thought the sharp tones would go through my very heart. The eldest daughter, the cripple, still remain- ed bowed down in her chair by the stove: but in the calmness and resignation of her counte- nance you might read a delightful eulogy on the religion of Jesus. She was feeble in body but strong in faith. A heavenly tranquility beamed from her countenance, such as the pros- perous and happy of the world seldom know ; but which is the peculiar gift of the Savior to his humble children. And few persons have attained to greater humilitjr, meekness, and for- bearance than Elizabeth T. Her cousin, the ferryman before mentioned, once said to me, "Nobody knows the worth of Betsey; nothing will offend her, Sir; for I believe she never was 'pui out in her life." It was pleasing to meet in this humble dvvell- insf several old and useful books; one of which appeared to have been brought over by the Pil- grims. Another was the quaint, but, with the Society of Friends, very favorite work of Wil- liam Penn, entitled, " No Cross, no Crown." 21 Thus were these pious people endeavoring- to fortify their souls in their present afflictions, by steadfas'ly fixing the eye of faith upon the future bliss of eternity, and by remembering, as an es- timable clergyman once expressed himself in the midst of this suffering band, that " Christ himself did bear the crown of thorns before he ascended to receive the crown of glory." After the table was removed, the old man led the way into the sick chamber of his other daughter, Cynthia. In a small room, contain- ing but one window, on a couch, which had been her almost constant resting place — resting place, did I say? rather, the solitary witness of unnumbered hours of the keenest anguish, lay her emaciated frame, as it had lain for eleven years ! What a lesson for the complaining, who, blessed with health, and living in the midst of prosperity and comforts, are at a loss for the invention of new pleasures ! What a lesson for ;he sick who suffer lightly, or have not sufTered long. O, hear it, ye who murrner at God's al- lotments. This afflicted being suffers more than imagination cun conceive. Sleep never visits her as a balm, but brings, in its momentary ap- proaches, visions of horror that are changed, in her waking hours, to unspeakable anguish; often resembling, to use her own expression, 4 22 "the tearing of twenty pieces of fiesh from her person by pincers." Nor is any portion of this suffering imaginary, as the heaUhy are some- times inclined cruelly to suggest. Many phy- sicians have declared her case beyond their power, and there are among them men of dis- tinguished science, and of well known feeling, who cannot read her affecting " Appeal to the Faculty," and leave any reasonable measures for her relief untried. Yet this suffering and comparatively uneducated woman, has been able, in reliance upon the promises of God, to seek relief by fleeing to her Savior, whom she had acknowledged in her heart, though not be- fore men, ere she was stretched upon the bed of agony. She has devoted a few of her least dis- tracted hours, not to the cultivation of the poeti- cal genius which God has given her, for this talent she hardly seems conscious of possessing, but to the simple expression of her feelings in the verses, that, during this long period, she has dictated chiefly to her father. He alone seemed ^ to set a just value on the rich gifts and treasures that lay in her mind. Of all this, however, we knew nothing. My brother approached the bed-side, and seated him- self near her head. The few questions he ask- ed were not answered without thought, as too 23 often happens; for pressing her trembling and wasted fingers upon her temples, as if to keep in the anguish, she replied, in a low voice, and very slowly — "You asic your questions rather quickly. Sir; will you have the goodness to re- peat the last ?" "Are you perfectly resigned to the will oi God ?" She replied, " I fear^Sir, I cannot say that I am." This little trait of consideration and sincerity deeply interested us, and was the first proof we had of the remark- able character of her mind. At length the solemn voice of prayer arose in that humble dwelling. My brother knelt at the bed-side, while the old man, according to his custom, leaned on the back of his chair. The mother was near. The cripple, Elizabeth, was placed at the door, but also in the next room, for the sick chamber would admit but three. Never shall I forget those impressive moments, and, least of all, the solemn benedictions in our affecting and appropriate service for the " Visi- tation of the Sick." " The Almighty Lord, who is a most strong tower to all those who put their trust in him; to whom all things in heaven, in earth, and under the earth, do bow and obey, be now and evermore thy defence; and make thee know and feel that there is none other name under heaven given to man, in whom, and 24 through whom, thou mayest receive health and salvation, but only the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." " Unto God's gracious mercy and pi-otection we commit thee: The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: The Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee : The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace both now and evermore. Amen." As we withdrew, I looked through the cham- ber window, and thought to myself — How often have I gazed upon the ceaseless heaving billows of that same ocean, and sailed upon its bosom many a weary day, in search of the interesting wonders that the world contains, and now I am returned to the scenes of my childhood, to find, in a cottage, the most interesting of all. Yet this Rhode Island Cottage I have often passed, in utter ignorance of its inmates. It was not till we retired to the other room that we discovered the remarkable fact, that the sufferer possessed a large share of that gift, be- lieved to be a peculiar boon of heaven ; for, to our question, " How does your daughter C. pass the time?" the old man replied by producing a number of well worn and soiled manuscript poems. At first we read a hw of them through mere kindness to the father ; not thinking that 25 so pure a gem had been hidden among these barren rocks. Unseen and wild the floweret bloomed, Within yon beauteous ocean isle, The heaving sea, and frowning cliff, Alone had seen it smile. But in this huip.ble sketch we will say little of her poems; for they are now before the world, and speak for themselves. Suffice it to say, they are the poetry of truth, and are pecu- liar, because her sufferings are peculiarly her own. But we must pause, to acknowledge the good- ness of God, who, in taking the father from his helpless family, prepared, in the gift bestowed upon that very daughter, whose long sickness had contributed to reduce them to want, the means of support and comparative comfort, for enjoymeni they could not expect. We departed, leaving a small sum, not as a remuneration for their trouble, (for that would have deeply wounded the feelings of the good old man ) but as the first subscription for the poems of his daughter; of whose gifts the fond father was justly p'-oud, and in whose goodness the veteran Christian deliohted. As we crossed the water, 1 said to the ferry. man, " William, you have told me of almost 26 every thing under the sun ; all that you knew about the serpent that had nearly crushed the Roman army, and a hundred such things ; — but you never said a word of your sick cousin on that hill." How full of human nature was his answer! "She has been sick a great while, Sir." Man becomes hardened to sorrows which he often sees, or has long known. The suffer- er somewhere says in her poems — " The sleepless night, the wretched day, To months and years prolonged, Drive all one's pitying friends away, That once benignant tln'onged." It was deeply affecting, as vve sailed smooth- l}'- along, to look back upon that cottage. There it stood, as quiet upon the gentle elevation as any of the neighbouring dwellings. The smoke curled as beautifully from its chimney, and, had we not just left it, vve might have imagined as much prosperity, and happiness, and health, dwelt beneath its roof as under theirs. But, oh ! we had seen in that lowly habitation sharp dis- ease busied in destroying all the hopes of its in- mates for this world. This outward tranquility and loveliness was but a shadow ; and yet it was an emblem, a holy emblem of the rest, and quiet- ness, and joy of heaven, which, we trust, to these 27 sufferers, and to all the followers of the Lamb, shall fiucceed the woes, turmoil, and tumult that are within this lower world, and that lie hidden under an outward semblance of peace in many an afflicted bosom. Lowly cottage, farewell! When the end shall be, may all thy inmates "look upon Zion, the city of their solemnities ;" may their " eyes see Jerusalem a quiet habitation, a tabernacle that shall not be taken down." There they will no longer need thy humble shelter, for they shall inhabit "a city having the glory of God — a city that has no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of the Lord will lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof" In that city they shall not be afflicted nor de- spised, for they "shall walk with the kings of the earth, which bring their glory and honor into it; and there they shall obtain joy and gladness, for sorrow and mourning shall flee away." And there, if we also be numbered among the redeemed, we shall need ye no more, little boat, and proud ocean, for "the glorious Lord will be unto us a place of broad rivers and streams, wherein shall go no galley with oars, r.fither shall gallant ship pass thereby." Eighteen montlis rolled away before I could again visit this afflictsd family ; during which 28 time I had received holy orders. Their situa- tion in the interval is touchingly and beautifully described by a clergyman who kindly visited them. " I heard of an afflicted family in the neig-hborhood, and learning that a visit of con- dolence would be very acceptable, I determined to make one. I was directed to a small house, far from any road, on the side of a hill, descend- ing to an an:n of the sea, which separates this island from the adjoining main-land. The first person I saw, on approaching the house, was a young woman at the door, who, as soon as she perceived me, uttered some incoherent words, and disappeared. I knocked ; was admitted, and soon introduced to the family. " It was composed of a venerable old man, his wife, and three daughters. Here I found sick- ness, distress, and poverty, in conflict with re- ligion, peace, and purity; and I rejoice to say the latter appeared to triumph. " The old man was feeble, and broken in con- stitution and health. His 'hoary head,' how- ever, was 'a crown of glory,' for it was found in 'the way of righteousness. " He had been an officer in the revolutionary war, and his last days were made anxious by ^endeavors to obtain a pension. He succeeded about a year since; but has now gone to serve a more generous Master. 2©* *• His wife was a confirmed invalid, and c^nJd, with the greatest difficulty, discharge her do- mestic duties. " The three daughters were the principal suf- ferers. One was deprived of reason ; the other two were emaciated by disease, and had been con- fined to their beds, one for two, and the other for seven years.* Medical attendance, medicines, and loss of time in nursing his children, had con- sumed all the property of the good old man, ex- cept the small tenement which he occupied, and which, ere long, he expected to exchange for a still narrower one. But, for the credit of re- ligion, and for the comfort of all who may be called to pass through 'the fire' of such trials, I can say, that this veteran soldier of Christ and his family seemed supported by the consolations of the gospel. On these I conversed at large, and with each member of the family; and I endeavored to lighten, by every means in my power, the heavy burdens of these poor pilgrims. " The father, the mother, and one of the daugh- ters appeared cheerful and resigned: but the other daughter seemed greatly depressed. She had been now seven years on a bed of exquisite pain. Her hair had turned gray by the unmiti- * She had been ill eleven, and almost bed-ridden seven years. I 30 gated nno-uish of her head. Sleep had long deserted her, and she seemed to have been in the act of martyrdom for years. Confined for so long a time to her bed, incapable of occupa- tion or amusement, at times, even of devotion, she struggled hard to say, ' Thy will be done.' She, however, appeared to confide in God, but was destitute of spiritual consolation.* " In this state, and in this place, she composed, from time to time, the poems which are about to be published. They are like the Lamentations of Jeremiah, 'or, more truly, like the complain- ings of Job; and may serve to make both the prosperous and the afflicted more grateful, and submissive to the allotments of Divine Provi- dence. " The poems were composed and committed to memory, chiefly in the night; and were com- mitted to writing by the father and others, at their leisure. " A little garden before her window, the sun which rose and set, the winds of heaven which shook her cottage, and the ocean, whose ' billowy anthem' was ever chanting at the foot of the hill, afforded the only variety to her thoughts. From * She is now entirely resigned to God's will, and derives all her comfort from the promises of the gospel of Christ.— Juno 28th, 1835. 31 these, and from her bodily sufferings she draws subjects and illustrations for her muse. She re- mains to this day sunk in a bed of anguish, calm and patient. Ttie blessed Savior, 1 trust, sits beside her, as a ' refiner and purifier of silver ;' and when he perceives the work to be complet- ed, he will doubtless withdraw the fire. I am glad that the poems are to be published, for it is always a relief to make known our griefs; and I cannot but hope, whether the number of her admirers be great or small, that she will, by these poems, secure to herself a few sympathizing friends. One I am sure she has already made ; who remains, dear Sir, " Always yours, "B. C. Cutler." No apology is made for introducing here a letter from Cynthia, to a lady, who has been most benevolent and active in her cause. '^ October 2Sth, 1833. *' Dear Madam, " I have not strength at present to comply with your request respecting an account of the nature and progress of my protracted diseases, and of my feelings under them, which have been any- thing rather than what I could wish ; though at 32 all times, in my greatest extremities, I have as- suredly believed that the Judge of all the earth will do right, and that it is in mercy and compas- sion He afflicts ; and have desired to be enabled to say, ' It is the Lord ; let him do as seemeth to him good.' If ever I am favored with strength and composure sufficient, I Avill, with the utmost readiness and alacrity, gratify your wishes. My dear father is very ill, and to ap- pearance fast approaching the bounds of mortali- ty — but with prospects full of immortality and life. His faith is strong, and his soul sustained, in the midst of his bodily distresses, with heavenly consolations, and peace that passeth understand- ing; which is a great encouragement and sup- port to our minds, in the pain and anguish of being separated from a kind and precious parent. But it is our humble hope and earnest prayer that the separation may not be final ; and that we may be again united in those blessed abodes, where there is no more pain, sin, nor sorrow, and where the Lord shall wipe away all tears from all eyes; and it is a consoling reflection that this will be the happy lot of all those that love and obey the Savior. ♦• With great esteem and cordial regard, " Your friend, " Cynthia Taggart." ^3 As the good old man died shortly after, the conclusion of his memoir is inserted. "We have experienced a long scene of afflic- tion, in the protracted illness of three amiable daughters ; one of whom, for a long time, has been, and still is, deprived of her reason ; ano- ther, for more than ten years, has been, by a series of complicated disorders, confined help- less to her bed; and a third, who more than three years since, on the day of the funeral ob- sequies of another sister, was seized with sudden illness, has also been confined from that time until the last few weeks. Thus, by the accu- mulation of misfortunes, I have been compelled to relinquish my property to my indulgent credi- tors, excepting a sufficiency for procuring a small tenement for my suffering family. But, what abundant reason have I to pour out my soul in grateful acknowledgement to the Author of all good, that in the midst of judgment he hath remembered mercy; that he has taken my feet from the miry clay, and placed them on the Rock Christ Jesus. " In June, 1804, I united in Christian fellow- ship with the Second Baptist Church in New- port ; and in September, 1809, was chosen, by a unanimous vote, to the office of deacon. As an additional motive, to call on my soul to bless 34 God's holy name, I have abundant reason to hope and firmly believe, that my three afflicted dauo-h- ters have found the pearl of great price; and when reason shall have regained its empire in the mind t)f my afflicted Maria, they will unite in pronouncing all things as loss and dross, in comparison with the knowledge of their exalted Redeemer; and, with devout hearts and imited voices, say with the inspired apostle, ' Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceedino- and eternal weio^ht of glory.' "William Taggart. " Middletown, R. L October 2ilh, 1833." Another gentleman writes, " I left their dwel- ling, having witnessed a scene of domestic suf- fering, and a form of domestic piety, \vhich none can contemplate without being made better. The impression of it never will be effaced from my recollection. Amidst the discontents and repinings of society, I shall often recall the spectacle of this suffering family, and think of the value of that religion which has been their support." When, at length, duty brought me near them, I inquired of a gentleman at Newpoit, " Do you 35 know any thing of William Taggart?" The answer was, " He died at one o'clock this morn- ing." It was Sunday, and nothing hut the per- formance of my appropriate duties would have kept me away from them till the next morning, when, accompanied by a benevolent lady, I again found myself passing over a part of the same road. But the family abode was no long- er by the seaside ; for the old man had been compelled to sell his little farm to pay his debts, and had removed to a cottage about four miles from Newport, and situated on the principal road across the island. There he had purchased a small house, with a few acres of land. By the assistance of a most benevolent gentleman of the city of New- York, who is well known for his Christian kindness and generosity to the inhabitants of that part of the island, the aged soldier had obtained a pension, and now hoped to maintain his fami- ly honorably and comfortably, when death came and took him away, and left his helpless wife and children to the Father of the fatherless and the widow's God. My brother, in compa- ny with the gentleman just mentioned, visited the family while the father lay on his dying bed. " Will you join with me in the prayers of Samuel Ward, deceased. .36 our Church?" said my brother. "By all means; in the prayers of your own Church, Sir, if you please," said the dying man. He listened wilh deep attention, and seemed most fervently to pray in the language of that sublime and beautiful liturgy, which has, for ages, been hallowed by the lips of martyrs, and confessors, and holy men of old. When the impressive de- votions were ended, the old man exclaimed, with the spirit of charity glowing on his countenance, " You can't have better prayers than those. Sir." The language of the mother was most touch- ing. When she siw her friends in their new cottage, she forgot all her afflictions, and instead of repining, dwelt upon the goodness of God. " O! Mr. Ward," she said, clasping her hands to- gether, as is her custom when deeply moved, "how thankful we ought to be that we have a roof over our heads. But to resume the thread of the narrative. The lady and myself entered the house of mourn- ing. The first sight that met our eyes was the coffin of the good man, decently placed, and wait- ing the last solemn rites. He who had buried two beloved daughters but a short time before, and had not strength to follow the mother of his grand-child, Elizabeth, to the grave, was gone to those who could not return to him. The cripple was now able to move about the 37 house by herself, though not without difRculty» supporting herself from chair to chair. She met us at the door, recognized me, and soon told her mother of our coming. The aged and feeble widow seized my hands, joined them to- gether, bent over them, and, as I felt the tears falling fast upon them, I thought her heart would break, as she cried, " He is gone ! he is gone ! and what shall I do ?" After the first burst of grief had subsided, she began to relate, in the midst of her tears^ the circumstances attending the last hours of her departed husband. He spent them in piously exhorting his neighbours. But he had not left this duty to be done on his death-bed alone; for nearly thirty years he had confessed Christ before men, and he now called together those who had witnessed his consistent and pious life, that he might close his instructions, and having set to them the last hand of faith, seal them up in their presence, with the impress and glowing hope of a blessed immortality. Very often it was supposed that his last moments were rapidly approaching, " and when we told him," said the weeping wife, "that he would wear himself out, he only said, ' let me spend my last hours in doing my Master's will ; let me tell my neighbors, before I go hence, to be no more seen, that they must be ready for the Lord 4 38 at his coming. It will be soon to them also/ O, Sir." she continued, "you cannot tell how he talked. He was so quiet and resigned. On the first day of September he went out of his house for the last time, to pick out his grave. But he was too weak, and had to come back again very soon. Then he said, ' I cannot do it, but my friends will do it for me.' He never went out again. He wrote that account of his life a few days before he died.* He was soon confined to his room ; but sometimes, when the neighbors came in, he would raise himself up in his bed, and talk to them for hours, till we were afraid his strength was all gone. And O, Sir, how good he talked. He said he was going to a world that he had sometimes seen in his dreams, and it was so much brighter and better than this world, that we must not be sorry for him. One night he waked, and told me he thought he had been in that glorious world ; that he should soon be there indeed, and that when he was gone to the better land, I must be comforted, and remember he was happier than he was here, and that I must get ready to join him. But, O ! now he is gone ! What shall I do ? He is gone !" But who may measure the depth of this afflic- tion to Cynthia ? Her father had been almost * See Poems, page xxx. 39 the only person for many long, long years who had truly and fully sympathized with her ; for although others felt for her physical sufferings, they were not all well aware of the exalted nature of the soul that was bowed down beneath this load of bodily agony. It was her father who comforted her desponding hours. It was to her father that she had dictated those little effusions that solaced the weariness of her couch of sorrow. It was her father who had read to her the holy book of God, and sent up from her bed-side the earnest prayer in her behalf. It was her father whom she would see in this world no more. Elizabeth led the way to her sister's chamber. Ascending a steep and narrow staircase, we found ourselves in a very small bed-room, nearly filled with the couch which the sufferer occupied. I approached the head of the bed. She knew me. The chill November blast rattled against and penetrated the loosened window. " Does not this cold wind give you pain ?" " It cools my brain'' was her reply. I soon found that her mental sufferingfor her father's loss was very great ; and though murmurings were repressed, I perceived, by the quivering of her lips, that an inward agony was there. I spoke of the char- acter of the departed; of the victory he had now gained in the great battle of his Master; of the 40 consolation of the scriptures, giving- hope that we shall meet in another world, and recognize our friends who have died in Jesus, if only our own robes are washed white in the blood of the Lamb.* At length Elizabeth said, " Cynthia, will you tell our friend the lines you made about our dear father?" " They are not worthy of being re- peated," she replied, ''for they are only my feelings.^^ But when I requested it she dictated, slowly and distinctly, her trembling hand sup- porting her aching head, and I wrote down, from her lips, line by line, the following : — TO HER FATHER, SUPPOSED TO BE DYINO. My Father ! sweet thy accents fall, And full of tender love ; These will thy suffering child recall, When thou art blest above. Thou didst the words of joy and peace With faith and love combine, That taught my soul from earth to cease, And seek to follow thine. Oh ! shall no more my listening ear Catch that celestial voice ? * 2 Samuel xii. 23; John xiv. 2, 3; 1 Thessalonians iv. 13—18; v. 10; 2 Thessalonians ii. 1. ' i/' ■ i- mm ' '. 'i.' //, 'a. 41 No more thy heavenly converse hear, That bade my soul rejoice ? Those v^rords of kind parental care, Which soothed my bed of pain ; That look of sympathy, oh ! ne'er Shall I behold again ! Where shall thy suffering child repair, To seek protection now ? Since Death's cold hand, so often near, Has touch'd thine honoured brow. Where shall this helpless, writhing form A kind supporter find ? And where, oh ! where, midst Sorrow's storm<, Shall rest this struggling mind ? Who will, like thee, direct the prayer With strong desire to heaven ; And grace unto thy children bear. To fervent pleadings given ? O blessed parent, guide, and friend ! Where shall my soul repose ? Our sky is dark ; what ills attend ! The world no succor showsi Where 1 — but alas ! on earth how vain To seek a cure for grief; Yet One the helpless will sustain ; Thy God will give relief. Yes, He to whom thy soul shall rise, And be for ever blest, Will look, in pity, from the skiea, And gire thy children rest. * 4* 42 Let any humane heart imagine her situation. Separated only by the ceiling, and but a few- feet distant from her father, yet that separation was for ever in this world. She could not be carried to him, and he, for four weeks previous to his death, could not come to her. Still she could hear his voice as he piously exhorted his neighbours, and that voice was to her so dear ! She was soon to hear it no more. Often had the sorrowful tidings been brought to her, that her father was dying, and again he had revived While the rest of the family were assembled around the bed of the dying man, she could but lay in her loneliness and think — " My father still lives, but I shall never see him again !" Before our departure the funeral guests had as- sembled. Among them was a brother of the deceased, the dearest uncle of his children. He was also laid in his grave a few months after- wards, and this bereaved family was left with scarcely a human stay. Having looked once more upon the countenance of the righteous dead, I went away, leaving the mourners to " commit the body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, looking for the gen- eral resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come." The Spring had covered his grave with green 43 grass, when I next stood by it, and the single flower which grew upon it, I plucked, and put into Cynthia's hand. The tears stood in her eyes as she looked upon and cherished this beau- tiful emblem of the resurrection of her father, who should arise from the dead to the new life of heaven, as this humble flower had re-arisen, with the spring, from her father's grave. How often she had been lifted up on her pillow, that she might look upon the orchard trees, under which she had once seen her father walking, but he was there no more. ON A LITTLE FLOWER, AVHICH GREW ON HER FATHER'S GRAVE. Sweet flower ! what bright spot gave thee birth^? Ah ! my sifk heart repHes, It grew upon the hallowed earth Where my lov'd parent lies. Ah ! must his reverend form, beloved, Moulder within the tomb, From earth's bright joyous scenes removed, In Death's dark rayless gloom ? O, blessed parent, whence these tears That will not be repress'd ? I know thy soul in heaven appears. And thou supremely bless'd. 44 Before the eternal throne of God I know thy spirit dwells, And, raptured in that bright abode, Sweet hallelujahs swells. But still my aching heart will bleed, And seek to find thee here ; O, father, much thy love I need, Forgive the falling tear. This blooming flower, June's balmy breeze, Recalls to my sad mind, Where late I saw, beneath the trees. That reverend form reclin'd. While sweet benignity and grace In that calm aspect shone ; Celestial love beam'd in thy face, And joys to earth unknown. While from those lips, sublimest themes In holy ardor flow'd. When faith portrayed the glorious scenes Of thy divine abode. And still those soul inspiring strains Ne'er ceased, but with thy breath ; When racked thy form with mortal pain, Sweet were thy words in death ! And may not this bright, golden flower,* Be a faint emblem, given Of hopes that cheered thy mortal hour, Bright with the rays of heaven. * This flower la commonly called a butter-cup. When at thy last expiring throe. Thy soul, on wings of love, Burst its confining bondage through^ And sought the realms above : Beyond the regions of the skies, Those bright, immortal plains. Where love and pleasure never dies, Where Christ the Saviour reigns. There has thy ransomed soul, refined, With the adoring throng, Transported, in their praises joined, Their everlasting song. And ere that last departing scene, When fled thy soul above, Thou did'st w^ith hallowed joy serene. Dwell on redeeming love. How oft, at evening's tranquil hour, That heavenly voice I heard, When thou, for mercy's healing power, The fervent prayer preferr'd. While humble thanks, each morning rote, As incense to the skies, To Him who bore our heavy woes. And hears our supphant cries. How oft, beside my painful bed, Of languishment and grief, Thou hast sustain'd my fainting head, And sought from heaven relief! While sweetest sympathy divine, In thy loved aspect shone, 46 When press'd my scorching hand in thine, And soothed each anguished moan ! Thou with what glorious words ! didst raise, My drooping thoughts to heaven, And teach my soul on Him to gaze, Who endless life hath given. O, must that look, that voice, no more My fainting soul sustain ? Must still my aching heart deplore. And seek thee still in vain ? O, blessed parent, thou can'st ne'er To thy sad offspring come ; O, may thy helpless child prepare. To gain thine heavenly home. There meet thee in ecstatic bliss, With all the ransomed throng. Arrayed in perfect righteousness : Join, too, that holy song, To Him who fills the throne of heaven, The Lamb for sinners slain, Be glory, honor, blessings given. Eternally — Amen ! June 21s«, 1834. But she had now wholly given up her own will to the will of God. The third chapter of the Lamentations of Jeremiah was read to her, •• I am the man that hath seen affliction by the rod of his wrath," (ver. 1.) The tears fell, but they were more chastened than they were two 47 years before. All her thoughts, whether ex- pressed in the beautiful and appropriate lan- guage of her conversation, or flowing in num- bers, were evidently resting in heaven. She still lives. And who that sits in her little cham- ber, or breathes the pure and refreshing air of heaven, which in summer surrounds that quiet dwelling, can doubt, that the promise " thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness," (Psa. xli. 3,) will be fulfilled, till she come to the invisible land, whose " inhabitants shall not say, I am sick." TO THE SPIRIT OF MY DEPARTED FATHER. O ! blessed Spirit, whither hast thou fled, Far from the pleasant earth and smiHng skies, No more fresh odors, from the bright morn shed, Shall wake thy soul its matin hymn to rise. No more that form shall grace the calm repast, No more those words of holy ardor flow, While beaming faces, with hush'd reverence, cast Fond filial glances o'er that honor'd brow. No more around the tranquil autumn hearth, Where lov'd forms gather as the day dechnes, No more in solemn joy or gentle mirth. That form—that voice—in the lov'd circle joins. *. Far, far away, O desolate abode ! That once loved sounds from those blest footsteps gave^ Ah ! where is he, for whom each fond heart glows, The spirit fled, the lov'd form in the grave. 48 Yes, he whose hoary head and reverend brow= Deep, holy thought and piety bespoke. Whose voice of solemn praises lingers now, That in the soul immortal yearnings woke. 0|holy parent, who thy place shall fill ? Who to the household band shall peace restore ? Thy chair is vacant, and the lov'd voice still, That none shall fill, O never, never more. Yet where art thou, O blessed parent, where ? In the high heavens, through the Redeemer's blood, Chanting high anthems ever glorious there. And praise immortal to the Lamb of God. LETTERS FROM CYNTHIA TAGGART L E T T K R I. To a Lady. Middletown, R. /., Jan. I9tk, 1836. Dear Madam. After having received from you so many de- monstrations of the most pure and disinterested kindness, and so many evidences of the deep and active interest you have taken in my welfare, 1 doubt not but you will pardon this intrusion, however unexpected and exceptionable it be. I now solicit yonr attention a few moments, solely from anxiety to learn something of the state of so benevolent and worthy a friend, to whom I am under the deepest obligations, and for whom I feel an ardor of affection, that I am confident no 49 language can adequately express. Ever since I enjoyed those interesting and highly gratify- ing interviews with you, last summer, I have felt an ardent and irrepressible desire again to hear from so kind and sympathizing a friend ; one who has the peculiar and happy ability of con- tributing so greatly to the relief of the afflicted, and of adapting all her expressions of consola- tion and encouragement so exactly lo the state of the sufferer ; from whom I have formerly received the most exhilirating and scriptural epistles, written in the kindest and most sooth- ing manner, at a time when most needed, when my heart was overwhelmed, when my iiesh was exercised with exquisite pain, and my soul mourned in the bitterness of hopeless grief, Could I again be the recipient of a few similar favors, they would be cherished with the most grateful affection, and would greatly relieve and revive the desponding heart of a wearied sufferer. But I do not'utter this expression of my feelings as a request, for I am truly sensible I have no claims on your kindness, and that all your numerous, unmerited, and unrequited favours, have been bestowed with the utmost disinterestedness. But as you have voluntarily written to me in the most friendly manner, when a stranger, and as it is now so long a period since we have heard oO from you, I cannot wholly divest myself of the fear, though perhaps you will think it childish, that I have in some way offended you, though I know not how it can be, as I am certian, if my heart could be laid bare to view, there has not one thought passed in it respecting yourself from the moment I first saw you to the present, with which you could be displeased, unless your modesty and great Christian humility should in- duce you to disapprove the high estimation in which my heart holds you, and ever must. But I am not only exercised with fears lest I should have unconsciously offended you, but lest you should be suffering from some severe affliction, either personal or relative, and I cannot feel any tranquility or comfort when reflecting on one so inexpressibly dear and worthy, while in uncertainty respecting either. But if neither of the three evils I have feared is a reality, a few lines, if it would not be repugnant to your feel- ings, in affirmation of the same, would relieve a heart susceptible of the tenderest sensibilities, and alive to the keenest emotions, and would add* another to the numerous obligations I am already under to the best of friends, and would increase my gratitude, which is now, and ever will continue inexpressible. My dear friend, I hope 1 have not now displeaaed you 51 by expressing my childish fears, lest I had for- merly done so. I am aware they may be en- tirely needless ; but as I feel some anxiety on that account, and more still lest you should be in affliction, I could not resist the inclination, though I am very feeble, of writing, in the hope of learning from yourself that you are still in the enjoyment of health and prosperity, and that all my fears are altogether groundless. But I am confident, even if I should have unintention- ally offended you, or if you should be in afflic- tion, your true benevolence and Christian chari- ty will induce you still to pray for so distressed and helpless a sufferer and sinner as your poor friend, C. Taggart. Letter II. To Mrs. A. R. M , who has been a sufferer by sickness more than twenty years. April 1st, 1835. Dear and venerated Friend, With mingled pleasure and gratitude I pe- rused your second interesting and very welcome letter. It is a favor most dear to my heart to be remembered, instructed, and consoled by the aged and experienced Christian, especially those who have passed through a series of long con* 52 tinned and trying afflictions ; but have still, not- withstanding the severity of their numerous and protracted distresses, maintained firm and un- shaken confidence in God, an habitual sense of his infinite goodness and compassion, and a calm and placid resignation to his righteous will. To be made the recipient of epistles emanating from the heart of one who has been thus refined and purified in the furnace of af- fliction, are favors for which I can never ex- press nor feel sufficient gratitude. But I am sensible it should be my chief concern to en- deavor to profit by the favors I receive, and to exert my utmost efforts to follow and imitate the examples of those whom I so much esteem and admire ; those who, through faith and pa- tience, are prepared to inherit the promises. O that it may be thus ! O, my dear Madam, in your fervent aspirations for grace, will you not remember your poor afflicted friend, who is weary and heavy laden, and ineffectually pant- ing after rest ? I doubt not but you do remem- ber me in your intercession with the compas- sionate Redeemer ; and it is a source of much consolation, especially as we find in the words of truth, that the effectual, fervent prayers of the righteous avail much. My dear and worthy friend, I truly and deeply sympathize with you 57 consolation, with joy unspeakable and full of glory. It is impossible to express the deep affection, the little intercourse I have had with you has awakened in my heart. Your consol- ing letters, so fraught with encouragement and instruction, and the purest sympathy, will ever be cherished by me as a most valued treasure ; and your subsequent kindness in the unwearied interest you have taken in gaining subscribers, and in many other respects relative to the publication of my little poems, demand my warmest gratitude, and can never be forgotten. My dear friend, may I not hope my heartfelt thanks for all these unmerited favors may be acceptable to you, however inadequate they are to the occasion, and I beg you will be- lieve that I feel abundantly more than I can express. You have not only conferred your precious friendship on a secluded victim of sorrow, but you have gained her many most excellent and invaluable friends, whom, though she may never see, her heart will ever thank and revere. In the reply to the first letter I received from you, I promised to give a par- ticular account of the nature and effects of my peculiar afflictions ; but whenever, through the winter, I have had strength to write, I have been engaged in some little matter that was 58 indispensable at the time ; and now the warmer season has returned, I think I shall not be able, as I am still weaker, and it causes a much more painful eflbrt to write or exercise deliberate thought. But if I were able, though I think the relation could not now interest you, I would feel no reluctance in describing both my physical and mental suffering, to one who is so benevolent and generous, and so richly possessed of that holy charity that thinketh no evil. My mother, and eldest sister, Eliza- beth, request you to accept their best wishes and cordial thanks. They remember you with great esteem and affection. And, my dear friend, may I not request you, through the influence of divine charity, to let us have an interest in your prayers. With great esteem and grateful affection, C. TAGGART, Letter IV. To the same. April Uth, 1835. My dear Miss Your very interesting and welcome letter was handed me by Mr. Gammel], who kindly called on us, and refreshed us, during his short 59 stay, with retined and Christian conversation. The feelings of grateful afiection with which I perused your most truly affectionate and sym- pathizing epistle, and the solace it conferred, I can find no language to express. Your for- mer kind letter, accompanied by a packet from an unknown friend, I also received in safety, from each of which I derived much consolation and refreshment. Such expressions of tender sympathy and affection, though inadequate to remove affliction, are indeed precious, particu- larly those contained in your last communica- tion, coming as they do from one who so fully comprehends the nature and tendency of se- vere and protracted affliction, and who is so intimately conversant with the volume of divine truth, and draws from thence such soothing considerations, so fraught with large and ample consolation and encouragement, and so admira- bly adapted to sustain the sufferer, even in the furnace of affliction, are favors more dear to my heart than all which the unsanctified world eould bestow. I do, indeed, my dear friend, esteem it among the choicest blessings with which I am favored, that the compassionate Redeemer has conferred on me the friendship and sympathy of some of his most truly devoted people, those who most closely and unwearily ^.0 follow his own holy and beneficent example ; and among the most valued and beloved of those highly esteemed Christian friends, per- mit me, my dear Madam, to name the honoured friend to whom I am writing. O that my gratitude were commensurate with my bless- sings, both to their divine Author and to those benevolent individuals by whom they are re- ceived. 1 have indeed greRt cause for gratitude. Your ever precious and thrice welcome epistles never fail to console, instruct, and sus- tain my wayward and desponding soul, and however weary and heavy laden, and bowed down beneath a weight of accumulated afflic- tion, those precious communications invariably lighten the load of sorrow, and revive my drooping spirits, and even infuse a tranquility and peace into my previously overwearied and sinking heart, that the world can neither give nor take away. O how much, how inconceiv- ably much may a kind, intelligent, and sympa- thizing friend do to alleviate the distresses and sustain the spirit of the sufferer in the midst of the most excruciating and protracted afflictions, by a free and imreserved participation in their sorrows. Several interesting considerations, in reference to the afflictions of this life, on which you so ably and instructively remark. 61 seem worthy of much more attention than they generally receive. That this is the only scene in which human beings can alleviate the sor- rows and administer consolation to the afflicted, seems calculated to awaken the dormant sensi- bilities of every Christian, and to excite in them a fervent desire of doing all the good in their day and generation, which it is possible to perform in so limited a period ; and as the gracious Redeemer not only deigns to accept all such kindnesses as are shown to others in his name as done unto himself, but has pro- mised munificently to reward those who have shown the smallest kindness even to the least of his suffering people, one would suppose such considerations peculiarly adapted to awaken in every breast a deep and abiding interest in the sufferings of others, and an ardent and un- wearied desire of contributing to the alleviation of their distresses ; and when they are irre- mediable, to pour the healing balm of sympathy into the wounded heart of those who are hourly struggling to endure with calmness a weight of inconceivable and never ceasing distresses, and to say, in sincerity of soul, ' Not my will, O Lord, but thine be done.' Yet, how little assistance many times do the afflicted receive from those around them in the endurance of 6 62 their sufferings ! Do you not think that the pre- cepts and injunctions of the divine Redeem- er, in reference to soothing aud sustaining the afflicted, are sometimes strangely forgotten even by those who profess to be his followers % Many persons seem to suppose that it is ahoays imaginary sufferings only to which they are called to yield their attention, and in which they are desired to participate, and that any degree of kindness would infallibly augment rather than alleviate them. But I cannot find any such caution suggested in the scripture ; but we find in those sacred records abundant evidence, that this mortal life abounds with a great variety of real and deplorable sufferings. We learn from thence that mankind ' are horn unto trouble,' and that ' great is the misery of man ;' that ' his flesh upon him shall have pain, and his soul within him shall mourn ;' and the numerous injunctions there given to comfort the afflicted, to relieve the distressed, sustain the helpless, and succor the poor and needy ; to remember those who are in bonds, as being bound with them, and to bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the laiv of Christ ; and, above all, the example of the great Redeemer, who invariably evinced the tenderest compas- sion towards every sufferer, and the utmost readiness to relieve every species of distress, seem conclusive, that this over cautious spirit is not derived from the holy oracles, but ap- parently from a worldly principle of sordid sel- fishness, entirely opposite to those inculcated by the benevolent Redeemer. Undoubtedly there are sufferings occasioned by diseases which chiefly affect the imagination, though it is fully evident that all are not such ; but even these ought not, I should suppose, to be exclu- ded from sympathy and tenderness. I have known several persons, in such a state, to be driven almost, one of them quite, to desperation by the harshness with which they were treated by their nominal friends and nearest relations. But I had actually forgotten that I. was writ- ing a letter, and to one of the best and kindest of friends. But you will pardon the digressions dictated by the feelings of a sufferer, even though they may be both erroneous and ill-timed. Iwillnow leave this subject, which occasions regret, and return, for a moment, to one which inspires gratitude. ' The ' packet' which I noticed in the commencement of this letter, contained two letters ; one from Miss G , of Newbury- port, a sick lady, who has suffered long and greatly ; the other from Miss P , of Brookline, Massachusetts, both very excellent and interest- ing epistles, evincive of much Christian sympa- 61 thy and affection. I could scarcely realize that such productions, so fraught with kindness, were from the hands of entire strangers. The first mentioned lady sent me a little pincushion, in the form of a book, which she had executed upon her bed of suffering, and a ring from off her own finger, as mementos of affection, and, as such, I highly vfl/we them. how precious, how inexpressibly precious, enlarged and exalt- ed is the principle of pure and holy love ! how far surpassing any mere natural affection. In this sacred principle, though lowly and unworthy, I doubt not but I am embraced, my dear friend, b)^ you, and by many others,* to whom, without this holy afiection, I should be an object of total indifference, if not of aversion. how inesti- mable are the privileges of the least and lowest of those who are the partakers and subjects of this heavenly affection ! I need not request you, my dear friend, to remember me, or to write to us, whenever it is convenient. I doubt not but you will favor me with your valuable epistles, which, whether I can answer them or not, will ever be more welcome than language can ex- press. Please, my dear Madam, to accept, for yourself and family, the affectionate regards of * See Schiller's beautiful poem addressed to Freude (Joy) 65 my mother and sister, and of your ever attach- ed, C. Taggart. P. S. I regret that I have no verses worth your perusal, but such as I have I will enclose. I have felt so far from writing of late, that I had almost forgotten that I had ever written any.* Letter V . The following letter is printed exactly as written, with a very few changes in orthography. Maij 23d, 1835. Dear and Rev. Sir, Your kind letter of May the 5th, was not re- ceived till on the evening of the 10th, when, as you will perceive, it was too late for my sister to reply to your inquiries, as a letter could not have possibly been forwarded to you in the short inter- val that elapsed between our reception of your and your departure from Providence — and to have written after your arrival in New York was unnecessary. I have continued very ill, much as when you were here, till within a few days — am now a little recovered, though it is in an extremity of pain 1 am now writing, and am so oppressed with a faint sickness that every two or three minutes my strength, thought, and sight, * The lines on the Little Flower, those to the Spirit of her Father, a Hymn, and Psalm, accompanied thi;^ letter, 6* 66 entirely fail me, so that 1 am under the necessity of lying perfectly motionless and silent for a con- siderable time, in order to revive sufficiently to proceed with my task. I should not have writ- ten thus particularly of my health, but that you may perceive that it is not from want of a grateful sense of your kindness, nor from reluctance, that I have not complied with your request, in giving you an exact and minute account of my religious feelings from their commencement to the present time, but that my distressed and very weak state, both of body and mind, render it, at present, wholly impracticable ; and besides, many of the exercises of my heart are such, that it is very difficult to define them ; and many of my early religious impressions and feelings are partially forgotten ; but I have still a clear recollection of the emotions awakened, and the opinions I formed, on my first attentive perusal of the Prayer Book. I was then about twenty-one years of age— I had previously heard, (not from my parents,) many things calculated to prejudice the mind against the Episcopal Church — most that I had heard was from the only member of that Church I had ever seen — he informed my father, with apparent integrity, that it was the general and prevailing custom among the mem- bers of the religious community to which he belonged, to frequent balls and theatres, and 0? Sill places ui public aiuuseineiit to which the gay and accomplished votaries of pleasure resorted ; and that even their most devout, and their pastors, considered it no sin, nor the least deviation from duty. My father, though not then a Christian, was much surprised at his relation. He thought such apractice evidently opposite to the holy and self-denying example of Christ and his apostles, and at variance with the principle and spirit of the gospel, and a direct violation of its sacred injunctions. Of course, after hearing such a statement from an Episcopalian, I could not ex- pect, on taking up the Prayer Book for the first time, to find in its pages the pure and undefiled religion of the Bible. I was, therefore, greatly surprised on perusing it, to find its doctrines and precepts wholly evangelical — that it contained much of the holy word of God — and the purest, most scriptural, and deeply impressive forms of devotion I had ever read or witnessed. I par- ticularly admired the clear and comprehensive manner in which the most important doctrines of the Bible are set forth in the Articles, and many other parts of the book — the doctrines of the three equal persons in the adorable Trinity — the depravity and utter helplessness of man — his state of condemnation and exposure to the wrath of God — his absolute need of an Almighty as, ' Savior, and of an entire change of heart wrought by the effectual operation of his Holy Spirit, in order ever to be raised from degradation and wretchedness to a state of reconciliation with God, and of eternal blessedness — were, I found, so constantly and clearly brought forward and inculcated, that it seemed impossible they should be misapprehended or confounded, or but what any sincere inquirer after truth must derive spiri- tuahbenefit and more scriptural views from an attentive perusal of them. The various prayers, thanksgivings, and praises, seemed peculiarly adapted to show mankind their own character — to convince them of their lowliness and vileness in the sight of an infinitely holy God — of their entire dependence on Him for every good, both temporal and spiritual, and of their especial need of th© inspiration of his Holy Spirit, in order to serve Him acceptably and profitably to them- selves. The service for the burial of the dead, and the communion service, I thought surpassed anythingthat could have been composed by man, or selected from the scriptures for those solemn and deeply interesting occasions. Of the service for infant baptism, as my judgment was then immature, I formed no decided opinion ; but my views of the general influence, beauty, and utility Df the Prayer Book, which were then formed, I ^9 have ever continued to entertain ; and of the small part on which I was then undecided, I presume not now to express my opinion. Yet I think, as I have ever thought, since I became interested on religious subjects, that it is highly important, and a positive duty, that children should be religiously instructed as early as prac- ticable, and trained up in the nurture and admo- nition of the Lord. But it seems hardly proba- ble that these duties, in all cases, would be con- scientiously performed, unless they were re- quired and inculcated by the Church. My judgment of the different modes of baptism was derived entirely from an attentive perusal of the Bible, from which I was led to conclude that immersion was chiefly practised by the apostles and their followers. I never read any work in favor of this mode of baptism, nor ever heard my father, or any one else, converse particularly on the subject. I have heard it incidentally mentioned, but no more. All that my father ever endeavored to impress on the minds of his children and family, was the importance and ne- cessity of a studious and prayerful attention to the Holy Scriptures, and of earnestly seeking an interest in Christ, in the way that God had there appointed. His example, in being him. self baptized by immersion, was all that could. 70 in any degTee, have influenced my judgment, I have read several treaties in vindication of other modes of baptism, in which the writers endeavor to prove, by the original languages of the Scriptures, that effusion or sprinkling was the prevailing practice in the apostolic and early ages ; still there is no material change in my opinion : if the general correctness of the received translation of the Bible can be depended on, I still think immersion the primitive practice. But as it is the opinion of many excellent per- sons that the mode is not essential, I can readily,. in this respect, submit my judgment to theirs ; more especially as sickness, and other causes, may render one mode impracticable, other modes would seem allowable. From the period when I first became acquainted with the value and ex- cellence of the services and institutions of the Episcopal Church, I have thought much on the tendency of those solemn forms of worship, to awaken in the mind of the Christian a devotional spirit, to humble the natural pride of the heart, and to purify and elerate the affections, and fix them devoutly on God. They seemed, also, more calculated to suitably and religiously afliect the mind of the unregenerate, than those devo- tional services which are uttered exclusively by the minister. They possessed, in my view,. 71 peculiar appropriateness and adaptation to the nature and necessities of man, and to the digni- ty, holiness, and condescending mercy of their Creator and Redeemer, and admirably suited to solemnize the mind, and deeply impress it with a sense of the immediate presence of a holy and heart-searching God, and of the pure and spiri- tual worship due to his infinite perfections ; and, through the grace of the Redeemer, to increase that faith which works by love, and purifies the heart, and overcomes the world. And, at that time, I felt a desire of attending the services, and enjoying the privileges of that excellent Church of Christ, for which I have ever con- tinued to feel a degree of preference, though I was then, and for many subsequent years, wholly unacquainted with any of its members, with the exception of the individual before alluded to. Yet I felt, and still increasingly /ee/, an ardent affection for the Baptists with whom I have as- sociated, on whose preaching I have attended, and by whose prayers and Christian counsel and conversation I have been enlightened and consoled, and highly esteem and reverence them as a Christian community. I have long since fe!t convinced, that if I enjoyed a firm and abid- ing persuasion that I were a real member of Christ's spiritual body, I should feel no hesita- 72 tioD, but could, with pleasure and with profit, become araemberof either of the three churches, with whose doctrines and practice I have had an opportunity of becoming acquainted — the Episcopal, Baptist, and Presbyterian : the be- lief of these churches on the most important doctrines of the Bible, and all that is essential to salvation, is, I believe, generally considered the same ; and those points on which they differ, seem, from the conclusion I have drawn from scripture, comparatively unimportant, and such as may, allowably, be left to the different judg- ments of men, who conscientiously desire to obey their Lord and Savior in all things. And if they were thus left, without acrimonious dis- putes and uncharitable controversies, could not much more good be done, and much more in the spirit of the gospel, and far less occasion given to the enemies of the Lord, to pour reproach on the religion of Christ, if Christians generally and unitedly directed their efforts to convince mankind of their sin and danger while in a state of alienation from God, and of their need of seeking an immediate reconciliation through the atoning blood of the all-gracious and all-suf- ficient Redeemer, by whom alone they can es- cape everlasting destruction, and be made meet for the inheritance of the saints in light. 1 have 73 often felt deeply pained on hearing or reading harsh and reproachful expressions from one de- nomination of Christians against another, and have wondered much that those who are re- deemed by the same precious Savior, should evince no more love for each other, and no more concern for those who are in a state of unbelief and enmity to God, and consequent danger of eternal misery. Cowper says, speaking of man- kind in general, that ' brethren in calamity should love ;' how much more, it would be thought, should brethren in Christ, who are all partakers of the divine nature, renovated by the same grace, and members of the same spiritual kingdom, and all anticipating the joys of eternal blessedness — how much more it would, natu- rally, be thought, should such love each other with a pure heart, fervently ; that they would be pitiful, tender-hearted, ybriemn^ one another, and forgiving one another in love, even as God for Christ's sake had forgiven them. Undoubt- edly many Christians are actuated by this holy and fervent affection ; but it seems not so gene- rally prevalent, as the sacred volume, from whence all derive their hopes and happiness, commands and inculcates. But I was not aware, until the present mo- ment, that I am exceeding your wishes. You 7 74 desired an account of my early religious feel- ings, while, though I have not been able minute- ly to give it, I have been venturing to express my feelings at random. Yet I know that I need not apologize to so kind a friend. But I must earnestly request you, as a friend, not to make what I have written in any degree public, unless you will first have the kindness to amend or ex- punge whatever is amiss, as it is impossible, in my very suffering state, to collect my thoughts and confine them to one subject, or to arrange my expressions in a clear and intelligible man- ner. I am, indeed, extremely weak, and while writing, have daily* felt exhaustion, even to faintness. I know not exactly, for what pur- pose you wished this written, but confide it to your care, with the again repeated request, that you will erase or correct all that is inconsistent or unsuitable before you make any exhibition of it whatever, if such should be your intention ; which favor will be ever gratefully acknowledg- ed by me. It is very uncertain whether I can come to a conclusion to embrace the ordinances of religion. My unfitness is the great obstacle, which no hu- * It will be perceived, by comparing the dates, that this letter was written in the course of thirteen days, a circumstance which requires no comment. 76 man friend, however interested in my welfare, can remove. Yet I know there is One who can remove it, but as I do not enjoy the comfort of a clear apprehension of Christ, I fear it would be presumptuous to become a member of his Church, I know not at present how to decide. I desire to be directed by that Spirit which will guide me into all truth. Dear Sir, will you do me the kindness to continue your prayers in my behalf. that I may yet have peace and joy in believing. Dear and honored Sir, Your deeply indebted friend, C. Taggart. June 5th. Letter VI. To a Lady. My DEAR, BELOVED FrIEND, It is impossible for me to give you an idea of the gratification and comfort the perusal of your interesting and excellent writings has afforded me. I have read them till my eyes are sight- less, and am obliged to desist through utter in- ability to discern a syllable ; but I wish to re- tain them, if it meets your approbation, till I can have an opportunity of reading them again and again ; they have afforded me so much conso- lation, and are so soothing to my feelings — par- 76 ticularly your remarks on the afflictions of Job, and the unhappy addition to his distresses^ caused by the arguing of his friends from per- verted principles of judgment, and applying ta his case what was entirely inappropriate ; and also the precious consolation and benefit afford- ed the afflicted by a truly sympathizing and be- nevolent friend ; one whose soul is filled with a portion of that holy charity that glows in the breast of the Savior, and who can, without in- credulity, enter deeply into the feelings of others, and in the fulness of Christian sympathy and compassion, participate in their sorrows, and pour the balm of consolation into the wound- ed spirit of the sufferer. These remarks are indeed refreshing to my spirit — they are just what I have always wished to find when read- ing works adapted to the state of the afflicted, and are so peculiarly applicable to my case and feelings, that they could not have been more so. I feel it a great privilege and blessing-, that I have been permitted to see them; and I beg you would accept my heartfelt thanks, both for these and the sweet solace and support I have derived from your two last precious visits. I know it will be gratifying to your benevolent and sympathizing mind, to know you have af- forded comfort and happiness to a tried and weary sufferer. 77 I deeply regret that I cannot have one more opportunity of seeing you before your departure from our island ; but I wish to be thankful for what I have already enjoyed. I am of such a singular make, or it may be in some measure owing to debility, that I cannot enjoy much in conversation, nor be intelligible to others, un- less I am alone with one person ; then I feel free and familiar, and enjoy conversation great- ly. But if only two or three, even our best friends, are present, my thoughts and feelings seem suspended, and I am incapacitated for any enjoyment. Always, from my earliest child- hood, 1 derived much more pleasure from being in company with only one person ; but since I have been so greatly debilitated, it seems es- sential not only to my comfort, but to my being able to make myself understood. But, indeed, this is too trifling a matter to write upon, but I know you will have the kindness to excuse it. The last morning you visited us I deferred bid- ding you good-bye till I had bade good-morn- ing to Mrs. Cutler and Miss JuHa,*as I per- ceived they wished to go immediately down, and with the hope that I might enjoy your com- pany a few moments longer, while they were speaking with the rest of the family ; but as my expectations were disappointed, I lost the 7* 78 opportunity of informing you what a comfort your conversation and letters have been to me, and what a deep sense I have of your kindness ; not only your precious sympathy, but the be- nevolent interest you have taken in promoting the publication of the little Poems. But 1 beg you would now accept my acknowledgments for all these favors^ and believe that it is ut- terly impossible for me to express half the af- fection and esteem I feel for you, or half my gratitude to one of the best of earthly friends. May you ever enjoy a holy peace in your soul and ease in your body, and at last have an abundant entrance administered unto you to the heavenly kingdom. Remember your joyless but greatly obliged friend, Cynthia Taggart. My mother's and sister's love to you. Please to remember me with respectful regard to your worthy family, and to the lady from whom I re- ceived a letter of consolation enclosed in one from you. If it would not be asking too great a favor, I would request you to write to me whenever it is convenient. The preceding was written with the hope of its reaching you while you continued in our neighborhood, as the last time I saw you, owing 79 to the shortness of the time, and the confusion of my mind, I could not say much that I wish- ed — and there is still much that I wish to say ; though I have great reason to fear you will be weary of perusing it ; but I hope and believe you will kindly excuse the inconsistent and sin- gular expressions of a mind ever wearied and oppressed with its tortured and agonized body. The excellent and truly pious family to whom we are indebted for our introduction to your- self and many other excellent friends, from whom we have received abundant kindness, still continue to visit us, notwithstanding it must be, we think, an unpleasant task, owing to our being entirely illiterate and uncuUivated ; but they are filled with holy charity and com- passion — with the spirit of him who went about doing good. It is truly astonishing to us, and ever will continue to be so, that such a superior family, endued with every excellence, and blest with every earthly blessing, should, notwith- standing the great contrast in our stations, and when entire strangers to us, condescend to visit us from the time they first heard of us, and participate and sympathize in our afflictions, and soothe our distresses, and continue to af- ford us every relief, both temporal and spiritual that the most exalted and highly favored human 80 beings can bestow. Surely while we retain the sentiments and feelings of rational beings, we can never cease to feel the most heartfelt and overflowing gratitude for such abundant and unmerited kindness; and it is not in the power of language to express the great esteem and ardent affection that we feel for those devoted and self-denying followers of a crucified Sa- vior. may they all, with you, my dear, pre- cious friend, receive His choicfest blessings both now and evermore. C. T. " I am far from forgetting, neither shall I ever forget, the great obligations we are under to the worthy and benevolent Mr. D. [T. W. Dorr, editor of the first edition of her poems.] Letter VII. To a Lady. My dear Miss , You cannot conceive how anxious I feel that your valuable, I would say if you would permit me, invaluable ' Tract,' might be published. I think it would do great good in the world. I believe there are very few persons that consider how important and essential it is to have an in- timate knowledge of the case of the afflicted, and to enter deeply into their feelings, in order to console and strengthen the tried and wearied 81 spirit. I think many Christians offer consola- tion and exhortation at random, and apply ob- servations and remarks to the case of the suf- ferer that are so inappropriate, they cannot fail of wounding the feelings deeply. I have reason to conclude, from my own experience, that many excellent Christians visit the afflicted with a sincere desire to alleviate their sufferings, but owing to having no apprehension of their pecu- liar case, or at least a very superficial one, they not only fail of alleviating, but greatly in- crease their sufferings, and perhaps cause the objects of their kindest solicitude a sleepless and agonizing night ; and sometimes so deeply wound the feelings, as to fill the soul with al- most insupportable anguish ; and this increase of imhappiness is caused by Christian friends who ardently desire to relieve, and think, and are confident that they have said what was best and most calculated to afford it ; and if they find they have failed to relieve, they either at- tribute it to the perversity of the sufferer, or to a causeless depression of spirits, when it is neither, but solely because they do not compre- hend the peculiar state of the individual with whom they have conversed ; and as they do not apprehend, so neither can they feel a sym- pathizing participation in the sufferings they 83 would fain relieve. I think your excellent treatise on the importance of Christian sympa- thy, would be instructive and beneficial to all, and increase the usefulness of the best of Christians, as you clearly show in the case of Job and his friends, that an intimate knowledge of the peculiar stale of the afflicted, as intimate as ' finite natures are capable of,' is essential, in order to do much good, and to appropriately ap- ply the precious balm afforded in the gospel to the weary, wounded soul. I do most anxiously hope it will be published, solely that it may do good. how I long to see you ! There is nothing but what I would willingly, gladly suf- fer, if I might have the privilege of seeing and hearing you converse two or three hours. I never met with any person that could enter so deeply into my feelings, or with whom I could converse so freely, though many excellent and sympathizing Christians have condescended to converse with me with the utmost kindness, and manifested a heartfelt and consoling inte- rest in my afflictions, to whom I feel under un- speakable obligations, and love and reverence with all my heart ; but you have been afflicted in a peculiar manner, and know how, with an unusual and sweet appropriateness, to speak a word to those that are weary. may you 83 continue, through the blessing of the Lord, still to relieve and comfort His afflicted people. It is impossible for language to express the sweet relief and solace you have afforded my tried and wearied mind. O may you ever receive the abundant blessings promised to those that succor and console the afflicted and distressed ! C. Taggart. The following poems, like those *' On the Little Flower," "To the Spirit of my departed Father," &c., were written after the second edition of her Poems was published. See note, page 65. PSALM CXXXVII. By the rivers of Babylon silent we mourned, As the cool shades of evening in calmness returned ; But our thoughts lost in grief", no sweet relief find, No ease for the captive, no balm for the mind. O bitter the tear drops that silently fell, As we thought of loved Zionand sighed sad farewell! And bursting the sigh from our bosom arose, As the wild heaving billow tempestuously flows. Our harps once our joy on our festival days, No more shall resound with the sweet warbled lays ; In this land of the stranger for ever unstrung, Neglected as now, on the dark willows hung. 84 While we thought of our country, by tyrants possessed, And wept for our monarch in bondage unblest, Then our victors triumphant derided our pains, Saying, " Sing us your Zion's mellifluous strains." No, never the captive shall sing the pure song Of the Lord, while degraded the heathen among; No, silent for ever my voice shall remain, And my heart never vibrate with sweet sounds again. If e'er her loved song from my harp should be poured, May the hand cease to move that awakens the chord ; And my tongue in mute silence remorse ever keep, If I sing while the loved of Jerusalem weep. Remember, O Lord, the derision and scorn, That thy children in silence and anguish have borne ; When our enemies, shouting, rejoiced in our wo. When they saw thy loved city deserted and low. Oh! daughter of Babylon,wasted with grief Thou too soon shalt be, and shalt find no relief; Thy children shall perish by vengeance in store. And thy fame and thy glory avail thee no more. HYMN. Almighty God ! enthroned on high. Creator, Sovereign, Lord, Look on a soul condemned to die, Save from thy righteous sword. Thy holy precepts, just and kind. This soul can ne'er fufill, For sin has veiled my darkened mind, And captive led my will. My soul was guilty, ruined, lost. When first I drew my breath. 85 And far from God through Yii'e hath past Near to the gates of death. But hast thou not, for ruined souls. Proclaimed thy sovereign love, And sent thy co-eternal Son, Down from the realms above 1 His holy soul thy precepts loved, And magnified thy law, The curse sustained, from man removed, Thy justice asks no more. O then let mercy melt my heart. Create anew my soul, A taste of love divine impart. And all my powers control. Then will this ransomed spirit give Eternal thanks to thee, And glory to that sovereign love, That bare the curse for me. MISSIONARY HYMN.* Blessed heralds of salvation, Jesus' mandate now fulfill ; Vi?it every distant nation, And proclaim His gracious will : To the sterile polar regions, To the tropic islands haste ; Till the Rose of Sharon blossom In each wild, uncultured waste. * Written after a verbal account, by Mr. R., of the departure for China of the Rev. Peter Parker, M. D. 8 86 Haste, and bear Immanuel's story Where the Pagan idols stand, Till the radiance of His glory Shall illume each heathen land — Till each erring soul benighted, Shall the Savior seek in prayer. And a holy hope be lighted That shall reign for ever there. Where the raging passions torment, And vi^here human blood is spilt, There proclaim the great atonement That shall cancel human guilt: Let His Word of Life be given, And His dying love proclaim, Till the savage heart be riven, And adore the Savior's name. Bear the news of grace and pardon O'er each sea to every strand, Till you cross the sea of Jordan, And behold the promised land : Then at Christ's right hand ascended, Where celestial joys abound, Toil and every trial ended, Be with life eternal crowned. A P P E xN D I X . A. CYNTHIA TAGGART. Seldom does woman have an opportiniity of becoming a heroine in action— it is only in the calm endurance of afflictions that the strength of her soul is tested ; and fe- male genius never appears so lovely as when, like the trodden chamomile, it springs apparently from the very pressure that threatens to destroy it. Look on the mild face of the sufferer represented in the picture.* For twelve long years the original has been confined to her bed, oppressed by a most excruciating disease, which for months together has deprived her of all natural rest, and rendered the most powerful opiates necessary in order to lull her into a momentary slumber. The physician's art has wholly failed to reach her case, and the tender care of her friends has been exhausted in vain to relieve her. And yet, while lying in this deplor- able and hopeless situation, she has accomplished what will entitle her name to a record among the good and talented daughters of America. The history of Cynthia Taggart is a record of sufferings endured ; but these have been'ennobled by pious feelinffs and sublime meditations, and the sighings of her wound- ed spirit she has breathed upon the harp of poetry in some of the suddest, sweetest strains, such as only a mind of a high order, and a bean of exquisite sensibility, could have framed and poured forth. Before we proceed to gratify our readers with a speci- men from her poems, we must give a sketch of the writer. * See the American Ladies' Magazine, edited by Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, B.'ston. The extiacls above are from the Numb (;r for March, 1835. 88 She is a native of Rhode Island. Her father, William Taff^^art, was a soldier of the Revolution; one ot the patnotic defenders of his country in the tunes that tried men's soulr^. During the occupation of the island by the British troops the greater part of the property ot the Tao-aart family was destroyed, thus reducing them from affluence to poverty ; but when, at the conchision of the war, they found their beloved country free, their own individual losses and privations were scarcely counted as misfortunes. Young William Taggart purchased a form about six miles from Newport, at the south-eastern ex- tremity of the island, erected a small house on the side ot a hiP which descends precipitately to the sea and here he established himself, living in almost hermit-hke retire- ment. His wife was an amiable and pious woman, and tog..ther they labored to support and educate, in the principles of pure religion, their family of daughters. Cynthia was the youngest, and-but we must let her tell her own story-it comes from her pen with a simple pathos, which would be marred by any alteration we could give it. ^ i i • „f ^c ' During infancy and childhood I was the subject ot emaciating disease, and suifered much from pain and de- bility ; but, when health permitted, I occasionally attended school, during the summer season only, from my sixm to my ninth year, and six or eight weeks several years afterwards, to study geography and grammar. My knowledge of writing and arithmetic was acquired at home, as also that of grammar and geography with the above mentioned exception. I had likewise some oppor- tunity, which was sedulously improved, of attending to the interesting study of astronomy, natural and civil history, and of reading the works of esteemed authors on important subjects ; but have been chiefly debarred, by sickness and indigence, from the advantages ol education, for which, during childhood and youth, 1 longed with an intensity of desire, that was acutely pamful. But tor many years past 1 have resignedly acquiesced in the allotments of Providence; believing assuredly, that all things are ordered in infinite mercy, and that the decrees of the all-wise Creator are righteous altogether. • From the earliest time I caa recollect, I was, though 89 not melancholy, of a meditative and retired habit, and found much more amusement in yielding my mind to a pleasing train of fancy, and in forming stories and scenes according to my inclination, than in the plays, in which the children with whom I associated took delight. And during the whole of my childhood and youth, previous to my incurable illness, I derived incomparably more entertainment and delight from these mental reveries, and in silently contemplating the beauties and wonders of the visible creation, than in associating with my youth- ful companions ; though I was not averse to society, especially that in which I could find a congenial spirit, and such I highly enjoyed. My favorite amusements were invariably found, when health permitted, in view- ing and admiring the varied and soul-filling works of the great Creator ; in listening to the music of the winds and waves with an ineffable and indefinable delight; in reading books that were instructive and interesting; in pursuing, without interruption, a pleasing train of thought; and in the Elysian scenes of fancy. My em- ployments were chiefly of a domestic kind, and my incli- nations and habits those of activity and industry. I had never the most remote and vague apprehension, that my mental capacities, even if cultivated, vvere competent for productive eiforts : with few exceptions, it was not till several years after the commencement of excruciating illness, that my thoughts and feelings were committed to paper, in the form of poetry ; and the sole cause of the production of m%ny little pieces, since that period, was, that in them my mind found some small relief from the pressure of incessant suffering, though, from the pre- valence of bodily langor, it was possible to derive only transient amusement from thus occupying ray thoughts; if longer persisted in, partial faintness and an insup- portable agony of the brain ensued. ' I was frequently, during childhood, the subject of re- ligious impressions, especially when hearing or reading of the love of Christ, the depravity of the human heart, and the happiness or misery of a future state. But these impressions were fleeting ; and it was not till my eigh- teenth year, that any abiding seriousness was produced in my mind : when I became deeply impressed with the 90 supreme excellence and importance of religion, and greatly desirous that my dark and alienated mind might be enlightened by the Spirit of Truth, and brought into a sacred nearness to the Savior of sinners, — that my soul might be renovated, and entirely conformed to the holy will of God, and that I might live a devoted and useful life. And for a short time I bc;lieved I had experienced, in part, what I so anxiously desired ; but I have never derived that peace and consolation from religion which Christians in general enjoy, and which it is so amply adequate to afford. But if I have not been the subject of renovating grace, and of those holy illuminations that are essential to the divine life, it is my earnest and supreme desire that I yet may be, and that my soul, in life and in death, may be entirely resigned and conformed to the righteous will of the all wise God and Savior. But though I have failed of obtaining that enjoyment and holy delight, which the principles of religion in ordinary cases uiFord, yet through a series of the deepest afflictions, thev have been my sole support. When in the bloom of youth with a high relish for the tranquil and delightful amusements of early life, and an ardent desire of im- provement, I was at once deprived of every earthly enjoyment, and of almost all thai could render life toler- able, — doomed to the endurance of perpetual bodily anguish, — and, while writhing upon the bed of languish- ing, deprived even of the sweet and soothing influence of sleep, the all-important support and restorative of exhausted and decaying nature. In thi midst of these deplorable calamities, a firm belief in the doctrines of the gospel has sustained my spirit, and endued my soul with strength to bear, with a measure of composure end resignation, these long protracted and inconceivable sufferings. ' But in order to give a more explicit account of the nature and progress of this afflictive dispensation, I must revert to the period of its connnencement, which was that of my existence ; from which, and during infancy and childhood, I was so extremely sickly, that my parents had no hope of my attaining mature years ; and though blessed, from my sixth year, with a degree of strength that enabled me occasionally to attend school, and after- 91 wards to engage in active employment, yet my slender constitution was frequently assailed by disease, from my birth to my nineteenth year. Shortly after this period, I was seized with a more serious and alarming iilnesa than any with which I had hitherto been exercised, and in the progress of which my life was for many weeks despaired of But after my being reduced to the brink of the grave, and enduring excruciating pain and ex- cessive weakness for more than three months, it yielded to snperior,medical skill; and I so far recovered strengih as to walk a few steps, aud frequently to ride abroad, though not without a great increase of pain, and ahnost inadclening agony of tlie brain, and a total deprivation of sleep for three or four nights and days successively. 'From this time a complication of the most painful and debilitating chronic diseases ensued, and have con- tinued to prey upon my frail system during the sub- sequent period of my life, — from which no permanent relief could be obtained, either through medicine, or the most judicious regimen, — natural sleep having been withheld to an almost if not altogether unparalleled de- gree, from the first serious illness throughout the tv;elve subsequent years. This unnatural deprivation has caused the greatest deb lity, and an agonizing painfulness and susceptiliility of the whole system, which I think can neither he described nor conceived. After the expira- tion of a little more than three years from the above mentioned illness, the greater part of which period I was able to sit up two or three hours in a day, and frequently rode, supported in a carriage, a short distance, though, as before observed, not without great increase of pain, and total watchfulness for many succeeding niiihts, — I was again attacked with a still more acutely painful and dangerous malady, from which recovery for several weeks seemed highly improbable, when this most alarm- ing complaint again yielded to medical skill, and life continued, though strength has never more returned. And in what agony, in what excruciating tortures, and restless languishing the greater part of the last nine years has been pa.ssed, it is believed by my parents that lan- guage is inadequate to describe or the human mind to conceive. During both the former and latter period of these long-protracted and uncompromising diseases, 92 every expedient that has been resorted to, with the bliss- ful hope of recovery, has proved, not only ineffectual to produce the desired result, but has, invariably, greatly aggravated and increased my complicated complaints ; from which it has been impossible to obtain the smallest degree of relief that could render life supportable, and preserve the scorching brain from phrensy, without the constant use of the most powerful anodynes.'* How wonderful is the power of genius ! There are thousands of young ladies in our land, who enjoy the ad- vantages of j education, and society, and health, and yet how few among these could indite a strain, which, in all that constitutes the beauties of poesy, would equal the following breathing of ' The Heart's Desire,' from this uneducated, poor, stricken, suffering girl. " Essay, my heart, my aching heart, To lisp thy longing forth ; Speak thy intense desire to gaze Upon the blooming earth. '* All the desires that e'er thou felt'st, Compared with this, (save one,) Die sooner than the taper's beam. When the quick blast hath blown. ** This, this my panting heart excites, With all a passion s glow, That I may know long banished health, And feel the balmy air's sweet stealth Across my temples flow ; " And stray the verdant landscape o'er, And press the lawns, and walk the shore, That I have traced long since before, And lift mine eyes unpained, to view The glorious morning sun. " What years have passed of anguish keen, Since last I heard the roar Of clashing waves, or marked the scene, * Written in 1834. 93 Where in the milder sea's deep green, The inverted, towering trees were seen From yon delightful shore, " Or heaid the warbling concert ring, While echoing joys responsive sing. And purling brook, and bubbling spring, In sweet melodious offering, Their simple music pour ! " Long since. I watched the sun go down, Far in the vertnil west; And lingering viewed his latest beam, Till the fair evening star's first gleam Shouc in the misty east; "Then sought the stilly couch at night. With sweet repose and calm delight, While Fancy's soft aerial flight, In milder gleams of magic light, Shed peace upon my breast. " Soft slumber's downy arms received My sinking form, and sweet relieved The pleasing task of thought, WhiUt the gay dream's Unfettered themes The brain's freed fibres sought. " Or, deeper in the placid night, I watched the flickering northern light, Or gliding meteor's bound. Or saw the fair moon slow ascend Her radiant height, while stars attend At humble distance round ; " Or viewed the silvery hill and dale. While the sweet night airs plaintive wail Through gilded branches of each tree, — Or moan in concert with the sea. And sigh along the ground. " 'Tis long since summer's early dawn, That breaks the shades of night, 94 And the gay, smiling, blooming morn Have cheered my aching sight; — " When songs of sweeter harmony Than night's soft chanted melody Salute the captive ear; And far soft slumber's bondage flies From off the glad, rejoicing eyes, And joys unveiled appear. <' 'Tis long since at the winter hearth, When friends and kindred meet In serious joy, and playful mirth, I held a happy seat, " And turned beside the taper's light The instructive pages o'er ; Or heard the wise discourse of age; Or read with awe the sacred page, And felt its quick'ning power; Then joined the joyous vocal strain, While fast against the sheltering pane Dash the large pattering drops of rain, Or wild winds blustering roar.* The accomplished writer may express, with great pow- er and beauty, sentiments very foreign from his or her heart; but when the untaught strike the harp, the songs are always truth. Hence the character and history, even of these last, may be as certainly deduced from their pro- ductions, as the order and genus of a wild plant may be traced by its flower. The secluded place in which Miss Taggart had always resided, furnished images of great power and beauiy for her peculiar train of thought ; — ^the sea, whose waves had been the playmates of her child- hood ; the wind, whose gentlest breathings were audible in this lonely place ; the stoims which swept in their ac- cumulated force over the Atlantic, till their whole fury seemed bursting on the hill-side where stood the isolated dwelling, — these are the images that most frequently oc- cur, when her laboring heart would express its feelings * See Ode to Health, p. 7. 95 of sadness, and hopelessness, and misery. It would have been unnatural had not these melancholy im- pressions been predominant in her mind. A humble Christian she is, and resigned to the will of her heavenly Father, but nature could not, without strugghng, always endure the cross. And He who prayed in his agony that if it were possible the ' cup might pass from him,' will not count the sighs of a breaking heart as rebellion against God. Two strong feelings divide the musings of this solitary invalid — the longing for health and for sympathy. The loveliness of domestic affections too, often breaks in on her dark mind, like a gleam of sunshine in the prison of Chillon There is-onepoem, " The Happiness of Early Years," we have read over and over ; it is almost too long to quote, but we feel loath o mark out a stanza ; it would be like throwing away a pearl ; and so here is the whole.* There are several other poems in the collection, which are equal in beauty to those we have given. The ' Ode to the Poppy' has been often published and admired. The nature of her disease deprived her of that comforter of the wretched, 'bahny sleep,' and her poems abound with pathetic allusions to this circumstance, which added such bitterness to her wo. How full of beauty are these natural expressions of feelings which, in her situation, were no exaggerated picture of the thoughts which would visit her sleepless pilliow. There is nothing in Young more plaintive. " Others to rest resigned ; alone I wake. Weary and sad : and silent cast my eyes Around the solemn scene ; no voice is heard ; No footsteps move : a perfect stillness reigns, Save the light breeze that sighs in softened sounds, And plaintive murmurs round the casement lone. The pensive stars glow faintly : the fair moon Has risen on high, in majesty serene. ♦ See Poems, p. 84. / 96 How mildly beams her soft quiescent light, As if ordained to inspire tranquility, And fill the soul with sentiments benign. How far from me is sweet tranquility ! * * * « >* * The soul, — ah me, these agonizing thrills, These wild commotions and insatiate pains! When banished nature's great supporter, how Can nature bear this dread conspiracy Of ills unnumbered 1 Yet, so long as flow The faintly circulating streams of life, Dear is thy dreary gloom, O Night! to me. Though rest hath vanished from thy lingering hours. And griefs augmenting cause convulsive starts, That make me quickly turn from side to side, Fatigued and fainting with the frequent task ; Yet thou art welcome still, and thy deep tones. That sigh congenial sadness from the wind, — Whether in whispers soft it moan around, Or fiercer breathe its strong impetuous power; When the fair moon her aspect mild displays Amid the silence of the twinkling stars, Or when obscured by thick and sombre clouds ; Night, still thou ever art more dear to me, Than all the glories of the rising day." But we must leave this interesting volume. Our rea- ders, who feel an interest in the sligljt sketch we have been able to give, will doubtless be glad to learn that by purchasing the book they will do kindness to the author. This interesting and gifted young woman is now depriv- ed of her father, and though not absolutely dependent on charity, is yet in those straitenedcircumstances which add the fear of want to the pang of sickness. The Poems were published entirely for her benefit, and that the work has reached a second edition is good evidence that her merits are appreciated. We feel confident that our readers will thank us for introducing to their notice an example of such pure and humble worth. There is beauty in every thing that awa- kens the moral sensibilities of our nature, and our affec- tions are drawn forth by every object that excites the tear 97 or smile of sympathy. We may, however, look on a face radiant with health and happiness without interest? but the linman heart is so constituted, that the appear- ance of sorrow and suffering almost always moves the feelings, exciting in the mind those sentiments and re- flections which tend to make us better and wiser. How very few persons live in the unbounded enjoy- ment of every luxury, compared with those who are poor and distressed ! and from the attacks of disease, no mor- tal being is exempted. The bed of sickness, like the grave, waits for all. Is it not then of the utmost impor- tance to acquaint ourselves with the resources which the mind and heart possesses, that we may be prepared against the day of adversity ; when the hour of bodily weakness comes, we can sustain the energies of the sinking spirit, by employing them in thought, in the fields of imagination, and we shall then improve our powers, even in deep afflictions which seem to preclude all feel- ings save those of regret and despair ! This cultivation of the mind would not exclude patience or faith;* but, on the contrary, purify and exalt them, by training the heart, not only to endure its lot, but to comprehend forms of beauty, amid the most revolting aspects misery can assume, and thus to find cause of grateful thanks to God, who orders all in his wisdom. " The poems are remarkable, when considered as the productions of a country girl, who has lived in entire obscurity." " Sne had time for reflection, Sir ; fourteen years of sickness. And her father was a man of excellent education. * We cannot but observe, however, that all other sources of consolation to the sufferer, diminish, while the unfailing fountain of scriptural comfort, grows fuller and deeper. ' When I remember Thee upon my bed, and meditate on Thee in the night watches. Because Thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of T% wings will I rejoice.' 9 9S Hergrand father was also a great reader, a very great reader of history, I have had a great many books of him. He was Captain Taggart, a seafaring man. He often came to Newport when he sailed for my father. I was then a little girl at school, and the old gentleman, her grand-father, used to bring me books to read." These are the words of an elderly lady, to whom I hap- pened to show the proof sheet, as I stopped at her house in Tiverton, Rhode Island. They are another testimony to the opinion entertained by all the acquaintance ofthe family, of their fondness for books. " This William thai your are writing about was at our house twelve or thirteen years ago, and he then sat down and gave us a considerable history of his life, but I can- not recollect now what he told us. We were then build- ing this house, and the history all went away from me, through the multitude of business." The good lady then left me to attend lo some of her household affairs, and in a moment returning, said, " I believe Captain Taggart, the grand-father, was not a pious man, for he used to bring me novels and such books as he carried to sea with him to read. But when his son William was here, I thought he seemed to be a good man, though you know. Sir, we cannot judge of that; we can only look upon the outward appearance." Rhode Island, July, 1835. AUGUST 24th, 1841. The two brothers mentioned in the first sen- tence of this sketch, left Seconet, as the native Indians called Little Compton. R. I., on this beautiful morning, in order to proceed by land, over Rowland's ferry bridge, to the abode of the sufferer. They were accompanied by two ladies, who had become deeply interested in the circum- stances of the family. The writer had made several visits to this abode of affliction, after the publication of the first edition, and marked the changes which years brought over these true pil- grims in a valley of tears. Believing that the sacraments of the Church of God were appointed for all men, and her physicians having declared that baptism, administered according to the rites of the sect in which she had grown up, would be fatal to life, she gladly consented to receive the same at the hands of the Rev. Mr. West, Rector of Zion Church, Newport, R. I. LETTER FROM THE REV. MR. WEST. JS\ Y., Oct. 16, 1841. Rev. and Dear Sir, In compliance with your request, I furnish you 100 with the following statement in relation to the baptism of Miss Cynthia Taggart, Yours, very truly, J. WEST. It has fallen to my lot to be the almoner of many kind friends of Miss Taggart, and often to gladden the hearts of a most distressed family by forwarding to them their generous contributions. This circamstance, together with the interest naturally awakened by my proximity to the scene of their sufferings, led to an intimacy which I endeavored to improve in promoting their spiri- tual welfare. Frequent conversations with Miss T. convinced me that by the grace of God, she had been turned from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God ; and was a suita- ble subject for Christian baptism. With this view of her spiritual condition, I presented the subject of her becoming a member of Christ's visible Church, to her serious and prayerful con- sideration ; and urged upon her a compliance with this ordinance, as a proof of her faith, and an act of obedience, as well as a means of her spiritual consolation and growth in grace. She acknowledged the duty, and desired to be deemed a proper subject of the ordinance. It is not ne- cessary, were it consistent with a proper regard to the feelings of Miss T., to enter into any fur- ther particulars than simply to state, that a care- ful and deliberate consideration of the qualifica- tions of a candidate for baptism, and also of the objections against that rite as held by psedo-bap- 101 lists, led her to the conviction of her duty as a believer in Jesus Christ. When her decision was made known to me, I selected an early opportu- nity to visit her for the purpose of adminisiering' the interesting ordinance. It afforded me groat pleasure to have the presence of the Rev. Dr. Tyng, of Philadelphia, who was at the time visiting Newport, and who, at my request, accom- panied me. Under the circumstances in which this hasty sketch is drawn, called upon as I am, away from home, and without being allowed time to collect my thoughts, I could attempt no description of the occasion, were I disposed to do so. Suffice it to say, this afflicted child of God, surrounded by the pious members of her family, received us as the ambassadors of Christ, who had come in his name to admit her to the privileges of his spiritual household. She was ready ; and the language of the Ethiopian nobleman might with propriety have been made her own. " What doth hinder me to be baptized ?" The ordinance was admi- nistered under a feeling sense of God's presence and blessing ; the occasion was one never to be forgotten, and I would this sacred ordinance were entered upon by candidates generally, with as se- rious preparation, and as trembling an anxiety to do right before God, Subsequentljr, tho' not im- mediately, her faith was strengthened, and her hopes confirmed, and altho' her mind was after- wards thrown into an unhappy state of doubt, by the mistaken and unkind suggestion of her Baptist friends, unfavorable to the step she had taken, I believe I am authorised to say, that she has es- 9* 102 caped that thraldom of prejudice, and now antici- pates the pleasure of joining, by the rite of confir* mation, in the full communion of the church. The aged mother died in peace, in the spring 1S41. She lived two months only after her pension ceased. The writer took his little daughter to see these poor people, and will not soon forget the beaming welcome he received, nor the kiss, bestowed on the back of his little girl's head, " lest," said the poor old woman, " lest my cough should hurt her." She lies buried by the side of her husband. Maria's reason has not returned ; though she speaks more coherently, and sings some beautiful hymns. Cynthia still lies in the same condition : her hair, now at the age of thirty-eight, is quite white, and her lower limbs drawn up closely to her body, and shrunk almost to nothing. How long she is to remain thus, God only knows. Let us while there is time do good unto her, who has become of our household of faith ; and when they and we depart may we be gathered unto our fathers in the communion of the Church of God ; and may God hasten the time when these afflicted ones, with all the forgotten and unconverted millions deceived by the False Prophet, or bowing down to stocks and stones shall cry, " Worthy the Lamb, for ha was slain for us." 103 «OME ACCOUNT OF SARAH PURBECK. While residing in Salem, in the year 1833, as assistant minister to the Rt. Rev. Alexander V.