l e ft's, 
 
 
 Fnizr the 
 
 FOUR LETTERS FROM A MISSIONARY. 
 
 THIRD EDITION 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY JAS. CONNER, NEW-YORK. 
 
 Published by the General Protestant Episcopal Sunday School 
 Union , and for sale at their Depository, Protestant Episco¬ 
 pal Press Buildings, No. 46 Lumber-Street, in the rear of 
 Trinity Church, and at their different Branch Depositories. 
 
 Price $3 per 100 : 40 cents per doz. : 4 cents per copy . 
 Printed at the Protestant Episcopal Press , No. 8 Rector - Street. 
 
 1829. 
 
OREGON RULE CO. 
 
 111n111n1111111 tntjimiiiii| 
 
TI1E 
 
 FEB 2 4 1954 
 
 nriHULHS? F^mxx.ira 
 
 HISTORY. 
 
 m FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 ■ ____ 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY JAS. CONNER, NEW-YOEK, 
 
 mtu=¥ot1t: 
 
 Published by tho General Protestant Episcopal Sunday School 
 Union , and for sale at their Depository, Protestant Episco 
 pad Press Buildings, No. 46 Lumber-Street, in the rear of 
 Trinity Church, and at their different Branch Depositories. 
 
 Printed at the Protestant Episcopal Press , iVb.46 Lumber Street. 
 
 FOUR 
 
 FETTERS 
 
 FROM A MISSIONARY. 
 

1ETTER X 
 
 To the Editor of the Gospel Messenger . 
 
 I . From the great and increasing interest I have 
 felt in a family, with whom I became acquainted 
 about a year since, I cannot refrain from sending 
 you a short sketch of their history. 
 
 It was in June of 1S26, after having preached at 
 one of my missionary stations, that I was invited by 
 • Robert Mc’Ellen to hold a third service at his house 
 on account of his aged mother, who, in consequence 
 of the distance and the indifferent state of her 
 health, was unable to enjoy the privileges of worship. 
 He also added, that she was nearly ninety years old 
 but still retained her mental faculties vigorous and 
 unimpaired. 
 
 I of course could not refuse to comply with such 
 a request, and in doing it, I witnessed one of the most 
 affecting and interesting scenes that have ever come 
 within my knowledge.—But I must not begin the 
 narration of it, until I have given some account of 
 the previous history of this family of Mc’Ellens. 
 Joseph and Elizabeth Mc’Ellen planted themselves 
 in this section of country during its early settle¬ 
 ment. They had to encounter many hardships, and 
 submit to many privations. This however they did 
 cheerfully, as they were living in the hope of see¬ 
 ing better days. To Joseph Mc’Ellen, these hopes 
 were never realized on earth. A few years only 
 had elapsed, and he fell a victim to one of those 
 fevers, to which all new countries are subject. His 
 
4 
 
 two eldest sons, Robert and Joseph, could hardly be 
 said, at this time, to have entered upon manhood. 
 Upon them, however, devolved the business of pay¬ 
 ing for their land, and clearing away the thick forest 
 that covered it. In this they were aided not a little 
 by the counsel of their mother, Elizabeth Me*Ellen. 
 She was ever solicitous to form her children to ha¬ 
 bits of industry, but far more anxious to form their 
 minds to habits of piety. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Mc’Ellen had been pious from 
 early life, and were warmly attached to the Episco¬ 
 pal church. This was the church of their choice. 
 Educated in the bosom of another denomination of 
 Christians they had attached themselves to this, from 
 a conviction of its superior claims and excellencies. 
 
 In leaving the place of their nativity, and taking 
 up their abode in a new and thinly settled country, 
 they were necessarily deprived of a privilege which 
 the Episcopalian esteems the greatest of all earthly 
 privileges, the services of his own church. They 
 did not so feel this privation, until they had arrived 
 at their log-house, and the blessed day of rest found 
 them in the midst of a dense forest. On the morn¬ 
 ing of the first Sabbath after having taken posses¬ 
 sion of their new residence, when according to their 
 former custom, every member of the family appear¬ 
 ed in clean and comely apparel, the greatness of 
 this privation began to be felt. 
 
 “ I fear,” said Mrs. Mc’Ellen, “ in taking the 
 step we have, we have not fully estimated the loss 
 of privileges that we shall sustain. How are we 
 to spend our Sundays V ’ “ Of that I have thought 
 much,” said Mr. Mc’Ellen, “ and in my reflections 
 upon this subject, I have discovered an additional 
 reason for increased attachment to the Episcopal 
 
b 
 
 church. We have our Prayer Books with us : we 
 can therefore always have the regular service of the 
 church, and on Sundays we will turn our little log- 
 room into a chapel." 
 
 This proposition was immediately put into execu¬ 
 tion, and the service was invariably and uniformly 
 read on Sundays, and all the children taught to join 
 and take their several parts in it, until the sickness 
 and death of Mr. Mc’Ellen. A most interesting 
 scene was witnessed the next Sunday after the death 
 of this worthy man, who like the patriarch of old 
 had been to his family both a father and a priest. 
 
 I can in no way give you a better idea of it, than 
 by repeating the narration which I received from 
 Robert Mc’Ellen, who was one of the actors in this 
 scene. This interesting narration was as follows. 
 
 “ The children were all neatly clad and seated 
 around the room with their Prayer Books. Every 
 thing appeared as it used to, when my father was 
 alive. The little cherry stand stood where it always 
 had, on a Sunday morning. Upon it were laid the 
 large Bible and Prayer Book. My mother had been 
 absent for some half an hour, and, as I supposed, was 
 attending to some necessary domestic concerns. I 
 sat wondering who would fill my father’s place. At 
 length my mother entered the room, and, covered 
 with weeds of mourning, proceeded to the little 
 stand and kneeled down before it. We were all 
 silent. In a few minutes she arose. There was a 
 slight flush upon her cheek, a tear stood in her eye, 
 and her lips quivered with emotion. With a tremu¬ 
 lous voice she thus began, “ 'Let the words of my 
 mouth and the meditation of my heart, be always 
 acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and 
 my Redeemer." We all instantly arose, and through 
 
 1 * 
 
6 
 
 the service made the proper responses, with which 
 we were all familiar. My mother continued to read 
 the service with perfect self-control until she came 
 to the prayer, “ for persons under affliction then 
 her voice faltered and her utterance was choked. 
 This was a trying moment to me.'—My beloved fa¬ 
 ther was no more. His death was fresh in my 
 recollection. The voices of my little brothers and 
 sisters uttering the responses, were still sounding 
 in my ear. My mother was at this moment kneel¬ 
 ing before the throne of God, and borne down by 
 such a load of wounded feeling, that she could not 
 speak. All this was too much for me. It roused 
 within me a flood of sensibility that I could not 
 control. I wept, I sobbed aloud, I looked about 
 with a wild and feverish gaze. All in the room 
 were on their knees—all were silent except my¬ 
 self. The tears were indeed trickling down from 
 all the young eyes around me ; but they fell like 
 the dew-drops of evening, in silence. At length 
 my mother proceeded, “ Remember these children, 
 O Lord, in mercy ; sanctify thy fatherly correction 
 to them, endue their souls with patience under their 
 affliction, and with resignation to thy blessed will 
 —comfort them with a sense of thy goodness—lift up 
 thy countenance upon them, and give them peace 
 through Jesus Christ our Lord.” 
 
 I felt that I wanted peace, but at this time I knew 
 little about “ that peace which the icorld cannot 
 give” 
 
 After the conclusion of the service, my mother 
 appeared perfectly calm, and unagitated. She even 
 seemed happy. This was not the case with me.— 
 The burthen of feeling which had pressed me down, 
 continued to rest upon me with its weight. 
 
7 
 
 I scarcely knew what hand had inflicted this 
 wound in my heart. But I wanted comfort. 
 
 And as I had seen my mother derive a peace of 
 mind, from the devotions of the Prayer Book, I be¬ 
 took myself to the use and examination of it in se¬ 
 cret. In the use of all its prayers I found that I 
 had to address myself to God in the acknowledged 
 character of a sinner. I began to feel the truth of 
 this designation. I began to discover that the mys¬ 
 terious burthen under which I was labouring, was 
 the burthen of unforgiven sin, and then I anxiously 
 looked around to find some way, by which I could 
 remove this burthen. Here again I had recourse to 
 my Prayer Book. It told me I never could remove 
 that burthen, but Jesus Christ must take it off. I 
 went to the Bible, and that told me the same thing. 
 
 My mind during the two following weeks under¬ 
 went various exercises. I had revealed my feelings 
 to no one. My mother continued to read the service 
 on Sunday, and to assemble us for family prayer 
 every night and morning. It was during morning 
 prayer on the third Sunday after my father’s death, 
 when, in the Litany, my mother uttered this invoca¬ 
 tion, “ O Lamb of God who taketh away the sins 
 of the world,” that in repeating the response 11 grant 
 us thy peace,” I first felt the meaning of this peti¬ 
 tion, and as I uttered it, I felt a peace more than 
 earthly, gently stealing over my soul. And when 
 the same maternal voice, repeated the invocation 
 “ O Lamb of God who taketh away the sins of the 
 world,” my heart was filled with gratitude, and my 
 eyes with tears, as I joined the response, “ Have 
 mercy upon us” 
 
 I continued to conceal my feelings. Still I was 
 conscious that I was changed. My heart was filled 
 
8 
 
 with love. As I walked into the field I could see 
 the goodness of God inscribed upon every plant or 
 flower. These were discoveries that never before 
 anested my attention. My Bible began to appear 
 moie and more precious to me, and I was constantly 
 longing for the return of the hallowed day of rest. 
 
 .f ven ™£. as J sat reading to my mother, all 
 the family at this time being out of the room, as I 
 came to this passage, “ Therefore if any man be in 
 Christ he is a new creature,” I stopped and asked 
 her how she understood this passage. My parents 
 had often explained to me the meaning of various parts 
 of scripture, but I had never before presumed to solicit 
 an exposition, and upon a moments reflection felt al¬ 
 most astonished at myself for having done so at this 
 time. Nothing however could have more delighted my 
 mother. She immediately gave me a clear and suc¬ 
 cinct account of the fall and depravity of our race 
 the atonement of Christ, the agency of the Spirit 
 and the nciv creation effected by that agency. She 
 then described the views, feelings and affections of a 
 man while in a state of nature, and compared them 
 with the views, feelings, and affections of that same 
 man after having been renewed by divine grace. 
 
 My attention was rivetted, and my heart filled with 
 trepidation. She had described my case exactly. 
 
 { ha( ^ dlS( ^osed my feelings to no one, yet she de¬ 
 lineated them with the utmost precision. She con¬ 
 cluded her remarks by saying “ that no one, unless 
 he was in Christ and therefore a new creature, must 
 
 fz Sa J e ^ U this > the h °P e gathered 
 7° m the blood of sprinkling, that sustained and 
 comforted your father in his last ao-ony.” 
 
 My mother,” said I, “ I believe I am in Christ 
 Jesus, tor 1 am conscious that I am a new creature.” 
 
9 
 
 I then related to her the history of my exercises 
 and told how the prayers of the service, and her 
 reading of them, had by the blessing of God been 
 made the instrument both of my conviction and of 
 my conversion. 
 
 Never shall I forget the delights of this ^moment. 
 My mother threw her arms around me and exclaim¬ 
 ed “Robert, when I first pressed thy infant form, my 
 first born child, to my heart, my bosom thrilled with 
 ecstasy ; but the delight I then felt was nothing com¬ 
 pared with that I feel in holding thee in my em¬ 
 brace, now that thou art indeed a child of God.” 
 
 Having revealed my feelings to one human being, 
 I no longer felt that it would be sacrilege to disclose 
 them to others. I began to think it was my duty to 
 speak to my younger brother about the momentous 
 concerns of eternity. 
 
 For several days I made frequent resolutions to 
 do it, but as often as an opportunity presented, my 
 heart failed me and I could not bring myself up to 
 the effort. 
 
 I know not how it is, but I have often observed, 
 that we feel much more reluctance in speaking to 
 our family friends on the subject of religion, than 
 we do in speaking to others. 
 
 Several days had elapsed since I had communi¬ 
 cated my feelings to my mother. My brother and 
 myself were working together in the same field. In 
 my morning devotions I had fervently implored di¬ 
 vine direction in relation to the communication I 
 had determined to make that day to him. A short 
 suspension of our labours brought the desired oppor¬ 
 tunity. I will not attempt to describe my feelings, 
 nor his agitation. I soon found that his feelings 
 and views had undergone the same change that mine 
 
10 
 
 
 had, and that he ascribed his first serious impressions 
 to the performances of the interesting Sabbath that 
 followed my father’s death. This intelligence in 
 relation to my brother was of course delightful 
 tidings to my mother. She saw new evidence that 
 God does all things well, and that he can make the 
 most afflictive dispensations immediately subservient 
 to his purposes of mercy. 
 
 She proposed that I should now act as the Chap¬ 
 lain to the family. I according acceded to her re¬ 
 quest and performed divine service regularly on 
 Sundays from that time to the organization of an 
 Episcopal Church in this community, a period of 
 almost twenty years. As the land around us began 
 to be taken up, and settlers came in, several of our 
 neighbours repaired to our house regularly on Sun¬ 
 days. They at first came out of curiosity, but in 
 time they became attached to the Liturgy and sub¬ 
 stantially pious. And several of these individuals 
 ascribed their first religious impressions to the so¬ 
 lemn and sublime devotions of the Prayer Book. 
 Thus a regular performance of the liturgy in a pri¬ 
 vate family was the means not only of laying the 
 foundation of a Church, but of awakening numbers 
 to seriousness.” 
 
UESTTZlll IX, 
 
 To the Editor of the Gospel Messenger . 
 
 I introduced the narrative of Robert Mc’Ellen, to 
 portray, in his own language, the scene which he 
 witnessed the next Sunday after his father’s death, 
 and which Divine Providence made the instrument of 
 his conversion. This narrative I received in manu¬ 
 script from him, and now have it before me. I can 
 in no way so well continue the history of the Mc’- 
 Ellen family, as by copying this manuscript. It 
 proceeds as follows : 
 
 “ Divine Providence continued to send afflictions 
 along with our comforts. In about six weeks after 
 my father’s death, three of the youngest members 
 of our family—a brother and two sisters, were within 
 a few days of each other, called from time to eter¬ 
 nity. My mother had scarcely recovered from the 
 fatigue occasioned by attendance upon my father 
 during his last illness, when she was again called to 
 spend wakeful nights by the bed-side of her sick and 
 dying children. The fatigue she had to endure, was 
 increased by the circumstances of our situation. The 
 country was then so new, and thinly inhabited, that 
 we could scarcely be said to have neighbours. Around 
 us on all sides, spread the dense and lengthening 
 forest. When night came on, the howl of the wolf 
 was heard, but no friendly and kind-hearted neigh¬ 
 bours entered our dwelling to watch by the bed-side 
 of the sick. 
 
12 
 
 The fatigue occasioned by continual watching, 
 and the anguish with which my mother’s heart was 
 wrung, in following her husband and three of her 
 children, within so short a time of each other, to the 
 grave, brought on a fever. From the commencement 
 of her illness, she had a strong presentiment that she 
 should never rise from that sick bed. Several of the j 
 ties that once bound her to the earth, were now bro¬ 
 ken.—One half of her children were gone. The 
 partner of her toils and hopes was sleeping in the 
 earth. In all these dispensations she recognised tlio 
 hand of God. She did not repine. The same fever 
 which cut down my father, was now burning through 
 her veins. She thought she should die. One even¬ 
 ing she called us all around her bed, and told us so. 
 “ And now,” said she, “ my children, remember this 
 hour. See me here all weakness—all pain. Of what 
 avail to me would now be all the honours, and plea¬ 
 sures, and wealth of the world. To me they now ap¬ 
 pear lighter than the dust in. the balance. There is 
 but one object upon which my eye rests with satisfac¬ 
 tion ; and that object is Christ crucified. O, my 
 children, if you would have the arms of everlasting 
 mercy underneath you in such an hour as this, join 
 yourselves by a perpetual covenant, unto the Saviour 
 of sinners; follow him through life, and he will sup¬ 
 port you in death.” She then charged me and my 
 brother to be an example and pattern to our young 
 orphan sister. She said, that she felt no reluctance 
 in resigning her soul to her heavenly father. She 
 felt no reluctance in committing her children to the 
 care and kindness of that God to whom she had de¬ 
 dicated them in baptism. She had but one earthly 
 wish, and that was, that she might once moro before 
 
13 
 
 she left this clay tenement, receive the con'secrated 
 symbols of her Saviour’s dying love. 
 
 It so happened, that on that very evening, there 
 arrived at our abode some of our old acquaintances 
 from the place of my nativity. They were of course 
 distressed by our affliction. The conversation very 
 soon took a serious turn. I mentioned my mother’s 
 request, and lamented that we were so far removed 
 from any clergyman. Our friends then told us that 
 
 in the town of M-, where they stayed two nights 
 
 before, they met some of their old friends who had 
 taken up their residence in that town a number of 
 years previous. Among the other intelligence that 
 they had to communicate to them, was, that a Mis¬ 
 sionary of the Episcopal church had preached several 
 times to them, and was designing to spend a number 
 of weeks in that quarter; and that although they had 
 formerly had strong prejudices against that church, 
 they began to think more favourably of it. 
 
 No sooner had I received this information, than 
 my resolution was taken. I determined to start with 
 
 the earliest dawn for M-. I sat by the bed-side 
 
 of my mother till the first faint streaks of light began 
 to appear in the eastern sky. I then gently pressed 
 her hand in mine, and told her that I was going' 
 after the man of God , and would soon return. I 
 immediately went to the door, but ere I closed it, I 
 turned to gaze again upon the face of my dear mother 
 A death-like expression sat upon that face. I closed 
 the door. The heavens were still hung with black¬ 
 ness—a sense of perfect desolateness came over 
 me. The thought was strongly impressed upon my 
 mind, that I should never again see my mother alive 
 I felt anxious to gratify the wish she had expressed ; 
 yet I could not endure the thought of her dying 
 
 2 
 
14 
 
 while I was absent. My hand was still on the door 
 when I heard her faintly articulate my name. I 
 hastily raised the latch, and went to her bed. “ My 
 son,” said she, “ do not leave me, until you have 
 commended me to God in prayer.” I felt I had 
 done wrong. My heart, however, was too full to 
 speak. I took down the Prayer Book, and opened 
 to the prayer “ for a sick person.” Never before did 
 words sink so deep into my soul. It seemed to me 
 as though this prayer had been formed on purpose 
 for that occasion—it suited so exactly to the case, 
 w'nd accorded so perfectly with my feelings. No 
 other words could have unburthened my heart. 
 Kneeling by the bed-side, I thus prayed : 
 
 “ O Father of mercies, and God of all comfort, 
 our only help in time of need, look down from hea¬ 
 ven, we humbly beseech thee, behold, visit, and re¬ 
 lieve this thy sick servant. Look upon her with 
 the eyes of thy mercy ; comfort her with a sense of 
 thy goodness ; preserve her from the temptations of 
 the enemy ; give her patience under her affliction; 
 and, in thy good time, restore her to health, and 
 enable her to lead the residue of her life in thy fear, 
 and to thy glory : or else give her grace so to take 
 thy visitation, that after this painful life is ended, 
 she may dwell with thee in life everlasting, through 
 Jesus Christ our Lord.” 
 
 I had no sooner uttered the words of this prayer, 
 than my mind felt relieved. My heart grew lighter. 
 I had committed my mother into the hands of God, 
 and I felt that she was safe. 
 
 It required but a few minutes to get my horse in 
 readiness, and I rode -forward with a bounding 
 
 heart towards M-. The sun had sunk below 
 
 th® western horizon before I reached the place of my 
 
15 
 
 destination. The distance I had to travel was up¬ 
 wards of forty miles. This, considering the country 
 I had to pass through, was a fatiguing ride. Some 
 part of the way, the trees were barely cut down to 
 designate the road ; and in other parts, the traveller 
 had no other guide than the marks that had been 
 made by an incision in the trees. The weary way 
 was at length passed over. I found the Missionary 
 at the house of a respectable farmer. I told him my 
 errand. The tear glistened in his eye as I briefly 
 told him the story of our afflictions. He promptly 
 said he would accompany me on the morrow. The 
 farmer kindly offered me a bed, to which I soon re¬ 
 tired ; not however till we had kneeled around the 
 family altar. 
 
 We were on our way early the next morning 
 There was nothing morose or repulsive in the coun¬ 
 tenance or manners of the missionary. Although 
 sedate, he was very cheerful. Although dignified, 
 he had the happy faculty of drawing one immediately 
 into familiar conversation. We rode along together 
 for a number of miles, conversing about things that 
 were neither altogether secular, nor altogether reli¬ 
 gious. As I was a stranger to him, he wished to 
 elicit my views. He soon discovered that I had a 
 love for religion, and before I was aware of it, drew 
 from me the whole history of my religious exercises. 
 I told him I wished to join my mother in partaking 
 of the Holy Communion. He replied that the test 
 for self-examination was well expressed in our Cate¬ 
 chism.—“ Those who desire to come to the Lord’s 
 Supper, are to examine themselves whether they re¬ 
 pent them truly of their former sins, steadfastly pur¬ 
 posing to lead a new life—have a lively faith in God’s 
 
16 
 
 mercy, through Christ, with a thankful remembrance 
 ©1 his death, and be in charity with all men ” 
 Repentance, reformation, faith, love to God and 
 to our fellow men, were, he said, included in this re¬ 
 quirement. “ And our church,” continued he “ de¬ 
 signs to admit no one to the sacramental table who 
 does not give evidence of these qualifications.”’ The 
 conversation continued upon this and similar subjects 
 through the remainder of the day; and I derived much 
 edification and instruction from the discourse of this 
 godly man. His conversation quite beguiled the te¬ 
 diousness of the journey; and almost before I thought 
 ©t it, we had arrived in view of our cottage. I hastily 
 rode forward sprung from my horse, and rushed into 
 the house I met my brother Joseph at the door. 
 
 Is she alive ?” said I, but did not wait for an an¬ 
 swer—I was instantly by her bed-side, and found her 
 more comfortable than when I left her. The Mis- 
 Sionary understood the language of affection, and did 
 not think it rudeness, though I left him so uncere- 
 
 moniously. My brother took charge of his horse, and 
 invited him in. 
 
 The next morning was mentioned as the time of 
 (Celebrating the communion. In the course of the 
 evening, the missionary received such evidence from 
 my brother’s conversation, of his having passed 
 through the new birth unto righteousness,” that he 
 advised him to receive the sacrament on the morrow. 
 
 r* ls C01 J^ ersa ti 0n with my mother was very reviving 
 t o her. He seemed to us all like a ministering angef 
 He spoke to my sister Mary, and intreated" her to 
 join her brothers, now that they were on their way to 
 Zion. Mary was only fifteen years old at this time. 
 Her heart was all tenderness and sensibility. She 
 
17 
 
 could not speak, but burst into a flood of tears. Since 
 my father's death she had been apparently very 
 thoughtful and serious. I had once or twice seen 
 the tears gush from her eyes, while reading to her¬ 
 self in the Bible: but the moment she perceived I 
 observed her, she made an effort to be more than or¬ 
 dinarily cheerful. I supposed that these effusions 
 of sensibility were called forth by the recollection of 
 the death of her little sisters, and her father. 
 
 The morning came. It was in one of the summer 
 months. All nature was fresh and fair. The sun 
 was pouring down his warm rays upon the smiling 
 earth.—Sometime before the appointed hour for ce¬ 
 lebrating the holy eucharist, I walked out for the pur¬ 
 pose of religious meditation. I directed my course 
 towards a large tree that stood at no great distance 
 from the house, that I might enjoy the coolness of its 
 shade. As I approached the tree, I observed the 
 slender form of my sister. She was in the act of 
 prayer, and on her knees. I stole softly along to her 
 side, without apprizing her of my presence. She 
 seemed to be pouring out her soul in all the fervency 
 of devotion. She was so young and so amiable, and 
 appeared so interesting, and so heavenly, in the lone 
 field, lifting up her heart to God, that I could hardly 
 refrain from weeping. She was startled, when having 
 finished her devotions she discovered me at her side. 
 But I clasped her in my arms, pressed her to my 
 bosom, and told her it gave me more pleasure to see 
 her where I had seen her, than it would to have seen 
 her on a throne. She wept and sobbed aloud for a 
 long time. At length she said, “ O that I was a 
 Christian.” I tried to point out the way in which she 
 should seek to be one indeed. I soon learnt that her 
 mind was religiously impressed at the very time, and by 
 
 2 * 
 
IS 
 
 the very circumstances that mine was. That whicli 
 agitated her on the present occasion was, her anxiety 
 to join us in partaking of the Lord’s Supper. Al¬ 
 though she had for some time felt a heavenly peace 
 of mind, still she had such a deep sense of her own 
 unworthiness, that it jnade her tremble to think of 
 presuming to approach the table of the Lord. By 
 her consent I went to the house and intimated to 
 the Missionary that I wished to take a short walk- 
 with him : I immediately retraced my steps to the 
 same tree, and on the way informed him of the ob¬ 
 ject for which I had called him out. He appeared 
 thoughtful, but said nothing. 
 
 When we had come where my sister was, he sat 
 himself down in the shade, and with an affectionate 
 voice said, “ I am rejoiced, Mary, to hear that you 
 are desirous to set your face towards Zion. The 
 Holy Eucharist which we are soon to celebrate, is 
 designed ‘to strengthen and refresh our souls,’ that 
 ‘ we may run and not be weary, and that we may 
 walk and not faint.’ ” 
 
 He then took a Prayer Book out of his pocket, 
 and continued, “You feel too unworthy to come to 
 'the feast of the Lamb. I will read you part of the 
 prayer in the communion service, immediately be¬ 
 fore the consecration of the elements, which is said 
 in the name of all those who are about to receive 
 the communion. ‘We do not presume to come to 
 this thy table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own 
 righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. 
 We are not worthy so much as to gather up the 
 crumbs under thy table. But thou art the same 
 Lord, whose property is always to have mercy.’ You 
 •see that none of us trust in our own worthiness—• 
 hut in the worthiness of Christ. In going to the 
 
19 
 
 sacrament, you go trusting in the name and merits 
 of Jesus. If you have truly repented of your sins, 
 and are resolved to lead a new life, by refusing to 
 go to the table of the Lord, you declare that you 
 have not faith in the atoning blood of Christ.” We 
 all returned in company to tlje house. The hour 
 . had arrived for the service to commence. 
 
 All that have ever witnessed the celebration of the 
 Lord’s Supper in public, agreeably to the service of 
 our church, pronounce it the most impressive scene 
 that they ever witnessed. But there is something 
 still more impressive where it is celebrated in a sick 
 room. 
 
 The idea that one of the persons who is about to 
 partake of the sacred elements, will in a few hours 
 partake of the feast of the Lamb in the kingdom 
 of God, spreads an awe and sacredness over every 
 * thing around us. This person, is one of our family 
 friends to whom we feel endeared by ten thousand 
 sacred recollections. Perhaps it is a mother. The 
 traces of the bony fingers of death appear on her 
 countenance. That eye which watched over us in 
 infancy and childhood, is faded and sunken. That 
 look of kindness which dwelt so fondly on us has 
 almost disappeared beneath the pale signet of the 
 king of terrors. ‘ There lies my mother, whose bo¬ 
 som was my pillow, and whose arms were my cradle. 
 She is receiving the bread and wine for the last 
 time on earth. Soon that dear form will be beneath 
 the turf, and that pure spirit beyond the skies.’ O 
 there is enough in these thoughts to hallow every 
 feeling! 
 
 I know not what may be the objection that other 
 denominations have to administering the communion 
 to the sick, but I believe it is not practised by any 
 
20 
 
 of the Protestant Churches except our own. It is 
 certainly an act which invigorates the soul of the 
 sick, and makes deep and lasting impressions upon 
 those who witness it. 
 
 Such at all events were the happy effects of the 
 administration of the Lord’s Supper, in the instance 
 I am now speaking of. 
 
 The service commenced. The voice of the Mis¬ 
 sionary on this occasion was more than usually soft 
 and plaintive. He was a man of sensibility. He 
 had heard the story of our afflictions, and he was 
 acquainted with the history of our blessings. The 
 promptings of his own heart expounded to him the 
 meaning of that sacred injunction, “ of weeping 
 with those that weep.” To me the whole scene 
 was a scene of intense interest. As the service pro¬ 
 ceeded, my thoughts became completely engrossed 
 in the devotions of this sublime office. I was parti¬ 
 cularly struck with the confession . It seemed to meet 
 my case exactly. Had an angel dictated it, it could 
 not have expressed more fully the feelings that were 
 thenglowing in my bosom. It seemed as though we , 
 were in the very porch of heaven as the Missionary 
 with tremulous and silvery tones, breathed forth its 
 penitential acknowledgments—“ Almighty God, Fa¬ 
 ther of our Lord Jesus Christ, Maker of all things. 
 Judge of all men ; we acknowledge and bewail our 
 manifold sins and wickedness, which we from time 
 to time most grievously have committed by thought, 
 word, and deed, against thy divine majesty; provok¬ 
 ing most justly thy wrath and indignation against 
 us. We do earnestly repent and are heartily sorry 
 for these our misdoings—the remembrance of them 
 is grievous unto us—the burthen of them is intolera¬ 
 ble. Have mercy upon us, have mercy upon us, most 
 
21 
 
 3 merciful Father.” Never before did I feel so much 
 e the weight and hatefulness of sin, as while uttering 
 1 this confession. Every now and then I heard my 
 mother’s voice faintly articulating some part of this 
 ' prayer. In the sublime devotions of the communion 
 service, her thoughts seemed to be borne away from 
 earth. 
 
 The elements were now consecrated. I looked 
 at my mother and saw that she was calm and tran¬ 
 quil. Her eye rested upon myself and my brother, 
 as we came forward, and kneeled before the table, on 
 which were placed the symbols of the broken and bleed¬ 
 ing body of Jesus. She seemed to look a blessing to¬ 
 wards us. Twice had the man of God said, '* the body 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was given for thee, 
 preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life,” be¬ 
 fore my sister left her seat,—she then rose and came, 
 and kneeled by my side. Her whole frame shook with 
 emotion. My mother knew nothing of her state of 
 mind, or of her determination. 
 
 To see her young and tender daughter, so unex¬ 
 pectedly come forward and consecrate herself to God, 
 aroused in her bosom a tide of feeling that she could 
 t not control. The tears rushed down her cheeks, and 
 | the serenity, that had rested upon her countenance, 
 fled. She drew the clothes of the bed over her face 
 and sobbed aloud. For a few moments there was 
 perfect silence in the room. Then in trembling ac¬ 
 cents, the Missionary proceeded in the administra¬ 
 tion of the Sacrament. He went to my mother and 
 presented the elements to her. As she received the 
 sacred chalice, ere she raised it to her lips, she lifted 
 
 I up her eyes and said aloud, “ Lord, now lettest thou 
 thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes # have seen 
 thy salvation. Mine eyes have seen all my chil- 
 
 IMlI . n 
 
22 
 
 dren eating at thy table. Giant that I and they may 
 sit down together at thy table in thy Kingdom above. 
 
 I had thought, to leave these children orphans, but 
 they cannot be orphans, since adopted into thy family. 
 Holy Father, keep through thine own name, those 
 whom thou hast given me. I pray not that thou 
 shouldst take them out of the world, but that thou 
 shouldst keep them from evil.”— 
 
 I must here break off the narrative of Robert Mc’- 
 Ellen, and close my communication. The manu¬ 
 script that I have, states, that Mrs. Mc’Ellen’s fever 
 in a few days took a favourable turn, and she was 
 speedily restored to health. It gives a history of the 
 family up to the time of my acquaintance with them, 
 in which are to be found several interesting details. 
 
 I may give you some of these sketches at some future 
 period. In my next, however, I intend to give you an - 
 account of a scene I witnessed in this family, on the 
 Sunday evening that I preached at their house. 
 
LETTER XXX. 
 
 ove. 
 
 but 
 
 %. 
 
 ose v 
 
 on 
 
 To the Editor of the Gospel 3Iessenger. 
 
 
 The log-dwelling that had formerly been occupied 
 by the Mc’Ellen family had been removed, and in its 
 place there appeared a neat and spacious farm-house. 
 This was now the residence of Robert Mc’Ellen, in 
 whose family his aged and venerable mother was an 
 inmate. 
 
 I have before observed that it was in the month of 
 June, when I first approached this dwelling. There 
 did not then spread a wide and impenetrable forest 
 around it: but for miles in every direction there 
 stretched before the delighted eye finely cultivated 
 fields, luxuriant orchards, and well-arranged farm¬ 
 houses—here and there were seen fragments of that 
 once boundless forest, reserved by the cultivator of 
 the earth, for a retreat to shelter him from the sum¬ 
 mer’s heat, and for fuel to dispel the winter’s cold. 
 The foliage of the trees at this time, was unusually 
 thick, rich, and beautiful. Not one of those ten 
 thousand leaves which had so recently burst into be¬ 
 ing, had as yet felt the blighting touch of the worm, 
 the sun, or the frost; but they all appeared fresh and 
 verdant. 
 
 On either side of this dwelling were wheat fields 
 waving in the gentle breeze, in all the luxuriance 
 i of perfect verdure. 
 
 As I was passing through this rich landscape, 
 there seemed to ascend from the soft and beautiful 
 bosom of the earth ton thousand sounds of praise to 
 
24 
 
 the Great Eternal.—There was much in the scenery 
 around me, connected with the history of the inhabit¬ 
 ants of the dwelling I was approaching, to attune my 
 feelings to the solemnities of worship. 
 
 I did not arrive till the appointed hour of service 
 A few of the neighbours had come in, but the fami¬ 
 lies of Robert and Joseph Me’Ellen, being very nu¬ 
 merous, constituted the majority of the congregation. 
 
 I was led immediately into the room where this 
 grave and devout group were assembled. Before the 
 chair where I was seated, was placed a cherry stand, 
 and on it lay a Bible and Prayer-Book. This was 
 the very piece of furniture, and these the very books, 
 with which, in the minds of that family, were asso¬ 
 ciated so many sacred recollections, and which, the 
 reader will readily remember, were used on a very 
 interesting occasion twenty-five years before. 
 
 Near the stand sat the aged and venerable Eliza¬ 
 beth Mc’Ellen. As the minds of all were in a fit 
 frame for devotion, this was very properly considered 
 no time for formal introductions. But although I had 
 never before seen this worthy woman, I could not be 
 mistaken. There was in her countenance, which age 
 had in vain strove to disfigure with wrinkles, an expres¬ 
 sion of intelligence, and of loftiness of purpose that I 
 have seldom witnessed. By her side sat her daugh¬ 
 ter, who had rejected numerous advantageous offers 
 of marriage, from her unwillingness to be separated, or 
 to allow any of her affection or attention to be with¬ 
 drawn from her mother. 
 
 The service commenced : I observed with pleasure 
 that Mrs. Mc’Ellen joined audibly in the responses, and 
 that all her grand-children, for they were all present, 
 seemed proud to imitate her example. They all had 
 their prayer-books, though several of them were quite 
 
young, and all seemed to unite in the service with 
 interest and devotion. How differently educated 
 were these families, who, till recently, had never en- 
 j joyed the ministrations of the sanctuary, from some 
 that I have seen in old established congregations! 
 
 These parents attached some meaning to the 
 f solemn vow, promise, and profession” that they 
 made in the name of their children, when they brought 
 them to the sacred waters of baptism. And the re¬ 
 gard they continually manifested for the religious 
 education of their children, was seen in the correct 
 deportment and early seriousness of those children. 
 
 On the present occasion, the scene was truly in¬ 
 teresting. It must have been a scene, upon which 
 an angel could have looked down with a smile. As 
 the worshippers kneeled down in prayer, the place 
 ^ seemed “ none other but the house of God and the 
 gate of Heaven.” Agreeably to the excellent provi¬ 
 sion of our admirable liturgy, the devotions were not 
 all performed by one voice ; but there went up many 
 united voices together, and there might have then 
 been heard the song of praise ascending from the 
 palsied lip of age, and the lisping tongue of infancy. 
 
 According to a custom which I have found useful 
 on such occasions, I did not preach a written sermon, 
 but discoursed in a plain and familiar manner on a 
 passage of scripture, leaving something to be suggest¬ 
 ed by the circumstances around me. 
 
 The passage selected for this occasion was the fol¬ 
 lowing—“ In the Lord put I my trust.” Psalm xi. 1. 
 
 After having shown the ground of trust in God } 
 and what it is to trust in him, I proceeded to portray 
 the blessedness of trusting in him. On this article 
 H felt confident that I was saying what a number 
 around me were able to bear testimony to. And as 
 
 3 
 
26 
 
 my eye fell upon the aged and venerable form of Mrs 
 Mc’Ellen, who seemed even then “ripe for the hand 
 of the reaper, as a shock of corn in his season, 5 ' 
 I could not refrain from descanting upon the power 
 of trust in God, in the last trying hour when the sun 
 of life goes down—upon its power to sustain the sink¬ 
 ing energies of the soul, in that awful moment when 
 it enters the dark valley of the shadow of death. 
 “ Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord for 
 to him, in the hour of death, the Lord will be a Sun 
 and a Shield—a Sun to enlighten the dark chasm 
 through which he must pass, and a Shield to protect 
 him from the fiery darts of the enemy. It is in this 
 hour that the Great Shepherd doth carry his confiding 
 children in his arms, and bear them in his bosom to 
 the haven of everlasting rest. 
 
 I saw these remarks went to the heart of her, who 
 was soon to test their truth by actual experiment. 
 
 The Hymn selected to close the religious exercises 
 was the 41st. 
 
 Though feeble and infirm, I observed that Mi s. Me’ 
 Ellen, in conformity to the appropriate custom univer¬ 
 sally practised in our church, of standing while prais¬ 
 ing God, arose at the commencement of the Hymn. 
 As she stood among those who were lauding the Most 
 High, methought there was a form, and an attitude, 
 worthy of being immortalized by the hand of a Ra¬ 
 phael. For hers had been one of the first order of 
 fine forms—both tall and graceful. The weight of 
 nearly ninety years now caused her to stoop. She 
 united her voice in the singing, and swelled the sound 
 of praise. 
 
 The sun had just sunk beneath the horizon, and 
 had left that beautiful but indescribable aspect on 
 the whole face of nature, which you have often seera 
 
on a summer’s day to rest upon those objects over 
 which some tree hath thrown its shade. There was 
 a universal stillness pervading the surrounding scene; 
 and the voice of the singers went up sweetly to the 
 gates of Heaven. To the last line, and the last note 
 in the last line, the voice of Elizabeth Mc’Ellenwas 
 distinctly heard. Her voice seemed to swell with 
 richer and more animated sounds in the concluding 
 verse, where the Christian’s rest is anticipated,— 
 
 “ There I shall bathe my weary soul 
 In seas of Heavenly rest, 
 
 And not a wave of trouble roll 
 Across my peaceful breast.”— 
 
 This was her last earthly song.—She sunk gently 
 into her seat. For a moment a slight quivering shook 
 her frame. Then all motion ceased. Her arms 
 hung nerveless at her side, and her head reclined on 
 * her shoulder. 
 
 The voices of the singers were raised in the as¬ 
 cription of praise to the Triune God, but her spirit 
 had left its clay tenement, and gone to sing the dox- 
 ology in the blissful mansions of departed saints: had 
 gone to “ bathe in seas of heavenly rest.” 
 
 I shall close this narration with an account of her 
 funeral. 
 
28 
 
 KETTZSR IV. 
 
 To the Editor of the Gospel Messenger 
 
 No one that has been bred in the country can have 
 witnessed a funeral in the city without having felt 
 some violence done to the sensibilities of his heart. 
 I have often stood at the corner of some square, upon 
 whose area might be seen, from the earliest dawn 
 even to the midnight hour, bustling thousands, and 
 observed the train of coaches with their sable equip¬ 
 ments moving on upon their melancholy errand with 
 slow and solemn pace through this mass of beings, 
 - and wondered that it made so slight an impression 
 upon the busy crowd. The funeral train, as it passed, 
 perhaps flung a momentary feeling of solemnity upon 
 the lookers-on, but in an instant the impression was 
 gone. It was like a passing cloud that had darkened 
 for one fleeting instant the splendor of the sun, and 
 then was for ever lost in the effulgence of his bright 
 beams. There was no fellow feeling between the 
 ^ay world without, and the broken-hearted mourners 
 within those vehicles. 
 
 A funeral in the country presents a different as¬ 
 pect. When death enters the humblest cottages, the 
 sympathies of the community are awakened : the 
 whole surrounding neighbourhood participate in the 
 feelings of the bereaved, and go to pay their last re¬ 
 spect to the dead. At the appointed hour of the fu¬ 
 neral, there may be seen in all directions, the repose 
 and stillness of a Sabbath season.—-Men who on no 
 
29 
 
 other occasion are present to witness religious exer¬ 
 cises, deem it a debt they owe to society, to attend all 
 the funerals in their neighbourhood. 
 
 The worth, distinguished piety, and singular death 
 of Elizabeth Mc’Ellen had drawn an immense con- 
 course of people to witness her obsequies. 
 
 Every thing was in readiness when I arrived; 
 they were waiting to form the procession. The 
 burial ground was about a quarter of a mile distant 
 from Robert Mc’Ellen’s house. Twelve strong¬ 
 framed, but hoary headed men had been selected to 
 bear the body to the grave; and on each side of the 
 coffin there walked three aged and infirm women as 
 pall-bearers. Behind the coffin followed the children 
 and grand-children of the deceased, and in their rear 
 the promiscuous multitude who had been drawn to¬ 
 gether on this occasion either by curiosity or regard 
 ‘for the deceased. 
 
 The procession was no sooner in motion, than an 
 aged and venerable man, whom I had always seen 
 at church when I preached at my missionary station 
 in that neighbourhood, joined me and walked by my 
 side. As we preceded the procecsion, we were fre- 
 | quently so far before the bearers that we might have 
 with propriety engaged in conversation. But I was 
 too deeply impressed with the solemnity of the pre¬ 
 sent scene, and the recollection of the past history of 
 f this family, to open my lips. For a short distance 
 we moved on in silence; then in a subdued and un¬ 
 der tone of voice, the aged man said “Elizabeth has 
 gone to rest.” 
 
 I replied “ that I believed she had died, having the 
 testimony of a good conscience, in the communion 
 of the catholic church, in the confidence of a certain 
 i faith, in the comfort of a reasonable, religious, and 
 
30 
 
 holy hope, in favour with God, and in perfect chanty k 
 with the world.” j s! 
 
 “ O yes,” said the honest and warm-hearted man, i I 
 “ I have known her for a long time. I lived on the i ti 
 hill yonder when all this country was covered with t 
 woods—w r hen the neighbours could not see each | \ 
 other’s houses. I have known Elizabeth ever since. u 
 When we first came into this country, I thought I I 
 would go down one Sunday and get acquainted with \ 
 the Mc’Ellen family. I had never thought much 
 about religion, and expected to find the folks there 
 thinking and feeling as I did. 
 
 On the way I thought of a thousand amusing things 
 to say, and was determined to convince them that I 
 was a clever fellow. I therefore entered the house 
 without much ceremony; but in an instant all my 
 merry thoughts were gone. Instead of finding the 
 family lounging round in idleness, or engaged in some v?| 
 amusement, the first thing that struck my eye was 
 the whole family on their knees, except Robert, who 
 just the moment I entered, was reading the fourth 
 Commandment “ Remember that thou keep holy the 
 Sabbath day.” My attention was rivetted—my con¬ 
 science began to awake. And when at the close 
 of the commandment, they all around the room, young 
 and old, put up this petition, “ Lord have mercy 
 upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law 
 I experienced sensations that I shall never forget. 
 When the service and sermon were through, the 
 family very cordially welcomed me to their house, 
 saying that they would have church the next Sun¬ 
 day, and should be happy if I would attend. I re¬ 
 turned home, thoughtful. The sermon that was 
 read dwelt upon my mind. The subject was the 
 use of the means of grace: and the object of the 
 
31 
 
 1 discourse was to show that we never need to expect 
 salvation until we sought for it, and sought for it in 
 i the appointed way. All this was contrary to the 
 creed of my forefathers. I had been early taught 
 that man can do nothing towards obtaining salvation, 
 and that he must wait until moved by the irresisti¬ 
 ble grace of God. Still I thought the sermon I had 
 heard, had a good deal of good sense and scripture 
 on its side. I mused on this subject most of the 
 following week. The next Sunday, I and my wife 
 Jane went down to the Me’Ellens and stayed through 
 both Services. Jane’s heart, I believe, was more tender 
 than mine. She was entirely overcome by the sermon, 
 which was on this text, “ What shall it profit a man, 
 if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul]” 
 Jane was so much affected that she wept. Mrs. 
 Mc’Ellen had a tender heart.—As soon as the exer- 
 ' Vises were through, she went to Jane and kindly took 
 her by the hand, and told her she was happy to see 
 her, and form an acquaintance with her—but most 
 of all, happy to see that she felt interested in the mo- 
 i mentous concerns of eternity. 
 
 " No,” said Jane, “ I have neglected these things 
 I all my life, and I fear I have lost my soul.” 
 
 I shall never forget with what a look of kindness 
 Elizabeth Mc’Ellen then fixed her eyes upon Jane. 
 “ No,” said she, “ my dear woman, there is an all- 
 sufficient Saviour for you.” She then talked so en¬ 
 gagingly and affectionately about Jesus, and his dying 
 for poor sinners, that she made us all weep. 
 
 On our way home, my wife said to me u James, 
 [ why have we not thought of these things before ?— 
 What will it profit us, if we gain the whole world, 
 and at last lose our souls V* My heart was too full to 
 1 make any reply. 
 
From this time, Jane began to read her Bible and 
 pray.—She soon found peace. 
 
 After this we attended church at the house of the ! 
 Mc’EIlens, constantly. 
 
 O yes, it was Elizabeth Mc’Ellen that first turned 
 the eye of my poor Jane to Jesus. Poor Jane ! She 
 died about three years ago; but she died blessing ; 
 Elizabeth Mc’Ellen, and rejoicing in God her Sa¬ 
 viour.” , 
 
 Here the worthy man drew the back of his hand 
 across his face to brush away the big tears that had 
 gushed forth at the remembrance of his departed wife. 
 
 He then continued-“ Yes, Elizabeth has done 
 
 much for us. It was she that first tore from me the 
 belief, that if saved at all, I should be saved by a par-* 
 ticular decree of election from all eternity. She tore 
 from me this broken reed upon which I was leaning. 
 It was she that brought me fully to see myself as a* 
 sinner, standing on the brink of ruin, and needing 
 an infinite Sayiour. It was she that first taught me 
 to see the excellencies of that invaluable treasure the 
 Prayer Pooh —the book next, in my mind, to the 
 Bible. Its prayers have not only helped my devo¬ 
 tions, but have taught me how to live; and in some 
 measure, I hope, prepared me to die. 
 
 Yes, she taught me to love the Prayer Book : and 
 I thank my God that I know something of its worth. 
 
 I find I can in no other way get so far into the porch 
 of Heaven, as with its words in my mouth, and its 
 sentiments glowing in my heart.” 
 
 My friend would have continued his conversation, 
 but we had now already entered the gate of the burial 
 ground; and the moment had arrived, when one of 
 the most impressive offices of that liturgy which he 
 &ad been so highly eulogizing, was to commence* 
 
33 
 
 The ground allotted to the dead, was guarded from 
 le the unhallowed tread of beasts, by a strong enclosure. 
 
 The spot was some distance from the road, 
 j Near the gate of the grave yard there was a cluster 
 e of tall pines. As the coffin passed beneath them, 
 
 , their waving tops seemed to utter a plaintive sigh. 
 
 \ The tread of the long procession seemed to be noise¬ 
 less. All were moving on, pensive and silent. 
 
 I' But the stillness of the surrounding scene was 
 I now, perhaps to many who were then present, unex¬ 
 pectedly, interrupted by the sound of these words : 
 “ I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. 
 He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet 
 shall he live. And whosoever liveth and believeth 
 in me, shall never die.” 
 
 There was something in these words, connected 
 with the place where they were uttered, that seemed 
 * io send a thrill through every heart in the proces¬ 
 sion. The sound of these words died away on the 
 air, and then we moved on a few paces in silence. 
 
 The silence was soon again interrupted by this 
 solemn declaration of Job : “ I know that my Re¬ 
 
 deemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter 
 day upon the earth : and though after my skin, worms 
 destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God, 
 1 whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall 
 I behold, and not another.” 
 
 I We had by this time arrived at the grave. I per- 
 I ceived from the plain stone that was set up to inform 
 the stranger what dust mouldered beneath i^ that 
 the grave of Elizabeth Mc’Ellen was dug by the side 
 of her husband’s. No delay was occasioned by open¬ 
 ing the coffin. The descendants of the deceased 
 had taken their last look of their mother before she 
 I was brought into the open air; and they revolted at 
 
 
54 
 
 the idea of exposing her corpse at the grave, to the 
 gaze of a promiscuous multitude. This custom, even 
 now almost universally prevalent in the country, ap¬ 
 pears to me to be among the remains of barbarism, 
 and must ever shock the feelings of refined sensibility. 
 
 The coffin was immediately placed upon two 
 spades, which were laid transversely over the grave. 
 
 The mourners gathered around ; and there seemed 
 much in the following sentences that were rehearsed, 
 to compose the feelings, and prepare the minds of 
 all for the scene that was to succeed : “ Man that is 
 born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is 
 full of misery. He cometh up and is cut down like 
 a flower. He fleeth as it were a shadow, and never 
 continueth in one stay.” 
 
 “ In the midst of life we are in death. Of whom 
 may we seek for succour but of thee, O Lord, &lc.” 
 
 When these sentences had been rehearsed, the 
 coffin was let down into the grave. The eyes of all 
 the Mc’Ellen family were dim with tears; but they 
 followed the descending coffin down to its deep and 
 dark resting place. There was no loud wailing—no 
 affected grief—no mockery of wo. It was nature 
 yearning over the grave of one that was tenderly 
 loved.—Nature bid them weep : but their eyes glis¬ 
 tened with hope, even while they were filled with 
 tears. They looked away from the grave up to that 
 heavenly country, where they had every reason to 
 believe the soul of their departed mother was re¬ 
 splendent, as a star in the firmament of Heaven. 
 
 If the heart of one spectator remained untouched 
 by the solemnities that had been already witnessed, 
 surely it must have relented when the spade was 
 thrust into the earth, and the solemn act of interment 
 pronounced 
 
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 55 
 
 M Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God,&c.” 
 The Rubric that is placed immediately after tha 
 act of interment in the burial service, directs that 
 the passage from Revelations, there inserted, shall be 
 )lllh said or sung. 
 
 The worthy old man who walked by my side to the 
 grave, as I afterwards learned, had the ordering of the 
 funeral; and he had made arrangement to have that 
 passage sung. I was ignorant of this arrangement. 
 When, therefore, he and those that were around him 
 struck into a chant, and in loud thrilling notes 
 rehearsed that sublime passage, “ I heard a voice from 
 Heaven, saying unto me—Write, from henceforth 
 fflr I blessed are the dead that die in the Lord : even so 
 saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours,” I 
 felt almost overpowered by the unexpectedness and 
 fine effect of the performance. 
 
 The last four verses of the 12th Hymn were then 
 read and sung. 
 
 There was something truly touching in this scene. 
 A large concourse of people were gathered around 
 the remains of an aged and deceased Christian. The 
 coffin had been let down into the grave, and they 
 were standing over it. They were away from any hu¬ 
 man habitation but the habitation of the dead. Their 
 heads were uncovered, and the white locks of many 
 away-worn pilgrim showed that Elizabeth Mc’Ellen- 
 would soon be followed by some that were standing in 
 that crowd. They were now in the act of praising God. 
 
 There is something peculiarly tender in the strains 
 of vocal music, breathed forth in the open air, and 
 among the graves of the dead. And on the present 
 occasion a gentle gust of wind every now and then 
 swept by, and seemed to float the sweet and mellow 
 voices of the singers up to heaven. 
 
 
 
SG 
 
 4-S soon as the service at the grave was completed, 
 and the procession began to march back in the same 
 order that it had left the house, my aged friend again 
 joined me, and renewed the former conversation. 
 
 “ How solemn,” said he, “ is this service—It al 
 ways affects me more than the best funeral sermon. 
 As I was saying to you, that departed saint , Eliza¬ 
 beth MdEllen, has done much for us. She was a 
 pattern of all that was excellent. 
 
 For more than sixty years she had been a pious 
 servant of God, and worthy member of the Church 
 of Christ. But she placed no confidence in all she 
 had done. She was the most humble woman I ever 
 saw. Often have I heard her say, that every year 
 she lived, she saw more and more need of a Saviour 
 Every part of the Prayer Book was familiar to her, 
 and her knowledge of the evil of sin, and of the 
 proneness of human nature to err, made her often turn 
 to dwell upon this part of the general confession—• 
 “ I have left undone those things which I ought to 
 have done—and I have done those things which I 
 ought not to have done-—and there is no health in me.” 
 
 In the latter part of her life, she spent much of 
 her time in prayer—and, as I have been told by her 
 son, when alone, she would often repeat aloud this 
 petition from the burial service— 
 
 “0 holy and merciful Saviour, thou most worthy 
 Judge eternal, suffer me not, at my last hour, for any 
 pains of death to fall from thee.”—Her prayer was 
 granted and she has gone home to glory. 
 
 * I must now bring this narration to a close—and if it 
 has been drawn out so as to be tedious to any of my 
 readers, my apology must be found in the interest 
 I have felt and still feel in this Family of Md Ellens. 
 
 A MISSIONARY. 
 
I LOVE thy kingdom, Lord, 
 
 The house of thine abode, 
 
 The Church our blest Redeemer sav’d 
 With his own precious blood, 
 
 I love thy Church, O God! 
 
 Her walls before thee stand, 
 
 Dear as the apple of thine eye, 
 
 And graven on thy hand. 
 
 If e’er to bless thy sons, 
 
 My voice or hands deny, 
 
 These hands let useful skill forsake, 
 This voice in silence die. 
 
 If e’er my heart forget 
 Her welfare, or her wo, 
 
 Let ev’ry joy this heart forsake, 
 
 And every grief o’erflow. 
 
 For her my tears shall fall; 
 
 For her my pray’rs ascend; 
 
 To her my cares and toils be giv’n, 
 Till toils and cares shall end. 
 
 Beyond my highest joy 
 I prize her heav’nly ways, 
 
 Her sweet, communion, solemn vows 
 Her hymns of love and praise. 
 
 Jesus, thou Friend divine. 
 
 Our Saviour and our King, 
 
 Thy hand from every snare and foe 
 Shall great deliv’rance bring. 
 
 Sure as 4hv truth shall last, 
 
 To Zion shall be giv’n 
 The brightest glories earth can yield 
 And brighter bliss of heaven. 
 
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 MEMOSCST’S 
 
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 'KIBUTEi 
 
 FIRST SERIES. 
 
 A FAMILY IS ETERNITY 
 
 GENERAL PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION J 
 Depository, Press Buildings, No. 16 Lumber-Street, 
 in rear of Trinity Church. 
 
 Printed at the Protestant Episcopal Press, 
 No. 40 Lumber-Street. 
 
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 1330 , 
 
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They are now 9 . Family in Eternity .”—Page 44. 
 
MEMORY’S TRIBUTE 
 
 OR 
 
 THINGS PROFITABLE FOR REFLECTION. 
 
 FIRST SERIES. 
 
 A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 “ THE M l ELLEN FAMILY” 
 
 
 GENERAL PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL SUNDAY SCHOOL ONION J 
 Depository, Press Buildings, No. 40 Lumber-Street, 
 in rear of Trinity Church. 
 
 Printed at the Protestant Episcopal Press, 
 
 No. 40 Lumber-Street. 
 
 1830. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 ■ 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 *■' 
 
 
 
 
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A FAMILY IN ETERNITY 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 “ Like crowded forest trees we stand, 
 
 And some are mark’d to fall; 
 
 The axe will smite at God’s command, 
 
 And soon shall smite us all. 
 
 Green as the bay-tree, ever green, 
 
 With its new foliage on, 
 
 The gay. the thoughtless, have I seen, 
 
 I pass’d—and they were gone. 
 
 Read ye that run, the awful truth 
 With which I charge my page, 
 
 A worm is in the bud of youth, 
 
 And at the root of age.— Cowper. 
 
 On a recent tour through one of the Northern States, 
 I stopped at a village situated on a creek, which afforded 
 numerous and extensive advantages and facilities for 
 manufacturing purposes. 
 
 There was nothing in the immediately surrounding 
 country, it being rough and broken—nor in the place 
 itself, convenience and economy, rather than taste or 
 elegance, having been studied in the construction of its 
 buildings—particularly calculated to arrest the attention 
 of the traveller, or inspire him with a wish to linger in 
 its neighbourhood. But I had spent several years of my 
 childhood in this place, and the sight of the village as I 
 approached it, awakened feelings oLa peculiar character, 
 and essentially different from those which would have 
 been awakened in the bosom of a stranger. 
 
 Many years had elapsed since my last visit to this 
 place. Its general aspect had undergone very little 
 1 * 
 
42 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 change, but I soon perceived that its inhabitants were to 
 me an almost entire new race of beings. 
 
 Having stopped at one of the public inns, I immedi¬ 
 ately went to visit several spots which were once fami¬ 
 liar to me, and with which were associated the fond re- 
 memberance of scenes for ever past. As I leisurely 
 strolled through the village, I could see no names on the 
 signs, and but few faces in the street, that I had ever before 
 known. To all whom I met, I was a stranger ; no one 
 recognized me. It at length occurred me, that there was 
 one habitation where I should probably find a number 
 of my old acquaintances—“ the house appointed for all 
 living.” Thither, therefore, I directed my steps. 
 
 I have often thought it a fit and becoming expres 
 sion of our regard for our deceased friends, to see that 
 the place of their interment is guarded from the profane 
 intrusion of the thoughtless, and the unhallowed tread of 
 brute beasts. Great attention had been paid to this by 
 the former inhabitants of this village. The burial ground 
 was a short distance from the village, in a secluded and 
 rural spot. It was in the form of an oblong square, and 
 protected by a strong enclosure. On each side of the 
 square, various kinds of trees were planted, and especial¬ 
 ly those which long custom has established, are pecu¬ 
 liarly appropriate to shade the ashes of the departed. 
 The avenue which led from the high-way to this resting 
 place of the dead was studded on either side with a row 
 of weeping willows, which hung their drooping branches 
 so mournfully over the head of him who passed beneath, 
 that no one could reach the place of interment without 
 feeling that he was treading on holy ground. 
 
 As I walked up this avenue and entered that sacred 
 area where, in former years, I had so often heard the 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 43 
 
 solemn notes of “ earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to 
 dust,” floating upon the air; and where I had beheld 
 weeping mourners gather in silence around the newly 
 excavated grave, to see the last remains of some dear 
 friend let down into its dark and solitary abode, I 
 could not but stop, and gaze in pensive meditation upon 
 the u heaped hillocks” of earth that lay thick around me. 
 “ How populous,” thought I, “ this 1 subterranean city!’ 
 How sure its annual increase of inhabitants. Notwith¬ 
 standing the living seek through monumental stones to 
 keep up and perpetuate the distinctions which existed 
 in life, yet in truth and reality, how are they all lost in 
 the grave! The beggar and the rich man lie equally low, 
 and the worm feeds alike sweetly upon them. The 
 several paths of that busy multitude that are moving in 
 so many directions through yonder streets, will all ter 
 minate here. Oh, if this thought could be ever fresh in 
 their minds, how would it abate the ardour with which 
 they pursue the perishing vanities of time ! How would 
 it dissipate worldly mindedness, moderate the love of 
 pleasure, and make sensuality itself tremble amid its 
 guilty indulgencies!” 
 
 As I passed along from grave to grave, the names that 
 X read upon the stones called up the images of a numer¬ 
 ous group that X had once known. Having at length 
 reached a distant corner of the burial ground, I read on 
 four stones that were ranged close to each other. 
 
 u Frederick Lindsley, Esq., who departed this life 
 in the 43 d year of his age.” 
 
 “ Mary , relict of Frederick Lindsley, Esq., who 
 c fell asleep in ChrisV in the 37 th year of her age.” 
 
 “ Hezekiah , son of Frederick and Mary Lindsley , 
 who died ' in the 8th year of his age.” 
 
44 memory’s tribute. 
 
 “ Mary Anna Lindsley , who died in May, tyc. in the ! l( 
 18 th year of her age—much beloved in life, lament - ’ " 
 cd in death; her memory will be long cherished on 
 earth—her many excellencies can be fully known 
 only in Heaven .” 
 
 “ Ah,” said I to myself, as I read these names with a 1 
 throbbing heart, “ then they are all gone—they are now 
 A Family in Eternity — I shall meet them no more 
 till I meet them there.” 
 
 I had known this family intimately, and spent many 
 happy hours in their society. Their history was one 
 truly eventful; replete with reverses, and furnishing 
 many instructive lessons to those who ponder the ways 
 of God and consider the operation of his hands. 
 
 Mr. Lindsley was a lawyer, and had, at an early age, 
 acquired not only eminence in his profession, but in a 
 distinguished degree the confidence of the community in 
 which he resided. This confidence had been inspired, 
 not only by his accurate and extensive legal knowledge, 
 but by great integrity of character and uprightness of 
 conduct. 
 
 He was particularly blessed and happy in his family. 
 Mrs. Lindsley, the partner of his bosom, added to po¬ 
 lished manners and a well balanced mind, great amiabi¬ 
 lity and sweetness of temper. She was the mother of 
 two interesting children. The oldest, was a daughter, 
 who, at the time that our narrative commences, was 
 about twelve years of age. Mary Anna bore an exact 
 resemblance to her mother in all the delicate touches 
 and interesting features of her character. 
 
 Mr. Lindsley, among his many other excellencies, 
 was distinguished for his kindness and great hospitality. 
 
 In him the poor and the fatherless found a friend, “ the 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 45 
 
 tk 
 
 M- 
 
 J# 
 
 5/1 
 
 a 
 
 IV 
 
 e 
 
 blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon 
 him,” and often he “ caused the widow’s heart to sing 
 for joy.” 
 
 His wife and children he almost idolized. Where 
 their comfort or happiness was concerned, he spared 
 no expense, shrunk from no sacrifices. His home was 
 a little paradise, where all hearts seemed bound together 
 by the rosied wreath of love. All who visited his house 
 went away with the full impression, that if there was 
 a happy family on earth, it was Mr. Lindsley’s. 
 
 This family, however, had not yet obtained the pearl 
 of great price. They were constant in their attendance 
 upon public worship; and an event about this time oc- 
 | curred which awakened in their minds new sensibility 
 I in relation to the subject of religion. 
 
 —— 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 “ Afflictions from above, 
 
 Are angels sent 
 
 On embassies of love.”— Merry. 
 
 The unnumbered blessings which a kind Providence 
 spreads around us, and the manifold tokens of divine 
 regard which we daily receive, were, one would think, 
 sufficient to melt our hearts into gratitude, and win us 
 to the service of God. But long experience has shown, 
 that men are usually never more unmindful of their 
 Creator than when they are feasting upon his richest 
 bounties, and their sky is irradiated by the brightest rays 
 of his mercy. Affliction, with dark and terrific form, 
 must cross our path, blighting the fondest hopes, and 
 desolating the fairest prospects, before we can be re- 
 
40 
 
 MEMORY’S 'IlwBUTE. 
 
 called to a sense of our duty. And happy is it, il the 
 blighting of earthly hopes, and the bitter pangs of 
 earthly bereavement lead us to fly to the bosom of God, 1 
 and to seek shelter beneath the outspread wings of cove-' 
 nanted mercy. 
 
 The voice of sorrow and mourning was now heard in 
 the dwelling of Mr. Lindsley. His only son, a lad about 1 
 eight years old, had fallen from a neighbouring hay- ! 
 loft and was taken up dead. Mr. Lindsley was ab¬ 
 sent on business when this melancholy event occurred. 
 As soon as the intelligence reached him he instantly 
 hastened home. Never shall I forget his expression and 
 attitude as he entered the room and approached the 
 corpse of his child. His hands were clenched—every 
 feature of his countenance was wrought up into an ex¬ 
 pression of agony—and his whole frame shook with 
 emotion. He stood and gazed for a moment upon the 
 sweet and motionless face of his boy—and then, as if 
 lie could no longer restrain himself, rushed from the 
 room to give vent in private to his feelings. 
 
 After the funeral had past, and the first excess of grief 
 had subsided, this family were visited by the minister of 
 the place, and kindly but faithfully reminded, that the 
 bereavement which they had sustained was a solemn 
 admonition from God, urging them to enter upon the 
 business of their everlasting salvation. His words were 
 listened to with seriousness and attention. 
 
 A change, from this time, was discoverable in both 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lindsley. The spirit of God seemed to 
 have touched their hearts. 
 
 I know not whether Mrs. Lindsley was more deeply 
 impressed than her husband, but she certainly cherish¬ 
 ed more sacredly her serious impressions, and resolved 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 47 
 
 at an earlier period to make a complete surrender of her- 
 I self to her Saviour. She had not been baptized in in¬ 
 fancy, and she very justly thought that the way of obe¬ 
 dience was the way of her duty. She therefore deter- 
 1 mined, in obedience to the divine injunction of that Sa¬ 
 viour to whose free and unmerited grace alone she 
 looked for mercy, to make a surrender of herself to Him 
 in the holy sacrament of baptism. 
 
 Having come to this determination, she sought a fit 
 opportunity to communicate her intention to Mr. Linds- 
 ley. About three months had now elapsed since the 
 death of their son. Mrs. Lindsley and her daughter 
 were one day sitting together alone, when Mr. Lindsley 
 came in and sat for awhile silent and apparently in deep 
 thought. 
 
 I “ I have been thinking,” at length said Mrs. L., ad¬ 
 dressing hcTself to her husband, “ I have been thinking 
 for some days to speak to you upon a subject that lies 
 very near my heart. In the death of our boy we have 
 had a most striking proof of the emptiness and instabili¬ 
 ty of all that this earth can give. I feel that I have need 
 of a divine comforter. I wish to seek him in the way 
 of his appointment. I wish to cast myself at the feet of 
 Jesus, and ask him to wash me in • the fountain that has 
 been opened for sin and uncleanness.’ I wish to be 
 baptized.” 
 
 Mr. L. was deeply affected by these remarks. The 
 veins in his forehead became distended, and upon 
 every feature were visible the workings of a troubled 
 soul. The tear glistened in his eye, and his lips quiver¬ 
 ed with emotion. For some time he could not speak. 
 At length he said, 
 
 “ Wait, my dear, a few weeks, and perhaps l shall 
 
48 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 feel authorised to accompany you to the baptismal font, j 0 
 for I have never been baptized.” He could say no more, i 1 
 He arose and left the room. 
 
 Mrs. Lindsley followed with her eye the retiring steps ' 
 of her husband, offering up to the Divine Being a secret 1 
 petition that the Holy Spirit might accompany him 1 
 wherever he went, revealing to him his character as a i 
 sinner, and constraining him to fly to the foot of the J 
 cross for mercy and life. When she turned her eyes 
 towards Mary Anna, whose presence she had entirely 
 forgotten in the deeply absorbing train of reflection that 
 had been passing through her mind, she saw her bathed 
 in tears. Her first thought was, that this gush of sen¬ 
 sibility had been called forth by the deep feeling she had 
 just witnessed in her parents. Mrs. L. therefore, did not 
 think fit to intimate by any remark that she noticed this 
 burst of tenderness in her daughter. 
 
 After a little interval Mary Anna was the first to in¬ 
 terrupt silence, by the following innocent, artless, and 
 affecting train of remarks; and as she spoke, the tears 
 were still glistening in her eyes. 
 
 “ Mother, I hope, dear father will become pious and 
 be baptized. For I was reading this morning in the 
 Gospel of St. John, and it has been sounding in my ears 
 ever since, £ he that believeth and is baptized shall be ( 
 saved, but he that believeth not shall be damned.’ I 
 hope father will be saved, don’t you mother?” 
 
 “ Child,” said her mother, her heart ready to burst 
 with emotion, “ it is highly proper that you should feel 
 a tender and affectionate solicitude in reference to the 1 
 eternal salvation of your dear father, but of vastly greater 
 importance that you should feel an anxiety about your 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 49 
 
 own everlasting condition, and learn to 1 remember your 
 Creator in the days of your youth.’ ” 
 
 “ Dear mother,” said Mary Anna, “ how long I have 
 wished to talk with you on this subject. I have been 
 thinking all day what an awful thing it would be, to be 
 damned—to be shut out forever from Heaven, and cast 
 down to that place where,, the Bible says, ‘ the worm 
 dieth not and the fire is not quenchedand I sometimes 
 fear, that I shall be shut up there, for I am such a 
 sinner /” 
 
 u How long since you have had these feelings and re¬ 
 flections ?” inquired her mother. 
 
 “ Ever since 1 can remember,” said she, “ at times. 
 But these thoughts have dwelt continually in my mind 
 since last spring. I went out one day to gather wild 
 flowers. As I was wandering around, all at once it oc¬ 
 curred to me, how beautiful and lovely are the works of 
 God! The trees had just put on their new foliage—the 
 meadows and pastures w r ere covered with fresh verdure— 
 the violets bloomed all around—the blossoms hung upon 
 the peach trees—every breath of air seemed full of fra¬ 
 grance—the sun shone with all its splendour and bright¬ 
 ness over every field and seemed to tip every flower with 
 new tints of beauty—a thousand little insects were buz- 
 ziug and dancing through the air—the birds were sing¬ 
 ing sweetly from every bush and bramble—the lambs were 
 skipping over the hills, or chasing in little troops through 
 the plain—all seemed joyous, and thankful, and glad. 
 A voice seemed to whisper in my ear, c Shall all these 
 praise God and you forget him? 5 Oh, how my heart then 
 sunk within me. 1 sat down and wept. I tried to pray— 
 to bless God ; but then I felt that I was so great a sinner 
 —I had forgotten God so long, and loved him so little— 
 
50 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 that 1 could not pray. It seemed as if he frowned upon 
 me with a look of wrath. I came home sorrowful. I 
 kept thinking for many weeks about this, and when 
 Hezekiah died I felt as though God designed his death as 
 a warning to me ; and there has not been a day from that 
 time to this, that I have not thought about dy in g—and when 
 I have been alone and thought over all the wrong things 
 I have done, I have often felt as though there was no 
 hope for me. But the other day I was reading in my 
 Bible this passage, ‘ Come unto me all ye that labour 
 and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ I had 
 just before been thinking, what an c intolerable burthen’ 
 my sins were; and the thought occurred to me, ami 
 not one of those who are £ labouring and heavy laden?’ 
 Am I not one of those to whom the Saviour here says ? 
 ‘ I will give you rest.’ I could not but rejoice. It seem¬ 
 ed as if I had all at once found Him that would save me ; 
 and ever since then, I take delight in nothing so much 
 as in reading about Christ. Mother, do you not think 
 that Christ will have mercy upon me ? May I not then 
 also be baptized ?” 
 
 This guileless, unsophisticated, and almost infantile 
 discourse of Mary Anna quite overcame the feelings of 
 her mother. Her heart was too full for utterance. Em¬ 
 bracing her daughter, she bathed herself and her child 
 in tears of tenderness and joy. 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 51 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 M Soldiers of Christ, arise 
 And put your armour on. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Who in the strength of Jesus trusts, 
 
 Is more than conqueror. 
 
 Stand then in his great might, 
 
 With all his strength endued, 
 
 I And take, to arm you for the fight, 
 
 The panoply of God.” 
 
 vV hen it is recollected that Baptism is the sign and seal 
 of the Christian covenant—a covenant entered into be- 
 . tween creatures whose breath is in their nostrils, and that 
 || Omnipotent Being who “ is from everlasting to everlasting” 
 £ —that all his mercies are covenanted mercies—that the 
 F very idea of a covenant implies the greatest condescen¬ 
 sion on his part, inasmuch as he thereby binds himselt 
 by a promise, assuring those that love and fear him that 
 though “ the mountains depart and the hills be removed, 
 his kindness shall ’never depart from them, nor the cove¬ 
 nant of his peace be removed”—when these several 
 particulars are recollected, it is truly astonishing, that, 
 on the one hand any who have not repented of their 
 sins, who have not resolved to turn from every evil way, 
 and devote themselves, soul and body, to the service of 
 God, should presume to approach the baptismal font, or 
 seek to be washed in the mystical waters of baptism, as 
 though “ the putting away of the filth of the flesh,” not 
 “ the answer of a good conscience toward God,” would 
 make them clean in his sight; and on the other hand, 
 that any who desire pardon and mercy, who are seeking 
 renovation of heart, and some special token of God’s 
 loving kindness, should think lightly of this blessed sa- 
 
52 
 
 MEMORY'S TRIBUTE. 
 
 crament, instituted on purpose to initiate them into the 
 family of the Most High. 
 
 Mr. Lindsley, for a number of weeks after the conver¬ 
 sation related in the last chapter, appeared very thought¬ 
 ful and serious. He assembled his family night and 
 morning, and read to them some affecting portion of 
 scripture. He was evidently under deep convictions of 
 sin, and “ almost persuaded to be a Christian.” 
 
 Mrs. Lindsley was cheering herself from day to day 
 with the hope that the time was not far distant, when 
 herself, her husband, and their only child, would stand 
 before the baptismal font to enter into an everlasting 
 covenant with Jehovah. She did not, however, think 
 it expedient to mention the subject again to her husband, 
 presuming that when his mind was in a fit state he 
 would himself propose it. 
 
 Mr. Lindsley was a firm believer in the truth of the 
 Christian religion, and in its vital and practical influ¬ 
 ence upon the heart and life. He could not have borne 
 the idea of dying without its consolations. He meant to 
 save his soul. But still he did not now feel ready to 
 obey the call of Christ, to give up all and follow him. 
 He stood so connected with men of business, and by his 
 professional duties was so frequently brought in contact 
 with the world, that he feared he could not sustain the 
 Christian character consistently. Such were the evil 
 suggestions of a heart that still clung to the world. 
 Though in most points, a man of great decision and 
 fearlessness, Mr. Lindsley shrunk from the imputation 
 of devoted jpieiy. 
 
 He soon began to resist the strivings of God’s spirit 
 He secretly tried a thousand expedients to extract the 
 arrows of conviction from his soul. lie sought to ba- 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 53 
 
 lie nish his serious reflections by becoming immersed in 
 professional engagements, and at length his seriousness 
 t- began gradually to wear off. 
 
 Mrs. L. observed this with alarm. It was Sunday 
 (1 morning. She had been long hoping, as the morn of that 
 if sacred day week after week returned, that he would an- 
 f nounce to her his desire to approach the baptismal font. 
 But she had waited in vain. She determined to wait no 
 longer. She therefore renewed the conversation on the 
 j subject of their receiving this holy ordinance. 
 
 Mr. L. at first seemed averse to speaking upon 
 the subject. Mary Anna was present and ventured to 
 make a remark. “ Do, my dear father,” said she, “ go 
 with us and be baptized.” 
 
 The sensibility of the father was touched by the soli¬ 
 citude of his child, and he thus replied: 
 
 “ I do not think that my feelings or character will 
 warrant so solemn a profession on my part, as I must 
 necessarily make in receiving baptism. But do not wait 
 for me. Next to being admitted myself into the fold of 
 Christ’s flock, nothing can give me so much pleasure as 
 to know that my wife and child are numbered among 
 the children of God. Appoint next Sunday for the 
 time of receiving that holy ordinance, and perhaps”—a 
 tear started from his eye as he spoke—“ perhaps I shall 
 then think differently.” 
 
 The rubric that precedes the baptismal service, re¬ 
 quires that in all cases where adult persons are to re¬ 
 ceive baptism, “ timely notice shall be given to the mi¬ 
 nister, that so due care may be taken for their ex¬ 
 amination ,” to ascertain whether they possess the pro¬ 
 per qualifications. In conformity to this standing rule, 
 the intention of Mrs. Lindsley and her daughter was 
 5 * 
 
54 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 signified to the clergyman to whose congregation they 
 were attached, with a request that he would call and 
 allow them to converse with him on the subject. The 
 request was most cheerfully complied with, and the 
 evidence they gave that they were truly under the in¬ 
 fluence of divine grace, was every way satisfactory. 
 
 A part of the conversation that passed between the 
 clergyman and Mary Anna was as follows : 
 
 “ I am rejoiced,” said he, “ to see one so young, re¬ 
 solving to devote herself to the service of her heavenly 
 father.” 
 
 £< I fear,” was her judicious reply, “ 1 fear I am not 
 too young to be lost if I should die without a Saviour.” 
 
 “ Very true,” replied the minister. “ But have you duly 
 considered the responsibility that you take upon you 
 by this act? There are many pleasures and gayeties, 
 styled in the catechism ‘ the vanities of the world,’ to 
 which young people are usually devoted ; these, by your 
 baptismal vow, must be forever renounced. That vow 
 binds you to all the duties and high responsibilities of a 
 Christian. It was customary in the primitive Church for 
 persons, immediately upon receiving baptism to be pre¬ 
 sented with a white robe, which they were 10 wear for 
 a number of days in token of the purity ot life, which, 
 by profession, they were bound to exhibit. Remember, 
 my young friend, that you are about to put on a robe 
 that will be soiled by every contact with the world.” 
 
 “ The pleasures of the world,” said Mary Anna, “ I 
 can renounce without regret; but I am sensible of my 
 own weakness. To keep that white robe unstained, is, I 
 am persuaded, utterly beyond my power. But may I 
 not hope, that if I unite myself to Christ in the way of 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 55 
 
 p y 
 
 ie 
 
 )e 
 
 i- 
 
 
 liis appointment, he will give me strength to do what 
 I could not do alone.” 
 
 “ Yes, you may”—said the minister. “ For St. Paul de¬ 
 clares that he had no sufficiency in himself, but yet look¬ 
 ing unto the Saviour, he says, c I can do all things 
 through Christ, which strengthenetli me.’ ” 
 
 It was hoped by Mrs. Lindsley that her husband 
 would have been present at this interview. But he 
 evidently sought to avoid it, and was accordingly absent 
 at the time. 
 
 The next Sunday arrived. The afternoon had been 
 appointed as the time of receiving that long anticipated 
 rite, which was to engraft Mrs. Lindsley and her daugh¬ 
 ter into the visible body of Christ. But when she rose 
 from her seat to go forward to receive that holy rite, her 
 frame trembled, her step was unsteady, a death like pale¬ 
 ness sat upon her countenance, and her heart was weighed 
 down with sorrow. It was not that she went reluctantly 
 to dedicate herself to the service of her Saviour, but that 
 she went unaccompanied by him whose happiness was 
 her own —that she went thus wrapped in a cloud. The 
 thought at that moment crossed her mind that they 
 might finally and everlastingly be separated. It was 
 that dreadful and agonizing thought that shook her 
 frame with trembling, rendered her step unsteady, 
 spread paleness over her features, and pressed her down 
 with a load of sorrow. 
 
 When Mrs. Lindsley and her daughter came forward 
 and stood before the chancel, many eyes in the congre¬ 
 gation were turned towards Mr. Lindsley’s pew; a dis¬ 
 appointment being evidently felt, in not seeing him by 
 the side of his wife and daughter—but his pew was 
 
56 
 
 M E M O R V '« T R1BU T E. 
 
 empty. This was strange, as lie was seldom abscn* 
 from church. 
 
 The ceremony proceeded. The meek, humble, and 
 subdued appearance of the mother and her daughter—the 
 tender, affecting and solemn language of the service, 
 made a deep impression upon the congregation. The 
 ordinance, as there is every reason to believe, was made 
 the channel of rich consolation and much spiritual 
 strength to the recipients themselves. 
 
 We are now coming to a period in their history, when 
 the reality of their principles was to be put to the test, 
 and all the sustaining influence of divine grace, of which 
 they were partakers, was needed to uphold them. 
 
 — 
 
 ’ ' : Hi ,»«r 4 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 “ And as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave 
 
 them over to a reprobate mind .”—Epistle to the Romans. 
 
 About four years had now elapsed since the occur¬ 
 rence of the events related in the last chapter. And in 
 reference to those sweet scenes of domestic happiness, 
 which formerly gladdened the dwelling of Mr. Lindsley, 
 it might well be said “ how is the gold become dim ! 
 how is the most fine gold changed !” 
 
 From the Sunday that his wife and daughter received 
 baptism, his views and feelings seemed totally changed. 
 The effort which he made to withstand the strong 
 wrestlings of the Spirit, that then urged him to a sur¬ 
 render of himself to the service of his Saviour, seemed 
 to burst at once from around him all those bands of re¬ 
 ligion which parental instruction had at first imposed, and 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 57 
 
 which the belief of years had been strengthening. His. 
 respect for divine things was evidently diminished. His 
 trouble of soul was gone. He entered upon the theatre, 
 and took an active part in the scenes, of political life. 
 In the contest and collisions in which he was engaged, 
 and the measures which he thought necessary to adopt to 
 carry his plans, he began to contract habits of dissipa¬ 
 tion. His business was neglected. A frown, which never 
 before had darkened the sunshine of his home, was now 
 frequently seen on his brow in the midst of his family. 
 Things continued to wax worse and worse, and at the 
 time to which our narrative now refers, Mr. Lindslev 
 seemed to have reached a point in the road of iniquity, 
 from which their was little prospect of return. His once 
 ^ manly and intelligent countenance now bore the red and 
 bloated aspect of intemperance. His business had left 
 him. The most of his property was gone. He spent 
 the greater part of his time in idleness—lounging in 
 bar-rooms, and making merry with a set of companions, 
 who, like himself, had made shipwreck of their charac¬ 
 ter and fortune. 
 
 He no longer visited the sanctuary of God. The 
 truths that he there heard troubled him. He no longer 
 read the Bible, for condemnation flashed upon him from 
 its every page. 
 
 At this time there was in this village an organized 
 club of sceptics, who styled their body “ The Church 
 of Reason.” This club was made up of the most profane 
 and profligate in the community—of persons of the most 
 abandoned lives. One common feeling had drawn them 
 together—a desire to And in infidelity, or atheism, or in 
 some other “ refuge of lies,” a system of belief that 
 would allow them to remain at case in the gratification 
 
58 memory’s tribute. 
 
 of; their lusts, and in the indulgence of their favorite 1 
 sins. 
 
 Such was this “ Church of Reason.” They conven¬ 
 ed regularly on the Lord’s day. Their chief business 
 was to drink to intoxication, to sing songs, to ridicule 
 the scriptures, and defame religion. With this chib 
 Mr. Lindsley connected himself, and in time became its 
 leader and head. 
 
 He was no longer the kind and affectionate husband. 
 An utter depravation of moral sentiment seemed to have 
 been wrought in him. In all those points in which his 
 character formerly appeared most amiable, there was 
 now exhibited the most appalling features of fiend-like 
 depravity. That wife whom he had cherished with so ! 
 much tenderness and love ; that daughter whom he had 
 nurtured with so much parental care and kindness—lie 
 now seemed perfectly to hate. He took every occasion 
 to wound and mortify their feelings in the presence of 
 company, by uttering the grossest indelicacies and the 
 most Heaven daring profanity. He employed every art 
 and expedient that malevolence could devise, to thwart 
 and disturb them in their religious enjoyments. He 
 sought every opportunity to denounce in their hearing, 
 the Bible, religion and the ministers of religion; and to 
 load them with every vile epithet found in the vocabu¬ 
 lary of vulgarity and profaneness. 
 
 All this was borne by his amiable wife and daughter 
 with unparalleled meekness and patience. Not one re¬ 
 pining or reproachful word was uttered. They had 
 learned in the school of Christ to exercise that “ charity 
 which suffereth long and is kind, which beareth all 
 things, hopeth all things, and endureth all things.” And 
 daily did they kneel down together before the throne of 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. ’ 59 
 
 God, and put up their joint petitions—the one for a pro¬ 
 fligate husband, and the other for a hardened father. 
 
 This meek and patient endurance of evil did not soft¬ 
 en, but seemed to exasperate the feelings of Mr. Linds- 
 ley. Conscious that he had injured, irreparably injur¬ 
 ed, the beings, who of all others loved him most, he was 
 bent upon provoking them to some act of rashness, that 
 he might seize upon it as a sort of an apology to himself, 
 for his conduct. Defeated in this object, he became still 
 more and more desperate. Temporal misfortunes be¬ 
 gan to thicken around him. Deeply in debt—destitute 
 of credit—having no funds that he could control—he at 
 times awoke to the full perception of the horrors of his 
 situation. And at such times, all these calamities were 
 
 m 
 
 most irrationally and unjustly charged upon his family. 
 His treatment to them at length became so abusive and 
 alarming, that it was deemed necessary for their per¬ 
 sonal safety to flee their home, and seek shelter and pro¬ 
 tection under another roof. 
 
 One instance, selected from many others of a similar 
 character, will serve to illustrate this remark. 
 
 Mrs. Lindsley, naturally of a frail constitution, was 
 now, from the accumulating weight of domestic grief 
 which hung upon her heart, in a wretched state of 
 health. Her pale features, occasionally flushed with an 
 hectic glow, bore evident marks that a worm was al¬ 
 ready at the stem of life. 
 
 It was a cold wintry night, the town clock had al¬ 
 ready struck twelve. Mrs. Lindsley had just returned 
 from the window, to see if she could catch a glimpse of 
 the returning form of her husband. But no human 
 shape was visible through the dim and shadowy moon¬ 
 light—all without was still as the repose of the grave, 
 
60 
 
 MEM OR VS TRIBUTE. 
 
 save the creaking of some loose board on the fence, that 
 now and then was swung by the wind. The fire, which 
 had been fed by an economical hand, while the patient 
 wife sat up to watch the return of him, the sound of 
 whose tread after an evening’s absence, once , made her 
 heart leap with joy—was reduced to a small bed of coals. 
 She had often set up longer and later to wait his return ; 
 but now faintness and fatigue constrained her to think 
 of retiring. Again, with feeble and tottering step, she 
 went to the window and strained her eye to see if no 
 signs of his approach could be discovered. But he came 
 not! The lonely hours of that evening she had spent in 
 much prayer for her husband. Faith seemed to assure 
 her, that there was still hope. She wished to welcome 
 his return with kindness. But he came not! Baking 
 the ashes over the expiring embers, she went to her so¬ 
 litary couch with a sad and sorrowful heart. 
 
 That evening was spent far differently by her husband. 
 He was presiding in the Atheistical club, and on no pre¬ 
 vious occasion had he ever gone to such fearful lengths. 
 Having drank deeply, he gave full vent to all the mali¬ 
 cious and malignant feelings of his heart. Not content 
 with reviling the piety of men, and the purity of angels, 
 he assailed the throne of God—uttering the most horrid 
 blasphemies, and pouring forth such a torrent of oaths 
 and imprecations, that the whole company were startled, 
 and stood aghast with horror. 
 
 It was from such a scene that Mr. Lindsley went to 
 his family about two o’clock in the morning. Finding 
 Mrs. L. had retired, he compelled her to get up and re¬ 
 main in her night dress, in a cold room, where there was 
 no fire, till morning. Having locked the doors of this 
 room, he walked the floor till the day dawned, renew- 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 61 
 
 ing his strain of blasphemy, and polluting the very at¬ 
 mosphere with incessant profanity. 
 
 In vain did the feeble and shivering form of his wife 
 silently appeal to his pity—in vain did she entreat him 
 not to hurl defiance at the throne of God. There was 
 no pity, no feeling in him. His heart was converted 
 into stone. Sin which dragged angels from Heaven— 
 sin which desolated paradise—sin which dug Hell and 
 kindled its unquenchable fires—sin had transformed this 
 man into a fiend. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 “ A death bed’s a detector of the heart.”— Young. 
 
 They who deny the truth and credibility of the Bible, 
 though they often laugh at the weakness and delusion 
 of Christians, and make loud boast of the fearlessness and 
 undisturbed tranquillity with which they can look upon 
 the approach of death, most generally in that dread and 
 trying hour, turn cowards. The eagerness which they 
 manifest to unsettle the faith of others, and the reckless 
 and impious air with which they lay their desecrating 
 hand upon all that is holy, are but symptoms of the 
 pangs within—are but wretched shifts to drown that 
 awful voice which the spirit of God is ringing in the 
 startled ear of conscience. 
 
 So it was with Mr. Lindsley. In fleeing from the 
 Spirit of God he rushed into the pathway of guilt. To 
 still the voice of conscience that he might travel that 
 path undisturbed, he tried to disbelieve the Bible; but 
 the truth had been graven in such deep and living cha¬ 
 racters upon his heart, that it could not be thus erased. 
 
 6 
 
62 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 Whenever lie allowed himself to reflect, the burning 
 conviction, in spite of all his avowed infidelity, still clung 
 blistering to his heart, that there was an awful hell in 
 which God would one day punish him for his sins. 
 Death, therefore, whenever it was brought near, came 
 clothed in tenfold terror. 
 
 An event illustrative of this remark occurred while his 
 family still remained with him. In returning on horseback, 
 one night, from a scene of revelry, he was thrown from 
 his horse, and so seriously injured that his life for some 
 time was despaired of. During his confinement, it was 
 observable to all who visited him, how bitter and dread¬ 
 ful the thoughts of death were to him. Not a word of 
 infidelity, nor an oath, dropped from his lips while he 
 lay .thus near the confines of eternity. 
 
 Hopes were then entertained that a permanent change 
 would be wrought in him. But the first place he visit¬ 
 ed, after leaving his sick room, was a grocery. He im¬ 
 mediately returned to his former courses, apparently 
 with increased relish—certainly with more unbridled 
 indulgence. 
 
 It now became evident to all, that the excess and dis¬ 
 sipation in which he indulged would soon break down 
 his constitution, and terminate his life. The event 
 showed that these apprehensions were well grounded. 
 
 A few months after his acts of cruelty had banished 
 his wife and daughter from his home, he was attack¬ 
 ed with an inflammatory complaint, which daily be¬ 
 came more and more alarming, and threatened to ter¬ 
 minate speedily his earthly career. 
 
 He at first did not consider his disease dangerous, and 
 therefore, with the help of hi-s companions, who were 
 often with him, he for a while kept up his spirits. The 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 63 
 
 profane jest—the loud laugli—and the merry carousal, 
 dissipated the gloom and tediousness of the sick room. 
 But as the violence of his disorder increased, the visits of 
 these profligate companions became more seldom. For 
 vice and profligacy do not love to look upon the grissly 
 features of the king of terrors. 
 
 Mr. L. began to feel the want of that kind attendance 
 which mitigates the sufferings, and eases the pains of a 
 sick bed. He thought of his mother—she was in her 
 grave. He thought of his wife—wormwood and gall 
 were in that thought! Why was 1 she not by his side? 
 Often had she tended around his bed of sickness, with 
 all the nursing care and tenderness which fond affection 
 could dictate. Why did not her meek and gentle form 
 now stand by the side of that couch of languishing? Ah, 
 he knew too well the cause; and the remembrance of it 
 l was like a poignard to his heart. 
 
 Mr. Lindsley had now to spend many hours alone— 
 they were hours of darkness, of desolateness, and direful 
 anguish—often filled up with oaths, imprecations, and 
 blasphemy. At times the frail form of his much injur¬ 
 ed and heart-broken wife would seem to glide before 
 him—and then for a moment his feelings would relent, 
 and the determination would be formed, that she should 
 be entreated to return. But as the thought was revolved 
 over in his mind, pride would start up, and force him to 
 a different conclusion. “ No,” he would say, “ never 
 shall the words I uttered when she for the last time bade 
 me adieu, be .recalled. I then said, and the word shall 
 never be revoked— go—go to those you care more for 
 _ than for me , and know that your presence will never 
 he again welcomed beneath this roof till my body is 
 borne lifeless over that threshold .” 
 
G4 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 It was in the midst of these reflections, that the mi¬ 
 nister of the place, a young man, ardent in his feelings, 
 and bent upon being faithful to the souls committed to 
 his charge, called upon Mr. Lindsley. He was acquaint¬ 
 ed with the history of the man, and knowing that he 
 stood upon the borders of eternity, he thought it his duty 
 to warn him of the awful plunge he was about to make. 
 With a firm and fearless voice he told him, “ that dying 
 in his present state he would sink into everlasting ruin— 
 that nothing but the blood of Christ could wash away the 
 ten thousand stains of guilt with which he was defiled— 
 that he must repent—that he must have faith in Christ 
 —that his heart must be changed, else there was not the 
 slightest hope for him—that he had no time to spare— 
 that he ought to pray every instant until death stopt his 
 breath—and that with his permission he would now ap¬ 
 peal to the throne of grace in his behalf.” 
 
 All this was kindly intended. It evinced faithfulness 
 on the part of the man of God. But at the same time, 
 there was, perhaps, a want of prudence in the manner 
 in which this conversation was intrbduced. It stirred 
 up the fierce passions, and exasperated the maddened 
 feelings, of this dying profligate. His “ face gathered 
 blackness,” and there was visible upon every feature 
 wrath, and bitterness, and scorn. Stubborn and unsub¬ 
 dued, he spurned all his entreaties and counsel, and bade 
 him “ not to presume to be Ms mouth-piece to the 
 Almighty.” 
 
 A few days after this interview, this wretched man 
 became, for the first time, impressed with the full con¬ 
 viction that he should never recover. The thought of 
 death, judgment, and the solemn realities of the Bible 
 filled his soul with consternstion and dread. Like a 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 
 <55 
 
 drowning man, he now stretched out his hands—eager to 
 grasp at any thing that afforded the slightest hope of 
 keeping him from sinking into the dreadful gulf that 
 gaped beneath. He remembered that the Rev. Mr. 
 
 Z-, was officiating in a neighbouring village. On a 
 
 former occasion, when in great affliction, this man had 
 poured the balm of Christian consolation into his wound¬ 
 ed heart. It was he that officiated (he then being their 
 Pastor) at the funeral of Mr. Lindsley’s son, whose 
 death has been noticed in the former part of this nar¬ 
 rative. 
 
 For the character of this man Mr. Lindsley still re¬ 
 tained a high respect. And now that life seemed wan¬ 
 ing, and the awful scenes of eternity were ready to burst 
 upon him, he felt no disposition to wear longer the 
 wretched mask of hypocrisy. He wished for a spiritual 
 counsellor. A request, was accordingly sent to the Rev. 
 Mr. Z-, soliciting the favour of a visit. 
 
 This man was truly venerable and apostolic in his ap¬ 
 pearance. Age had added to a stout and well proportion¬ 
 ed form a dignity that comported admirably with his 
 sacred office. The sweetness of his temper, and the 
 amiability of his heart, exhibited themselves not only in 
 the soft and persuasive accents in which he spoke, but 
 in the striking and uniform urbanity and gentleness of 
 His manners. But with this great mildness, he united 
 decision and energy of character. In all matters of in¬ 
 difference, the benevolence of his heart led him to be 
 as yielding to the wishes of those around him as the 
 flexile reed to the wind; but where duty or principle 
 was involved, he was as firm and immoveable, as the 
 ocean rock that has remained for centuries unmoved, 
 amid the fierce dashing of ten thousand waves. 
 
 6 * 
 
66 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 Such was the character of the man, that in obedience ! 
 to the summons he had received, now approached the 
 sick bed of Mr. Lindsley. Kindness beamed upon his 
 countenance as he entered the room, and the first ex¬ 
 pressions of sympathy he uttered for the sufferer before 
 him, gave naturally a serious and religious turn to the 
 conversation. He affectionately entreated the sick and 
 dying man to “ acquaint himself with God, and be at 
 peace.” He set before him, in a succinct and luminous 
 manner, the way of salvation—“ repentance towards 
 God, and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ.” 
 
 To all this Mr. Lindsley seemed to listen, as to some¬ 
 thing that was to be said, as a matter of course. As Mr. 
 
 Z-paused, he rather abruptly, and in a tone that 
 
 savored very little of broken hearted contrition, said, 
 
 “ Sir, I have sent for you to baptize me.” 
 
 “ Nothing,” replied the man of God, “ can give me 
 higher satisfaction, than to administer to you this holy 
 rite, if you can exhibit evidence that you possess proper 
 qualifications for receiving it.” “ It is not to be con¬ 
 cealed,” continued Mr. Z-, “ for standing here as 
 
 tlie minister and messenger of God, I dare not ‘ speak 
 smooth things or prophecy deceits’—it is not to be con¬ 
 cealed, that you have lived in open and avowed disbe¬ 
 lief of the Christian religion—you cannot receive bap¬ 
 tism without declaring your decided belief in the truth 
 of this religion.” 
 
 “ That I can honestly and sincerely do,” said the sick 
 man. 
 
 “ No man liveth and sinneth not,” continued the aged 
 minister ; “ and every returning sinner, before he can be 
 admitted into the fold of Jesus, must confess, bewail, and 
 renounce his sins—the best man living has sins enough 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 07 
 
 I 
 
 flee ! to mourn over—and must be finally saved, if saved at 
 Die all, by free and unmerited grace. But, you, I say it in 
 his kindness, you have been no common sinner. There 
 At- is a load of guilt on your soul, which, if its whole weight 
 re be felt, must press you down very low in the depths of 
 le . sorrow.” 
 
 (I I “I know it, I feel it,” replied Mr. L., with more emo- 
 it tion than he had before exhibited, “ I have been a wick- 
 ^ j ed, a very wicked man, but I repent me of my sins.” 
 
 “ You are then willing to declare that you solemnly 
 
 l and forever £ renounce the devil and all his works,’—that 
 # 1 
 j you will hereafter turn from, and detest sin, and what¬ 
 ever is sinful ?” 
 
 “ I am ready to do this,” responded Mr. L. 
 
 “ O, Sir,” continued the faithful minister, “ it is a very 
 t solemn business to put ourselves in the attitude of cove¬ 
 nanting with God. His piercing eye looks into the in- 
 imost recesses of the heart—he sees the hidden motive 
 
 he cannot be deceived—he will not be mocked; allow 
 me to read the interrogatories that will be addressed to 
 I you at the time of baptism.” 
 
 Here Mr. Z- read from the baptismal service, the 
 
 r questions that are put to the candidate immediately pre- 
 ' vious to his receiving that solemn ordinance, inquiring 
 of the sick man at the close of each question, if he could 
 in sincerity subscribe to what was there demanded. 
 
 To each of which he replied by the single monosyl¬ 
 lable, “ Yes.” 
 
 “ Mr. Lindsley,” said this venerable negotiator be¬ 
 tween God and man, new energy lighting up his coun¬ 
 tenance, as he spoke. “ Mr. Lindsley, I wish you to be 
 saved—and therefore I must deal faithfully with you. 
 Have you indeed considered what it is to receive bap- 
 
68 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 tism—have you weighed the meaning of those questions 
 —have you thought how much is implied in renouncing 
 1 the sinful desires of the flesh so that you will not fol¬ 
 low nor be led by them.’ Consider what a state of af¬ 
 fection this implies. No matter what may be your 
 wishes, your desires, your inclinations—if they are not 
 in strict accordance with the holy will of God, you 
 bind yourself by the most solemn of vows to c renounce’ 
 them—to give them up—to sacrifice them—though the 
 effort cost you as much pain as the amputation of an arm, 
 or the plucking out of an eye. Are you ready to sacrifice 
 self, and bow thus submissively to the will of God. 
 
 “ Consider in whom you profess faith! In Christ! 
 That Christ whom you have denied, abjured and blas¬ 
 phemed. In receiving baptism you declare, that aban¬ 
 doning every other hope, you look to him alone for sal¬ 
 vation—you cast yourself upon his free mercy—fully 
 sensible that unless he saves you by an act of infinite 
 grace you must perish—and that if you perish, you are 
 determined to perish at the foot of the cross. 
 
 “ Consider also that you are to vow, that you will not 
 only abandon your former courses, and habits, and sins 
 —making a complete surrender of yourself to Christ, 
 your King ; but that you ‘ will obediently keep God’s 
 holy will and commandments, and walk in the same all 
 the days of your life.’ What surrender could be more 
 perfect than this ? What profession of religion could be 
 more solemn or unqualified ? 
 
 “ Now, Sir, are you willing thus to give yourself up to 
 God ? Allow me.to specify. You cannot but be sensible, if 
 you have any right views of your own past conduct—you 
 cannot but be sensible that you have injured—cruelly 
 injured your family. The only reparation that you can 
 
 no 
 
 of 
 
 K 
 
 m 
 
 1 
 
 ti 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 m 
 
 now make them, is a frank and humble acknowledgment 
 of the ill-treatment they have received at your hands. 
 Nothing can prevent your making this acknowledge¬ 
 ment, unless it be a remaining c sinful desire of the flesh.’ 
 That desire you must sacrifice, or never receive bap¬ 
 tism from my hands.” 
 
 The religious feelings which at this time existed in the 
 bosom of Mr. L., had been awakened solely by the fear 
 of death, and the dread of that punishment that follows 
 death. While occupied by this one absorbing emotion, 
 which grew more intense, with every advancing step of 
 terror’s King, the proud and rebellious spirit of deprav¬ 
 ed nature lay in a state of dormancy—but it was not 
 subdued. Agonized at the thought of dying in guilt, 
 and dropping into endless perdition, Mr. Lindsley was 
 anxious to perform some external act of religion, from 
 which he might gather some gleam of hope: forgetting 
 in this hour of mental agony, that external ordinances 
 can be of no avail, without the heart is right in the sight 
 of God. 
 
 That which determined him to send for the Rev. Mr. 
 
 Z-, at this time, as his spiritual counsellor, was the 
 
 uniform character this man sustained for dove-like gen¬ 
 tleness and universal benevolence. With such a coun¬ 
 sellor he hoped his path to the grave would be rendered 
 smooth, and his passage to the eternal world easy; and 
 that he should be spared the painful business of laying 
 bare to the severing knife, the dark depravity and deep 
 corruptions of the inner man. 
 
 When, contrary to his expectation, his spiritual coun¬ 
 sellor applied a searching caustic to every wound, and 
 with a discriminating perception that seemed almost 
 divine, touched that string in his heart to which a thou- 
 
70 
 
 sand feelings of concealed, but deep-rooted depravity- 
 vibrated—making, a reconciliation with his family—an 
 acknowledgement to them of sorrow and, contrition 
 for the many evils they had suffered at his hands —the 
 sole condition, upon which he would administer baptism 
 to him. Mr. Lindslcy hastily replied, and the tones 
 of his voice were those, not of an humble, dying, peni- 
 
 MEMORY S TRIBUTE. 
 
 tent, but of a self-willed and unsubdued sinner, 1^ 
 
 “ That acknowledgment, Sir, I can never make.” L 
 
 “ Then,” said Mr. Z-, with a solemn and empha- L 
 
 tic tone, “ I can never baptize you. And,” continued I, 
 he, “ as I see no prospect of being of any further service 1,, 
 to you, I will now take my leave.” I, 
 
 He accordingly arose and proceeded to take his de¬ 
 parture. His hand was already upon the latch of the 
 door, when the sick man raising himself up in his bed, , 
 his countenance exhibiting ten thousand conflicting and 
 soul racking emotions, exclaimed, 
 
 “ O my God, must I then die unbaptized !!” 
 
 The kind hearted minister, affected even to tears, at 
 this sudden burst of feeling, turned round and said, 
 
 “ Deluded man, baptism cannot wash the deep cor¬ 
 ruption from your heart. Until your feelings are chang- ' 
 ed, and your stubborn will subdued, there is no hope for 
 you*’ 
 
 “ Hear me,” said the sick man, gathering new strength 
 from the intensity of internal and agonized feeling. 
 
 “ Hear me—if you desert me, then there is no hope 
 and as he spoke, torrents of scalding tears coursed down 
 his haggard checks—“ I wish to be baptized for seve¬ 
 ral reasons—one is, that I may declare my belief in 
 the Christian religion, which, although I have often 
 abjured with my lips, I have never doubted in my 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 71 
 
 i heart. I am sensible that I am now near eternity, and 
 | that Hell is yawning beneath the very place where I 
 lie. I would be saved. My pride has been my ruin. 
 That prevented me from going forward to unite myself 
 1 with the church of Christ, at a season when the Spirit 
 [ of God wrestled powerfully with my soul. O, had I 
 then bound myself by a solemn and inviolable vow to 
 the service of my Maker, what a tremendous wreck 
 should I have avoided. My pride just now would not 
 suffer me to make peace with the wife of my youth, 
 
 • and the child of my early love. Yes, I have cruelly 
 \ injured them. They were all that is kind, gentle, holy, 
 
 affectionate, and lovely; and, amid all the bitter breath- 
 Jngs and envenomed rancor of this wretched heart, I 
 have ever loved them, and love them still.” 
 d Exhausted by this effort to unburthen the conflicting 
 'emotions of his soul, Mr. L. now sunk back upon his 
 bed in silence. A milder and more subdued aspect sat 
 upon his countenance, than had before been observed. 
 
 Mr. Z- then told him, that on his way to visit 
 
 jj him, he had fallen in with Mrs. Lindsley and Mary 
 I Anna, and that they were now in the village, ready to 
 ■: fly to his embrace. “ Will you not”—continued he— 
 1“ allow me to call upon them, and assure them that you 
 
 * truly deplore the misdemeanors of your life, and desire, 
 before you depart hence, next to being reconciled to God, 
 a perfect reconciliation with them.” 
 
 To this Mr. L. immediately consented, and in a few 
 minutes the wife and daughter were at his bed-side. 
 
72 memory’s tribute. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 “ That day of wrath, that dreadful day 
 When Heaven and earth shall pass away, 
 
 What power shall be the sinner’s stay 1 
 How shall he meet that dreadful day 7 
 When shrivelling like a parched scroll, 
 
 The flaming Heavens together roll; 
 
 When louder yet, and yet more dread 
 Swells the high Trump that wakes the dead ! 
 
 Oh, on that day, that wrathful day, 
 
 When man to judgment wakes from clay, 
 
 Be Thou the trembling sinner’s stay, 
 
 Though Heaven and earth shall pass away.”— Scott. 
 
 The parted family were again beneath the same roof, 
 and happy in each others presence—all unkindness was 
 forgotten. The mother and daughter were now unwea¬ 
 ried in their attentions and efforts to contribute to the 
 comfort of the sick and dying man; and the object of 
 their constant and most tender solicitude, was, that he 
 might be prepared to enter upon that dread eternity 
 which now stretched before him. 
 
 Baptism had been administered to him—he having- 
 given evidences of contrition and repentance, that, in the 
 view of his spiritual guide, justified this act. 
 
 “ Who”—said Mr. Lindsley, as he lay upon his bed 
 one afternoon, now greatly debilitated, his countenance 
 changed, and his features exhibiting evidences of a 
 chastened and subdued spirit—no one at the time being 
 in the room except Mary Anna, 
 u Who was that, that just called ?” 
 
 “ Richard H-,” said Mary Anna. 
 
 “ Ah,” said the father, “ what could have brought 
 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 73 
 
 Richard here—such as him do not usually like to visit 
 those who are treading on the misty verge of eternity.” 
 
 “ He said,” replied Mary Anna, u that he should like 
 to see you to drive away moping melancholy. But 
 mamma told him, that you wished not to be disturbed 
 by visiters.” 
 
 “ She did right in not admitting him, and yet I could 
 almost wish that she had, that I might have told him of 
 that deep and burning Hell into which he and the club 
 will sink; of that dreadful cup of indignation that they 
 will drink at the hand of God through all eternity. But 
 no—he would have laughed and made a joke of it, and 
 f am too weak, and too unsettled in my own hopes to 
 have overcome him by reasoning.” 
 
 Here he paused as though in a deep and painful reverie. 
 
 The infidel club, of which Mr. Lindsley had been an 
 active member, hearing of his religious concern, and de¬ 
 sire to receive baptism, sent at various times a deputa¬ 
 tion to dissuade him from what they termed “ apostacy.” 
 
 lie uniformly declined seeing them, remarking, “that 
 lie needed all his time to make preparation for the aw¬ 
 ful change that awaited him.” 
 
 It was one of that miserable gang that had just called, 
 and to whom the foregoing conversation related. 
 
 Mary Anna did not feel disposed to interrupt the train 
 of her father’s thoughts, and he therefore mused on for 
 awhile in silence. At length, as though unconscious of 
 the presence of any other being, he thus gave utterance 
 to the thoughts that were moving in his mind. 
 
 “ That was the guiltiest night of all! Those recol¬ 
 lections, as though steeped in the burning waters be¬ 
 low, how they scorch my wildered brain! Ah! what 
 if in the fearful day of final reckoning my judge shall 
 
 7 
 
74 memory’s tribute. 
 
 call up the remembrance, and place before me in vivid 
 perception, the transactions of that night—that night 
 when I stamped on the Book of God, and reviled, and 
 sneered at, and blasphemed the name of Christ. O, 
 what maddening thoughts come thick and crowding 
 upon my memory !” 1 
 
 Here Mary Anna alarmed at the energetic and almost 
 
 frantic manner of her father, moved her chair in turn¬ 
 ing to look upon him. The slight noise occasioned by 
 this movement, recalled to his recollection the presence 
 of his daughter. 
 
 In a calmer but no less solemn manner, he continued, 
 “ O, my child, you know nothing of those dark por¬ 
 tions of my existence. You have felt the blighting in¬ 
 fluence of the demon within me. In bitterness, and by 
 a course of conduct cruel as the grave, I drove you and 
 your mother from my dwelling ; but there are darker 
 and more desolate passages in my history than this. 
 And, if in the awful hour when I meet the judge eternal, 
 he shall point to those scenes, I shall acknowledge the 
 justice of that sentence which sweeps me into the fiery 
 concave of endless woe.” 
 
 “ O, my dear father,” said Mary Anna, agitated with 
 deep feeling, and anxious to turn his desponding eye to 
 some beacon of hope—“ There is a Saviour for sinners. 
 Jesus Christ died for sinners. He tells us that he is 
 ‘ able to save to the uttermost them that come unto God 
 by him,’ and ‘ that whosoever cometh unto him he will 
 in no wise cast out.’ ” 
 
 “ Yes, my child,” said he, “ there is a Saviour, but I 
 do not know that I have gone to him, or given myself 
 up to him.” 
 
 He then asked her to draw the curtain of the window, 
 
 
 
A FAMILY IN KTERNITX. 
 
 75 
 
 and let in a little more light- She did so, and the rays 
 of the setting sun streamed into the room in all their rich 
 and golden lustre. 
 
 “ How glorious,” said he, “ is the material sun, but 
 infinitely more glorious and resplendent is the sun of 
 righteousness. O, that I could see it thus shining 
 upon my darkened soul. Sometimes I venture to 
 cherish a little hope. I felt a satisfaction in receiving 
 baptism. I wished to bear testimony of my firm belief 
 in the religion of the cross. That cross now emits the 
 only transient ray of hope that falls upon my darkened 
 vision. I know not how it will be with me. I have 
 sinned against light and knowledge, against warnings 
 
 f tlie most solemn, and convictions the most deep—against 
 love, and kindness, and mercy. I shall not be surpris¬ 
 ed, when I open my eyes in eternity, if I am in Hell.” 
 
 These were the last remarks he ever made. The 
 violence of his disorder rapidly increased, and that very 
 night he crossed the mystic line that separates time 
 from eternity. 
 
 In this melancholy narrative, we have striking proof, 
 that they, who resist the strivings of the Spirit, and neg¬ 
 lect the divinely appointed means of grace, do verily 
 reject the counsel of God against themselves, and ulti¬ 
 mately provoke him “ to swear in his wrath that they 
 shall never enter into his rest.” 
 
 Will it be suggested, that perhaps the subject of this 
 memoir found mercy at last? It may be he did. It 
 was natural for his friends to hope that he did. 
 
 But reader art thou willing to risk thy eternity upon 
 such a perhaps. Canst thou witness this exit of a 
 fellow mortal whose dying moments were clouded with 
 uncertainty, and doubt, bordering upon despair, and not 
 
70 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 shudder at the thought of closing thy earthly career 
 amid such appalling darkness. Yet., if thou deferrest the 
 work of thy salvation till to-morrow, what security hast 
 thou that thy end will not be like the end of this man! 
 
 It is the exalted privilege of those whose hopes are 
 upon the rock Christ Jesus, to die with comfort—often 
 with triumph; and their death is not unfrcqucntly made 
 instrumental in producing great and lasting good. 
 
 This remark was strikingly illustrated in the death 
 of Mrs. Lindsley, an account of which will be given in 
 the next chapter. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 “ Mark the perfect man and behold the upright: for the end of that 
 
 man is peace .”—From the 37th Psalm. 
 
 The scenes of sorrow and suffering through which 
 Mrs. Lindsley had passed, had ruined her health and 
 broken her heart. Consumption, which with her ma¬ 
 ternal family was an hereditary disease, was already 
 gnawing upon her vitals. Two months after Mr. Linds- 
 ley’s death, she was laid low in the earth by liis side. 
 She was sensible for many weeks that her final hour 
 would soon come. She often spoke of the arrival of 
 that hour as of an event, that would release her from 
 a world of sin and sorrow, and translate her to the pre¬ 
 sence of her Saviour and God. 
 
 She waited in patience her appointed time. And her 
 last hours bore striking testimony to the power of divine 
 grace, and were blessed, as there is every reason to be¬ 
 lieve, to the saving of a soul from death. 
 
 Mr. Lindsley’s abandonment of the club of which lie 
 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 77 
 
 had formerly been so prominent a member—his solemn 
 renunciation of those skeptical views which he had once 
 so assiduously propagated—his firm and avowed con¬ 
 viction of a future existence—his awful apprehensions 
 of a ruined eternity—and his extreme anxiety to gather 
 from the pages of the Bible, and the institutions of the 
 Gospel, hopes to support him in the trying hour of death, 
 gave a fatal blow to that corrupt and guilty association. 
 
 His death and the circumstances connected with it, 
 seemed to produce a deep and abiding impression upon 
 
 the mind of one of his former associates, Richard H-, 
 
 whose name has been incidentally mentioned in this nar¬ 
 rative. This man was better read, and more intellec¬ 
 tually established in skepticism than any other individual 
 in the Atheistical club. 
 
 His mother, who died when he was young, was an 
 eminently pious woman. During her life, his religious 
 education was with her a subject of deep and constant 
 solicitude. She sought by every maternal art and en¬ 
 dearment to win his young and tender heart to the love 
 of Jesus. Often and ardently did she pour out her soul 
 in supplication to God for her child. She asked for him, 
 neither wealth, nor honour, nor eminence; but simply, 
 grace. And her dying words were, 
 
 “ Adorable Jesus, by all thy wounds, and agony, and 
 blood, save —I entreat thee —save my child .” 
 
 Richard at this time was quite young, and, after the 
 death of his mother, not having any pious friend to 
 counsel or instruct him, his early impressions were ap¬ 
 parently soon effaced. He became addicted to irregular 
 courses, and seemed to have no fear of God before his 
 eyes. As he grew up, however, he evinced strong na¬ 
 tive powers of mind, and passed through his collegiate 
 course with great credit to himself. While in college he 
 
78 
 
 ■ 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 imbibed the absurd idea—an idea which has ruined many 
 a youth of great promise—that superiority of intellect can 
 be displayed only in leaving the beaten track, and ori¬ 
 ginating new systems and theories. These same views 
 influeliced him even in religious matters; and falling in 
 with several French writers, he at once embraced their 
 voluptuous and skeptical philosophy, and thus became 
 in his religious sentiments a perfect/ree thinker. 
 
 Nothing ever occurred to arouse him from his dreams 
 of infidelity, until the death of Mr. L. He had for many 
 years been addicted to habits of intemperance, and, in 
 . his association with Mr. Lindsley, found himself united 
 to a kindred spirit. The death of Mr. L., as we remark¬ 
 ed, seemed to startle him. He became evidently more j 
 thoughtful and temperate. He was frequently heard to 
 say with some concern, in the presence of religious 
 people, 
 
 “ If the Bible be true, I wish to know it. If there is a * 
 Hell, I certainly do not wish to go there.” 
 
 As Mrs. Lindsley’s health declined, he frequently call¬ 
 ed to make inquiries after her. The afternoon on which 
 she expired, he came to the house, and being informed 
 that she was sinking rapidly, begged the privilege of 
 seeing her. At this time Mrs. L. was still able to con¬ 
 verse, and all her words breathed forth the sweetness 
 and amiability of the religion she professed. She ex¬ 
 pressed no over-weening confidence in relation to her ac¬ 
 ceptance with God, but at the same time it was manifest 
 that her faith in the power and mercy of the Redeemer 
 was firm and unshaken. Meek and resigned to his 
 will, her whole appearance indicated the most perfect 
 calmness and serenity. She at times spoke to those 
 around her, and affectionately entreated them to pre¬ 
 pare to meet their God. 
 

 A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 79 
 
 To 011 c who expressed regret at finding her so low, 
 she replied, 
 
 “ Ought you to regret that I am going home. As 
 ! long as I remain here I must inhabit this body of suffer¬ 
 ing and sin. But when released from it, I hope through 
 the infinite mercy of God in Christ to be pure, and per¬ 
 fectly happy. Then may I not say, 1 for me to die is 
 gain V ” 
 
 A short time after she remarked, 
 
 “ The Saviour says, £ I know my sheep.’ This is a 
 delightful thought to the soul that is about to be launch¬ 
 ed into the world of spirits. Christ knows all his fol¬ 
 lowers, and will neither overlook nor forget one of them.” 
 
 She then requested a friend who was present, to read 
 i the 27th and 28th verse.s of the 10th of John. “ My 
 ' sheep hear my voice, and I know them and they follow 
 me. And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall 
 \ never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of 
 my hand.” 
 
 “ These are indeed comforting words”—she added 
 after the passage had been read—“ they are to my soul 
 c like the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.’ c I 
 give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish’ 
 —precious promise!” 
 
 Mr. H-stood and for a long time gazed in silence 
 
 upon this lovely woman, gently sinking down into “ the 
 valley and shadow of death,” and sustained at every step 
 by the arm of the Omnipotent Jesus. She at length lift¬ 
 ing up her eyes said to him, 
 
 “ Mr. H-, I have often heard that you had a pious 
 
 mother. I hope soon to meet her in Heaven. O, that 
 I could be the bearer to her of the happy intelligence 
 that the child, whom she so tenderly loved, and whose 
 
80 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 salvation she so earnestly supplicated in her dying hour, 
 was treading the narrow path to join her in the skies !” 
 
 A thunderbolt from the throne of Omnipotence, would 
 not have more suddenly startled, or more powerfully 
 
 agitated Mr. II-, than did this remark. His whole 
 
 appearance bespoke uncommon emotion, and a torrent 
 of tears suddenly rushed down his stern and swarthy 
 cheek. Perhaps no language can give to the reader a 
 more accurate idea of the deep workings of his mind at 
 that moment, than the account which he himself gave to 
 an acquaintance some years after, when he had become 
 to all appearance a sincere believer, and a truly reform 
 ed man. 
 
 “ The dying chamber of Mrs. Lindsley,” said he, 
 
 “ was the place, where all the strong ramparts of infide-j 
 lity within which my mind was entrenched, were sudden¬ 
 ly overthrown, and where the light of God’s truth broke 
 in upon my soul in spite of all resistance. I had read 
 many infidel authors, and considered my principles as 
 unalterably fixed. I had also examined most of the 
 ■works that had been written in defence of Christianity, 
 and found nothing in them to shake my opinions. But 
 what argument, and learning, and talent could not do, 
 the exhibition of divine power could. As I stood look¬ 
 ing upon Mrs L., calm, collected, and unshaken in a 
 situation in which the courage of many a warrior would 
 have quailed, I asked myself— 
 
 “ What supports that frail and feehle woman ? Is it en¬ 
 thusiasm? No. A spirit as tranquil and passionless as 
 hers, must be a stranger to enthusiasm. Is it natural 
 firmness of nerve ? No. She has it not. Through life, 
 from the very delicacy of her physical structure, she has 
 been as tremblingly alive to every rude touch as the 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 81 
 
 sensitive plant* What power then is it that enables her 
 to look so tranquilly upon all the horrors that cluster 
 around the thought of dissolution and death 1 It is the 
 power —a voice seemed to whisper in my ear —it is the 
 power of God. 
 
 “ It was at this moment that Mrs. L. addressed me and 
 spoke of my mother. Her sainted image instantly rose 
 before me. Her looks, her words of kindness, her 
 prayers, and her pious instruction were all as fresh in 
 my recollection as if she had died but the day before. 
 And now every 1 refuge of lies, 5 in which I had long 
 trusted, forsook me—I could not summon a single infi¬ 
 del argument to sustain me. I felt like a drowning man 
 that is sinking to the bottom of the ocean. And from 
 that hour I could never emancipate myself from the 
 rooted conviction of the truth of the Bible. I view myself 
 as c a brand plucked from the burning, 5 and through 
 eternity I shall bless God that in his infinite mercy he 
 led me to the sick and dying chamber of Mrs. Lindsley.” 
 
 Mrs. L. gradually sunk down into the sleep of death, 
 the light of heaven continuing to beam upon her to the 
 very last gasp. The last words that she uttered, were 
 those of prayer and praise. As life was rapidly waning, 
 she faintly breathed these words, 
 
 “ Jesus to thy dear faithful hand. 
 
 My naked soul I trust.” 
 
 Mary Anna stood by the bed holding her chilled and 
 icy hand. Turning to her a look of affection, her eye 
 sparkling with hope, she added, 
 
 u I find my child, that 
 
 “ Jesus can make a dying bed, 
 
 Feci soft as downy pillows are.” 
 
 With these words she breathed out her life. 
 
82 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 Mary Anna who had already passed, through many '■ 
 trials, was now left to struggle with new difficulties. 
 They, who are surrounded by the delightful presence a 
 and warm affection of parents, can know but little of the ' 
 sorrows of an orphan. Even where a mother survives, 
 though in feeble and declining health, her counsel and ^ 
 soothing words, give bouyancy to the spirits, and fill ; 
 us with the delightful consciousness that there is one 
 being whose affection can not be alienated, and whose 
 interest in us can suffer no diminution. But when she 
 is taken, and we stand unconnected by a single kindred 
 tie to the rest of the world, the bereavement is indeed 
 dreadful, and there cannot fail to be felt a sense of lone¬ 
 liness, which no language can describe. 
 
 Thus it was with Mary Anna Lindsley. As she re¬ 
 turned from the grave of her mother, she could not re¬ 
 frain from asking herself, 
 
 “ What is there now left in this world for me ? I have 
 no friends—no means of subsistence—the -last eye that | 
 looked kindly on me is now closed in death—there is * 
 nothing on this earth for me to lean upon. But blessed 
 be the eternal Jehovah £ the Father of mercies, and God I 
 of all comfort, 5 who has promised that He will be a { 
 c Father to the fatherless. 5 That promise I will now 
 claim. I will lean upon his Heavenly arm and give up 
 myself entirely to his guidance and direction. 55 
 
 Happy are they, who by their afflictions are thus led 
 to make a complete surrender of themselves into the 
 hands of their Creator. That gracious and Almighty 
 Being never disappoints those who trust in Him. He 
 will most assuredly make “all things work together for 
 good to them that love Him.” 
 
 Friends were quickly raised up to pour the soothing 
 
A FAMILY IN ETERNITY. 
 
 83 
 
 r ! balm of consolation into the bosom of this young orphan. 
 
 < One who had long known and appreciated her worth, 
 
 ; and for whom she had the highest esteem, sought 
 m her hand. 
 
 About a year had now elapsed since the death of 
 i her mother. Grief had begun to subside, and hope, to 
 I point to a brighter day. She was soon to be married to 
 a man whose principles and character, both, her heart 
 and judgment approved. 
 
 They were sitting together at the close of a summer’s 
 ; day, under an arbour in a delightful garden. Universal 
 nature was dressed in smiles. He was reading a beau¬ 
 tiful poem on the joys of Heaven. 
 
 As he paused for a moment, Mary Anna inquired, 
 
 ^ “ Do you think that friends will recognise each other 
 
 * in eternity 
 
 “ Certainly;” he replied—“ though I might find it dif¬ 
 ficult to state definitely, upon what evidence that opinion 
 ?*.is founded. St. Paul I think incidently asserts this doc- 
 X trine. Addressing those whom he had been instrument- 
 t)al in turning to righteousness, he informs them that he 
 & cherished the delightful hope, that they would be his 
 p ‘ crown of rejoicing’ at the appearing of Christ in the 
 U day of judgment. This they could not be, unless re- 
 $ cognized by him in that hour.” 
 
 “ My mind,” said Mary Anna, “ while you have been 
 reading, has been running over the scenes of my child- 
 r hood, and the striking and awful events that have marked 
 
 * the history of my family. I fully believe that all those 
 afflictive dispensations were ordered in mercy—they 
 
 J were intended by a merciful Heaven to sanctify and save. 
 ^ Affliction is good for me—so deeply am I convinced of 
 | this, that I look with suspicion and fear upon every an- 
 
84 
 
 memory’s tribute. 
 
 ticipated prospect of earthly happiness. Yes, sorrow is 
 the better path for me while I remain in this sinful 
 world, and when I leave it, I trust through the boundless 
 mercy of a crucified Redeemer, to participate in the un¬ 
 ending joys of Heaven.” 
 
 These last words were uttered with such an unearthly 
 accent, that her friend turned to look at her. An ashy 
 paleness suddenly came over her countenance. It was 
 the paleness of death! A blood vessel had been sud¬ 
 denly ruptured; and in a few fleeting moments she was 
 in eternity—furnishing another melancholy proof, that 
 u in the midst of life we are in death.” 
 
 It was over the graves of this family that I stood and 
 meditated long upon the instability and emptiness of | 
 earth, contrasting its perishing vanities, with the en- J 
 during realities of Heaven, which are the purchase of J 
 Christ, and will be the inheritance of his people. Read- 1 
 er, may divine grace make thee one of those people, and | 
 bring both thee and the writer of these pages at last * 
 “ unto the city of the living God, the Heavenly Jeru¬ 
 salem,” to join “ the general assembly and church of j 
 the first born which are written in Heaven.” 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 IT IS APPOINTED UNTO MEN ONCE TO DIE 
 
 AND AFTER THAT THE JUDGMENT. 
 
 When those we love are snatch’d away 
 By death’s resistless hand 
 
 Our hearts the mournful tribute pay 
 That friendship must demand. 
 
 While pity prompts the rising sigh, 
 
 With awful pow’r imprest, 
 
 May this dread truth, “I too must die,” 
 
 Sink deep in ev’ry breast. 
 
 Let this vain world allure no more; 
 
 Behold the op’ning tomb; 
 
 It bids us use the present hour,— 
 
 To-morrow death may come. 
 
 The voice that tells of death’s near scene 
 May ev’ry heart obey! 
 
 Nor be the faithful warning vain 
 Which calls to watch and pray: 
 
 0 let us to that Saviour fly, 
 
 WTiose arm alone can save; 
 
 Then shall our hopes ascend on high, 
 And triumph o’er the grave. 
 
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