TRIBUTE MEMORY EEY. SAMUEL WALLACE CLARK. 'A man shall be commended according to his wisdom." — Proverbs. BOSTON: PEINTED BY DAMRELL & MOORE, No. 52 Washington Street. 184 7. TO MRS. REBEKAH HOWE CLARK, WITH HER CHILDREN, FRANCES WALLACE, JOHN HOWE, LUCY BARRON CLARK, THIS IMPERFECT TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF HER HUSBAND AND THEIR FATHER, THE LATE REVEREND SAMUEL WALLACE CLARK, IS AFFECTIONATELY AND GRATEFULLY INSCEIBED BY HIS COMPANION AND THEIR FRIEND. V A TEIBUTE, ETC. My Dear Friends, The exercises of this day have been sufficiently exciting, and so far protracted, as to make it unsea- sonable and almost improper for me to draw farther upon your attention. My excuse for thus doing, is the iinusual and tender circumstances of the occa- sion, and the desire of the bereaved family of the deceased pastor, my dear friend, made known to me since the morning service. As for myself, I should best consult the bias and preference of my own feel- ings, were I to remain silent. For there are times in which, to a thoughtful mind, the occasion and pass- ing scenes themselves speak with an eloquence and impressiveness, deeper, more solemn and instructive, than the words of any man. At such times, an attempt to improve the occa- sion, serves only to degrade and detract from a solemnity and power, peculiarly, wholly, and inde- pendently its own. But such an attempt has, at least, this one advantage and apology : it allows and enables the surcharged and smitten heart to find BURTON HIST. COLLECTION DETROIT relief by the utterance of its feelings, — in the not ungrateful expression of its griefs and its sorrows. Yes, my friends, how solemn — how tender — how melancholy — yea, and how delightful, too, are the occasion and circumstances of our assembUng on this Sabbath-day ! We celebrate and commemorate the life and death of Christ, our Redeemer and Salva- tion—of Jesus, our exemplar and elder brother; we do see before us, and on this table, the emblems of his body and of his blood ; yea, with your own hands ye have handled them — have also eaten and drunken of them, and have heard that once crucified, but now risen and exalted Saviour, saying to us, one and all, his believing disciples: "I am the resurrec- tion, and the life : he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live : And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this ? " And at the same time, we do mourn and celebrate, with strangely conflicting and minghng emotions of joy and of grief; the blameless and irre- proachable life, the happy and Christian death, of a true servant of God, a sincere minister of Christ, an affectionate pastor, the faithful husband, brother, father, intimate associate, revered and beloved friend ; whose faith, whose hopes, were all centred in Christ, in whose service he meekly and patiently lived, and in whose love, stronger than death, he happily and triumphantly died. It may not be unwelcome to your feeUngs, that one who has had unusual oppor- tunities and occasions for knowing and loving him, in all the relations of life, as well aad as intimately in social and private as in public and official life, should speak a few words of him, his character and his life ; modestly, I say, for he that should otherwise speak of Samuel W. Clark would surely speak in a manner unacceptable to and unworthy of the sub- ject of his remarks. Here let me, and do you, once and for all, renounce and disclaim every thing like adulation, creature-homage. God alone, my hearers, is great, and God alone is supremely good. But, as for our friend and our brother, he was an imperfect and fallible man — a self-ruined, self-condemned, and guilty sinner: this he plainly knew, deeply felt. And our brother was, thanks to God in Christ, a washed and pardoned sinner, a saint, renewed and redeemed by the blood of the Lamb, as he humbly and modestly hoped ; rejoicing and triumphing, not always without fear, in that blessed hope. But you have heard this day, from the warm and affectionate lips of a brother in nature and a brother in Christ, of our friend and brother as a Christian. I will speak of him, therefore, in other, more general, not higher or more interesting, aspects of character. Let me then say, your deceased pastor, husband, father, brother, was a man of a high order of intellect, the native gift of God. And this gift was increased and chastened by cultivation, through a long, faithful, and regular course of study and of discipline. The pursuit and contemplation of truth was his dehght, — of all truth ; truth in nature, truth reduced to science, truth in life and in Providence ; but especially and above all, was the truth of God, as revealed in his i 6 Word, his highest joy, his supreme delight. To a degree unusual, he brought with him from the pub- he institutions, — where he was ever known and approved himself a conscientious, faithful, successful, yet unambitious student, — his inquisitive, studious tastes and habits of mind. His relative circumstances, his early-begun and long-continued infirmities, served only to increase, and not, as is natural and common, to abate and weaken, his love and pursuit of learning and of truth. In sickness, I may not say in health, but in poverty, in joy and in sorrow, he seemed never to have lost, if I may so speak, the run of the history of sound learning, or to have abated in the least his devotion and attachment thereto. I have often thought, that in him and his life was illustrated, not indeed without undeserved exception and abatement, the noble trib- ute and panegyric of learning made by the floman scholar and orator : " These studies occupy our youth, make our riper years happy, are an ornament in prosperity, a refuge and solace in adversity, delight us at home, and are no hindrance to us abroad, spend the night with us, go with us in our travels, and pass the time with us in our country abodes." Next to the promises and hopes of the gospel, letters and learn- ing, especially sacred and biblical learning, in the bosom of an affectionate family, in his humble dwell- ing, in which his library was his greatest luxury, were his solace and his refuge from the cares, the perplexities, and annoyances of life, for a stoic endur- ing of which his sensitive and noble soul was too 1 finely strung. He who should form his estimate and opinion of Samuel W. Clark, as a scholar and a man of intellect, from the exhibitions and impressions made of himself, as a preacher, in that pulpit^ would have a very inadequate and partial conception of him as a man of learning, a man of talent and influence. The natural cast of his mind was reflective, meditative, introspective; not outward, not executive, not prag- matic ; for he was more at home in the pursuit and contemplation of truth, than in dealing with men in the application of truths already apprehended, and surely believed with an undoubting faith. Truth, in his mind, did not lie as parcels and fragments, but was logically connected, disposed in system and in the order of sequence. Such a mind is not naturally fitted for those quick movements, rapid evolutions, startUng turns, bold asseverations, which to the undiscipHned, less educated, and less thoughtful, the dependent and excitable, are impressive, captivating, and popular. But it is in the freedom, liberty, and leisure of more private operations, that its rich treas- ures are slowly brought forth, its extent and certainty of grasp at once seen, acknowledged, and admired. There was almost no question in morals, in policy, in casuistry, in benevolence, or in religion, which he had not thoughtfully studied, and upon which he had not matured his opinion, having formed an enhght- ened and comprehensive judgment. His mind was equally removed from a conceited and dogmatic conservatism on the one hand, and from a rash and empiric radicalism on the other. 8 Neither the bigot, the superstitious, nor the fanatic, found any thing in him answering to their own wishes and character. And I am sure, had his native modesty and his long-continued infirmities (and which were the greater it is not easy to say) al- lowed him to reduce to form and cast, before the public, his opinions and matured judgments upon subjects which have agitated the benevolent and Christian world in our day, he would have appeared before his fellow-men, generally, in a light in which he is now seen only by intimate associates and endeared friends ; but seen equally to be reverenced in his opinions, as to be beloved in his virtues, and lowly graces of heart. But his modesty of spirit and infirmities of body were too great and ever-abiding for his reputation. He was as one whose strong limbs and full muscles had but partial movement, by reason of bonds and fetters. I was so fully sensible of this ability of his mind, and this trait of his character, that, in our confiding and fraternal interviews, which, to say the truth, were not few or rare, I often importuned him to extra-official exertion and labor. But it was less difficult for him to break up and rise superior to the bonds of an infirm and lagging body, than to cast aside the stronger bond of his spirit, his unwar- rantable self distrust and native modesty. From the very idea of unnecessary publicity — of notoriety — his sensitive soul instinctively shrunk. If any thing tempted him to pass censure upon his acquaintance and professional brethren, it was the palpable devel- 9 opment, on their part, of an ambitious and self-seeking spirit. I say tempted ; for rarely was the act of censure done, or the passage and transgression of the com- mand, " Speak evil of no man," actually and irrecov- erably made. Great thoughts, noble feelings, magnan- imous and disinterested behavior, were the elements of his mind, the appropriate attributes of his character. Were it not to insult his memory, I might ask you, if it were possible to connect and associate the life and conduct of the deceased with any thing weak and puerile in thought, mean and ungenerous in spirit, ignoble and unbecoming in act, and I think you would find the attempt difficult ; or, when you had made it, you one and all would exclaim, of the creature of your own imagination, — "That is not Mr. Clark, nor any thing like him ! " Now these, in part at least, were the gifts of God, in nature, to our friend and brother, and surely no less gifts, because native, than had they been wholly in the order of grace ; nor, can I see, less gratefully to be admitted and admired. As one star differeth from another star by creation, so must it be confessed, and that, too, without the denial or the least abatement of a cardinal doctrine of the Bible, touching the character of fallen man, there is a differ- ence, wide and apparent, in the children of men from their birth ; and, if I might so speak, the Spirit of God, in his renewing and sanctifying office, finds in some more generous and noble natures to work upon, less obstinate and less reluctant spirits to allure and capti- vate, than in others. And having said thus much, it 2 UNIVERSITY OF jLL 'tuiS LIBRARY 10 were but just and proper to add, that the power and grace of God's Spirit are as decided and efficient in the last case as in the former ; — in the hard and barren, as in the generous and more productive soil, whose fruits are more conspicuous and admired. Our friend, my hearers, was a man and a Chris- tian, royal and lovely in either line of descent. Another trait in the character of our deceased friend and brother was benevolence, in its purest form and noblest expression. No man with whom it has been my lot to associate intimately could say of himselfj with greater truth and justice, in the generous and catholic spirit of the old classic poet, " I am a man, and nothing that relates to man is devoid of interest to me," ■ — with, perhaps he might have added, the exception of their frailties and their follies. For he was not only a lover of good men, but a lover of all men, at least of all that was good in men. With an eye quick to perceive, and a heart to appreciate and love, whatever was lovely and of good report in his fellows and associates, he had a hand quick and prone to throw the mantle of charity and forgetfulness over the faihngs and follies of all ; hiding them, if I may so say, not only from others, but even from himself I have often thought, had it pleased the Sovereign Dis- poser of all good to have enriched him with the things of this world, with what a princely hand and large heart he would have scattered blessings around him, and found his dehght and happiness in making others happy. But, as it was, there was a certain some- thing — a heart — a sincerity — a polished grace of 11 true benevolence in the smallest favor by him con- ferred, that excellently enhanced the gift, and made that which, perhaps, was intrinsically insignificant, to be of great worth and high esteem. God, in his providence, did not give him largely the means of gratifying this strong propension of his heart in the conferring of outward and material favors : hence his benevolent spirit made manifestation and employ- ment of itself in other, and in some sense, higher ways and means ; that is to say, by a nice and tender regard to the feelings and tastes, yea, the prejudices and weaknesses, and, in a word, to the mental comfort, ease, and freedom, of those with whom he associated. Hence all of us loved his society, his presence, his cheerful and never offending conversa- tion: we were attracted toward him, felt safe around and near him ; no one, not even the humblest, the youngest, the least intelligent, was repelled or thrown off by any rudeness of manner, insolence of spirit, or coldness of behavior and address. All the forces of his mind were attractive, and none repelling. And yet this certain something — for though I have often felt its magic power, I cannot well, by word, give it a name — was at a great distance from servility, a cringing and fawning disposition, and was shed over and around you with no want of self-respect, but was expressed with the conscious dignity of man- hood, and a native grace of manner that never for- sook him, but was peculiarly his own. It was, I think, the genuine spirit of love, and pure, unpretending benevolence, manifesting itself through 12 a mind of high tone, natively lofty bearing, childlike simplicity and innocence. One felt, with him, and under his influence, his idea of man dignified, en- larged, ennobled. The child, the domestic, the com- mon laborer, was in a manner treated the same as those of a more advanced and higher position in life, as individually members of the one great common family, and not as a distinct and inferior order of persons. He was, in an enlarged, philosophical, and scriptural sense, an Anti-slavery man. The common civilities and courtesies of life, passing inquiries of the day, — the How do you do, my good sir ? I am glad to see you," — the shake of the hand with its gracefully antecedent wave, had a meaning and a power which will be sought in vain in any forms of politeness and etiquette which have not for their basis unaflTected benevolence, purified Christian earnest- ness, and truth of feeling. There was in my friend and brother, pervading and tinging the operations of his mind, a rich, salient vein of playful humor, — that quick, brilliant reason, which, as Barrow hath said, consisteth in one knows not what. " Its ways are unaccountable and inexpli- cable, being answerable to the numberless rovingsof fancy, and windings of language." He Avas apt and wont, himself, to say many apt and pleasant things ; and he enjoyed, with a keen zest, any thing of the kind, in his associates and friends, if so be it were pure and innocent. It is matter of observation that this property of mind, while it often delights, some- times offends and wounds. In him, it was baptized 13 and purified in the clear, transparent flowings of a pure love. Nothing biting, nothing sarcastic or ironical, escaped from his lips. He made fun and mock of no creature of God. His wit and humor conversed with things and thoughts, and not so much with men and characters. " Sometimes it lie in a pat allusion to a known story, or in a sensible appli- cation of a trivial saying; sometimes it played in words and phrases; sometimes it lodged in a sly question, in a shrewd intimation, or in closely retort- ing an objection : " hence, while you saw its glare and brightness, it was never with the foreboding fear that its stroke might ere long fall upon you or yours, smiting, prostrating, and humbling you in the dust. This trait and grace of mind he had rightfully and by inheritance, being descended of a race in whose character it is proverbially prominent — the Scotch Irish, so called. And I may add, that, amid all the solemnities of a deathbed — in the undressing of his soul — the reverential and earnest abiding of the quick-coming scenes of eternity — the patient expec- tation of heaven and. its glories, which were the objects of trust and faith in Christ only, his pleasantry and his humor were with him ; and there, and with the other and spiritual exercises of his mind, gave a very pleasant and grateful air to the sick chamber and to the deathbed, where the good man met his fate, making less frightful, pleasant and joyous even, the noiseless approach of the king of terrors. Thus was he natural and himself, up to the extremest hour of life and in the solemn article of death ; a 14 devout, confiding Christian indeed, but no less a man gifted and endowed as well by nature as by the grace of God. His life of excellence was crowned by a graceful, dignitied, and sacred period. Still another feature of the mind of our deceased friend, which has often impressed me, was his child- like simplicity and transparency of character. At a first interview, you saw him, not indeed all of him, but you saw Inm. We sometimes open a book, and read a few chapters with pleasure and profit ; but we cannot tell, as we say, how it will come out. So it is with persons and their manifestations. Now there was nothing of this obscurity in Samuel Wallace Clark. You might see him for a short time, and in part only ; but what you did see was his own very self, and sample of all the rest. When he came into company from the sanctuary of his family, he came the same man that he was at home, having passed through no self-induced change by the way; and when he entered his study, or was suddenly broken in upon, there he was, the same bland, polite, agree- able, social spirit. In him were no under-currents and windings of character and of purpose — no say- ing of one thing for the occasion, and meaning and pursuing another for self He was truthful, and to be depended upon. Your heart might safely trust in him, even as the heart of a man trusts in a prudent wife, the companion of his bosom. I can think of only one exception in him to this general remark — one aspect and phasis of his character which ap- proached to any thing like concealment or hiding 15 of himself. And it does appear to me, that in him many of his less intimate associates were de- ceived ; yea, that our good brother, in one matter, did practise deception. You all remember how uni- formly cheerful and happy he was, or appeared to be. It might seem to some, he knew not anguish and unhappiness, and was raised by the tone of his spirit and the majesty of his mind almost above the possibility of them ; but they who thus concluded, and acted consistently with such a conclusion, were greatly mistaken, and far out of the way. For few men exposed a greater or tenderer or more sensitive surface of soul to the ills and annoyances of life, than did he. But his benevolence prompted him to keep the causes and facts of his sufferings to himself Patient, uncomplaining, submissive, far enough was he from filling his fellow's ear with the sad tale of all his trials and cares. He had a happy dexterity and sleight of mind, in submerging and drowning out of sight of others, and of himself even, unpleasant things, corrosive and querulous cares and anxieties. And happy he that he could thus do ; for he had ample occasion for the use of the talent. Ingratitude, meanness, unworthy, unconfiding, un- sympathetic conduct wounded his kind and gentle soul to the very quick, and sometimes made it bleed, in secret, at every pore, large drops ; while, at the same time, he shed tears of pity, and gave forth words of forgiveness and of love. It has been a matter of wonder to me, that, in circumstances and amid trials that would have 16 soared a common and not so well-balanced mind, lie retained his generous sympathies, the integrity and healthy sweetness of his own incorrupt and generous spirit. I have observed that he had one, and only one, form of retahating neglect and unkind- ness ; and what this way was, will be understood by quoting his often-made remark in time of trial : Well, to say the truth, my good sir, they or he reward me better than I deserve or treat them." Thus did his modesty and low sense of himself come in as a kind of shield to ward off the ills and neglects of life — to break their force, or, at any rate, as an emol- Kent medicine to extract their bitterness, and allay the anguish of the wounds of ingratitude, unfaith- fulness, and injustice. And as in this respect in life, so also in sickness and in death, he was uniformly uncomplaining, patient, and submissive, and did all things and suffered all things which it pleased Al- mighty God to lay upon him, without murmurings or disputings with his fellow-man and equal, or the great God his Creator and Judge. Strife, contention, warfare, resistance, were things so uncongenial to his lamb-like spirit, so unused and unapt was his soul for such armor, that it must be confessed he did sometimes submit and retire, when certainly other equally good men would have stood their just ground, and successfully asserted their rights; and when pos- sibly it may have been better for him, certainly for his, had he so done — which, alas! he would not and could not do ; and this then I have only to say, let the blame thereof; if there be any, rest where it may, 17 and belongs. He was a coward, when and where he that wrote or said him coward felt and admired him a Christian hero. For the battles he fought were conflicts with himself; and the victories he gained the triumphs of restraining grace and forgiving love. And inspiration has long since spoken the praises of such a man, when it declares, " He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city. Pleasant words are as a honey-comb ; sweet to the soul, and health to the bones." Nor is it so clear in the long run, that, by this inac- tivity of the spirit of resistance, he did not gain more victories over men, and gain a larger territory in the affections of those otherwise disposed, than, in his circumstances, would have been yielded to a more active conduct and defensive spirit. How else shall we account for the perpetually increasing and strong hold he gained, and continued to gain, from day to day, over the hearts of all who knew him, and with whom he had to do, or who had to do with him ? Certainly thus much does appear ; that it required a very sturdy, dogged, and selfish man to contend with your late pastor. Again, let me say, our friend had a great love of life, and enjoyment of the gifts of God, in nature, and in providence. Whatever was beautiful and comely in social life and love, found in him ever, one who had a keen, hungry appetite ; an appetite, thank God, not left to its unappeased and unsatisfied cravings. To him, home, though humble and far enough from 3 18 the appliances of luxurious enjoyments, was indeed a sanctuary, and its joys passing sweet, and his pres- ence made them so, to all who were inmates of his dwelling. Strictly observant, himself; of all the pro- prieties and amenities of life, he enjoyed them much in others ; and expected, and, as it were, by his exam- ple, exacted them from all around him, without stiff- ness and the sternness of a severe formulary and discipline, but by an exemplification of the beauty and propriety of them, as seen in himself and his behavior. It was his desire and study to contribute all in his power to the sum total of domestic enjoyment; and he wished and enjoined, that all in subordination to him should voluntarily be in subordination, also, to the same great law. He saw God, and he enjoyed God, in the beauty and harmony of the social and family world. He enjoyed God, too, in all the arrangements and riches of his providence. To his eye, the outward and natural world was as a great temple, fitted up for the praise and glory of its Maker, and in it he delighted to be a constant and devout worshipper. Nature — a beautiful landscape, a fine farm — to him meant something more and higher than so many bushels of merchantable corn, or so many silver dollars received in exchange therefor. Thou^^h he had no manor, nor a little parsonage even, owned not a foot of land, — except that small, narrow strip, which, by reversion and the law of nature, despite of man's cupidhy, at last falls to every one in his extremest necessity, and which his cold remains now 19 sanctify, — I doubt whether any one of the intelUgent, thriving, and independent farmers of his town and parish ever received more pleasure from his fat acres, watered by " the river of God," and putting forth in vernal beauty and glory, or waving with autumnal and golden harvests, than did he. Since then, he as certainly had a weak and languishing body to be sustained by bread, as he did have a soul, great, gen- erous, and noble, to be regaled in its appetites and tastes with the beauties and glories of nature, and to luxuriate in the goodness of God there seen, I would that the pleasures accruing therefrom had not been so peculiarly those of the inner man. But this demand and tax for the support and com- fort of his spirit, which he himself, modest as he was, laid upon nature, had this advantage ; that, as it was necessary to his happiness, usefulness, and existence even, it was promptly met and generously paid. I remember well, in the earlier part of his sickness, when as yet he went abroad, looking through nature up to nature's God, upon his return from a walk to a neighboring farm, it was said, " Well, brother C, how convenient for you, or for any poor, sick minister, to have such a farm." "Yes, yes, my dear sir! that indeed it would," he replied, "but after all, I believe I enjoy it as much as the good man who owns it." Thus in him, and in this, was illustrated and fulfilled the promise of God, " The meek shall inherit the earth." But now, praised be God I having overcome the world through faith, to him, we beheve, it is given " to eat of the tree of life, that is in the midst of the paradise of God." What scenes, what beauties, 20 and what glories, above the power of man to con- ceive, have burst upon his enraptured vision ; what objects, what thoughts, occupy his noble and puri- fied spirit, and fill his large and capacious heart, it is not for us to say. We cannot tell what he is now; what his relations to us ; what he knows of us. We do not understand him ; we do not see him : but it is not at all certain that he has not some mysterious hold upon us. We have marked his pathway in life with us, studied the development of his lovely char- acter up to the extremest hmit and boundary of his sojourn on earth ; yea, we did go down with him, help- ing him, as he gently and without fear touched the waters of the river of death ; the passage of which he quickly and safely made ; yet by us, ourselves, to be made ; and may it be with like gentleness and good hope. But this we do know, that, being of that num- ber whose "robes are washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb," he shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; neither shall the sun light on him, nor any heat ; for the Lamb that is in the midst of the throne shall feed him, and shall lead him unto living fountains of waters : and God shall wipe away all tears from his eyes. Fare thee well, my friend! my brother! poor, worn, and weary;' having escaped from the conflict of life, — its chilling winds, its rude blasts, — enter thou in, and possess that goodly land, that rest prepared for the people of God. " Very pleasant hast thou been to me : " it were selfish, were it not impossible, to detain thee from rest, and peace, and glory, and eternal life : but thy departure extinguishes and diminishes one light to 21 our little world, even as if thy sun had gone down in night and darkness, and had not emerged, responsively obedient to a higher law, and to thy God, to shine in brightness and in glory in that upper world. To us, and for a time, thou art lost ; thy loss we deplore ; nor can the consolations of reUgion, or of thy happy and graceful departure, prevent us. But is our friend, in truth and reality, ahve ? Hath he not ceased to be? Were not the last words, so characteristic, "I thank you," in very deed the last words of his conscious spirit, now extinct, and for ever ? Is it true that he is not dead, but sleepeth, and in Christ ? Who shall say ? Who can know ? Have we not all, this day, been cheating ourselves with phantoms and dreams, assuaging our deep griefs with the grateful vagaries of our foolish and ill-directed im- aginations ? For I do look up to that pulpit, his recent joy and delight, but I see, and ye all see, he certainly is not there ! I look again, and wistfully, around this « communion table," but neither do I see him here, and in his wonted place ; others have this day served in his office. I go to his humble dwelling, but he meets me not at the threshold with the sincere and graceful welcome ; and now I ascend to the sick chamber, carefully and softly, and still I find him not, but all is silence and solitude. " He has passed into the land that is very far off." I will go, then, to yonder hill, whither devout men carried him to his burial, and made great lamentation over him, a few days since ; and standing on that little tumulus, in the words of friendship and fraternal love, to which he never turned a deaf ear, call upon him, court 22 his presence, wait his coming and response. But ah ! no responsive voice ansvi^ers to my voice ; all there is silent as the grave, dark as night, hopeless as despair ! " Lazarus plainly is dead." " Lord, hadst thou been here, then my brother had not died ! " exclaim we, in the agony of our late be- reavement, the anguish of our irreparable loss. But hark ye, be still! Amid the tumult of passion and of grief, and in the darkness and uncertainty of nature, with her highest and divinest philosophy, I hear a gentle and decisive voice saying, — ■ " I am the resur- rection, and the life : he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he hve :"— " because I live, ye shall live also." And yet a little time, and that same voice from heaven, '^as thevoice of many waters, and as the voice of a great thunder," shall break upon the world. " And the sea shall give up the dead which are in it, and death and hell shall deliver up the dead which are in them, and they shall be judged every man according to his works." The doubt is fled — the uncertainty is gone — the fond and native wish of the heart is matter of assurance and of Christian faith. Did Jesus live — did he die — did he arise from the grave — did he ascend on high, leading cap- tivity captive? Bereaved and smitten ones, brethren, friends, one and all, ye have the proof before you ; ye see it with your eyes ; and some of ye have even handled it, as did the doubting disciple the body of his risen Saviour, exclaiming, " My Lord, and my God ! " Yes, amid the studies of nature, the doubtful speculations of inquiring sages and seers of old, we may conjecture and feebly apprehend a future state 23 of happiness ; the immortaUty of the soul: alas ! how feebly and dimly ; but Christ hath brought life and immortality to hght through the gospel. " Because I hve, ye shall live also." Blessed assurance ; final end and extinguisher alike of controversy and of doubt ! Thus have I given, as by request, a short and imper- fect sketch of him and his life, whose worth you all knew, some of you, at least, longer and better than myself And it were impertinent, obtrusive, and un- necessary for me thus to have attempted, were it not a fact, that, while we all feel and acknowledge, that « Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun," few have the taste or at least the time and opportunity to analyze its powers, to expose its elements and attributes, in their simplest character and forms. Permit me, then, to close this imperfect sketch of the character of my beloved and deceased friend, a country pastor, in the words of affection and of veneration used many years ago, by one of pleasant ^ memory, with reference to his associate and friend, the pious George Herbert: " Thus he lived, and thus he died ; Uke a saint, unspotted of the world, full of alms-deeds, full of humility, and all the examples of ^ a virtuous life ; which I cannot conclude better than with this borrowed observation : — ' All must to their cold graves *, But the religious actions of the just Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust.' " I wish, if God may be so pleased, that I may be so happy as to die like him." A r r E N D I X . The Rev. Samuel Wallace Clark was born December 15, 1795, in Han- cock, New Hampshire. John and Rebecca Wallace Clark were the parents of ten children, of whom Samuel was, by birth, the second. Four sons and four daughters lived to mature age. Six of their children are now living. The subject of these remarks was educated at Dartmouth College ; was graduated, with honor, in the class of 1823, and finished his professional studies in 1827, at the Theological Seminary, Andover. During eighteen years, he was the affectionate and much-beloved pastor of the Congrega- tional church in Greenland, N. H. After a lingering illness, and long confinement, he died, of bronchial consumption, August 17, 1847, in great calmness and peace of spirit; leaving a wife and three children, and a very large circle of relatives and friends, to mourn and to rejoice at his graceful and Christian exit from the world. The following is a transcript from the first page of the " Records " of the church in Greenland : — " Rev. William Allen was ordained, July 15, 1707 ; died, 1760, aged 84 years. A parish meeting, which was warned on 8th of September, was holden on the 9th, to make arrangements for his funeral. " Rev. Samuel M'Clintock, D.D., was ordained a colleague with Mr. Allen, November 3, 1756; died, April 27, 1804, aged 72. " Rev. James Armstrong Neal, was ordained May 22nd, 1805 ; died, July 18, 1808, aged 34. "Rev. Ephraim Abbot, was ordained October 27, 1813 ; dismissed, Octo- ber 28, 1828. "Rev. Samuel Wallace Clark, ordained August 5, 1829 ; died, August 17, 1847, aged 52 years."