ended. So quiet was the transition, that those whose eyes were fixed
earnestly upon her, could not tell when she drew her last breath. She
lay as if in childlike slumber, her cheek reclining upon her hand, and
on her brow a smile.
She died on the 6th of October, 1785, at the age of fourteen years.
During her short span, she communicated a great amount of happiness to
those who adopted her as a child into their hearts and homes. The sweet
intercourse and interchange of love more than repaid their cares.
They were permitted to aid in her growth of true religion, and to see
its calm and glorious triumph over the last great enemy. That a child,
under fifteen, should have been enabled thus to rejoice amid the wasting
agony of sickness, and thus willingly leave those whom she loved, and
whose love for her moved them to do all in their power to make life
pleasant to her young heart, proves the power of a Christian's faith.
She desired to be absent from the body, that she might be present with
the Lord. Now, before his Throne, whom not having seen, she loved, and
raised above the clouds that break in tears, and all shafts of pain and
sorrow, she drinks of the rivers of pleasure that flow at his right
hand, and shall thirst no more.
The Orphan.
I love 'mid those green mounds to stray
Where purple violets creep,
For there the village children say
That both my parents sleep.
Bright garlands there I often make
Of thyme and daisies fair,
And when my throbbing temples ache,
I go and rest me there.
If angry voices harshly chide,
Or threatening words are said,
I love to lay me by their side
Close in that silent bed.
I wish'd a sportive lamb to bide
My coming o'er the lea.
It broke away and bleating cried,
"My mother waits for me."
"Stay, stay, sweet bird!" On pinion strong
It fled with dazzling breast,
And soon I heard its matron song
Amid its chirping nest.
"Why dost thou fade, young bud of morn,
And hide thy drooping gem?"
And the bud answered, "They have torn
Me from my parent stem."
Go happy warbler to thy bower,
White lambkin, gambol free,
I'll save this lone and wither'd flower,
It seems to pity me.
"Come mother, come! and soothe thy child!"
Methinks I hear her sigh,
"Cold clods are on my bosom pil'd,
And darkness seals my eye."
She cannot burst the chain of fate
By which her limbs are pressed.
"Dear father rise! and lift the weight
That loads my mother's breast."
In vain I speak, in vain the tear
Bedews the mouldering clay,
My deep complaint they do not hear,
I may not longer stay.
Yet ere I go, I'll kneel and say
The humble prayer they taught,
When by their side at closing day
I breath'd my infant thought.
God will not leave my heart to break,
The Orphan He'll defend,
Father and mother may forsake,
But He's the Unchanging Friend.
The Only Son.
How deep and full of anxiety is the love that centres upon an only
child, none but parents who have watched over such an one can realise.
"We trusted our all to _one_ frail bark," says a touching epitaph, "and
the wreck was total."
Those who have neither brother nor sister, and feel the whole tenderness
of parental affection centring in themselves, should strive to render in
proportion to what they receive. The care and solicitude that might have
been divided among other claimants is reserved for them alone. No common
measure of obedience and gratitude, and love, seems to be required of
them. Any failure in filial duty is, in them, an aggravated offence. It
should be the study of their whole life to appreciate, if they cannot
repay, the wealth of love of which they are the sole heirs.
Perhaps there has never been an instance, where this sweet indebtedness
of the heart was more beautifully and perfectly reciprocated, than in
the life of Joshua Rowley Gilpin. He was the only son of the Rev. J.
Gilpin, of Wrockwardine, in the county of Salop, England, and born
January 30th, 1788. During infancy, when the texture of character
slowly, yet surely discovers itself, he displayed a mild, loving
disposition, with no propensity to anger when what he desired was
withheld. The sole care of his education was assumed by his parents, who
found it a source of perpetually increasing delight.
His first infantine taste was for drawing. To imitate the forms of
animals, and other objects with which he was daily conversant, gave him
much pleasure. His friends discovered in these rude attempts, accuracy
of execution, and progressive improvement. A dissected alphabet was
among his toys, and a desire to furnish his little drawings with
appropriate letters induced him to make himself master of it. Now a new
field of pleasure opened to his mind, and from the amusements of the
pencil he turned to the powers and combination of the letters; and at
the age when many children are unacquainted with their names, he was
forming them into phrases and short sentences. These were sometimes
playful, and sometimes of such a devotional cast, that his watchful and
affectionate parents cheered themselves with the hope that his tender
spirit was even then forming an acquaintance with things divine. So
docile, so industrious, so gentle was the young pupil, that they had
never occasion to resort to punishment, or even to address to him an
expression of displeasure.
As the higher branches of knowledge unfolded themselves, he devoted to
them a studious and willing attention. He was ever cheerfully ready for
any necessary exercise, and inclined rather to exceed than to fall short
of his allotted task. He complained of no difficulty, he solicited no
aid: the stated labours of each day he considered a reasonable service,
and constantly and sweetly submitted his own will to that of his
parents.
In the prosecution of the different sciences, his lovely and placid
disposition was continually displaying itself. The rudiments of the
Latin tongue, with which he very early became familiar, he wished to
teach to the young servant woman who attended him from his infancy. By
many fair words he persuaded her to become his scholar. He told her of
the great pleasure there was in knowledge, and left no method untried to
gain and fix her attention. If he thought her not sufficiently engaged
in the pursuit, he would set before her the honourable distinction of
surpassing in intellectual attainments, all the other young women of her
acquaintance. He made for her use an abridgment of his Latin grammar, to
which he added a brief vocabulary, and was never without a few slips of
paper in his pocket, on which was some noun regularly declined, or some
verb conjugated, for his humble friend and pupil. If the services of the
day had failed to afford her sufficient time for his lessons, he
redoubled his assiduity when she conducted him to his chamber at night,
and was never contented without hearing her repeat the Lord's Prayer in
Greek. This perseverance showed not only the kindness of his heart, but
his love for those parts of learning which childish students are prone
to think tedious, or are desirous to curtail and escape.
While busily pursuing classic studies, he saw one day a treatise on
arithmetic, and immediately went to work on that untried ground. Such
satisfaction did he find in it, that he begged to be allowed the same
exercise whenever he should be at a loss for amusement. For three weeks
it formed a part of his evening employment, or as he expressed it, his
"entertainment," and during that brief period, he proceeded to the
extraction of the square and cube root, with ease and pleasure. His
father thought it best to withdraw him at that time from the science of
numbers, lest it should interfere with his progress in the languages.
Still, he would occasionally surprise him with abstruse numerical
calculation, and, when permitted regularly to pursue mathematics, found
in the difficult problems of Euclid an intense delight. He would
willingly have devoted days and nights to them, and no youth was ever
more intent on the perusal of a fairy tale or romance, than he to solve
and demonstrate those propositions in their regular order.
Under the tuition of his father, he went through the text-books and
authors used in the established seminaries, and probably with a less
interrupted attention than if he had been a member of their classes. His
memory was durably retentive, and whatever passage he could not
perfectly repeat, he could readily turn to, whether in the writings of
the poets, the historians, or the divines. His accuracy was admirable;
he would never pass over a sentence till he had obtained a satisfactory
view of its meaning, or lay aside a book without forming a critical
acquaintance with its style and scope of sentiment. Earnest and untiring
industry was one of the essential elements of his great proficiency;
employment was to him the life of life, and whatsoever his hand found to
do, was done with a whole-souled energy. His love of order was equal to
his diligence. From early childhood, he discovered in all his little
undertakings an attention to method, and a desire to finish what he
began. These dispositions gathered strength as he became more fully
acquainted with the importance of time. To each employment or recreation
he assigned its proper place and season, filling each day with an
agreeable and salutary variety, so as to be free on one side from
listlessness and apathy, and on the other, from perplexity and haste.
Highly gratifying was his improvement to his faithful parental teachers,
and this species of intercourse heightened and gave a peculiar feature
to their mutual love. Still, their attention was not confined to his
intellectual attainments. It was their constant prayer and endeavour,
that he might be enabled to blend with these the "wisdom that cometh
from above." Anxious that he should not be unprepared for the honourable
discharge of duty in the present life, they were far more solicitous to
train him up as a candidate for glory in that which is to come.
Avoiding the danger of over-pressing or satiating him with theological
doctrines which transcend the comprehension of childhood, they commenced
their religious instructions with the greatest simplicity and caution.
They put on no appearance of formality or austerity.
"We will show you, my dear son," said the father, with a smiling
countenance, "a way that will lead you from earth to heaven."
The gentle pupil listened with an earnest attention. His tender mind was
solemnized, yet filled with joyful and grateful hope. At his first
introduction to the house of God, he was filled with reverential awe,
and ever afterwards, when attending its sacred services, his deportment
evinced the most unaffected decorum, humility, and piety. The greatest
care was taken that the observance of the Sabbath at home, as well as in
church, should be accounted a sweet and holy privilege.
"On that day," says his father, "we gave a more unlimited indulgence to
our affectionate and devotional feelings. We conversed together as parts
of the same Christian family, we rejoiced over each other as heirs of
the same glorious promises. Some interesting passage of Scripture, or
some choice piece of divinity, generally furnished the matter of our
discourse, and while we endeavoured to obtain a clear, comprehensive
view of the subject before us, it seemed as if a blessed light
sometimes broke in upon us, removing our doubts, exalting our
conceptions, and cheering our hearts. Then, with one consent, we have
laid aside the book, that we might uninterruptedly admire the beauties
of the opening prospect. Thus solacing ourselves with a view of our
future enjoyments, and the place of our final destination, we have
solemnly renewed our vows, resolving for the joy that was set before us,
to endure the Cross, despising the shame, in humble imitation of our
adorable Master. In such a frame of mind we found it possible to speak
of probable sufferings, or painful separations, with the utmost
composure. With such a termination of our course in sight, we could
cheerfully leave all the casualties of that course to the Divine
disposal; fully persuaded that whatever evil might befall us on the way,
an abundant compensation for all awaited us on our arrival at home."
As he advanced in boyhood, his love of study and sedentary habits became
so strong that it was feared he might not take sufficient exercise for
the preservation of health. The friends of the family, therefore,
urgently advised that he might be placed in a public school, hoping that
the influence of companions of his own age would allure him to athletic
sports.
In this counsel his parents acquiesced, but finding the idea of
separation insupportably painful, they removed, and took a temporary
residence near the Seminary of which he became a member. Here, every
thing was novel, and his enthusiastic mental picture of what a school
must be, was considerably darkened by discovering so much indolence and
irregularity, where he supposed all would be order, intelligence, and
progress. His academic exercises were performed with entire ease, so
thorough and extensive had been his home culture; and though there were
many in the different classes who were his seniors in age, he rapidly
rose to the first and highest place. Of this post he had not been
ambitious, and he occupied it with such modesty and affability, so as to
conciliate his school-fellows, between whom and himself there was still
such diversity of habit and feeling, as to repress all familiarity of
intercourse. But with his instructors, a true and reciprocal friendship
was established. Especially did the head master distinguish the talents
of the young student with the strongest marks of esteem, designating him
as the "pride of his school, and the pride of his heart."
The return of this excellent family to their beloved village, formed a
delightful scene. An affectionate flock thronged to welcome their
Pastor, while the youth on whose account they had for a time left their
endeared habitation, gazed with unutterable joy on the trees, the
cottages, the cliffs that varied the spot of his nativity, on every room
in the parsonage, every plant in the garden, every vine that clasped the
walls, and on the far blue hills, behind which he had watched from
infancy the glories of the setting sun. To the congratulations of his
friends, some of which alluded to the brilliancy of his prospects as a
distinguished scholar, he replied with ineffable sweetness,
"No possible change in my situation can make any addition to my present
happiness."
The love of home was one of the strongest features in his character. The
vanities and gayeties of London had no power to diminish or modify it.
After passing two months there, at the age of sixteen, he came to his
retired abode with the same delight, the same unassuming manners and
simplicity of taste. On entering the secluded vale where their humble
rural habitation was situated, he expressed his feelings in a few
extempore Latin verses, which at the request of his mother, were thus
translated,
"Lives there a youth, who far from home,
Through novel scenes exults to roam?
Then let the restless vagrant go,
And idly pass from show to show;
While in my native village bless'd,
Delighted still, and still at rest,
Without disturbance or alloy,
Life's purest pleasures I enjoy."
While thus bearing in his bosom the elements of happiness, true piety,
active goodness, and love to all creatures, and while diligently
preparing for the sacred profession to which he was destined, a sudden
attack of pulmonary disease, attended with hemorrhage, alarmed those to
whom he was dear. But the consequent debility readily yielded to medical
treatment, and a journey and residence of several weeks amid the pure
atmosphere and rural scenery of Wales, combining with uncommon salubrity
of weather, seemed to restore the gentle invalid to his usual state of
health.
He was able again to resume his course of academic studies, and after
the midsummer vacation, which he spent in a pleasant journey with his
beloved parents, was summoned to sustain an examination as a candidate
for two vacant exhibitions. When he took his seat before the collegiate
tutors, clergy, magistrates, and a concourse of assembled visitors, a
degree of that diffidence was observable, which is so often the
concomitant of genius. But in every exercise and test of knowledge, he
was so self-possessed, so prompt, so perfect, that there was an
unanimous burst of approbation and applause. His parents were loaded
with congratulations for possessing the treasure of such a son, and a
paper signed by all present was addressed to the manager of the Funds,
requesting that the sum allotted to a successful candidate might be
doubled on account of his extraordinary attainments. With entire
meekness he bore this full tide of honour, manifesting no satisfaction
in hearing his own praises, and after his return home, never made the
most distant allusion to this flattering event in the life of a young
student. He was now entered a fellow-commoner at Christ Church College,
Oxford, with the intention of not taking his residence there till the
commencement of the ensuing term.
He most assiduously devoted himself to his studies, rising early and
finding the day too short for his active mind. Knowledge was dear to him
for its own sake, and not for the flattering distinctions accorded to it
among men: for while advancing in scholastic acquirements, he was
evidently an humble peaceful student in the school of Christ. His
parents were comforted amid the painful prospect of separation, with the
hope that from his early and growing piety, his temperance and modesty,
his untiring diligence, and a certain firmness of mind, of which he had
given indisputable evidence, he would in time of temptation choose the
good, and refuse the evil.
In the meantime, his birth-day arrived, the last that he was to spend on
earth. It had ever been their household custom to mark it, not by
sumptuous entertainments or the invitation of guests, but by expressions
of affection among themselves, and the most fervent ascriptions of
praise to God, for the gift he had accorded and preserved. But it seems
that their sacred anniversary had been discovered and was cherished by
others. While interchanging their sweet and secluded memorials of love,
a letter arrived addressed to the young student, containing a large
number of banknotes, "as a joint token of the affection of a few
friends, who desired permission to repeat the same expression of their
regard on each return of his natal day, until he should have taken his
first degree at the University."
This unexpected mark of the high esteem in which he was held, was
received by him with strong indications of astonishment and gratitude.
As the time drew near for his departure to Oxford, his parents could
scarcely be restrained from uttering the impassioned words, "Entreat me
not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee, for where
thou goest I will go, where thou lodgest I will lodge;" not knowing that
it was the appointment of God, that only the cold hand of death should
divide them.
Spring approached, and the wound in his lungs, which it had been hoped
was permanently healed, burst forth afresh. Aggravated by the influenza,
then an epidemic, it soon took the form of an incurable malady. With
entire submission he met this sudden change in his state and prospects.
No murmuring word was uttered, no trace of anxiety visible on his
countenance. Neither loss of appetite nor decay of strength could impair
his settled composure of mind. So admirable was the mixture of meekness
and manliness in his deportment, that it was difficult to say whether
patience or fortitude most predominated.
Constantly advancing in the knowledge of divine things, he withdrew
himself from every pursuit that might divert his thoughts from the great
end of his being, the entrance to a higher state of existence. The poets
and orators of Greece and Rome, in which his proficiency had been so
great, were meekly exchanged for works of experimental religion; and he
sat daily at the feet of some master in Israel, from whose teachings he
hoped to gain heavenly wisdom. By the advice of physicians, the scene
was changed for a short time; but wherever they journeyed he was still
making his solitary passage through the valley of the shadow of death.
As the last hope of success, the waters of Bristol were proposed; and
though he at first mildly resisted it, from an inward conviction that
the trouble would be in vain, yet unwilling to crush the expectations of
his beloved parents, he yielded to their wishes. On all similar
occasions he had required quite a package of books; now he requested
only an English Bible and a Greek Testament.
Notwithstanding every precaution of medical skill and care, consumption
was accomplishing its fatal work. The parents and their only child,
though convinced of what the result must be, still shrank back from
harrowing up each other's feelings, by full conversation on the subject
that most occupied their thoughts.
"As it was with Elijah and his attached successor," writes the sorrowing
father, "at their approaching separation, so it was with us. They
maintained towards each other a delicate reserve, as they proceeded from
Bethel to Jericho, and from Jericho to Jordan; the one not daring to
glory in his expected ascension, nor the other to express his mournful
forebodings, lest they might mutually agitate the other, or disturb the
order of the holy solemnity. But as the awful moment drew near and he
was about to be gone, Elijah rose above the weakness of humanity, and
openly asserted the purpose of Heaven. Thus the dear invalid, when made
certain by some invisible token that his hour was at hand, thought it
unsuitable to our common character to leave this world without giving
glory to God."
With entire tranquillity and the utmost tenderness, he introduced the
subject of his departure, spoke of his trust in his Redeemer, his
gratitude for the goodness and mercy that had followed him throughout
the whole of his earthly pilgrimage, and the joy he felt in having his
own will perfectly bowed to the will of God. Even then, the last
messenger was waiting for him. He accepted the anxious attentions of his
agonized parents with ineffable sweetness, regarding them with a
thoughtful benignity, not wholly restraining his feelings, nor yet
allowing them a free indulgence.
It was in the autumn of 1806, at the age of eighteen, that his last day
on earth closed. He lay as in calm and beautiful repose, seeming to have
opened a communication with the celestial world, and fully resigned
himself to intercourse with its unseen inhabitants. Kneeling around his
couch in trembling expectation, were those whose sole earthly hopes had
been bound up in him. There was a short and solemn pause, a few soft
moans, and then, without the slightest change of posture, he peacefully
breathed out his soul into the bosom of his Father and his God.
Life.
Life is beautiful! its duties
Cluster round each passing day,
While their sweet and solemn voices spot
Warn to work, to watch, to pray;
They alone its blessings forfeit
Who by sin their spirits cheat,
Or to slothful stupor yielding,
Let the rust their armour eat.
Life is beautiful! affections
Round its roots with ardour cling,
'Mid its opening blossoms nestle,
Bird-like, in its branches sing,
Smiling lull its cradle slumbers,
Guard with pride its youthful bloom,
Fondly kiss its snow-white temples,
Dew the turf-mound o'er its tomb.
Life is beautiful with promise
Of a joy that cannot fade,
Life is fearful, with the threatening
Of an everlasting shade.
May no thoughtless wanderer scorn it,
Blindly lost in folly's maze,
Duty, love, and hope adorn it:
Let its latest breath be praise.
A Remarkable Child.