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[Illustration:
_Painted by Robinson._ _Eng^{d.} by J. Sartain_]
A
MEMORIAL
OF
MRS. MARGARET BRECKINRIDGE.
IN TWO PARTS.
PART I. MEMOIR, AND FUNERAL SERMON.
PART II. LETTERS TO HER SURVIVING CHILDREN.
PHILADELPHIA:
WILLIAM S. MARTIEN.
1839.
Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by
WILLIAM S. MARTIEN,
in the office of the Clerk of the District Court, for the Eastern
District of Pennsylvania.
CONTENTS
PART I.
_Page._
INTRODUCTION, 13
CHAPTER I.
Life of Mrs. Breckinridge, 17
CHAPTER II.
Additional Illustrations of the Life and Character of Mrs.
Breckinridge, 35
Her Religious Character, 42
Her dedication to the work of Foreign Missions, 46
Her Sacrifices for the Church of God, 47
Her Last Sickness and Death, 54
CHAPTER III.
Closing Reflections, 61
SUBMISSION:
A SERMON--by the Rev. A. Alexander, D.D. 69
PART II.
LETTERS OF A GRANDFATHER.
LETTER I.
Introductory, 5
LETTER II.
Human Nature, 10
LETTER III.
The Way of Salvation, 17
LETTER IV.
The Bible, 29
LETTER V.
Prayer, 37
LETTER VI.
Cultivation of the Mind, 45
LETTER VII.
Cultivation of the Heart and the Moral Habits, 67
LETTER VIII.
Manners, 87
A
MEMOIR
OF
MRS. MARGARET BRECKINRIDGE.
"Jesus wept."
PART I.
INTRODUCTION.
MORE than a year has now passed since Mrs. MARGARET BRECKINRIDGE, the
beloved subject of the following brief notices, was taken from us into
the saints' everlasting rest. By that event, the little family of which
she was the joy and crown, was dissolved. The surviving parent felt that
God had committed to him the interesting but mournful duty of preserving
the memory of so inestimable a friend. But it is long after such an
event, before the mind is sufficiently tranquil to utter our thoughts
and feelings without excess. The peaceable fruits of so dreadful a
chastisement succeed, alas! but slowly in our intractable hearts, to the
distraction of grief, and the desolation of the grave.
It was in the midst of the deepest of his sorrow, also, that the writer
was hastened (by a very kind Providence, as he now sees it to have been)
into the active duties of an office which left no rest for body or mind
during almost an entire year. So that if his feelings had allowed the
attempt at preparing a Memoir, his duty to the Church of God forbade it.
In these trying and peculiar circumstances, he was permitted to call in
the aid of those honoured and venerable Friends, from whose hands, in a
happier day, he had received the lovely wife of his youth. They of all
others knew her best, especially from her birth to her marriage. They
had done most, under God, to fit her for life's duties, and its close;
and to make her "worthy to be had in everlasting remembrance." And none
were judged to be so well qualified to do justice to her memory. To the
one we are indebted for the following interesting Sketch, making the
first chapter. To the other for the valuable Letters to her surviving
children, forming the second part of this memorial.
While all must admire the delicacy and candour with which this sketch is
drawn, it is evident to those who knew the deceased, that much remains
to be said which ought not to be omitted--especially in regard to that
portion of her life, embracing more than fifteen years, which passed
between the time of leaving the parental roof, and her lamented death.
In attempting to supply this omission, the writer felt the
inconvenience--even awkwardness of returning upon a narrative which
seemed to have been brought to an appropriate close. But this was
thought preferable to leaving the memoir incomplete; or to breaking the
thread of the narrative given in the first chapter.
And moreover it was felt that the design of the work which called for
the additional chapters, dispensed with form in the manner of
furnishing them. It is intended to preserve the memory of the beloved
dead for her bereaved children, and her numerous kindred and friends,
rather than to unveil her retiring character to the public eye. The work
being designed, not so much for general circulation as for family use,
is rather _printed_, than _published_; and all its imperfections will
readily be overlooked by those who will come to these pages, as Mary
went to the tomb of Lazarus--"to weep there."
MEMOIR.
CHAPTER I.
A NARRATIVE of the life of our departed friends, bears some resemblance
to the representation, on canvass, of their persons and features; it
serves to restore and collect our scattered thoughts, and revive our
affections; and prevents the hand of time from obliterating entirely,
their peculiar mental and moral lineaments.
It was in consequence of the necessity of this help to our natural
infirmities, that our Lord gave to his people the bread and wine, as a
symbol of his body and blood, and said, "Do this in remembrance of me."
He knew too well our careless, wandering hearts, to trust the
recollections, even of _his_ great and lovely character, to our
unfaithful keeping, and established, as a help to his word, the
ordinance which was to continue unto the end of the world, "as a
memorial of him." And we trust that his people are permitted to
endeavour to perpetuate the remembrance of each other by means, which,
however they may come greatly short of the significant emblem ordained
by himself, will assist in enabling them "to love one another as he also
loved them."
In view of this encouragement, given us in the Scriptures of
inspiration, we would endeavour to bring together, and exhibit, in the
history of the short life of Mrs. Margaret Breckinridge, some of those
graces of a Christian character, which lead us to hope that the finger
of the Lord had engraven his name on her heart, and that his grace was
carrying on the work, notwithstanding much infirmity of flesh and
spirit, until the body of sin and death within her was rolled away, and
a simple, undivided hold taken on the Rock of ages.
She was born September 29th, 1802, in New York, and educated for several
years under the immediate instruction of the sanctuary, in a
comparatively pure state of the Church, when the name and influence of a
few such venerable and holy men as the Rev. Dr. John Rodgers, had thrown
a restraint on the vices of the world around them, as well as on the
constantly recurring disorders of the Church, so that the very vagrants
of the street felt their presence.[1] Every pastor of a flock of Jesus
Christ seemed to feel it his privilege, as well as his duty, to feed the
lambs of his flock himself, and did not commit them to the ever-varying,
heterogeneous instruction of others. The Scriptures, and the Catechism,
it was his own business to inculcate; and the same afternoon in each
week, had been for many years, in several of the churches of the city,
of various denominations, the season for this instruction.
[1] The appearance of these servants of God, in any part of the
city, seemed to make "iniquity hide its head," and was often the
means of dispersing an idle, youthful group, in which profanity and
disorder were beginning their destructive career. Through their
influence, in a great measure, the Sabbath was, at least
externally, a holy day, on which the public ways exhibited no crowd
or bustle, but what was of necessity occasioned by a church-going
people.
By these and other means, the Bible had taken a systematic form in
Margaret's mind, very early; and whenever she met, even in childhood,
with a scriptural scene or subject, she generally knew where to place
it, and was particularly animated by it. And this peculiar skill, and
taste, continued and increased until childhood passed away, and the
pride and enjoyment of life opened a new scene before her.
For a time it seemed as if every vestige of the sensibility arising from
religious instruction would be swept away. She had friends who wished to
see her enjoying the _innocent_ pleasures of youth; especially as in
person and mind there was a promise of peculiar adaptation to them. And
there was a will of her own very clearly developing, which wanted more
restraint than parents are generally willing to exercise. Many
interpositions, however, in providence occurred, which, though sad in
the view of her family, proved a real deliverance to her--frequently
arresting her first decisive step in folly.
At the age of eleven she was removed with her family to Princeton, in
consequence of a call which her father received, to a Professorship in
the Theological Seminary in that place. Being thus separated from many
snares incident to a city life, she began anew, as it were, to form
habits and connexions, which, although in some respects, more dangerous
and ensnaring than those which she had left, had not "grown with her
growth, and strengthened with her strength;" and were, on that account,
more ready to yield, when the follies of youth passed away, and the
solemnities of this world, in view of another, opened before her.
The want of a good school in Princeton, induced her parents to send her,
at the age of about fourteen years, to Philadelphia, for the purpose of
obtaining for her some finish to the education which she had received at
home. She remained there nearly a year, residing with an aunt, and
attending a daily and well conducted school. Indeed it was _her_
privilege, as well as the privilege of many others, to receive
instruction from a teacher, who not only was competent to every branch
of polite learning which adorns the mind of a female, but desirous of
having all which he taught so sanctified as to reach the heart, and be
made the means of communicating spiritual and saving, as well as
intellectual instruction.[2]
[2] Many will probably have reason for everlasting rejoicing in the
kind arrangement which placed them under Mr. Jaudon's instruction.
He was truly "a man of God," and the effects of his wise and holy
instruction and discipline, we have no doubt are felt in the bosom
of many families, and in the hearts of many individuals in
Philadelphia, to this day, who will, we trust, be prepared to meet
him, where, having turned many to righteousness, "he shall shine as
a star for ever and ever."
The immediate effect of this experiment was injurious to Margaret's
disposition and deportment. She returned to her parents with more love
for the world, and a better opinion of herself; and of consequence was
less docile. It was evident that the atmosphere of a city was not the
element in which her heart would receive the best influence.
In a revival which took place in Princeton, when she was about eighteen
years of age, an interest was excited in some of her pious female
friends for her conversion. They concluded to make her the subject of
special prayer. Of this she was entirely ignorant, until the evidence
appeared in herself of the verity of the promise, as to the result of
"fervent, effectual prayer." A sermon of the celebrated President
Edwards, read in a small, social meeting, arrested her attention, and
brought her to continued, deep, serious thinking, which ended, as she
thought, in a new view of everlasting things. With all the sanguine
feelings of youth, she judged herself prepared to be united with the
Church; but owing to the unwillingness of her parents to risk the
possibility of a premature profession of religion, this step was
delayed.
In connexion with this period of her life, it seems necessary to relate
some circumstances which took place with regard to a much loved sister
of hers; not many years younger than herself. They had been so closely
educated together, as to make them one in many of their views and
feelings.
Elizabeth, in giving an account of the exercises of her own mind on the
subject of religion, some time after they took place, said, that she
experienced an irresistible feeling of contempt for the concern which
Margaret manifested, and concluded that she was indulging a mere
hypocritical affectation; in consequence of which she was beginning to
make some observations to this effect, when, in a moment, a deep
conviction fastened on her conscience, of the danger of resisting what
might prove to be the influence of the Holy Spirit. This impression
resulted in a real concern for herself, and in views equally solemn with
those expressed by Margaret.
They both now made progress together in their inquiries and experience,
and were a mutual help, rather than a hinderance to each other. Both
soon thought that they had obtained an interest in "Him, whose blood
cleanseth from all sin."
It appeared, however, soon after this, as if our fears with regard to
Margaret were but too well founded. "Because of manifold temptations,"
she seemed to be taking a new hold on the world; but a state of things
about the same time, began with Elizabeth, which disciplined and humbled
her spirit; and she was soon enabled to realize all the insufficiency
and uncertainty of this world, as a portion.
Many doubts with regard to the genuineness of the change which Elizabeth
trusted had taken place in her heart, increased by the weakness which
rapidly declining health had induced, perplexed and troubled her, and
made her more and more unwilling to make a profession of religion. She
had witnessed some of the extravagances of revivals, and felt the danger
of being deceived, and of "having a name to live whilst she was dead."
In January, 1823, Margaret was married to the Rev. John Breckinridge,
and returned with him to Kentucky, his native State, in the spring of
the same year. In consequence of a call which her husband received, to a
church in Kentucky, (which he accepted,) they were soon after this
settled in Lexington. Her departure from her early home was her first
real trial. For although, through the course of several months, she had
taken a prospective view of this arrangement, with much buoyancy of
spirits, as the time approached, every circumstance connected with a
separation from all the associations of her childhood and youth, seemed
to produce a new and deeper impression, and seven or eight hundred miles
appeared at length, as almost an interminable space. The sadness which
irresistibly overspread her countenance, convinced her friends that
when, in view of Mr. Breckinridge's first destination, she had given
herself unreservedly to a foreign mission, she, like many others, little
knew her own heart, and all the sacrifices which such a destination
involved. And when it was seen expedient that this intention should be
relinquished by him, for a plan more eligible in the view of his fathers
in the ministry, a release from this more enduring trial, formed no
small part of the considerations which assisted in making her
submissively bow to one so much more lenient. And indeed, she had reason
to say, that goodness and mercy had followed her at every step. For this
very trial which sobered her countenance, made her heart better, and
prepared the way for deeper self-examination, and probably more fervent
prayer; and the result was, that with a trembling confidence she united
herself with her husband's church in Lexington, a few months after he
took charge of it. From her letters, after this event, we learned that
her connexion with the church took place at the same time--it is thought
on the same day--in which her sister Elizabeth, having been delivered
from the many doubts which had clouded _her_ mind, made a profession of
religion in the church in Princeton. This co-incidence in providence,
having occurred without any mutual intercourse or understanding on the
subject, seemed so consistent with the plans of Him who "sees the end
from the beginning," and who, from their first serious impressions,
appeared to have united the lines of their experience until they ended
in one gracious result, that it did much to confirm their friends in the
hope, that a good "work was begun in them which should be carried on."
They felt constrained to say, "It is the Lord's doings and wonderful in
our eyes."
The kind and affectionate family in Kentucky, of which she now made one,
assisted much in alleviating the pressure of sorrowful recollections,
and in making the resolution which she had formed of "learning in
whatsoever state she was, therewith to be content," more practical, and
more enduring; and when Mr. Breckinridge was called to Baltimore in
1826, although she was pleased with the prospect of getting nearer to
her early home, she felt that a new tie had been formed which could not
be broken, even partially, without much pain. It was a source of much
grateful recollection to her, that she was not permitted to use any
undue influence to lead her husband away from his congregation in
Lexington, to which she was indebted in so considerable a degree, for
the pleasant circumstances which surrounded her.
Her health was remarkably firm, especially for one of her delicate
appearance, for several years after her marriage, and during all the
time that her husband had a settled charge. In Baltimore, to which he
removed from Lexington, she seemed to realize with much gratitude, the
particularly pleasant circumstances in which her family was placed.
Situated on the direct way between her husband's relatives, endeared to
her by so many pleasant recollections, and the family of her youth, with
both of which she could have frequent intercourse, and in the midst of a
kind circle of friends, not limited by the bounds of Mr. Breckinridge's
congregation, she was literally at home; and when the summons came to
call him to another sphere of labour in the Church, she was the last to
be persuaded that it was his duty to obey it, and reluctantly yielded to
the opinion of those whose judgment she honoured.
From this time she may truly be said to have been a sacrifice to the
interests of the Church. The unsettling of her domestic duties and
habits, to which her temperament was particularly adapted, was,
probably, directly and indirectly at the foundation of those causes,
which gradually but too surely undermined her health, and prepared her
for a premature grave. Her last change of residence, which placed her in
Princeton by the side of her paternal family, and amongst many of her
youthful associates, seemed to her to fill up the measure, as it
regarded this world, of that providential goodness "which had followed
her all the days of her life;" and she said, not long after it took
place, with a humility which was in itself an evidence of her gracious
state, "I think, in view of all my mercies, there is a thankfulness
experienced which is not the natural growth of my own heart." To us who
remain it is given to see, that these unusual comforts were mercifully
intended to soothe the infirmities of a rapidly dissolving body, and
soften the approach of the last and most formidable enemy.
Several attacks of disease in the course of two years, which threatened
to be immediately fatal, were, by the aid of skilful medical treatment,
happily arrested, but not until their baleful effect had fastened on her
feeble body, and each had left her "more a prey for death." And it was a
cause of much thankfulness to her friends, that instead of one of those
unexpected instant departures, which so frequently occur, and which in
her case it was often feared would take place, the approach of death was
gradual and mild, so as to involve no pain, and but little surprise.
The simplicity of her character appeared through all her last days,
especially after she ascertained that her end was not far off. Her
words were few, because she studied to utter none but "the words of
truth and soberness;" she seemed to feel that there _might be_ a parade
even in dying.
After a short conversation in her room a day or two before she departed,
on the subject of the unprofitableness of our best works, which we found
had deeply exercised her mind, she remarked with much emotion, a tear
starting to her eye, "I feel the truth of these remarks;" but, after a
pause, she said, "I have _tried_ to do my duty as a wife and as a
mother; I have _endeavoured_ to conduct the affairs of my family with
discretion, and to instruct my children in the best things." She
evidently clung to this as an evidence of grace, (and not at all as a
cause of acceptance with God,) and as affording some hope for her
children, when relied on in view of the promises of Him who says, that
if this precious seed is sowed, grace shall insure the crop.
Her Sabbath evenings, after the good old way of our puritan fathers, saw
her with all her household, over whom she had any authority, gathered
around her for the purpose of giving them that instruction which, with
the promised blessing, would save them from the paths of sin and folly
in this world, and prepare them for enjoying the blessedness of another.
And through the distractions of an unsettled life, and the hinderances
experienced in a large boarding house, in which several winters were
spent with her family, she persevered as far as possible, in the
instruction of both children and servants in the week and on the
Sabbath, with a determination which both she and her friends thought had
shortened her life.
In view of this peculiar faithfulness to her domestic duties, we are the
more willing to offer an apology for what appeared to some of her
friends, an indifference to various extra means; which in these last
times have been esteemed needful for the awakening of a slumbering
church.
When her mind began to open to this subject, the glory of our revivals
was beginning to be tarnished. "The enemy had begun to sow his tares."
The extravagance which so frequently attended them, had produced in her
no little disgust for what she thought the mere machinery of religion.
In such circumstances, it is difficult to "choose the good, and refuse
the evil." The cast of her mind was such, that parade in any thing, and
especially in the vital concerns, in which is involved our everlasting
destiny, irresistibly revolted her mind. And the errors in principle and
in practice, which had been by these means insinuated into, and
corrupted the legitimate and professed doctrines and ordinances of the
Presbyterian Church, greatly impaired her confidence in what many good
people esteemed genuine revivals of religion. Subsequent events have
abundantly confirmed the wisdom of her early and deep distrust.
After her constitution had been tried with another violent and unusual
attack, in March, 1838, which prostrated nearly all her remaining
strength in a few hours, it was evident to many of her friends, that
recovery was no longer to be expected. Every means, however, were made
use of, that might in any way prove salutary; many of which, as has
often occurred, were rather injurious than beneficial. As a last
resource, a journey was commenced, for the purpose of trying the Springs
of Virginia, so highly recommended to invalids. She was not permitted,
however, to go beyond Philadelphia. Her physicians there, judging so
long a journey very hazardous, gently arrested it, by proposing a delay
of a few days; thus endeavouring to obviate the effects of any
disappointment which she might experience. Her own views seemed,
spontaneously, to meet theirs, and a quiet acquiescence was every day
more manifest. After a consultation of physicians, in which they agreed
that an effort might be safely made for her return to Princeton, the
sweet complacency with which she said to a very kind friend, who was
visiting her, "I am going home to-morrow," encouraged a hope that she
had realized her danger; and that _her_ will was gradually moulding to
the Divine will, and she preparing for a far better home.
It appeared as if she was permitted to get thus far on her journey, in
order to gratify the feelings, and experience the renewed kindness of
friends, whom her husband had attached to his family, from his
temporary labours amongst them. The attention of these, and indeed many
others, whom their interesting circumstances were a means of winning to
them, is deeply felt in the family circle, of which she was a beloved
member; and which will continue to be felt, as long as her memory shall
be cherished amongst them.
It was with difficulty that she was removed to her own residence at
Princeton, a few days before she died, fully sensible that her departure
was not far off. One of her anxious friends, wishing to be more
satisfied of this, said: "You know, my dear Margaret, how ill you are?"
A most emphatic "O yes," silenced every remaining doubt.
The day before she died, the conversation leading to the subject of
death, she said, "I am only afraid of the article of death: I know that
when this is over, I shall be in Jesus' arms." From one, so slow to
speak, these were encouraging words.
A few hours after this, she awoke from a light sleep, with that sort of
bewildered spirit, which is frequently experienced under circumstances
of so much weakness, especially when accompanied with, perhaps, the
effects of an opiate, and repealed the _name_ of a person, with which
she had been familiar in her childhood. She observed, "what easy words!"
Some one present remarked--there are words equally easy. She said, "tell
me some." Upon being referred to a Psalm which had been spoken of the
day before, she commenced, as having found something exceedingly
pleasant--"The Lord is my shepherd"--and continued to the end of this
short and interesting portion of the Word of God, in a tone of sweetness
and solemnity, which impressed every one present, adding her testimony
to the sweetness of the words. It appeared as if, while the world was
fast receding, her character was rapidly finishing in the mould of this
precious Word.
Reason was continued to her until the last departing moment, when, after
a violent but short struggle, which seemed to arrest every mental
exercise, except that which led her spirit immediately to "Him who takes
away the sting of death," the freshness of former years was restored to
her complexion, which had been, for some months, suffused with
feverishness, and marked with suffering, and a calm and solemn composure
settled on her countenance, appearing full of meaning, which persuaded
those who were around her, that she had some communication to make. But
her mouth was sealed, and her hand could no longer effect the gentlest
pressure. We were left to conclude, that when in her agony she had
cried--"Come, Lord Jesus--come quickly;"--"Lord Jesus receive my
spirit," "she was heard, in that she asked;" and the freshness of
everlasting youth, casting one parting ray upon her mortal countenance,
had passed upon her, and "she had gone to be forever with the Lord."
"She being dead yet speaketh," and speaks, especially, to all who yet
live of her youthful associates. Many of them are, as she was, called to
sustain the character of wife and mother, and their history in its
prominent features, most probably resembles hers. Her course was marked
with much failure in duty, over which she mourned, and, in view of which
she seemed deeply humbled. She once said--many months before she
died--"O! if the Lord were to send his bereaving commission into my
family, I could never forgive myself for the manner in which I have
failed to improve the trust committed to me, and fulfilled the duties to
which I have been called." Hear the voice which speaking, says, "My dear
companions in sin and infirmity, I leave you a poor example. But I
exhort you to become believingly and affectionately acquainted with Him,
who has borne _me_ through the dark valley and shadow of death, and
'presented me faultless before his Father, clothed in his righteousness,
and washed in his blood.'"
"Ye cannot, though _Christian_ wives and mothers, do the things ye
would;" but there is a fountain opened, in which your poorest desires
and efforts, though like filthy rags, "may be washed and made white, and
made instrumental for much good." Point this out to your children,
"talk to them in the house and by the way, in sitting down and rising
up," of this only hope of perishing sinners. And lest, after all, they
should come short, plead, unceasingly, the promises for them, and take
hold by faith of the blessing. O! how will you rejoice if you can say,
"Here am I Lord, and the children thou hast given me." In order to
sustain your character as wives, aim continually, by prayer, to obtain
the gift of a meek and quiet spirit, "which in the sight of God is of
great price, that even the unbelieving husband may be won to the
knowledge of the truth."
May such exhortations from our departed friends, reach us all, and be
sanctified to us--and may we "exhort _one another_, daily," so that our
social intercourse may be made the means of grace, and assist in
preparing us for our last great change!