ADDITIONAL ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF MRS. MARGARET
BRECKINRIDGE.
WHOEVER has been called, in the midst of life, to part with 'the wife of
his youth'--if these pages should chance to meet his eye--will _know_
what the writer has felt. Such a bereavement must be _felt_, in order to
be understood. There is a shock in its coming for which no foresight or
submission can fully prepare us. There is a chasm created by it which
nothing can fill. It is a new experience, replete with dreadful
desolation. It is a wonderful attribute of grace that can make these
great afflictions so "work _for us_ an exceeding and eternal weight of
glory," that the most weighty and enduring of them all, shall seem, in
comparison, to be "light, and but for a moment." Yet "no chastisement,"
(especially such as this) "for the present seemeth to be joyous, but
rather grievous." God intends that we shall be _moved_ by such
visitations. The call which they utter is too costly to be lightly felt.
The stroke is too deep to be hastily healed. "To _faint_ when we are
rebuked of Him," is to reproach the goodness of God, when we ought to
"lay hold on his strength." But insensibility to his afflictive
dispensations is to "despise" the methods of his grace. And who can fail
to feel at such a moment! To find one's self strangely, and after all
the warnings mercifully given, suddenly left alone; in the midst of life
to be broken in twain; to come to a time when you may no longer pray
with her whose presence sweetened devotion itself; no more pray for her
who many a year has been the dear burden of all your intercessions; to
see your orphan babes left desolate, and enhancing your woe, by being
unconscious of their own; yea, "to sorrow most of all" for those dread
words, "that you shall see her face no more!" This is sorrow! If it were
possible, and being so, were right to ask it for others, we might pray
for our readers, that they may be forever ignorant of our experience.
But we know that every house is appointed to such a sorrow, sooner or
later. They who are yet to pass through these deep waters, if they
cannot now fully enter into our trials, may at least be expected to
excuse this humble tribute to the dead, as an amiable weakness.
But it is not bleeding affection, merely, which has prompted us to add
to the foregoing brief narrative, these imperfect illustrations of the
life and character of Mrs. Margaret Breckinridge. The bereaved children
having been early called to lose a mother's care, justly claim of
surviving friends to preserve her image that they may gaze on it, and
her example that they may imitate it, in after life. It is a cruel
addition to an orphan's lot, to consign to the tomb even the memory of
the dead. We refer not to the indecent and revolting haste with which
every memorial of the deceased is swept into oblivion by those who,
studious of new relations, are faithful only to forget. Such a spirit is
abhorrent to every sentiment of humanity and religion. But it often
happens that the disconsolate survivor, for a season careless of all
things but of grief, neglects to treasure and record what God gave in
peculiar trust to him--for the good of others. That godly example, which
it cost the toils and the trials of a life to exhibit, ought not to be
permitted to perish from the world. That "death of the saints," which
"is precious in the sight of the Lord," and which so gloriously shows
forth his praise, is worthy of a monument that time cannot consume.
These should live! We should embalm them in the memory of the heart. We
should hand them down in the tradition of faithful love. We should
record them in a household book, if not publish them to the world--in
honour of Jehovah; in memory of the beloved dead; and for the good of
those who, even while they were spared to them, were too young to know
their value. It is the memory of the wicked alone which God has doomed
to rot; or if it live, to stand as a beacon on the brow of death.
There is another consideration of great tenderness and force by which we
have been influenced in making these sketches. Woman dwells, to speak
so, in the shade of retirement; and not like man, in the blaze of public
life. In the household she sits enthroned, the weaker vessel, but the
stronger power. Yet the domestic circle, in a great degree,
circumscribes her influence; shuts in her character. Her refinement--her
patience--her humility--her cheerfulness in trial--her fortitude--her
readiness to forgive--her faithful, constant love--her self-devotion to
her children--her personal charms--her domestic virtues--her Christian
graces--which make her
"The light and music of our happy homes,"
are little known beyond the narrow boundary of her own family, on which
they continually rest, "like the dew of Hermon that descended upon the
mountains of Zion." It is not less so with her domestic trials--with her
perplexing domestic duties, as she meekly toils in "patient continuance"
amidst their innumerable detail, and ever returning round. Now while the
full disclosure and rewards must be reserved to the great day of final
account, it is a special duty, on proper occasions, to bring such
excellence to view. Without our care, this never will be done, since the
graces that most adorn, are the most retiring. By an affectionate
diligence in this service, a thousand pearls might be brought from the
recesses of domestic life, and added to the too scanty stock of
memorable worthies. At least, we ought not to make oblivion the penalty
of domestic virtue. On the other hand, the doing of proper justice to
real female merit, would most effectually rebuke that assurance of
coarse and fanatic women, who, in the insulted name of God, assume the
prerogative, and attempt the offices of the stronger sex--forgetting
that the immodesty which is offensive to all men, can never be an
offering pleasing to a God of purity and order. By presenting to mankind
examples of Christian women revolving in orderly beauty, and shining
with mild lustre in their appointed course, we not only preserve the
memory of those who rest from their labours, but we diffuse their
influence abroad. If we may but do justice to the subject of these
notices, she would be herself the only being likely to complain, for she
shrunk with instinctive sensibility from every such disclosure of her
retiring character.
Without repeating what has been said in the first chapter, we proceed to
fill up the narrative given therein, by additional notices, which some
one ought to furnish, and which a parent could not.
It was God's peculiar mercy to Margaret (Miller) Breckinridge, that she
came into life under parental influence so admirable in all respects,
that she may be said to have been born and reared in a family, which,
like that of Aquilla and Priscilla, "_had a church in the house_." She
enjoyed, in its happiest form, a domestic Christian education, having
the BIBLE for the basis of knowledge; the Parents for instructors; the
family fire-side for the school of manners; and the royal law of love
and truth, as the standard and source of all true politeness. Truly it
is a goodly spectacle in these days of pretension, and vulgar parade; of
shallow learning, and degenerate manners, to behold here and there a
mother in Israel, after "the manner of the olden time," training her
little flock without the aids of modern parties, fashions, vain
accomplishments, and earthly tinsel; waiting with them day by day at the
door-posts of that wisdom by which grace is poured into the lips, and
mien, as well as heart--where "woman indeed becomes the glory of man;"
(1 Cor. xi. 7,) and then to see her lead them forth into life, from
these sacred shades, polished after the similitude of a palace.[3] Such
a school was well fitted to form the mind, refine the manners, and
under God to save the soul of our lamented friend. God had been pleased
to endow her with an unusual measure of personal beauty, and great charm
of character and mind. So that as soon as she entered into society,
which she did with great reserve, she attracted much attention, and was
universally admired. These things combined, might have been expected,
especially in early life, to draw her into the world; and lead her away
from the humbling and self-denying religion of her father's house. But
even before she gave her heart to God, there was an inimitable
simplicity in her character, manner, and dress, which evinced either a
total unconsciousness of her attractions, or a noble superiority to
human praise. Her good taste, and the better principles of the Gospel,
enabled her in all her after life, notwithstanding the many temptations
to which she was exposed, to exhibit the same transparent and lovely
example.
[3] The following passages are so graphic, that it would seem as if
our day had set for the likeness, though they were written two
thousand six hundred years ago:--"Moreover the Lord saith, because
the daughters of Zion are haughty, and walk with stretched forth
necks, wincing as they go, and making a tinkling with their feet:
Therefore the Lord will smite with a scab the crown of the head of
the daughters of Zion: The Lord will take away in that day the
bravery of their tinkling ornaments Footnote: about their feet, and
their cauls, and their round tires like the moon, the chains, and
the bracelets, and the mufflers, the bonnets, and the ornaments of
the legs, and the head-bands, and the ear-rings, the rings, the
changeable suits of apparel, and the mantles, and the whimples, and
the crisping pins, and the glasses, and the fine linen, and the
hoods, and the veils."--Isaiah iii. chap. Behold the contrast! 1
Peter iii. 1-6. 1 Timothy ii. chap. 9-10.
HER RELIGIOUS CHARACTER.
The work of the Spirit was early begun in her heart; but it was for some
time resisted. Our acquaintance with her began just as she was closing
her domestic education, (in her sixteenth year,) and almost before she
had looked this evil world in the face. In 1820 she became decidedly
serious; and after several months of deep religious impression,
expressed a trembling hope of an interest in the Divine Redeemer. At
this time she was strongly disposed to make a public profession of
religion; but the salutary caution of her parents induced her to
postpone it to a future occasion. Subsequently to this, the extreme fear
which she ever after cherished, of self-delusion in religious exercises;
the high standard of Christian character which she had proposed to
herself; and her strong conviction of the frequent and very hurtful
inconsistencies of many professors of religion; influenced her, in the
end to defer that solemn step to a distant day. That day, as stated in
the narrative, did not arrive until after her marriage, her removal to
Kentucky, and her settlement as the wife of a pastor. In the mean time,
however, it cannot be doubted, that the grace of God had taken
possession of her heart. And when finally she did publicly connect
herself with the people of God, her tenderness of heart, her
self-distrust, her deep humility, her child-like simplicity, and
transparency of Christian character, condemned her _only_ for a delayed
profession, and left few fears for her sake in any bosom but her own.
She was in a remarkable measure devoted to the Word of God. Her
extraordinary memory faithfully stored with its rich treasure in early
youth, vividly retained the chief part of it through life. The Psalmody
of Dr. Watts, her favourite author in that department, she had almost
wholly at her command. And with the Commentary of the inimitable Matthew
Henry, a Latin and a French Bible, and a Harmony of the Gospels at her
side, she daily and most devoutly searched the Scriptures. Clarke on the
Promises, was also a favourite book, especially in her last days; and
the Pilgrim's Progress was her companion to the "water's edge," where
her _real_ visions of the celestial city enabled her to lay the sweet
Dreamer by, as the Parting Pilgrim did his crutches, when on the bank of
the river he saw "chariots of fire" to bear him to the _Pearly Gates_.
Her diligence in studying the Bible, without in the least degree
neglecting her domestic duties, (and even in the days of her feeblest
health,) was truly wonderful. When a subject specially interested her,
she compiled and collated all the leading passages of the Bible upon it;
often writing them out at great length, and preserving them for
reference on future occasions. Indeed, so far did she carry her
interested inquiries into the various parts of the Old and New
Testament, and especially into the life of Christ, that she drew out a
harmony of the Gospels with her own hand; the better to confirm her
knowledge of the true order and relation of the events of his history.
She was a most faithful hearer of the preaching of the Gospel. Her
luminous face cheered the progress of the herald of the Lord, and marked
the deep measure of her personal interest in the message from the skies.
Since her decease, we have found numerous briefs of sermons which she
had heard at different periods of her life, from those whom she most
admired. Some of these were delivered by Dr. James P. Wilson, and some
by her father, others by Dr. Green, but chiefly by the venerable and
honoured friend whose tribute to her memory is affixed to this Memoir.
He was undoubtedly her most esteemed instructor from the sacred desk.
His inimitable simplicity, vivacity, richness, and force of truth,
always carried her understanding and her affections along with him; and
those appeals which were most searching and simple, were most treasured
and admired.
To her refined and candid spirit, nothing was more detestable than
religious parade. As it is intimated in the former chapter, it sometimes
served to repel her from things and people that were good, but savoured
of religious cant. She was especially shocked with the numberless and
painful examples of female impropriety in this way, which our age has
disclosed. But in all the appropriate walks of Christian females, and in
every becoming expression of their feelings and influence, though
diffident of herself, she promptly took her part. Perhaps her most
cherished occupation in the service of others, was that of a
Sunday-school teacher. Here she rejoiced in the work of her hands. Here,
without indelicacy or pretension, she could use the word of God, in his
house, and on his day, to teach the little children, whom like her Lord,
she so much loved to take in her arms and bless. She had for this
service uncommon adaptation in the vivacity of her mind, in the charm of
her manner, and especially in the rich store of her Biblical knowledge.
She continued this relation after she became a wife, and a mother; and
the tenderness of a Christian mother's love seemed to be transferred to
the little commonwealth of the Sabbath-school.
We shall never forget the animation and delight with which she
communicated to us, two years before her decease, the account of a visit
which had been paid her very recently, by a highly respectable young
gentleman, then attached to a learned profession, the son of a
distinguished public man, who had been a member of her Sunday-school
class in Princeton, fifteen years before!
HER DEDICATION TO THE WORK OF FOREIGN MISSIONS.
It was not long after the first experience (as was hoped) of the grace
of God in her heart, that the relation was formed between herself and
the writer of these pages, which, by its consummation and close, became
in succession the crowning joy and the absorbing sorrow of his life.
While this interesting event, combined with other causes, was made the
occasion (from an excess perhaps of delicacy on her part) of retarding
her public profession of religion, it led to an early and very decisive
trial of her Christian principles in another form. At this time the
friend whom she so much honoured by her affection, was devoted to the
work of Foreign Missions; and he had solicited her hand with the
distinct expression, both to herself and her venerable parents, of such
a purpose. This necessarily called her to consider the question of a
personal engagement in this work. She met and decided this question with
a promptitude and nobleness of Christian resolution which surprised even
those who knew her best; and though in the providence of God she was
spared the expected trial of separation for life from her family and
country, yet the unreserved dedication of herself to the Missionary
cause which her Redeemer enabled her to make, gave elevation to her
Christian character, and prepared her for the trials scarcely less
severe to which she was called in the domestic field. It was on the
ground of her having thus dedicated herself, that with so much
self-oblivion, and even cheerfulness, she encountered the many
difficulties of which we are now to speak.
HER SACRIFICES FOR THE CHURCH OF GOD.
By a train of events over which we had no control, and in the
interpretation of which we were permitted to enjoy the direction of the
Church, (it would be needless to recite them here,) we were hindered
from indulging the desire to "go far hence to the Gentiles." But the
_principle_ of dedication for life was settled; and hence it was from
the first, understood and acted on at all times, that other things being
equal, the field at home in which there was opportunity to do most for
the conversion of the heathen, was always to be preferred, if offered by
the Lord of the harvest. Her first and second settlements could scarcely
be considered as giving occasion to many _sacrifices_. Lexington,
Kentucky, was in the bosom of her husband's native state. There, in the
garden of America, surrounded by a great circle of the most affectionate
kindred and friends, and in a city remarkable as the Athens of the west
for its refinement and general intelligence, and connected with a most
kind and worthy congregation, Mrs. B. felt, that even separation from
the home of her youth, was a form of trial so softened by her
circumstances, that it was converted into a mercy.
In our removal to the interesting and important city of Baltimore, we
felt that goodness and mercy followed us, changing our abode, but
augmenting the number of our friends, and opening to us new and
effectual doors of usefulness. Her attachment was very strong to both
cities; she left each with regret; but still referring the decision to
others in whose wisdom and affection she confided, she cheerfully obeyed
their successive summons to depart. It was in leaving the latter city
that her sacrifices for the Church more especially commenced. At this
eventful period, (the summer of 1831,) it was found that there were more
than one thousand congregations in the Presbyterian Church without a
pastor, not to mention the immeasurable destitution of the heathen
world. To supply this immense demand required, in addition to the very
inadequate means already in use, a greatly enlarged and quickened effort
of the entire Church. This necessity was deeply felt by the General
Assembly of 1831, and led to the re-organization by that body of its
Board of Education. In the solemn providence of God, the writer of these
sketches was called to fill the office of Corresponding Secretary and
General Agent for that Institution. He found it impossible to resist
what appeared to be the voice of God speaking through his Church;
though in yielding to it he was constrained to dissolve forever the
sacred tie which bound him to a beloved people, and to pass from the
endearments of domestic and Pastoral life, to incessant toil and travel
in the wide and homeless world. She foresaw, and with keen anticipation
felt, all the trouble which such a step must bring upon herself and her
little household. But the decision of all her friends, excepting the
kind people we were about to leave, was in favour of removal. She
remembered her Missionary vows. She saw in it the sweetness as well as
the severity of the cross, and without a murmur meekly bowed to the
burden of the Lord. In this service, which continued for nearly five
years, she shared; and like an angel, soothed the trials of the work.
The comforts of domestic life were almost annihilated, either by
incessant separations, or the nameless discomforts of a constant absence
from home. During one entire year her house was occupied by her but _six
weeks_, the rest being spent in hotels, and boarding houses, and
steamboats, and stages, with occasional intervals of repose in the bosom
of related or attached families scattered through the wide field of her
visits from the Mississippi to the Hudson. Yet never did woman shine
with more lovely lustre at home; never was woman more indisposed to step
from this, her undisputed and delightful empire, into the confusion and
folly of this selfish and evil world. Yet did she give up all, and
consent to erect her domestic altar in the wilderness, and gather her
little fold on the highway, for Jesus' sake. When weary of a year of
travel, undertaken to shun a year of separation, she returned to occupy
and order her solitary home. There she was constrained, though both
tender and inexperienced, "to guide her house" alone; and to receive her
husband only as an occasional visitant. Still, she never murmured; nor
would we complain. But faithful history--now that she rests from her
labours, requires this narrative; and God permits the record of "_those
works which follow_" such "_as die in the Lord_." Thus, for five years,
were kept up the alternations of these affecting trials. They were
relieved, it must devoutly be acknowledged, by the unremitting
attentions of those kind and lovely families in Philadelphia, whose
virtues bound them to us by better ties than those of earthly
kindred--as "Zion's friends, and ours;" whose reward we will not attempt
to take out of a Saviour's hands by our poor praises; and whose
displeasure we shall only then be sure of incurring, when we attempt to
unveil to the public eye, the authors of so much disinterested and
untiring goodness. The same reference is due to very many families in
the city of New York, in which, for several successive years, she passed
the winters with her husband. He who thus imperfectly attempts to record
his gratitude, knew her worth so well, that he cannot wonder that such
friends should love her; and he feels it his duty here to say, that any
portion of success in the work herein referred to, is under God, largely
owing, not only to her influence on his labours, but to the charm which
she threw upon every circle with which she mingled, and the interest she
kindled in all the persons and objects which interested her. When, at
the end of two years, he felt overwhelmed with the review of her
domestic trials, and was strongly moved to abandon a work which made
them inevitable, _she_ earnestly resisted the thought of change; and
with generous self-devotion urged her husband forward in a work which,
though painful to her feelings, was in her view useful to the Church,
and pleasing to its glorious Head. As her impressions were those of all
her friends, and apparently of the Church at large, and as the Board
itself kindly relaxed some of the severer features of our trials, we
were confirmed in the conviction that it was our duty to persevere, lest
we should incur the divine displeasure, "_by being weary in
well-doing_."
When, however, the indications of divine Providence in the spring of
1835 seemed plainly to say, that our work for the Board of Education was
done, and that we ought to enter the door opened for us at Princeton,
she was the last to see the duty of a removal; and though her parental
home was there, and though her heart and her wearied nature cried aloud
for rest, she would not allow any reasons for the change, to be drawn
from her wishes or her sacrifices, and to the last, rather _submitted_
to, than _heartily approved_ of, the new relation.
But how deep are the ways of God! Scarcely had she time to establish
herself in her new home at Princeton,[4] when another and loud call to
an agency, directly in behalf of _Foreign Missions_, was pressed upon
us. Though at this period her health had become evidently far more
delicate, she heard and heeded again the voice of her Saviour; and still
recalling the Missionary vow, offered herself again a willing sacrifice
on the altar of God. In deciding this momentous question (in the winter
of 1838, after having spent but eighteen months in Princeton, nearly
half of which was occupied by her husband in active agency in behalf of
the funds, library, &c. of the Theological Seminary,) we found
ourselves incapable of being instrumental in recalling her _still again_
to the commotion, desertion at home, and incessant cares, of another
agency. Three months therefore were given to the important work, and the
offer of the office finally declined. Even here however, she persisted
in referring the decision to _public relations_ alone, leaving all
personal considerations out of view. And though fast approaching her end
(what at that time none of us knew) she spontaneously put herself at the
disposal of the friends of the Board of Foreign Missions, for her part
of any service which might be required of her husband, whether it was in
extensive journeys with him, or separation from him, or a winter's
sojourn with him and her children in the city of New York. For the
first, hoping it might invigorate her health, she was actually
furnished; and when that was abandoned for the last, she repaired, with
the spirit of her Master in her heart, to meet the trials it induced. It
was in the fresh recollection of the parting scene, on her way thither,
that the following sentences were addressed to the writer by the Rev.
Dr. Alexander.
[4] It is at once a remarkable indication of the nobleness of those
Philadelphia friends already named, and of the extent to which her
worth and her sacrifices were appreciated, that on being informed
of our final purpose to remove to Princeton, they united in the
purchase of a commodious dwelling, which was presented to Mrs.
Breckinridge and her children. It is true, one object in view was,
the accommodation of the Professor (for the time) of Pastoral
Theology and Missionary instruction in the Seminary. But the terms
of the gift are specific; and when we attempted to alter the
direction of this munificent testimonial, so as to make it the
_property of the Institution_, it was peremptorily declined; and
the deed was drawn in the name of Margaret Breckinridge and her
children.
"I cannot conclude, without a word to dear Mrs. Breckinridge. I admire
her ready submission to the calls of Providence. For although she cannot
help dropping the silent tear, she makes no complaint, but shuts up her
comfortable house, leaves her home and her friends, and as cheerfully as
she _can_, goes to live in a hotel, and among strangers. Well, she
shall not lose her reward. For these sacrifices she shall have rich
compensation: and our sweetest earthly pleasure is in doing the will of
our Heavenly Father." (Dated Princeton, December 17th, 1837.)
At the close of the winter we returned to Princeton, hoping that now God
would grant us a little rest in that quiet village and that delightful
home, where not "_unaware we entertained an angel_." But ah! this
blessedness was not long intended for us. Having done her work, (though
still we did not fear it,) she was soon to be taken to her rest and her
reward on high.
HER LAST SICKNESS AND DEATH.
Her last sickness was of a protracted and very interesting character.
When she returned from New York, she was delicate and her state of
health was mysterious, but not yet alarming even to her physicians. Very
soon after this, she had a violent attack, which in a short season
prostrated her frame, and, disclosing a peculiar complication of
diseases, overwhelmed every mind in the family, but her own, (she was
calm,) with the most gloomy apprehensions of her danger.
At the close of the winter term of the Theological Seminary, (May
first,) it was our anxious desire to take her to the Red Sulphur Springs
in Virginia. But it was too early in the season; and being yet doubtful,
whether this or that place would be useful or hurtful, it was agreed by
her physicians to indulge her strongly expressed wish to try the waters
of Saratoga. Thither therefore we went, pausing only a short time in the
city of New York for medical consultation.
At this time, she was a most interesting object to all who saw her. Her
debility was so extreme that she was borne from place to place in the
arms of her husband, which, from her delicate frame, it was easy to do.
The gentleness and patience with which she endured her sickness, the
inimitable moral beauty of her countenance, and the general expression
of frailty mingled with grace, excited the deepest interest wherever she
passed.[5]
[5] There is poetic beauty in the Stanza of Southey's on the
portrait of Bishop Heber, written after his decease; and though
fanciful it is striking. Blessed be God our Redeemer, we have surer
marks of recognition in the heavenly world.
"They too, will gaze
Upon his effigy
With reverential love,
Till they shall grow familiar with its lines
And know him when they see his face in heaven."
At Saratoga we spent a very quiet season of three weeks, (before the
great hotels were opened, or the crowds had arrived) at the house of a
most kind and deserving Christian woman, Mrs. Taylor, whose unceasing
attentions greatly conduced to soothe sufferings which God had pleased
should not be arrested. During this visit she used the waters freely, as
a beverage, and in the bath, with no apparent _injury_, except that it
evidently disclosed the fatal symptoms of her malady. She was able
almost every day, to take gentle rides in the open air, and frequently
to mingle with the family. But her chamber was her sanctuary. There she
reclined, feeding on the Word of God. She was especially delighted with
Clarke on the Promises. During that season of seclusion, she seemed to
grow in grace with a progress which surprised (while it delighted) us;
for we knew not then how near she was to the perfection of the heavenly
rest. But it has since been interpreted to us, by the event, as one of
God's peculiar mercies. What made this the more pleasing evidence of
grace was, that she did not know her own danger. It was the power of
religion poured upon her spirit by Him who was "hastening to make her up
among his jewels." At one time, she said--"Oh, yes, pray that the
_distance_ between God and me may be taken away." And after uniting,
with the most affecting solemnity and tenderness in the prayer which was
offered, she at its close expressed _aloud_ her joy in the exercise, (a
thing most unusual with her) and her delight in God her Saviour, who
_draweth nigh_. On another occasion, after hearing some of the promises
of _healing_ to the body, as collected by Clarke, she seemed for a
moment to be musing, she then gently said: "My dear----I am like the
poor woman who had spent all her living upon physicians, neither could
be healed of any; but rather grew worse. _My hope is in the Great
Physician!_"
Since we have been calm enough to review the various stages of her last
sickness in relation to her religious exercises, it has been a subject
of deep regret, and of no little self-reproach, that we had not made the
attempt at recording, as they were uttered, some of the deeply affecting
expressions of her Christian principles and feelings. But the tumultuous
hour of hope and fear, and hurried, anxious watching at the bed of
death, is not the time for cool calculation. Some of the most affecting
parts of such scenes are incapable of being written down, even by one
not interested in the sufferer. Nay, more--like the voices which John
heard from heaven in Patmos, the Spirit seems to say of them, "_write
them not_." These are "joys with which the stranger intermeddleth not."
(Prov. xiv. 10.) It is a sanctuary which no creature can enter. And then
our beloved Friend, who was often afraid to whisper her religious joys
to her Saviour, lest she should be found offering "strange fire" on his
altar, seldom talked of her hopes, (though often of her sins,) to her
nearest friends; and never, by _writing them_ down, put it in the power
of posthumous publications to expose them to the view of others. We can
only, therefore, illustrate her religious character, at the stage which
we now approach, by broken fragments of thoughts and feelings, caught
from her lips amidst the awful mercies of a dying hour.
She began at length, visibly to sink, when Dr. Freeman, of Balston,
whose skilful and kind attentions she enjoyed, (Dr. Steel, of Saratoga,
having himself been recently removed by death,) strongly advised a
discontinuance of the use of the waters, and an attempt to reach the Red
Sulphur Springs. For now the prevailing type of the disease had become
distinctly pulmonary; and the skill of physicians, and the healing
waters, and all the help of man were vain. Now, for the first time, we
began to discern the dread reality of her approaching dissolution; and
had some foretaste of the _first_ anguish of such a loss.[6]
[6] The following touching stanzas do more real honour to their
illustrious author, (Lord Palmerston) than all the distinctions of
his high rank and public life.
Whoe'er, like me, with trembling anguish brings
His dearest earthly treasure to these springs;
Whoe'er, like me, to soothe distress and pain,
Shall court these salutary springs in vain:
Condemn'd, like me, to hear the faint reply,
To mark the fading cheek, the sinking eye--
From the chill brow to wipe the damps of death,
And watch in dumb despair the short'ning breath:--
If chance should bring him to this humble line,
Let the sad mourner know his pangs were mine.
Ordain'd to lose the partner of my breast,
Whose virtues warm'd me, and whose beauty bless'd;
Fram'd ev'ry tie that binds the heart to prove,
Her duty friendship, and her friendship love.
But yet, remembering that the parting sigh
Appoints the just to slumber, not to die,
The starting tear I check'd--I kissed the rod,
And not to earth resigned her, but to God!
With heavy hearts, but hastened steps, we returned to Princeton; whence
almost in despair, yet anxious to try any and all means for so great an
end, we hastily set out with our meek sufferer for the Virginia Springs:
but as the previous narrative has recited, we were arrested at
Philadelphia. Here all was done by the assiduity and skill of her
physicians,[7] and the most tender and constant attentions of a great
number of friends. But her divine Redeemer claimed her for himself. She
returned to Princeton, to bless her household, and to die. On the
evening of June the 13th, she reached her children, and her earthly
home. On the morning of the 16th, a quarter before ten o'clock, with her
reason unclouded, in a frame of calm and holy triumph which marked the
dawning of heaven on her soul; with a meek prayer for permission to die,
and with but a single pang, she bade the world farewell, and ascended to
God!
[7] Drs. Chapman and Meigs, to whom with Dr. Nelson of New York, we
all owe more for their unwearied and sympathizing care than we have
words to express.
Her remains were attended to the grave by a very large and deeply
affected assembly, after the delivery of the impressive funeral
discourse affixed to this Memoir; where they rest by the side of her
three little children, two daughters and a son, removed by death before.
The like number and of the same sex, two daughters and a son, are left
to the surviving parent, to mourn her loss, to treasure and imitate her
example, and, by the grace of the Saviour, to follow them to the skies,
where the "house now left desolate unto them" shall be restored with
added bliss; and the little family thus divided in the midst of life,
being reunited in pure and perfect love, be received into everlasting
habitations.
A neat marble monument points to the spot where her dust reposes.