Part 12

A tender and true piety pervaded his heart, and breathed its fragrance over a life as beautiful and transient as the flower of the grass. Accustomed from infancy never to neglect his prayers, morning or evening, and to keep the day of God sacred, he delighted in these exercises. To lay aside all implements of light amusement, and to read or hear only books adapted to that consecrated day, had been required of him from his earliest recollection. He was grieved if he saw any violate these injunctions. There seemed to have been laid in his heart a firm basis of Christian principle, on which he was beginning to rear a noble superstructure. He never discovered more ardent delight than while listening to the inspired pages, or greater brilliancy of intellect than when conversing on their doctrines and practical illustrations. The life and sufferings of the Redeemer, and the hopes held out to sinners through his mercy, were his treasured and favourite subjects. He often with great earnestness solicited instruction respecting them, and his absorbed and delighted attention would survive the endurance of his physical strength. Of religious books he was particularly fond. He conceived the strongest attachment for 'Doddridge's Family Expositor.' He would voluntarily resort to its perusal with the greatest apparent satisfaction. Observing that his cousin and sister received weekly lessons from that excellent volume, in the explanation of difficult passages, he said to his instructor with a mournful air, "You give the elder children a lesson in Doddridge, but you don't let me recite with them." He was told that it was probably too difficult an exercise for him, and that therefore he had not been permitted to join them. On being asked what he understood as the meaning of the expression, where John is said to come in the "spirit and power of Elias," and to "turn the hearts of the fathers to the children," he gave without mistake the two interpretations to which he had listened some time before. Thus, while this infant disciple was pursuing religious knowledge as a delightful and congenial study, he was also cherishing a lively sense of the obligations that it imposed. He received the truth in its love and in its power. It began to be within him a prompting and regulating principle. Whenever the full flow of childish spirits became excessive or ill-timed, they were restrained by suggesting a precept drawn from the Scriptures.

Among his modes of recreation, riding on horseback in the freshness of the morning was highly enjoyed and prized. One morning, when the usual period for this exercise had been somewhat delayed, his tutor asked, "Would you like to take your ride?" and he replied, "I am afraid we shall not be back in time for prayers. So I would rather not go."

Of his departed mother his recollections were tender and vivid. He delighted to speak of her as the habitant of a world of joy. His affectionate spirit seemed content to resign her that she might be with Christ. To a beloved relative, whose efforts for his religious instruction were unceasing, he said, soon after the death of his mother, "Aunt, do you not wish that the judgment day was come?" "Why, my son?" she enquired. "Because then I should see my _dear mamma_ and my blessed Saviour."

The religious exercises of Sabbath evening were to him a season of high enjoyment. After the catechism and other appropriate duties, some book of piety was read, and the children indulged in such discourse as its contents naturally elicited. Piety, disrobed of gloom, was presented to them as an object of love, and by his heart was most fondly welcomed.

On Sabbath evening preceding the Christmas of 1831, he was observed to enter with extreme ardour into the conversation that flowed from the perusal of 'Parlour Lectures,' an analysis of Sacred History adapted to juvenile minds. His father, whose labours in the pious nurture of his children had been as untiring as successful, being absent from the city, he drew his chair as near as possible to his aunt, listened eagerly to every remark, poured forth the rapturous pleasure that filled his breast, and desired to protract the enjoyment beyond its usual period. It was to be his last Sabbath on earth. In the course of the ensuing week he became a victim to the scarlet fever, and on Friday, December 24th, 1831, went to his Father in heaven.

Thus passed away, at the age of nearly seven years, a being formed to excel in all that was beautiful, intellectual, and heavenly. Precocity in him was divested of the evils that are wont to attend it. All his associations of thought were healthful and happy. There was no undue predominance of one power at the expense of the rest. No one department of character eclipsed the other. The mind and the heart pressed on together with equal steps, in a vigorous and holy brotherhood. The soul, like a lily, fed with dews of Hermon, breathed its first freshest incense in piety to God.

That he was highly gifted by nature none can doubt. That he owed much to education is equally certain. It would be difficult to define the precise point where the influence of the one ceased and that of the other began; so finely did their hues and pencillings blend in the flower thus early offered to its Maker.

Strict obedience to his superiors, and the duty of stated prayer, were so early impressed as to be incorporated with the elements of his character. Simple habits, rural tastes, control of the animal appetites, and correct deportment to all around him, were carefully inculcated, while a thorough course of classical instruction under his father's roof protected him from the dangers of promiscuous association and sinful example. The most favourable results might reasonably be anticipated from a system of culture so vigilant that temptation could not assail from without, nor spring up within, without being detected; so judicious that wealth had no power to enervate either the body or the mind; so affectionate that the tendrils of the heart were free to expand in innocent happiness; so faithful in its ministrations to the soul, that the Divine blessing seemed visibly to descend upon it. This wise discipline combining with the Creator's exceeding bounty, rendered him what he was: a being to be loved by all who looked upon him, and to be held in lasting remembrance by all who knew him.

To borrow the expressive language of one who had long superintended his education, and was intimately acquainted with his mental and moral structure, "So insensible was he to all those passions which prompt to self-defence and self-protection, and so entirely under the influence of that forgiving spirit which being smitten on the one cheek would turn the other also, and that overflowing generosity, which, after the cloak is taken, would give the coat likewise, as utterly to unfit him for the society of selfish, avaricious, overbearing men, whence I have fondly thought, that he was thus early invited to a mansion where he might enjoy the communion of more congenial spirits."

The Dying Sunday School Boy.

His hands were clasp'd, his eyelids clos'd, As on his couch he lay, While slumber seem'd to wrap the form That pain had worn away:

But still the watching mother marked His pallid lips to part, As if some all-absorbing thought Lay on his dreaming heart;

For yet he slept not. Silent prayer Commun'd with God alone, And then his glazing eyes he rais'd, And spoke with tender tone:

"Oh mother! often in my class, I've heard the teacher say, That those who to the Saviour turn He would not cast away;

And so, beside my bed I knelt While early morn was dim, Imploring Heaven to teach my soul The way to turn to Him;

And now, behold! through golden clouds, A pierced hand I see, And listen to a glorious Voice, Arise! and come to Me."

His breath grew faint, but soft and low The parting whisper sigh'd, "I come, dear Lord, I come!" and so, Without a pang he died.

Oh blessed child! with whom the strife Of fear and care are o'er, Methinks thine angel smile we see From yon celestial shore,

And hear thee singing to His praise Whose boundless mercy gave Unto thy meek and trusting soul, The victory o'er the Grave.

The Precocious Infant.

The infant of whom the following traits will be remembered by many, was the son of the Rev. Dr. H. N. Brinsmade, and born in Hartford, Connecticut, February 28th, 1827. At an age when babes are considered little more than attractive objects to the loving eye, or toys to amuse a leisure hour, he was acquiring new ideas, and a subject of discipline; for his parents became convinced, through his example, that the mind in its earliest developments is susceptible of culture.

From the age of four months, he was observed to regard surrounding objects with a fixed attention. During those periods of inspection, the name of the article thus regarded was slowly repeated to him, until he associated it with the sound, and afterwards, would earnestly turn his eyes to any prominent piece of furniture, or particular portions of his own dress, or parts of his body, when designated by their respective names. At ten months he commenced learning the alphabet, from small wooden cubes, on which each letter was separately painted. This process was soon completed: not that he was able to utter the corresponding sounds, but would point out any letter that was inquired for, without mistake; and if he saw one in an inverted position, was never easy until he had restored it to its true attitude.

By the aid of prints pasted on cards, he readily acquired the names of animals and birds, arranged according to a judicious system of Natural History. He was encouraged to become thoroughly familiar with one print ere he was permitted to take another. Thus a basis was laid for habits of application, and the idle curiosity restrained, with which children are wont to wander from picture to picture. His parents in showing him a landscape or historical painting, accustomed him to regard every object, however minute, with an accurate eye, and so retentive was his memory, that what had been thoroughly impressed he seldom forgot. There were few toys from which he derived satisfaction, but seemed to find in pictures and books, with the explanations which they elicited, his principal delight. His careful treatment of books was remarkable, and this was undoubtedly in a measure produced by a little circumstance which occurred when he was quite young. He had torn the paper cover of a small volume. His mother remarked upon it with a serious countenance, and as the members of the family entered, mentioned what had been done, in a tone of sadness.

Presently his lip quivered, and a tear glistened in his eye. The lesson had been sufficiently strong, and it was necessary to comfort him. Afterwards, expensive volumes were fearlessly submitted to him, and the most splendid English annuals sustained no injury from his repeated examinations.

Geography, as exhibited on maps, became a favourite study, and ere he had numbered his second birthday, I saw him with surprise and admiration point out upon an atlas, seas, rivers, lakes, and countries, without hesitation or error.

A short time after, I found that he had made acquaintance with the rudiments of geometry, and was continually increasing his knowledge of printed words, which, with their definitions and combinations in simple phrases, were rapidly initiating him into his native language. It may possibly be imagined that he was made a mere book-worm, or might have been naturally deficient in animal spirits. On the contrary, nothing was taught him by compulsion, and no child could be more full of happiness. His sports, his rambles in the garden, and the demonstrations of infantine pleasure, were sweet to him. His mother was his companion, his playmate, and his instructress. Deeming her child's mind of more value than any other feminine pursuit or enjoyment, she devoted her time to its cultivation; and to her perseverance and the entire concurrence of his father in the intellectual system devised for him, his uncommon attainments may be imputed, more than to any peculiar gift of nature. Still, I am not prepared to say, that there was not something originally extraordinary in his capacity; at least I have never seen his docility, application, and retentive power, equalled in the early stages of existence. Portions of every day, suited in their length to his infancy, were regularly devoted to the business of instruction. But these were often unconsciously extended in their limits, by his eager desire to learn something more; and the winning and repeated entreaty of "Pray, _dear mother_, teach me," was wont to secure him an additional indulgence of "line upon line, and precept upon precept." His love of knowledge was becoming a passion, still there seemed no undue prominence of one department of intellect to the injury of another. Perception, understanding, and memory, advanced together, and seemed equally healthful.

He was destined for a learned education; a great part of which it was deemed preferable that he should receive under the parental roof; and his mother was preparing herself to become an assistant to his father in teaching him different languages. So indefatigable were her attentions to him, that she never left him to the care of a servant; and thus correct habits and purity of feeling, were preserved from contamination.

Among the pleasing traits of character which revealed themselves in him, his love of home was conspicuous. Though fond of seeing new objects, yet home was the spot most desirable to him. During a journey to New York, after the completion of his second year, where museums, and every alluring curiosity were inspected by him with delighted attention, the prospect of returning to his own flowers, shells, and books, gave him inexpressible joy.

He also manifested great ardour of affection for his parents. He could form no idea of happiness independent of their presence and participation. Though exceedingly fond of seeing collections of animals, which his knowledge of Natural History led him to regard with peculiar interest, he insisted that his father should take him from the first exhibition of the kind which he had ever witnessed, and when he was highly entertained by an elephant, ostrich, and some monkeys, because he discovered that his mother had withdrawn. The attachment usually felt by children for the tender guides of their infant hours, seemed in his case heightened by the consciousness that they were the dispensers of that knowledge with whose love he was smitten. When heaven was represented to him as a delightful abode, and rendered still more alluring by the image of a beloved and departed relative, whom he was taught to consider as among its inhabitants, he would express his unwillingness to be removed there unless "dear father and mother would go too."

A grateful spirit seemed to mingle with his filial affection, and moved him to an expression of thanks for every little favour. When given only a piece of bread, if a few moments happened to intervene between its reception and the customary acknowledgment, he would inquire as if troubled at the omission, "Did I forget to thank mother?" He was often told that to his Father in heaven, he was indebted for what he most loved, and with an affecting earnestness and graceful gesture of his little head, would say, "_Thank God_." At the period of family devotion he was early taught a quiet and reverent deportment, and after books became so interesting to him, preferred to look over when his father read the Scriptures, and to have it spread before him when he knelt during the prayer.

It might possibly have been feared that the mind, by starting into such sudden expansion, would have left the heart at a distance, but the germs of gentleness and virtue kept pace with the growth of intellect. There was also preserved a fine and fortunate balance between mind and body, for his physical education had been considered an important department of parental care and responsibility. His erect form, and expanded chest, revealed the rudiments of a good constitution, while his fair brow, bright black eye, and playful smile, bespoke that union of health, beauty, and cheerfulness, which never failed of attracting attention. There was less of light and boisterous mirth about him than is common to children of his age. His features expressed rather a mild and rational happiness than any exuberance of joy. This might have arisen partly from the circumstance of his having no young companion to encourage wild or extravagant sports; but principally, that the pleasures of thought were so continually resorted to, as to modify and elevate the countenance. His whole appearance was that of a healthful, happy, and beautiful infant, in the possession of a degree of learning and intelligence, to which infancy usually has no pretensions.

But it was forbidden us to witness the result of this interesting experiment upon mind; or to trace the full development of a bud whose unfolding was so wonderful. An acute dysentery which prevailed in the neighbourhood, numbered him among its victims, and after a fortnight's painful languishing, he died on the 11th of August, 1829, at the age of two years and five months.

After the breath had forsaken him he was still lovely, though emaciated. Fresh roses and orange flowers were around his head and on his bosom, and a bud clasped in his snowy hand. He seemed like one who had suffered and fallen asleep, and there lingered a peaceful and patient spirit around his silent wasted lips. His mother was seated by her dead son, pale, but resigned. She had never been separated from him since his birth, and she wished to continue near him till the grave should claim its own. The parents were strengthened as true Christians, to yield their only one to the will of his Father in heaven. And the anguish of their affliction was undoubtedly mitigated by the recollection, that nothing in their power had been omitted to promote his improvement and heighten his felicity, and that his dwelling was now to be where knowledge is no longer gained by slow laborious efforts, but where light is without cloud, and the soaring soul freed from its encumbrances of clay.

The Last Rose-bud.

The child was radiant with delight, As from the garden's shade, With golden ringlets clustering bright, She burst upon the mother's sight, And in her hand, like fairy sprite, A blooming rose-bud laid.

'Twas the last wreath by summer wove That thus the darling brought, For Autumn's breath had chill'd the grove; Oh mother! was that gift of love With aught of sadness fraught?

Say, didst thou think how soon that head In silent earth would rest? A solemn curtain o'er it spread, And the green turf she joy'd to tread, A covering for her breast?

But, for the buds that fade no more, Look thou in faith above, Look, mother! where the seraphs soar, Where countless harps their music pour, And raptur'd cherubim adore The God of boundless love.

The Cherub's Welcome.

Among the bright-robed host of heaven, two cherubs were filled with new rapture. Gladness that mortal eye hath never seen beamed from their brows, as with tuneful voices they exclaimed,

"Joy! joy! He cometh! Welcome, welcome, dear brother!" And they clasped in their arms a new immortal.

Then to their golden harps they chanted, "Thou shalt weep no more, our brother, neither shall sickness smite thee. For here is no death, neither sorrow, nor sighing."

At the Saviour's feet they knelt together with their warbled strain, "Praise be unto Thee, who didst say, 'Suffer little children to come unto Me.'

"Thou didst take them to Thy bosom upon earth, and through Thy love they enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. Endless praise and glory be Thine, Oh Lord most High!"

They led the little one to amaranthine bowers, and wreathed around his temples the flowers that never fade. They gave him of the fruit of the Tree of Life, and of the water that gusheth forth clear as crystal from before the Throne of God and of the Lamb.

And they said, "Beautiful one! who wert too young to lisp the dialect of earth, sweet to thee will be the pure language of heaven. Bringest thou to us no token from the world that was once our home?"

Then answered the babe-cherub, "Here is our mother's last kiss with a tear upon it, and the prayer with which our father gave me back to God."

And they said, "Their gifts are sweet to us. We remember _her_ smile who lulled us on her breast, whose eye was open through the long night, when sickness smote us; and _his_ voice who taught us the name of Jesus.

Oft-times do we hover about them. We are near them though they see us not. While they mourn we drop into their hearts a balm drop and a thought of heaven, and fly back hither, swifter than the wing of morning.

We keep watch at the shining gates for them, and for the white-haired parents whom they honour, and for our fair sister, that we may be the first to welcome them. Lo! when all are here, our joy shall be full."

Long they talked together, folding their rainbow wings. They talked long with their music tones, yet the darkness came not. For there is no night there.

Then there burst forth a great song, choirs of angels saying, "Holy, holy, holy Lord God Almighty: Just and true are thy ways, thou King of Saints." And the lyres of the cherub brothers joined the chorus, swelling the melody of heaven.

The Babe, and the Forget-Me-Not.

A babe, who like the opening bud Grew fairer day by day, Made friendship with the loving flowers Amid his infant play;

And though full many a gorgeous plant Display'd its colours bright, Yet with the meek Forget-me-not He took his chief delight.

From mantel-vase, or rich bouquet, He cull'd his favourite gem, Well pleas'd its lowly lips to kiss, And gently clasp its stem.

So, when to dreamless rest he sank, For soon he was to fade, That darling friend, Forget-me-not, Was on his bosom laid;

And when, beside the mother's couch, Who weepeth for his sake, Some vision of his heavenly joy Doth midnight darkness break,

He cometh with a cherub smile In garments of the bless'd, And weareth a Forget-me-not Upon his sinless breast.

Treatment of Animals.

A grateful disposition, should teach us to be kind to the domestic animals. They add much to our comfort. How should we bear the winter's cold, were it not for the coat of wool, which the sheep shares with us? How would journeys be performed, or the mail be carried, or the affairs of government be conducted, without the aid of the horse?

Did you ever think how much the comfort of families depends upon the cow? Make a list of articles for the table, or for the sick, to which milk is indispensable. Perhaps you will be surprised to find how numerous they are.

When the first settlers of New England, came to Plymouth, in the winter of 1620, four years elapsed, before any cows were brought them. During all this time, their bread was made of pounded corn, and they had not a drop of milk for the weaned infant, or the sickly child, or to make any little delicacy for the invalid.

There was great rejoicing in the colony, when a ship arrived, bringing a few small heifers. Remember how patiently our good ancestors endured their many hardships; and when you freely use the milk of which they were so long deprived, be kind to the peaceable, orderly quadruped, from whom it is obtained.