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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 4 5 6 MEMORIALS OF ^-. 'i- MAEGABET ELIZABETH, ONLY DAUGHTER OF REV. ALBERT DES BRISAY, OP THIS PAOVINOB OP NKW-BEUN8WI0K. BY A FRIEND. "Early, bright, transient, chaste aa morning dew. She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven." YOUNO. 'i: PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PHILLIPS, SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 200 MULBBRRY-STEKKT. 1856. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by CARLTON & PHILLIPS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New-Yorlc. I ■| % PREFACE 56, by uthern The person upon whom has devolved the pleasing duty of preparing the follovring memoir, is one who was intimately acquainted with its subject from her earliest childhood, and who enjoyed the privilege of residing under the same roof with her during the greater portion of the years that intervened between her infancy and her death. The facts contained in the following pages are detailed^ therefore, from personal knowledge ; and, after witnessing such a career and its termination, a strong conviction has ensued, that so bright an example of early piety and excellence should not be permitted to sink into oblivion, but should be held up, however feebly, to the imitation of the young, especially of her own sex. The ruling wish while living, of the departed, was to do good ; and though she would have shrunk from public notice or approbation, yet now that she has put off the taber- nacle of clay, and become even as one of "the angels of God," may we not also believe that she is also divested of all mere human feelings, and that the ^^» 9 PEEPAOE. S ^ I "'^ *' """' ""''^ remarkable is swal- lowed up m the one desire that God may be glorified? May not the hope also be indmged that t^Sce Sortand I T^ »ay a„eompany this feeble mZl o ^r ^^^ ''«"'' P'-°^''^ tl'^t Margaret El zabe h neither lived nor died in vain ? Mysteri- ous indeed are the ways of the Allwise in the and diversified, minute as well as great are thfl nieans^hieh he employs in the estabhshm nt of ot the wise," and useth the '-weak things of the ^th ? rf r' *'" *'""^^ ^J""!' are mighty " that no flesh should glory in his presence " S'h a deep ^.^ ,^^^^,^^^^ ^^ ^,^^ . P e Wth vei r„t"' "''"" '"'""" '-'rumentalities W evei imposing in appearance, and however Cl arranged and efficient in ope;ation, and with an stw folT'""°"' *^^ "'^^ --kestlttl;^ voice Jat «Vnot ^d^Xtrir ? A. E. K. le is swal- glorified? the grace faithfully lis feeble Margaret Mjsteri- e in the umeroiis are the ment of counsels 3 of the nighty," * With isidered s, how- • er well i^ith an ittempt by his food to epared I good vith a heart ND DO CONTENTS. — — — ♦ — "" Paqb Ohaptbb 11 I.-.BIRTH AND EARLY CHILDHOOD ^^ IL— SCHOOL-DAYS * ^^ III. — TRYING SCENES ^g IV.— LEAVING HOME g^ v.— LAST SCENES OF LIFE ^^^ VI.~TRA1TS OP CHARACTER ••" POETRY. 135 A CRY TO THE MISSIONARY ^^^ TO THE MOON ,og A LITTLE WHILE ' ^^^ TO MY BROTHER ^^^ TO A ROSE-BUD IN MARCH ^^^ THE WINTER WIND -^^ BIRTH-DAY STANZAS ^^^ TO A FRIEND ON HER MARRIAGE - TO MY MOTHER , ,_ THE DEATH OF MOSES A VALENTINE TO MY BROTHER • PARTING WORDS ^^°'^ .....153 THE DESTROYING ANGEL ••"• THE FIRST SABBATH SCHOOL 8 CONTENTS. A FRAGMENT.... Pagb AUTUMN MEMORIES 1^2 DECEMBER MUSTN(iS... ,.. ,, ^^^ BURIAL AT SEA '* 168 HOME THOUGHTS... ^^^ THE MARTYRS OPmIdEIr'^' ^''^ ^ owre true tale .' ^^^ A LEAP FROM LIFE .....'. ^^^ STRAY THOUGHTS ......' ^10 MEMORIES OP THE YeIr ^14 okeetings for the absent 21^ SABBATH ECHOES 222 THE EREBUS AND TERROR ^^^ ARE WE NOT DREAMERS ^^9 233 Pagb •••••#.. 162 164 168 t.. 173 177 180 205 210 ^14 217 • • • • ■ • JL2t2i 225 22^ 233 lUustratiffttS. PAGB 8ACKVILLE ACADEMY 2 READING TO A BLIND MAN 36 PARTING WITH HER FATHER 64 READING THE WORD OF GOD • 102 TO MY BROTHER 140 PERSECUTION IN MADEIRA 201 ('h MEMOKIALS OF MARaARET ELIZABETH DES BRISAY. CHAPTEE I. BIRTH AND EARLY CHILDHOOD. Margaret Elizabeth Des Brisay was born at Sheffield, New Brunswick, March 23, 1836. In her infancy she was ex- tremely feeble and delicate, but by the time she had completed her second year, she had entirely recovered her health, of which blessing, from that period, she en- joyed as large a share as generally falls to the lot of mortals. The first seven yeai-s of her life were nearly all spent in the town of St. Andrews, to which place her parents removed a few months after her 12 MAKGAKET ELIZABJJTH. birth. In this secluded spot, her principal companions were the memb;rs of her own family, the most of whom had attained^o jears of maturity. To supply the want of associates of her own agefher lively anagination^at three years old, conjS «.. hourTXra^:;7ir:h:t represented by UirS^d^^ alC anguage, and tone of voice, varied so S each Had this early taste been fostered important bearing might it not have had on all Margaret's future course ! and what a different being would she have become J i I BIRTH AND EARLY CHILDHOOD. 13 I' principal )f her own ittained to the want ier lively conjured nd inter- rj scenes, ) in what t. Each once was t' action, ^ed so as acter of fostered what an ave had ad what become mother, isement e a love 'orbade of how by this that as soon as the maternal prohibition was issued, this, her favorite recreation, was at once, and forever, unmurmuringly abandoned. The sacrifice, however, as she has since acknowledged, cost her many silent tears. Soon after this her attention was direct- ed to the subject of learning to read. She had previously been taught the alphabet, and to spell words of one syllable, but now, her father having presented her with a New Testament, her ambition was fired to obtain the key which could unlock all its treasures. She therefore set herself to work, with the greatest energy, to master its contents. Beginning at the first part of the book, she went regularly on, study- ing carefully each word, as it occurred, until perfectly acquainted with it. Carry- ing the volume about with her, she had recourse, when at a loss, to any person she might meet, to solve her difiiculties, and to inform her " what such a word was," and "what such letters spell." In this manner, and without any other assistance, she taught herself, in a few weeks, to read 14 MAKGARET ELIZABETH. 1 with great ease, not only the Testament, but any common book. And now a wide and an exhaustless field was opened before iier, which her ardent and inquiring mind through all her subsequent life, never wearied in exploring, where it never nagged m its onward progress, till the iron pressure of mortal disease, paralyzing the physical energies, cast its benumbing mfluence also over her mental powers The love of knowledge being so eariy awakened within her breast, ceaseless and untirmg, henceforth, were her efforts in its acquisition. But those efforts were will- ing and spontaneous, such as the heart puts forth for the possession of the obiect fLll^r'F- ^"""'^"^"y addingto her fund of information, these increasing ac- cumulations of mental riches were liLd- tt"LY ' ""^^^ ^ «iiser-like care and watchfulness. Her acquaintance with the Scriptures began ^t the time of learning to read, and •IS years roiled on, it became more and more mtimate and extensive. Besides daily reading the Bible, and having it ex- Testament, low a wide med before ring mind, lie, never it never s, till the Daraljzing enumbing 1 powers. so early seless and brts in its >^ere will- ;lie heart be object ng to her ising ae- :*e hoard- 3are and 3riptures 3ad, and tore and Besides ig it ex- BIRTH AND EARLY CHILDHOOD. 15 plained, and learning portions of it on the Sabbath, she commencerj the practice, which she ever after continued, of commit- ting to memory one verse or more each day. It was, no doubt, this study of the sacred volume, combined with religious instruction and training, which, under the Divine blessing, was successful in exciting in her mind, from a very tender age, an interest in sacred subj ects. In her seventh year, this interest deepened into an anx- ious concern for her salvation. " I cannot tell," she would say, "why I am not a Christian. I am sure I wish to be with all my heart, and I am always praying to the Lord to make me one." In this inquiring state she remained some time, till at length, one day, conversing with a friend about her feelings, the way of salvation was ex- plained to her in a simple manner, and she was encouraged to believe that God was willing to forgive her sms now, be- cause the Saviour had died for her. While her friend was speaking, her countenance suddenly became irradiated, and she burst forth into expressions of wonder and praise. 16 '"i if MAEGAEET ELIZABETH. " Could it be true that she mi^ht now K forgiven for Christ's sake? Yes S\ ^ue." Shp Pmii.i 1 J^es, It was feet, for th S'ofl^r '^^^^ God reconcilef i Ch^^il^r^" heart," and she was "fiLdt t, W !!" peace in believing." « o » ^^ "'.^ ^"*^ a hi^h wall iiisf K.^. ^ ^^^^^ ^^^ 6^ vvdii just beiore me hnf- n/^«r u • ".nee of dt,rSl«?r«.r f ' "" 1/ age, not quite seven years olaa^ into the liXt anTl-K f^'^I"''' "^"^'^^e of God. ThereaJtv ?f °^ *^^ ^'^^^^''^'^ proved bwif -^ ^^ ^^'" conversion was c Wter"; te--- -d influenra a.eneralll\::frc;^^^^^^^ martable in one so youn " R ™? ''- Avas not « like *holT ^' ?^'' goodness early dew wh^ ^'™'°^ ^^^^^ ^^^d the . ' '^h'^'h soon pass away," but L BIBTH AND EARLY CHILDHOOD. 17 gilt now be i^es, it was Joubt ''the Js Gospel," ne into her * joy and exclaimed, me. Be- ^coming a there was now it is is, of the the en- ' human this very J clearly ch trans- it* nature children sion was Juential and by mljre- >odness nd the /' but " as the shining light, which shineth more and more unto the perfect day." From this period, through all her after course, she seemed ever actuated by firm religious principle, and by a conscientious regard to duty, though she was not with- out those variations of feeling which gener- ally mark the experience of the Christian. Truly interesting and affecting was it to witness, in this infant believer, the devel- opment of Christian motives, hopes, joys, and affections ; in short, to contemplate in her all those distinctive traits which are characteristic of the " new creature in Christ Jesus." Among these, one of the most early observable, was an ardent de- sire for the spiritual welfare of others, par- ticularly for that of the junior members of her own family. Carefully did she watch to discover in them any indications of good, such as increased seriousness, or at- tention to prayer. " I really do believe," she exclaimed, one day, running into her mother's apartment, " that A has gone into his own room for prayer;" and she skipped up and down with every demon- 18 MAKGABKT ELIZABETH. stration of delight. She was not mistaken in her surmise ; and when, shortly after her wishes, with respect to him, were ac- complished, nothing could exceed her ioy As a further evidence of the genuineness ot her piety, we may mention her great tenderness of conscience, and her sensitive- ness to any wanderings of mind from Orod, or diminution of her religious joys As an illustration of this, a circumstance may be related, which occurred about two months after her conversion. She was at that time, attacked with the measles,' and became quite ill. Her mother, one morning, commiserating her suffering con- dition, she replied : " Yes, mamma, I am very ill; but do you know what has been comforting me in my affliction? that pas- sage, 'Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more ex- ceeding and eternal weight of glory ' " On recovering so far as to^be able to' sit up and amuse herself, she was detained in her own room, on account of the severity of the weather, for several days, with a little brother, a few years younger than W *^' •H. aot mistaken hortlj after, ni, were ac- eed her joy. genuineness n her great er sensitive- mind from igious joys, reumstance I about two She was, le measles, 1 other, one fering con- tima, I am it has been ? that pas- h. is but for ' more ex- orj.'" On ' to sit up stained in e severity s, with a nger than BIRTH AND EARLY CHILDHOOD. 19 herself. It was observed that she appear- ed more than usually engrossed in play, and that no remark was volunteered by her on the subject of religion. When permitted to leave her apartment, as might naturally be supposed, she was much delighted. She hastened to her mother, who, after fully sympathizing with her in her feelings, at length said, *' And how is your mind, Margaret ? do you feel happy now ?" Her face, which had a mo- ment before been radiant with pleasure, suddenly changed its expression ; she hes- itated, and, at first, made no reply. On being urged on the subject, " No, mamma," was her answer, uttered in a low tone. " "What is the reason ? have you been com- mitting sin ?" was the inquiry. " I don't know," she replied, *'that I have com- mitted any sin, only I have been play- ing so much with A , that I am afraid I have forgotten God." She was directed to retire, and ask the Lord to pardon her for Christ's sake, and assured that he would again restore her happiness. She went away for that purpose to a small 20 MARGARET ELIZABETH. w. I room allotted her as a place of devotion, but on her return expressed herself as feeling no better. " I do not see," added she, "how the Lord can forgive me." "My dear," said her mother, "he is as willing to pardon you now as he ever was. Can you not go to him as you did at first ?" But her mind was now clouded, and the way of access to God seemed in- volved in obscurity. Again and again did she withdraw to her little closet to implore forgiveness. The blessing was more easily forfeited than regained. Per- severing prayer, however, cannot, in the end, fail of success. She came at length, and with a countenance beaming with joy, exclaimed, "' O, mamma, the Lord has again forgiven me, and I now feel as happy as I did before." One of the most early indications of Margaret's spirituality of mind, was the great interest manifested by her in relig- ious conversation. Every opportunity of being alone with her mother, did she eagerly improve for this purpose. " Now, mamma," she would say, "there is no a. of devotion, I herself as see," added )rgive me." 5 "he is as as he ever as you did ow clouded, seemed in- and again le closet to essing was ined. Per- LHot, in the 3 at length, ining with 5 the Lord now feel as ications of 3, was the er in relig- ^rtunity of r, did she e. " Now, lere is no BIRTn AND EAKLY CHILDHOOD. one here, and we can have a nice time to talk about good things.'^' Then drawing her little chair near, she would sit with her face upraised to her mother's, drink- ing in every w jrd uttered by her, with as lively a zest as children generally listen to an amusing fairy tale. While thus engaged, an hour or tv/o would pass away without her attention in the least degree wandering. A part of the Sabbath was always spent in this manner. The afternoon of that sacred day, she and the little brother before mentioned passed with their mother, reading, learning and repeating hymns, and portions of the Scriptures. This employ- ment interested them much, as did also a little prayer meeting, which it was their practice to hold at those times. Accus- tomed almost from infancy to pray vocal- ly, Margaret could express herself, even then, with much readiness and appropri- ateness. This capability increased by ex- ercise, and in after life ripened into a rare and beautiful gift in prayer, distinguished for humility, fervency, and propriety of X 22 MAJRGARET ELIZABETH. expression. While attending the public worship of God. her conduct was such as to be observed by those around her. "Your little girl's behavior at church is really remarkable," said a friend to Mrs. D. ; "she sii apparently absorbed, never taking her ejt.o off from the minister, as if she would not lose a word he says." It cannot be supposed that a child of seven could fully comprehend all that was utter- ed on such an occasion, but she under- stood and remembered enough to be able to repeat at home not a little of each sermon she might hear. This was her in- variable custom; and in a few years, so great became her proficiency in this art, that it was observed, a more satisfactory account of a discourse could be obtained from her than from any other member of the family. As has been intimated, Margaret had become enthusiastically fond of reading, but her favorite book, when a young- child, was, next to the Bible, the Pil- grim's Progress. Over its pages she hung entranced, and such a hold had its most BIRTH AND EARLY CHILDHOOD. 28 the public ; was such round her. t church is nd to Mrs. bed, never linister, as says." It d of seven was utter- ihe under- to be able 3 of each vas her in- years, so n this art, itisfactory ) obtained lember of ^aret had ■ reading, a young the Pil- she hung I its most interesting scenes taken upon her imagi- nation, and so firmly were they impressed upon her memory, that, without having intentionally learned a sentence, she could repeat verbatim a great part of the vol- ume. In after life, she has said that she could well understand and sympathize with the feelings of the little girl who imagined the story to be literally true, and actually set forth herself on a pil- grimage. She (Margaret) was only wait- ing for an opportunity to do the same. When Margaret was about nine years old, she had a very severe illness, so that her life was considered in danger for s'^me days. Her mind was in a peaceful and happy state, and quite resigned at the prospect of death. Her mother inquiring of her why she was willing to die, she replied, "Because I think the Lord has forgiven me all my sins." During the whole of her illness, her composure was equal to that of an aged, experienced Christian ; she seemed to be resting on a solid foundation. 24 MARGARET ELIZABETH. CHAPTER 11. I SCHOOL-DAYS. In June, 1843, Margaret's family removed to Sackville, where neariy all the remain- der of her short life was passed. Her in- tellect was now rapidly expanding, and she evinced powers of thought and reflec- tion that might be called precocious. Being placed under a regular course of instruction, her education began to be systematically carried on. This afforded her much gratification . so irdeni was her desire for improvement. Close applica- tion to study, far from being considered by her a wx^arisome task, was her delight. No incitement to diligence was necessary in her case, nor was any supervision re- quired with respect to her attending to her studies. This was left entirely to her- self, and the result always proved that she was fully prepared at the appointed time. SCHOOL-DAYb, 25 Ij removed he remain- . Her in- iding, and and reflec- )reeoeious. course of ^an to be s afforded lb was her 3 applica- 3onsidered 3r delight, necessary vision re- snding to sly to her- i that she ited time. Her assiduous efforts, combined with her excellent natural abilities, could not fail of making her successful in acquiring a knowledge of the different branches to which her attention was directed. But it was in the general culture of the mind that she particularly excelled. This, at ten or twelve years old, was far in advance of her age. Her understanding s^^emed in- tuitively to take in the ideas and views that belong to a more mature period of life, and her language and mode of ex- pressing herself indicated this in no small degree. A rich intellectual repast did she enjoy when permitted to listen to the conversation of persons of education and refinement. At such times she would ensconce herself in a corner, and, silent and almost motionless, with her eyes riveted on each speaker alternately, ap- p:ar lost to all surrounding objects. As soon, however, as the company had with- drawn, and the family were again alone, she would manifest her pleasure by her usual demonstration of lightly skipping about the room, repeating over what had 26 MARGARET ELIZABETH. m M particularly impressed her imagination, such as a new fact or a striking senti- ment. Margaret's mental constitution disposed her to be singularly alive to all that was beautiful around her. The visible creation, the varied landscape, awakened early in her breast emotions of admiration, and stirred up within her poetic thoughts and images. Passionately fond of flowers, she con- sidered it one of her highest indulgences to cultivate a little plot of ground, that bad been granted her for a garden. Gom- bined with her love of nature, and of in- tellectual pursuits, was a taste for the simple and innocent pleasures suitable to her age and circumstances. She was a child of great vivacity of disposition, and entered into the sports of her little com- panions with the utmost zest. But she was always remarkable for gentleness; never, in her moments of the greatest ex- hilaration of spirits, being rude or boister- ous. She possessed, also, a great fondness for those domestic animals that are found m H. imagination, riking senti- ion disposed all that was ble creation, led early in iration, and boughts and ;*s, she con- indulgences Tound, that den. Gom- , and of iu- ste for the suitable to She was a Dsition, and little com- But she gentleness ; greatest ex- or boister- at fondness : are found SCHOOL- DAYS. 27 in every house, and the very sight of a cat or dog, or a bird, would throw her into raptures of delight. So strong, in- deed, was her propensity for petting vari- ous kinds of living creatures, that it was often smilingly observed, should she ever be mistress of a house of her own, it would be turned into a menagerie. Of acute and tender sensibilities, it was essential to Margaret's happiness to love and to be loved. Naturally amiable, af- fectionate, and obliging, a word, a look from her parents or friends was sufficient to guide her ; as, therefore, harshness and severity were in her case unnecessary, so they were never employed, and to her were entirely unknown. It is a matter of rejoicing to her family now, that her child- hood was so eminently happy. Living from her earliest years in the atmosphere of kindness and affection ; endowed with susceptibilities that made it a necessity of her nature to derive pleasure from each object of beauty or sublimity that met her eye ; the " ample page" of knowledge unfolding itself daily to her inquiring 28 MARGARET ELIZABETH. d ■ til S>- gaze, liow many were her sources of en- joyment. But to these she added one still richer, being even at that early period in possession of " the faith which touches all things with hues of heaven." How vivid- ly is she now before the " mind's eye," as she then appeared; a bright, a joyous little being; all life, all animation, bounding along with a bird-like motion, her coun- tenance lighted up with an expression in- dicative of the gladness within ! ^ Before Margaret had fully attained her ninth year, she commenced penning down her thoughts on paper. Her first essays at composition consisted chiefly of descrip- tions of natural scenery, and reflections upon the characters and facts she became acquainted with in her reading. They were written in a kind of poetical prose, and were the spontaneous effusions of her own mind, her friends not being aware for some time of the habit she had formed, or in what manner she was engaged. We insert one or two of her earliest attempts, not, of course, for their intrinsic merit, but merely as specimens of the thinkino* "^ iirces of en- [cled one still *ly period in 1 touches all How vivid- id's eje," as joyous little 1, bounding I, her coun- :pression in- i! ittained her lining down ' first essays ' of deserip- refleetions he became ng. They tical prose, lions of her ; aware for formed, or iged. We t attempts, isie merit, 3 thinking SCHOOL-DAYS. 29 and writing of a child of nine years of age. "napoleon BONAPARTE. " Where is that warrior now — the mighty dead? Is he where holy angels hymn their sacred numbers forth to God, their King ? or is he where no ray of hope can ever penetrate? He opened wide the portals of eternity to hapless thousands ; now he himself hath passed into that dread and changeless state! Even hope, with sweet and cheering aspect, scarcely dares to wave her pinions o'er his tomb. How vast, yet unlamented, was the sacri- fice on which he raised the costly fabric of his fame ! Thousands of treasure and of human lives composed the mighty hecatombs ; yet he who caused this wan- ton waste of treasure and of blood, who deemed his glory and his name alike im- perishable, and who thought this w^orld of ours too small to fill the lofty grasp of his ambition, died an outcast, exiled from his country, friends, and home — a lonely prisoner on a distant, rocky isle." 80 MARGARET ELIZABETH. a THE ESCURIAL. — A FRAGMENT. * ^ «- ¥r -3f 4f " All that imagination paints of beauty or magnificence, to please the most refined, luxurious taste, lie spread in rich profusion through thy spacious courts and lofty corridors— save in those dark abodes of death, Avhere sleep Iberia's kings. Thy gloomy founder, too, more fitted for mo- nastic cell than for the pomp and splendor of a court, unconsciously reposes 'neath thy stately towers, alike incapable of forming schemes of vengeance 'gainst the virgin queen of Albion's favored isle, or persecuting, with a blind and fiery zeal, the opposers of his faith. How many years have circled out their revolutions since he passed from ofi" this stage of action, and is his name or are his deeds forgotten ? No ! impartial history, with her during pen, hath marked them down for future generations, and drawn with pencil, dipped in deepest shades, the out- lines of the dark and furious persecutor." "■^^-f. ra. SCHOOL-DAYS. 31 .GHENT. -X- -Jf s of beauty or Host refined, cli profusion 3 and lofty c abodes of dngs. Tliy :ted for mo- uld splendor poses 'neath capable of 3 'gainst the Dred isle, or i fiery zeal, How many .revolutions is stage of 3 his deeds istory, with them down Irawn with es, the out- )ersecntoi'." About this period a circumstance oc- ^curred evidencing her conscious and glow- ins- love to God, and at the same time her tenderness of conscience. She had met for some years in a class that assembled in her mother's parlor, and might be said to be a member of the Church, regularly receiving her tickets. Though lier extreme youth had hitherto prevented her attend- ing the Table of the Lord, yet she had been well instructed as to the state of mind necessary to qualify one to be a worthy partaker of the sacramental bread and wine. One Sunday morning, on re- turning from public worship, whither she had gone unattended by any of the senior members of the family, she came into her mother's room, apparently laboring under great mental agitation. On an inquiry being made as to what had disturbed her mind, she burst into tears, saying, '' O mamma, I am afraid I have done wrong ; I did not think of it till afterward, but I am afraid it was very wrong. Mr. to- day so earnestly invited all who truly loved the Lord Jesus, to come forward to 32 MARGARET ELIZABETH. ii> the Sacrament, and I felt I did so love him, that I went, and now— I fear I ought not to have gone — I ought to have spoken to you first." Her distress appeared so great, that it was necessary to comfort her with the assurance that she intended only to do what was right ; but some time elapsed * ere her tranquillity could be restored. The following letter, written when she was scarcely ten years old, is expressive of her ardent affection for her brother, and also of her desire for intellectual improve- ment. It is the only one of her early let- ters that could be found. f "t 'i I 1 Sackville, March 11, 1846. " My VERY Dear Brother, — Children of the same parents ought never to be at a loss for subject-matter when they write to each other. As you are at such a great distance from ns, it is necessary I should remind you, that my love for you is not at all abated ; indeed, I think that the longer you are away from me, the more I love you. O then, dear brother, how happy I shall feel when your five years SCHOOL-DAYS. 33 m are expired ! But I am looking forward to a shorter period than five years ; my thoughts are frequently occupied with the nearness of the time when we hope to see you here, on your next visit in July or August. The necessity of a female acad- emy here has lately been suggested, and it is thought that the project will be carried into effect. For my part, I hope it will, before my day of improvement is passed, that the mists of darkness with which my mental horizon is beclouded, may be dispel- led, so that I may not be quite an ignoramus. « -H- ^ ^ ^ * * " We have no female school during the winter, but E. and I attend to our studies after dinner, under the very efficient su- perintendence of ; and, 7non cherfrere^ I have lately commenced the study of French, and am much interested in it. If you do not look about you I shall run ahead of you, tnonsieur^ which would be rather an awkward circumstance, consid- ering I belong to the weaker sex. I hope to be able, in about a month, to write you a French note, and you could not do me a 34 MAKGARET ELIZABETH. greater favor than to answer me in that language. * "Ton will recollect, that in the after- noon, the sun shines in very brightly at the parlor windows, and some member of the family frequently observes, ' The sun shines in so brightly it almost looks Hke summer.' A smile generally passes around the room, intimating that when summer comes we shall see you. A is learn- ing to read nicely ; his favorite chapter is the second of Exodus, the story of little Moses. He is so fond of reading it, that one day, on mamma's saying, 'I think ^ 'has read that so often, he can repeat some of it,' to our surprise, he rose and repeated twenty-five verses. :^ ^ ^ ^ ^' ^ ^ ''Now, dear A., give my kindest and best love to dear grandmamma, for though I have never seen her, I love her very much indeed, as it is probable that she is so much like papa. Give also my best love to all my other relatives, and beheve me, dear A., your very affectionate sister, "Maegaret." 'k 1 that ! sister, JET." SCHOOL-DAYS. 37 She possessed very tender and sympathet- ic feelings, which never failed to be deeply stirred at the sight of woe or misfortune. "When she was between ten and eleven years of age, a gentleman came to reside in Sackville, who labored under the deep affliction of being blind, lie was a per- son of superior education, and quite inter- esting in appearance and manners. Mar- garet's sympathies were immediately en- listed in his case ; so much so, that even the sight of him at a distance would excite her in a very great degree. Her family having formed some acquaintance with him, nothing gave her greater pleasure than to render him any little kind atten- tion, or contribute in any way to his com- fort, when at her father's house. She also, at her own most earnest request, and with her mother's permission, was in the habit of going to his residence for the pur- pose of reading to him. The volume she chose for these occasions was " Headley's Sacred Mountains," a book which, from her previous reading, and acquaintance with the details and scenes illustrated in I 38 MARGAKKT I-LIZABETII. its pages, she much enjoyed. The fiict of her selecting and being able to appreciate such a work as this, may give some idea of wliat was then the matured state of her intellect, taste, and religious tendencies. ^ The melancholy circumstances of this gentleman made so deep an impression on her mind, that her feelings were pour- ed forth in the following manner : " THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY SEEING MR. • " 'Tis noonday, and the glorious sun is shining brightly m the unclouded sky. All nature is hushed, and naught is heard save the soft rippling of the waves, and the wild murmuring of the dashing waterfall. 'Tis evening, fleecy clouds traverse the wide expanse of heaven ; the retiring sun is gently sinking to his rest behind the western hills. ' Soft and pensive twilight' steals along with magic wand, ready to gently wave it over all the earth, hushing it into soft repose. These, these, are beauteous all, and I, in days gone by, have gazed wiiii mpiuie on tiiviii. ^--.tv t,-i * >« i SCHOOL-DAYS. 39 change lias o'er me passed! On my vision rests a sliadow, dark, profound ; and while the ^ vital spark' retains its power, I ne'er again shall gaze upon these scenes of nature, all glorious as they are. ^^^^ who can paint how fraught with anguish is the thought, the oft-recurring thought, that I shall never more behold those cherished ones, that call me by the endearing name of husband, tather, friend ! O, there are moments when the memories of the past sweep o'er the soul with sadnees, deep, unutterable, like to the music of a mourn- ful dirge, heard from a distance far. ^ " But is there not a hope beyond this fleeting life ? Is there no glimmering ray of light to illumine the dreary patlfthat spreads itself before me ? Must darkness ever settle down upon my s])irit's view ? Must stern despair forever set its seal upon the future? It need not, must not be. There is a brighter, better world above, a holier, happier clime ! There is a lovelier region far away, where those who have meekly trusted in thpir Hod -^i^- 1 /-\ '?. i ft ^ : I.: V " ; 1 ■i ( 40 MAKaABET ELIZABETH. have trod the narrow, toilsome ^^'ay ofjife with firm and steadfast steps, shall find their resting-place, their home. _ No deep^ eninji shadow flits across the spirit in that land Premature darkness never settles on the eyelid there ; but life, and j oy, and brightness hover o'er those blessed abodes. Mount upward then, my soul and with the eye of faith look through the vista ot the coming years, into the boundless re- gions of eternity ; there is thy home, thj blissful home ! Then let the memories ol the past, with all the rich eiyoyraent un- restricted vision can command, forever be forgotten, or eclipsed in the unfading and eternal joys that lie beyond the tomb. It not unfrequently is the case, that the reputation of cleverness in a child is at- tended by the disagreeable accompani- ments of vanity and forwardness of de- meanor. From such defects as these Mar- garet was unusually free. Her parents had ever carefully avoided anything like a dis- play of her peculiar traits and acquire- ments, being of opinion that exhibitions of SOHOOL-DAYS. 41 1 this kind, whatever stimuhis they may afford to education, are, in their general effect upon the female character, unfavor- able, inducing a love of notoriety, and having a tendency to destroy that modesty of deportment, or, as the apostle express- ively terms it, ^^ shamefacedness^'^ which is the peculiar ornament of the sex. This course of procedure, combined with her naturally retiring disposition, resulted in the formation of a character and manners singularly modest and unassuming; and during the period of childhood, she was known to all beyond her own domestic circle, as a well-behaved little girl, re- markable only for being very quiet. fS MABGAEET ELIZABETH. OHAPTEE m. f ! m' «■( TEYING SCENES. The happiness of Margaret's childhood has been spoken of as being snnny, and bright, and without a sorrow. Not always was this state of things to continue. A cloud at length arose, which cast a shade over her tuture life and tinged her feelings with a sadness ever after perceptible. Her mother, who, though for many years in delicate health, and, in a measure, laid aside from the ac- tive duties of life, had yet been able to mingle, with cheerfulness, in the domestic circle, was, in the arrangements of an in- scrutable but all-wise Providence, in Au- gust, 1849, attacked with a violent disor- der, which prostrated her upon a bed of intense suffering, ..■•om which she has iiever since arisen. Soul-harrowing was it to witness her .,^irf;>7sms of agony, and, as weeks and nu i^ <» lengthened into yeai-s, & TKYING SCENES. 43 of to behold the sufferer still lingering, at times in the extremity of distress. Upon Margaret now, at this early age, devolved the duty of assisting to nurse and wait upon her mother ; and though, on account of her extreme youth and inexpe- rience, she could act only in a subordinate capacity, yet day after day found her in the darkened chamber, beside the sick couch, endeavouring, in every possible way, to administer to the relief of tlie afflicted one. Most melancholy were the circumstances in which she was now placed. Besides the privations consequent to her upon her mother's illliess, such as the suspension, for the time being, of her studies, and of her intercourse with her young companions, and the cutting off of her usual sources of enj oy ment, she had now to endure what to her was more deeply painful, to be a daily beholder of almost unparalleled sufferings in a parent so ten- derly beloved. What wonder is it that, in such a situation, the sensitive mind of one so young should receive a wound fi'om which it never recovered ! Though •J Ui li' ?i f* 44 MARGARET ELIZABETH. years brought to the sick one an alleviation of distress, and caused affliction to press more lightly, they could not restore to the youthful spirits their former freshness and buoyancy. Her very countenance, from this time, changed its expression, being ever after of a decidedly pensive character. In the following fragments, written by her in a small book, she alludes to the altera- tion in her feelings, produced by her mother's illness, and by an expectation of her removal. "December 1, 1849.— The present year is closing swiftly, and soon the year 1850 will dawn upon us ; and O, what a con- trast will its opening scenes present to the joyousness, and almost mirthfulness with which we welcomed this year ! Were I to dwell upon the change which, as a family, has passed upon our spirits in one short year ; were I to permit myself to brood upon the recollection of days that are past, the thoughts that come crowding upon me would wring from me tears of bitterness. But it may not be. I must TRYING SCENES. 45 live to the present moment. Let me cherish the sweet and hallowed memories of the past, but let me not mourn over the sorrows of the present, or the prospects of the future; for before winter shall again close upon us with his icy blasts, a yet dark- er and deeper shadow may have fallen upon us ; our pathway may be yet more cheer- less ; our fireside may be yet more desolate ; we may be yet more widely separated. There may be none to gather in gladness about our hearth, and almost the last re- maining link of affection, which once bound us so closely and lovingly together, may have been rudely sundered. ^ ^' -y^r ^- # ^ ^J "I am no longer the joyous, blithesome creature that I was, when last December * * ^ -H- # ^ ^ "The year 1850! with what is it fraught? with happiness to some, and misery to others : * He comes on his car of state To weave our web of fate.' '' In the following brief extracts from let- II . 46 MAKGAKF/r KLIZABinil. ters written at this period, she expresses also the same feelings. '^ As to dear mamma's health, it contmnes about the same as when I last wrote. Con- stant suffering appears to be her lot. Neither night nor day has she any rest or cessation from pain, though nature some- times sinks exhausted, and she sleeps more, I think, than when you left. You may be sure that no schemes for mental improve- ment are in progress now. How often do I look back from my present position on those happy days, when dear mamma was ill the enjoyment of a moderate degree of health, when you were with us, and we were pursuing our studies, and were all so happy ! Alas ! I fear those are to me in- deed ' departed days, departed never to re- turn.' "I hope, dear E., you will never know the real heart-sorrow we all feel at present, in seeing poor mamma suffer, without the power of even alleviating her sufferings. Ah ! how changed are our home and our prospects, from what they were at this period last year! for though mamma has ft -^ TRYING SCENES. 47 a been many years afflicted, yet such was her cheerfuhiess and fortitude, that her af- fliction never appeared to interfere with our enjoyment; indeed, she was the life and soul of our family circle. But now, O how greatly changed ! Our home was then a scene of quiet, cheerful happiness, but now there are no plans for mental im- provement, no instructive reading, no de- lightful conversations ; but substituted for these, we are compelled to witness the in- tense suffering, and many times to hear the sighs and groans of the person we love best. Ah, dear E., it is sad indeed ; and I often think that I was not half aware how hapi)y we were before mamma's illness ; but now I know by sad contrast ! How willingly, were I possessed of all this world's wealth' would I give it, could mamma be restored to her former state of health! Could we indulge a Iiope as to lier ultimate recoverv, this would sustain us; but we fear there Is very little prospect of this." Margaret carefully concealed her feel- ings from her mother, and endeavored to appear as cheerful as possible in her pres- H., 48 MARGARET ELIZABETH. ence. She spoke lightly of the sacrifice she was obliged to make of her opportuni- ties for improvement. When her mother would lament the interruption to her stud- ies, and that lier time was thus, as it were, being lost, she would answer with a smile, " O, do not say lost, mamma ; I am learn- ing to 7mirsey Indefatigable was she in her attentions to her afflicted parent, and never did she, by word or look, intimate aught but the deepest sympathy and affec- tion. One more willing, indeed, could not be found to perform all within the com- pass of her power, both on this and every other occasion, in which there was neces- sity for extra exertion. At length, Mrs. Des Brisay's disease, which had at first been acute and agoniz- ing, assumed a milder form, and settled into a chronic aflection, attended, however, by not unfrequent paroxysms of suffering. Owing to these mitigating circumstances, Margaret, after about a year's intermission, was, in some measure, relieved from her strict confinement in the sick chamber, and enabled, in a degree, to resume her i I I TRYING SCENES. 49 various pursui(;s; but no period was there, during her mother's ilhiess, in which, when present and in health, she did not spend a great part of her time, and fully share with others in the duty of waiting upon the invalid. For a year or two previously to this period, Margaret had acted as her mother's amanuensis, and upon her had devolved the labor of keeping up a correspondence with absent relativ^es and friends. This to her was a pleasing recreation. She had 'Hhe pen of a ready writer," and she re- quired but to place that pen upon paper, and thoughts and words flowed forth with ease and rapidity. Never stopping until her letter was completed, or her sheet fill- ed, she seemed to know nothing by ex- perience of the disagreeable circumstance of being brought to a stand by the in- ward inquiry, " What shall I write next?" Her mother would say, "Margaret, I wish a letter written to such a person, and such and such things mentioned." This was all that was necessary to be said or done. At the proper time, the letter 50 MxVKCiAKET ELIZABETH. would be fortlicoining, and would be found to contain all that was required, expressed in appropriate, and often felicitous lan- guage. Her usefulness in this way cannot be estimated. The perusal of Margaret's letters wculd cast a clearer light on her character, and give a more correct view of it than anything that could be written on the subject; but they are, with a few ex- ceptions, of so strictly private a nature as renders them unsuitable for publication.^ During the winter of 1851, favoring cir- cumstances allowed Margaret more leisure than usual for improvement, and several hours each day was she spared, in which she devoted herself to some favorite pur- suits. Perhaps she became unduly engross- ed in her occupations, or permitted her mind to be too much taken up with youth- ful associations. We know there is a ten- dency in human nature to pursue immod- erately, what is innocent and even lauda- ble, and to allow objects and individuals, excellent in themselves, to draw the heart away from what is spiritual and divine. Certain it is, that her religious enjoyment I TRYING SCENES. 51 I was, during these months, at a lower ebb than luid ever been tlie case since her con- version. Though she had not " wickedly departed from God," it was evident that lier delight in him, and in his ways, was lessened. Intervening objects had come between her and her Saviour, and now prevented her rejoicing under "the sweet shining of his face." ^So decided and so joyous had been her former experience, that the change in her feelings was the more easily observed, and could not but be regarded by her friends with mingled emotions of sorrow and anxiety. But this state of things was not permitted to con- tinue long. In the month of April a pro- tracted meeting was held in Sackville, by the resident minister there, which resulted in a revival of religion. Many were con- verted to God, and Inany members of the Church aroused to renewed diligence in tlie divine life. Among the latter was Marga- ret. Deeply feeling the necessity, in her own case, of the quickeninginfluences of the Holy Spirit, she presented herself public- ly, with a number of her joim^ compan- I 9 52 MAKUARET ELIZABETH. '*. II her of all DU, as ^k her far as . corn- id she cares, and ever desirous was she to accomplish all within her power in this respect. At- tention to her mother, however, claimed the largest share of her time and efforts. A chief part of every day M^as necessarily passed in iittendance upon her, ministerino- to her wants, and performing each kind office of love and filial duty. To enliven the tedium of her monotonous circumstan- ces, she was fruitful in inventions, and was always contriving some little agreeable surprise. She was also in the daily habit of reading aloud to her mother for hours together. Occupied in these various em- ployments, her life had, indeed, become a bu«y one. She learned to value time, since so little of it was at her own com- mand. Though her desire for improve- ment continued as ardent as ever, yet the moments that she could snatch for that purpose were '' few and far between." In her attempts at composition, also, she labored under great disadvantages, writing generally in great haste, frequently in the midst of her family, and always with little opportunity or leisure for correction. To Ik 1* I ■■• '» fl HD i I '^ l^i #f MAKGAEET KLIZABETil. her friends it has ever been a matter of astonishment, that she was not perfectly discouraged by the obstacles in her way, and prevented from making any efforts of this kind. But the secret of her perse- verance was, that her burning thoughts and emotions, too big to be restrained within her own breast, 7nust pour them- selves forth in language, and thus relievo her burdened spirit. JSTever sitting down for the express purpose of composing, it was the ideas that came rushing unbidden into her mind that were penned down, and these just in the order, and in the words in which they first presented them- selves. Thus it did not seem optional with her whether to write or not ; a neces- sity seemed laid upon her in this way, to give vent to the powerful sentiments with- in. Often would she be observed with her lips slightly moving, while going about attending to her accustomed duties ; then, on the first moments of leisure, she would disappear, and on her return, one of her productions would be forthcoming. Per- haps it should be mentioned, however, that TRYING SCENES. tter of rfectly brts of perse- oughts rained them- relievo down ing, it bidden down, in the them- )tional neces- ^ay, to 1 with- th her about ; then, would of her Per- r, that 57 it was generally on some interesting oc- casion, or after having listened to the relation of some striking incident, that she seemed operated upon in this manner. i 58 MARGARET ELIZABETH. Ill CHAPTER IV, LEAVING HOME. In the summer of 1853, Margaret received an invitation from lier uncle, Dr. McLeod, then residing in Halifax, ISTova Scolia, to spend the ensuing winter in his family. Duly appreciating the kindness which prompted such a proposal, to have accepted it would have aftbrded her unalloyed pleasure, had not an obstacle to such a step presented itself in the state of her mother's health. This, in her opinion, was of so formidable a nature as to be in- surmountable, and not till the matter was brought before her by her family, did she seriously contemplate it for a moment. To them it appeared highly desirable that she should be relieved for a season from her arduous duties, and should avail herself of the opportunities for improvement which a sojourn of a few months among her kind friends offered. Her reluctance, i i IfL" n LEAVING HOME. 59 ceived cLeod, )tia, to family. which cepted illoyed 5uch a of her pinion, be in- er was lid she It. To bat she )in her lerself ^ement anion 2C stance, m however, to leave her mother was great. When first consulted on the subject, she burst into tears, exclaiming, " O, mamma, do not send me from you ; I cannot bear the thought; I am sure something will happen to you in my absence, and then I should never forgive myself." But though these were her feelings, yet, to the wishes of her parents, now as ever, she was as the yielding wax. When, therefore, she saw that they were really anxious that she should pay the proposed visit, judging it for her advantage in different respects so to do, she no longer offered any opposition, but acquiesced in their will. In the fol- lowing extracts from a letter written at this time she alludes to the subject: "TO MRS. MACLEOD. August 18th, 1853. " My own Dear Aunt,— I cannot tell you how welcome and precious were the little note and remembrancers from you, which reached me last night. Yery dearly shall I always prize them, and most cor- dially do I thank you for them ; for I had 60 MAEGARET ELIZABiriir. I . i" ii hi I* scarcely dared to Lope that you would find a vacancy in your affections and sympa- thies for one so insignificant, and so en- tirely a stranger. And yet surely we are not strangers now; we are linked by ties sacred and enduring; and I cannot but reiterate the hope to which you have so kindly given expression, that we may meet, ere very long, 'face to face.' " Very delightfully comes the thought, that I may claim a place, however small, in your heart and memory ; for never had I dreamed, while pourin^^ forth the undis- ciplined fancies of a stray moment, that aught of mine could win an echo in a land so distant. " I would indeed that I could have been with you in your journeyings. I have always fancied that one glance at Niagara would bring with it its own enchantment, and weave a spell over the heart which might hardly be broken. There must be a grandeur, a mysterious solemnity, in the sound of that strange minstrelsy which has rung there for ages gone; and the memory of the pale dead, who have passed into i 1^ i.5;aving home. 61 K eternity by so wild and fearful a gate M'ould shroud the scene with a peculiarly mournful interest. Your visit to Buffafo would, I can imagine, prove very interest- ing to you, as the renewal of cherished in- tercourse with a beloved friend, whose exhaustless flow of chastened mirthfulness has won for her a name, even among the dwellers in Sackville. "The thought of a visit to you and my ever-kind uncle is very, very bright ; too bnght to cherish, except in the far dis- tance Duty should ever, I know, take precedence of pleasure, and I could not even for the joy of greeting those wlio are so dear, resign the privilege of minister- ing to a suffering mother. So thought I as first your kindly message met my eye ' but mamma appreciates so truly the ad- vantagesof a temporary sojourn in Halifax, that she begs you will allow her to defer a decisive answer till next week, when we Will probably communicate with on the subject. I cannot but picture your house- hold group to myself, and then comes the longing wish to take one glance in upon you y isA a lii ,if • 62 MARGAKET ELIZABETH. * ^' * # ^ "My mamma, who, as you may Lave heard, is yet the ' prisoner of the Lord,' wishes me to assure you of a warm place in her heart, and to say you are to her, even now, as an own beloved sister. She delights to trace the Providence which has transplanted you from your Southern home to the shores of Nova Scotia, and made you the nucleus round which centers so many hopes." ^ # * 4f 4f It is to be lamented that we have no rec- ord remaining of Margaret's religious feel- ings, traced by her own hand. It is true, she commenced keeping a diary when but about the age of eight, and continued it through many years ; but we regret to say, that when leaving home at this period, she committed it, with a number of other pri- vate papers, to the flames. The state of her mind, however, is known from other sources. The following: extracts are from a journal, undertaken by her, for the infor- mation of her fiimily, with respect to her movements during her absence. 4f may Lave the Lord,' ^arm place are to her, ster. She which has hern home and made centers so 4f ive no rec- igious feel- It is true, ' when but ntinued it jret to saj, period, she other pri- le state of rom other 3 are from ' the infor- ►ect to her LEAVING HOME. 65 I 1' On October 20, Margaret left her fath r's house for Halifax. Being then in the en- joyment of perfect health, little m.. it foreseen under what circumstances she would return to it. "Friday, Octdber 21.— At Parrsborough Eose this morning at five o'clock, dressed hastily, swallowed some breakfast, and, alter bidding Mi-s. L., my hostess, adieu, set off with papa to go down to the land- ing. On arriving there, found every- body asleep, and no signs of the vessel going. The drive down was --i-lio-htful although pretty cold ; the moon and stars shone most brilliantly, and the high, dark Jnlls around us, were mantled with their radiance. As soon as it was light, papa and I set forth for a walk round the vil- age. The country is hilly and romantic, but the village itself has an ancient and deserted air, calculated to make one feel rather somber, and disposed to moralize in gazing upon it. Had a delightful walk on the beach. About eight o'clock, signs of lite and motion- were seen about the ves- sel, and presently the call came for passen- tI'*' •« mm. MAKOARET ELIZABETH. p«, gers. A boat came ashore for them, and I was handed in. Bid papa good-by, and pulled down my vail to hide the blinding tears which would come. Sat and watch- ed papa standing on the wharf, as we rap- idly retreated from him. Felt rather melancholy, as his form slowly faded in the distance. The boat soon reached the vessel's side, and I hastened to the cabin, as soon as I got on board, to indulge in the genuine luxury of tears. In this design I was fortunately arrested by the descent of an old lady, who, I soon found, was my only female fellow-passenger. She some- what won me from my sadness, by chatting very pleasantly, and I soon ensconced my- self by her side for the rest of the voyage. The day was delightful ; sea as smooth as glass, and the gentlemen were wishing for a breeze, and prognosticated a long pas- sage. Twice a gentle breeze sprung up, and wafted us along in fine style. About twelve o'clock I was sitting, gazing list- lessly at the distant horizon, and thinking it was the haven for which we were "hmmrl ixrlipn T nvprhpnrrl soTYift T^erson i fc_/ v- v » * \ *-* LEAVING IIOMIJ. 67 and and pas- ^ list- ikinff asking tlio captain how far we were from Ilorton. "Two miles," was the answer. Turning my eyes in the direction of the speaker, I discovered, to my utter astonish- ment, the Ilorton shore directly before me, in all its far-famed beauty. Eagerly did I scan every outline of the smiling coast of which I had heard such glowing tales It was, mdeed, bright and beautiful, and soon the cottages and groves of Lower Ilorton came in view. As we neared the wharf, I felt most painfully that I was in- deed, for the first time, a stranger in a strange place. Surveyed every inch of the wharf before me, in hopes of seeing a tnendly visage of some kind. Looked anxiously for Mr. . No person, how- ever, answering to his description, was to be discovered, and I began to have some sinkings of heart about my prospects, d ust then, raising my eyes, I saw a respect- able-looking gentleman seated alone in a carriage on the wharf. This proved to be ^'■- ' ^^lio received me most kindly and cordially; and now, behold me perch- arl 111^ ^1-^ • -1 n -» t- \ -, whirling ed im Rlonrrairlo 68 IVIARGAKET ELIZABETH. through the streets of Horton. Arrived at his house about two P. M., and saw Miss and other members of the family. Met with the greatest kindness and hospi- tality. Sat down and took some dinner, after which a walk was discussed. While meditating such an excursion, some friends called, and kindly volunteered a drive for me to Wolfville. After a few moments' delay we set off. Wolfville is very pretty, and Acadia College is a handsome build- ing, embosomed in trees and shrubbery. Had a long talk about home and Sackville friends, and was besieged on my part to delay my journey to Halifax till Monday, which would give me the pleasure of an- other drive to-morrow (Saturday) to some other of the neighboring localities, so famed for their beauties, and also secure me the advantage of the protection, on my journey, of Mr, , who goes to Halifax on Monday. Partly promised to do so. Went also to Gaspereaux Kiver, a most beautiful little stream, meandering through upland meadows. Came home about five. Before tea, sat in the twilight, and dis- I wfc LEAVING HOME. 69 Lved at ^ Miss ^amily. hospi- iinner. While friends ive for >nients' pretty, build- ibbery. Lckville part to [onday, \ of an- "0 some ties, so i secure , on my Halifax I do so. a most through 3ut five, uid dis- cussed ' Flora ISTeale's' writings and per- sonality, and the philosophy of spirit-rap- pings. After tea resumed the subject of spirit-rappings, and finally relinquished it for some music and chat aroui 1 the piano. Promised to write a note to Halifax post- poning my visit till Monday. "Saturday, 22.— i^bout eleven this morning, the clouds, which had threaten- ed rain, began to disperse, and the sun shone out brightly. After taking some lunch, set oS on our drive. Drove to Hantsport, made a call there, went i through a new Baptist church, which is very neat and pretty, and after dinner I drove to Hardscrabble, Bagtown, and j Wen Anna. Hantsport is a pretty little place, and some parts of the road thither I are picturesque and the views fine. But i O ! the view from Hardscrabble is beyond description. AH Lower Horton and' part of Cornwallis burst upon you, and in the distant horizon. Cape Blomidon, near which Mr. Very and Professor Chipman tound an ocean grave, is just discern- ible. The whole is like a magnificent migfv 1 f If 1^^ 11 ■1^' 1 11 ^' 1 Hh^b 1 1' Hi 1 1 1 1 ^ n| B i P'* "" |i '; ;" ; j i^. t • ■ ■;- '" Hi f 3 1 ■ 1 3 .1 ' 1 1 1 70 MARGARET ELIZABETH. panorama, and we sat and gazed for some minutes, almost breathless. Had a long and very interesting conversation on dif- ferent subjects, among the rest. Dr. 's preaching. Eeturned home at last about half-past five P. M., rather tired, having been driven twenty-five miles. After tea had the pleasure of looking over a volume of the National Magazine, and Strong's Harniony of the Gospels, and finally re- linquished them for some conversation. ^ " Sdbhath^ 23. — To-day it has been most dismal, as far as the weather could make it so. Went to the Episcopal Church in Wolfville, accompanied by Miss and ^ • The latter and I chatted together all the way, going and returning. She is a sweet, interesting girl, and the misfor- tune under which she labors seems to throw around her a charm, rather than otherwise. She is very lovable, and withal most intelhgent. I am sure I shall always remember her with pleasure and' £-ifection. Stayed at home the rest of the day, and read 'Summerfield's Life,' a very interesting book. Rained hard all day. ' LEAVING HOME. 71 f some I long )n dif- 's about laving er tea olume rong's \y re- 3n. . most make •cli in - and ;etlier 5lie is lisfor- is to than and shall ! and f the very I " Monday, 24.~i am at last in Halifax. Rose this morning early, on the qtd mm about my anticipated journey. About half past eight the coach came in sight and I once more felt that I was to be thrown among strange scenes. However made my parting salutations to the friends that were with me, and mounted, not the rostrum, but the stage-coach, looking as heroic as possible. Was gladdened with the sight of A.'8 handwriting on a news- paper, handed to me through the window by a friend. After some delay, the word was given, and I wac whirled away, amid the kindly greetings and adieus of those I left. Horton will always be fraught with pleasant memories for me. It has some of the loveliest scenery I have ever seen, and among my friends there, I met with most true and warm-hearted kind- ness. Felt somewhat sobered down, as the coach rattled along, bearing me from tlie place. After a iew miles had been passed, began to feel very giddy and sick, m consequence of sitting with my back to the horses. "^---^ ■ ■> ■ ■ : '-;■ ■ 5-1 ied to keep quiet till we V. wt' I i i 72 MAKGAKET ELIZABETH. got to Windsor, but carried this resolution rather far, and just as I was on the point of fainting, a lady opposite saw my appear- ance, and spoke, ard Mr. changed seats with me. After some time the fresh air revived me. This move introduced me to a lady, who proved to be rather an amusing acquaintance. There are some pretty views on the road to Halifax, par- ticularly about Windsor, of which I caught glimpses through the windows ; but, on the whole, the drive w^as very fatiguing, and I was glad, heartily glad, vv^hen the gas- lights of Halifax were seen through tlie darkness. Reached this city about eight P. M., and after some delay was met by A. and A., who showed the way to their father's door. Was received at the en- trance by uncle, and several other mem- bers of the family, but found, to my deep r( gret, that my aunt was very ill. "Saturday, Oct 29. — My first week in Halifax has passed quietly, but very pleas- antly, with the exception of the gloom thrown over us all by my aunt's illness. She is yet ill, but Dr. thinks her i 4 LEAVING HOMK. 73 i improving on the whole. Went with E. on Thursday, to take my first walk in Halifax. I scarcely know what idea to form of the city. From some points of view, it looks really beautiful, but when you approach nearer, it has almost an ancient air, and the houses seem dingy, and many of them far from being hand- some externally. This appearance is very striking to a person coming, as I do, from a country village, where everything is new and fresh. "Sahiath, 30.— It has been very fine weather on this my first Sabbath in H., and I have had the pleasure of attend- ing church twice, which is somewhat unusual. The text this morning was from Zechariah iii, 2: ^s not this a brand plucked out of the fire V I enjoyed the service very much. '^November 15.— Kose this morning, and found the sun shining, and everything giving promise of a pleasant day, after yesterday's storm. About ten o'clock, suddenly took the fancy to accept an in- vitation to spend the day in Dartmouth. i I f ,::^ ii' » 'i f t I 1 iill I 74 MARGARET ELIZABETH. Accordingly equipped myself, and set off on my way to the market wharf, accom- panied by Cousin A . The day was most delicious, almost like summer, and the trip across the harbor was really de- lightful. Almost as soon as we landed, left for a drive in the environs. Some of the views around are very pretty, and the view from some of the hills of Dartmouth itself, and also of the city and harbor, is extremely fine. "Sabhath, JVov. 27.— Heard a sermon to-day from Psalm Ixxvii, 13 : ' Thy way, O God, is in the sanctuary:' very de- lightful and impressive. " Noveinber 29. — ^This morning finished a • Leaf from Life,' which I commenced last night. Finislied it, but not to my satisfaction. It wants power, vividness, and life, and has numberless faults of style and expression. I do not know what mamma will think of it. "Received a letter from this even- ing ; a very kind, affectionate one, which cheered my spirits considerably. She says her father received lately a letter 4 LEAVINr HOME. 75 from papa. If there is anything which comes to the weary, home-sick heart like 'cold water to a thirsty soul,' surely it is a letter from a friend ; it acts like a charm to revive and animate the flagging spirits. Read the first book of ' Jerusalem Deliv- ered.' I should judge it very fine, and probably the interest deepens as the work proceeds. " Wednesday. — I have longed to-day for home as, I think, I have never done since I have been in Halifax. I am sure to-night, that one glimpse of the dear circle I have left, at the group surround- ing the sick couch, would be worth more to me than anything else earthly. How often do these words come to me in this city of strangers ! * Do they miss me at home, do they miss me ?' &c. " I do not think anybody can miss me at home, unless mamma sometimes misses the sifirht of a melancholy face from her bedside, and possibly papa may miss some- body teazing him late at night, when everybody else has gore to bed. With .1 I If 76 MARGARP^r ELIZABETH. these trifling exceptions, I flatter myself, all whirls on in the domestic circle as noiselessly as ever. But this I know, I miss them ; I cannot so easily tear myself away from them as they can from me. However, I live in hopes of seeing papa at Christmas, which event, I fear, will cause such a violent reaction of spirits, that their exhilaration will e:^ceecl all bounds " T/mrsday. — Attended, this evening, the quarterly love-feast, in Argyle-street Church. Dr. and Mr. were in attendance. A good influence seemed to pervade the assembly, yet I did not, on the whole, enjoy the meeting as much as some I have attended in Sackville. To- day is the first of another month. The weeks glide so rapidly away, tliat ere long I shall look forward to bidding adieu to the circle in which I now move, and re- uniting once more with the loving band, around whom every affection of my heart is intertwined. The thought of again behold- ing the faces of those so dear, of being al- lowed to view the pale features of my 4 I LEAVING HOME. 77 nir I mother, lit with a hope and cheerfulness not of this earth, and to twine my fingers in the dear locks so softly tinged with silver, clustering around my father's fore- head, fills me with an exhilaration I can- not express." Margaret was, at this time, among the most affectionate of friends, and in her letters to her family she expresses her deep sense of the kindness shown her. " Every- body is so kind to me," she writes, " I cannot tell why it is so." Yet, notwith- standing this, we see, from the above ex- tracts, how her heart pined for home. We cannot w^onder at these feelings, when we consider her mother's circumstances, and that this was the first visit of any length in which she had been away from the pa- rental roof. To her father she writes, November 24 : " I cannot resist the temptation to write a line, just to tell you how I long to take one glance in upon you this afternoon. It is a most dreary day, the first snow we liavo had, and. as in fancy I. leave the 78 MAIvaARET ELIZABETH. shelter of my present habitation, I seem attracted, in opposite directions, toward Sackville and toward Sydney."^ What would I not give for a visitor from each place! I am looking forward, however, joyfully, eagerly, and earnestly, to Christ- mas, for a glimpse of your face. You will not disappoint me? I dare not think of it too often or too much, for sometimes, when I get thinking about it, my heart yearns so for a sight of you, that it seems as if it were impossible for me to live and wait till Christmas." The following is to her mother at Christ- mas: " A glad and happy Christmas to you, my dearest mother, is the greeting I would fain whisper in your ear just now. This, however, I cannot do, and instead, I can only put on paper my fervent wishes for your comfort and relief from suffering. How can I tell you how my thoughts hav^e been hovering to-day around you at home, and dear A in his island '- Alluding to her brother, who was then at Sydney, C. B, LEAVING HOME. 79 dwelling? My thoughts, and, no doubt, youi*s also, have gone back to this day year, when we were all together, w^ith the exception of A . Probably you also remember this day two years, when he also was with us. It seems so sad that we are now so far severed from each other. May we meet again when ' spring shall revisit ' the earth, without a broken link or a vacant seat. " I have been very busy during the past week, helping to prepare for Christ- mas. To-day I scarcely realize that it is here. For the festivities of to-morrow, everybody and everything have been put in requisition. All the presents are to be put on the breakfast-plates to-morrow morning, and in the number, papa has not been for- gotten. Need I tell you how delightful it is to have him here with us at this time ? His presence has been the purest comfort I can think of ; the only alloy is that you are not with him. In the midst of the confusion and bustle, I have been quietly moralizing on the flight of the year. The result of my meditations you have probably seen in 80 M AEG A RET ELI Z A B I:T 1 1 . ^Memories of the Year.' Qtc'en pensez vous? May I tell you that I have had a Christmas gift already from a friend? 'Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands,' by Mrs. Sigourney. My first thought was, what a nice time I should have reading it to you when I get home." During the winter which Margaret passed under her uncle's roof, she possess- ed many advantages, which she did not fail to appreciate. In his family she had the privilege of companionship with indi- viduals, not only highly gifted and educat- ed, but of gentle and loving hearts, and sincere though unassuming piety. With these "kindred spirits" she enjoyed a daily interchange of thought and feeling, the effects of which may be imagined upon the mind of one so alive to all that was refined and elevating. Her plans for improvement, also, did not prove abortive. Though she experienced some unavoida- ble interruptions, yet she made a respecta- ble progress in different pursuits which ^ " iTn /^ i-vi» i-t\ \-yr\-\ I /A \-\ 1^'%% 4»"i 1 wA*v iacivA uuutsi tltivtsii, lliJU iiUl LimC WaS 11 LEAVING HOME. 81 fully occupied in attending to duties of various kiiiuo. Though from under the eye of her natural guardians, with her dis- position it was impossible for her to be idle ; still must she be employed in some- thing useful, either for herself or others. Her visit, therefore, did not fail of the end proposed, and so many were her sources of enjoyment, amid her invariably kind relatives and friends, that it passed as pleasantly as it possibly could do, away from her parents and her own domestic circle. In the month of March of this year, the Wesleyan Church in Halifax were aroused to greater degrees of zeal and activity in the Redeemer's service, and, as a conse- quence, were led to put forth extra efforts for the revival of " pure and undefiled re- ligion." Margaret, in her letters at this time, makes frequent allusion to this cir- cumstance, and to the blessed results pro- duced on herself and others. To her father she writes, March 16 : '' I am sure you will be pleased to hear that the min- iafcivc! ir» i\\^a irilaoo. ha^TP- far fllP Ipftt fllVeA i rt :- '.rryi^Wii.'jAJ^f^^^iM^^ \f^r »:■ '1 hi*, :J ' I M; 82 MARGARET ELIZABETH. weeks, been liolding a series of services, morning and evening, for the promotion of a revival of religion. The meetings in the morning were first held at seven, but are now at half past six o'clock. I, witli otlier members of the family, attend reg- nlarly. For some time everything pro- ceeded very quietly, and without much apparent result ; and even now, the work is going on more in families, and in a seemingly noiseless manner, than mani- festing itself in great excitement in the meetings, though, within the last few days, several penitents have gone forward and found peace. Among the people of God a most blessed influence has gone forth, some having obtained the blessing of per- fect love I am thankful that God has been very good to me personally, in drawing me to give myself anew to him, and in giving me a view of the Saviour, which fills me with peace. I think that the Spirit of God is also work- ing on the minds of those around me. is a most punctual attendant on the means of grace, and is really, I think, i LEAVING HOME. 83 V... deeplj serious ; and E has, I believe, met with a genuine change of heart." In a letter about the same time to her mother, she says: "I wish you could look in upon us to-day ; I think there is a great deal of pure, genuine happiness among us. I-ow delighted would be to see the change in E. She seems to have lost all fondness for light or trifling conversation, and will steal away from the rest to get alone with the Bible or some devotional work. She expresses herself as never having felt anything like it before. To- night is band-meeting ; we are going, and I should not wonder if she spoke. I feel that God has been abundant in goodness to this family, and also to me, in placing me here in the midst of so many delightful privileges, and I praise him that I feel, in some measure, that joy ' which nothing earthly can destroy.' " The following memoranda are made by her about the same period: " Friday, Eose this morning at six, and went to meeting. A very delightful in- fluence pervaded the service. Attended ¥' V! I.: I 4 84 MAKOAKET ELIZABETH. meeting also in the evening. Saturday, This evening Miss took tea with ns, and we w^ent to band-meetins*. E- liad previously made up her mind to speak, if possible, and she succeeded in the effort. She spoke very briefly, and simply of what God had done for her. Came home, and planned going to meeting in the morn- ing. /Sunday. preached this morn- ing at Grafton-street Church, and E. and I walked down to hear him. The sermon was most delightful, from Rev. iii, 8, 'Behold, I have set before thee an open door,' &c., &c. Went to Brunswick-street Church in the evening, and heard . The sermon was very solemn and impress- ive." 1 ^11" 4 LAST SCENES OF LIFE. 85 CHAPTER Y. LAST SCENES OF LIFE. It was in attending one of the early morning meetings that Margaret took a cold, which laid the foundation of that insidious but fatal malady, consumption, which, alas! in little more than a year, made her its victim, and laid lier in an untimely grave. Her cold, in a short time, settled into a slight dry cough, not, to a superficial observer, of sufficient con- sequence to excite apprehensions. It was not long, however, before her pallid coun- tenance, wasting form, and failing strength, bore iiiucbitable evidence that diseas * like an incubus, was pressing upon her. Still ?he did not seem aware of this her- self, or, at least, did not acknowledge it. Her natural disposition led her always to conceal, as far as possible, any bodily ailment or uncomfortable feelings that she might have, and from a fear of causing I ^gj^ 11 ■1' •ji 100 MAJRGARET ELIZABETH. Wl I' Ifi while she could, with assistance, rise and dress each morning, after which she would go to her mother's room, at first being able to walk thither, afterward, when her weak- ness had increased, being drawn in a chair. She would there recline during the day on the sofa, sometimes lying for hours with her eyes closed, clasping her Bible in her hand, or with her hands folded on her breast, as if in prayer or meditation. Who may enter into her thoughts or emotions while in this position, from day to day, or calculate the alternate ebb and flow of the contending tides of natural and gracious feeling, ere the latter triumphed ? Imag- ination may picture the struggle, as also the depth and solemnity of those sensa- tions, arising from a conviction forced upon her mind, beyond the possibility of a doubt, that the world was actually receding from her, and eternity drawing near. How little, however, can we appreciate the pro- found character of those mental exercises, whose result was so complete a revolution in her wishes as it regards living ! The change in her state of feeling manifested wmmm. L'ise and e would Ing able ;r weak- a chair. 3 day on irs with 3 in her on her , Who motions day, or V of the gracious Imag- as also ) sensa- 3d upon I doubt, ng from How the pro- :ercises, ''olution ! The nifested BEADING THE WORD OF GOD. gW!^^P55MB^S»lf; LAST SCENES OF LIFE. 103 itself in due time, but the process by which it was effected is hidden in secrecy, and can be known only to God and her own spirit. Even then, however, though she was silent with respect to her experience on this point, it was apparent that earth had lost its hold upon her affections and attention. Her conduct and manner seemed to indicate that the world and its concerns were now as nothing to her. Even before she was incapacitated by weakness, she turned with indifference from objects which, when in health, would have afford- ed her the utmost gratification. The Bible and the Hymn Book were now the only books into which she looked ; other works of a religious or literary character, in which formerly she took such delight, failed to interest her in the least. That Margaret was conscious of the hopelessness of her state, is evident from the character of even her dreams. One of these is particularly remembered. She imagined she was requested by some per- son to write some verses, when she re- turned the following answer : lU 104 MARGARET ELIZABETH. N ' " The lyre is hush'd ; why then wouldst thou awake The untaught melody, that cannot charm or please ? No; let it idle stand, its chords unsnrept, Save by the fitful hand of the unslumbering breeze." TliebC toucliing lines were so fresli upon her memory that she was able to repeat them when she awoke, and they were penned down from her lips. They may be considered her parting words on the final relinquishment of the favorite employment which was her delight in childhood, her solace in riper years, and by means of which, as through a chosen channel, she breathed forth the fervent yearnings of her spirit for the good of others. One morning, about a month before her death, Margaret found herself unabie to rise, and from that time she was obliged to remain in bed. On the evening of the same day, her physician, calling to see her, was shocked to find her very much worse, and at once faithfully informed her moth- er of the utter impossibility that she could long survive, adding, that, in her circum- stances, it was almost a miracle that she lived on from day to day. This intelli- n LAST SCENES OF LIFK. 105 ff gcncc, thongli for some time dreaclcd, and partly expected by Mrs. Des Brisay, yet serving, as it now did, to dispel the last faint hope to which, nntil that moment, she had clung, was, in its effects upon her, overwhelming. The agitation an^.' sorrow into which she was immediately thrown, and which shook her soul to its very cen- ter, derived their greatest force, however, from the apprehension that her daughter's wishes, with respect to living, remained unchanged. The idea that she should be fondly cherishing the hope of life, while its last frail thread was in the very act of being sundered, seemed to her almost in- supportable. These feelings were fully shared by Margaret's father, and he now hastened to her apartment, to speak with her concerning her state. The sounds of grief, however, from her mother's room, had already caught her ear, notwithstand- ing the efforts that had been made to pre- vent it, and forgetful, as usual, of herself, she exclaimed, on seeing her father, " O, why does mamma weep so? O, I wish she would not ; she will make herself ill." - . 7 il it -I I i ii II h',. n •* fcj 106 MAEGAEET EL'-IABErH. Then adding, after a sliort pause, as her thoughts recurred to herself, "I am sure the doctor thinks me very ill." Her father now, in as gentle a manner as possible, gave her to imderstand what the doctor had said, and the entire hopelessness of her case. She heard him with the utmost calmness, merely saying, « This is what I have been long expecting." A long and highly satisfactory conversation then en- sued between them respecting her state of mind. Without any very lively emo- tions of joy, she appeared to be in an ex- tremely peaceful frame, resting on the atonement, and confiding all her interests into the hands of her Kedeemer. The clear and firm, though soft and touchmg tones of her voice, while replying to her father, her serenity of countenance and placidity of manner, as well as her expres- sions uttered, are enshrined bv memory in the hearts of those she has left behind, and remain a precious legacy to be contem- plated and wept over, but yet to be regard- ed with thankfulness as evidences of a peaco and composure of mind at the ap- *►' -' tt .« LAST SCENES OF LIFE. proacli of death, which Divine grace alone could produce. The next day, a bed being prepared for her in her mother's apart- ment, she was removed thither. This ar- rangement afforded her much satisfaction. With feelings similar to those of a child inclosed in its mother's arms, and reposing on her bosom, every earthly wish of her heart seemed gratified in thus being brought into proximity so close and unin- terrupted to her mother. Eepeatedly would she look at her with a smile and say, " O, mamma, how happy I am to be here with you ; how kind in you to have me brought into your room. O, I am so thankful !" So favorable an effect, indeed, had this circumstance upon her, and so pleasant and cheerful did she in conse- quence appear, that it was liard to per- suade one's self that she was not materially better. Those who have stood by the bedside of the sick, while wasting away under a fatal disease ; who have beheld them in the in- tervals of suffering, when the powers of nature appeared to rally and revive ; when 108 MARGARET ELIZABETH. i hi Iff llie eye beamed brightly, and the lips gave utterance to thoughts and sentiments with their wonted ease and readiness, such know how difficult it is, in such a situation, to realize, that all this is but as the gleam- ing up of the torch before its final extinc- tion. To Margaret's case, this remark par- ticularly applies. So much did she at times seem like her former self, so unim- paired and in full vigor were her mental faculties, so clear and full was her voice, so expressive her countenance, that it was almost impossible to believe that she was even then sinking into the grave. But such seasons as these were now of rarer occurrence, and her suff'erings were becoming more uninterrupted and aggra- \ ated. The fortitude, patience, and resig- nation, with which those suiferings were endured, could not be surpassed ; while to conceal them as much as possible from her mother, seemed the point toward which all her efforts were directed. "When ques- tioned on this subject, her answer almost invariably was such as the following: "Yes, I am suffering somewhat, yet not, li LAST SCENES OF LIFE. 109 gave with such ation, leam- stinc- k par- le at Liiiim- lental s^oice, t was e was :)w of w^ere Lggra- resig- wero lile to m her which ques- dmost wing : it not, perhaps, as much as might be expected." Once only, when in circumstances pecu- liarly distressing, she exclaimed, looking at her mother, ''O, is it not dreadful?" Then observing that her mother was quite overcome by her feelings, she quickly added, " O, well ! after all it is not so bad ; it might be worse than it is." The scene in Mrs. Des Brisay's apart- ment had now assumed an interest of an intensely affecting and painful kind. On one couch might be seen, supported by pillows and cushions, life slowly ebbing away, the only and most tenderly beloved daughter, in whom, from her earliest years, the fondest and most dearly cherished hopes had centered. On another w^as the afflicted mother, enchained by her own pain and weakness, and to whom was, in consequence, denied the privilege granted to others of ministering by the 1 jdside of her departing child. Yet it was hers to watch that child with the unwearied solici- tude and tenderness which a mother only can know, through every phase and on- ward step of her disease ; and forgetful of 110 MARGARET ELIZABETH. I i! k If { i>i her own state, to direct and superintend all that was done for her, even to so mi- nute an act as the placing of a pillow. AVonderful indeed to the beholders were the untiring efforts to which the all-power- ful sentiment of maternal love prompted, and the unfailing energy which it supplied. But as the closing scene drew near, and was anticipated by those around, it became a problem with them, what would be the issue in the case of the bereaved mother ; whether the excitement and cause for ex- ertion being no more, her frail, emaciated frame, weakened by years of suffering, might not sink beneath this overwhelming stroke ; or whether the power of Divine grace might not carry her triumphantly, physically as well as mentally, even through this great tribulation. As, on the one hand, they pictured in imagination the scene of death and its attendant circumstances, the dying struggles and agonies, and then, when all should be over, the removal of the lifeless remains from the presence of the mother, to be seen by her no more, their minds almost staggered under the LAST SCENES OF LIFE. Ill the apprehension of what would be the conse- quences. On the other hand, when they recalled to memory, in how many instances of a peculiarly trying nature, that promise had been conspicuously fulfilled in Mrs. Des Brisay's past experience, "As thy days, so shall thy strength be," they could not but indulge some expectation that it would be so in the present case. The re- sult proved that the latter supposition was correct. On April 8th, her last Sabbath on earth, Margaret was very low, but able at times to converse a little. She listened with great attention and delight to the fif- teenth chapter of 1 Corinthians, read to her by her mother. The latter, though in- capacitated from reading, through a pecu- liar aflfection of the head, for a number of years past, had, strange to say, lately re- gained this power, and during the latter part of Margaret's illness, had been able to read aloud to her passages and even chapters from the Scriptures, and thus had contributed greatly to her edification and consolation. On the present occasion, Margaret's mind appeared much comfort- Mil 112 MARGARET ELIZABETH. ed, and she spoke, with evident pleasure, of the glorious truths of the Bible, particu- larly dwelling on the sublime doctrine of the resurrection. Afterward she sunk into rather a lethargic state, which her mother perceiving, said, ^'Perhaps, my dea-^ you find it somewhat difficult to concentrate your mind sufficiently for regular prayer." " Yes," she answered ; " but I can trust :" a simple, beautiful reply. Monday was a day of great suffering, but her mental powers were in full vigor. Toward evening, being left alone with her mother, the mind of the latter was particularly impressed with the necessity of improving the occasion in speaking to her daughter respecting her views and feelings in prospect of death. This had been a subject too painfully affecting to be named to each other since her relapse. Though much delightful and highly satis- factory conversation had taken place be- tween them on spiritual things, and on Margaret's own religious experience, yet each, to spare the feelings of the other, had maintained a profound silence on this •I n LAST SCENES OF LIFE. 113 point. But now, at the present juncture, it seemed necessary that this silence should be broken. After some preliminary re- marks, therefore, summoning up all the fortitude she could command, Mrs. Des Brisay pointedly inquired of her daughter whether she thought she should ever re- cover. "E"o," she answered, "I never shall." " Are you afraid to die ?" " No." " Why are you not afraid ?" " Because I think it will be well with me ; I think the Lord will take me to himself." "Are you willing to die ?" "Yes." "Perfectly willing ; more so than you were last sum- mer ?" " O yes." " Do you feel you love the Saviour?" "Yes." " And that he loves you?" "O yes." "How does heaven appear to you ?" " Yery glorious indeed." lu this tranquil manner, as indicated by these and similar replies, did Margaret view the approach of him who is emphat- ically styled the "King of Terrors." But in her case, sin, the sting of death, was ex- tracted, and unhesitatingly she could adopt the triumphant language of the apostle, " O death, where is thy sting ? O grave, 114 MARGARET ELIZABETU. n U . 'ii where is thy victory?" "But thanks bo to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jestjs Christ." A few hours after the above conversa- tion, during the night, Margaret was seized with delirium of a mild character, ^ and though there were subsequently occasional intervals in which she appeared rational, yet it was after she had lost the power of uttering more than a word or two. Tuesday and Tuesday night were marked by extreme suffering, and great restless- ness with regard to posture. Only a few moments could she remain in the same position, and except when she would for a little apparently lose herself in sleep, she was almost incessantly calling upon those around her, to be moved to some other place or in some other way. On Wednesday she was more composed, but it was evidently the result of exhaus- tion, and the sinking of the powers of na- ture. At family prayer in the morning, when her father began to read, she opened her eyes, and kept them steadily fixed upon him durino: the whole of the worship, but LAST SCENES OF LIFE. 115 3 be •ugh 3rsa- jized and Lonal onal, 3r of .rked tless- i few same d for p5 she those other )osed, ihaiis- )f na- ming, pened I upon p, but generally she remained with her eyes closed, uttering frequently a cry of dis- tress, but being quite unable in language to express her feelings. At times during the day she would glance upward and around, while her eyes, expanded to their utmost dimensions, assumed an almost in- tense luster and beauty, and were lighted up by an indescribable and unearthly ex- pression. In the afternoon it was thought she was going, and the family, and one or two of the numerous friends who had shown great kindness and attention dur- ing her illness, assembled round her bed to view the closing scene ; but after a time she again revived. Almost the whole of Thursday, Margaret lay apparently unconscious, breathing hard, and at long intervals moaning faintly, or uttering a plaintive cry. Once she ex- panded her e;^es, as on the previous day, and while looking upward, extended her hands, exclaiming, " Come ! come !" Late in the afternoon, while her father was standing by her bedside, he said, "My dearest, do you know me ?" She gently ^ \ •A 116 MARGARET ELIZABETH. inclined her head to him, and whispered, "Dear fa—" but could not finish the word. These were her last articulate sounds, yet at times she appeared conscious ; once especially, while Her aunt was repeat- ing the lines, «* change ! wondrous change ! Burst are the prison bars ! This moment here so low, So agonized, and now Beyond the stars !" she suddenly aroused, and fixing her eyes on her aunt, appeared to listen with the utmost interest. Time passed on ; the in- tervals of silence became longer and longer ; at eleven P. M. all retired to rest, except the two watchers and Mrs. Des Brisay, who, during the last four days and nights, had hardly for an instant taken her eyes from her daughter's face, knowing that at any moment she was liable to pass away. At twelve M. a change came over her ; her breathing became extremely laborious, and tlie difficulty of expectorating the mucus rising in the throat, producing that appall- ing sound commonly denominated rattles. LAST SCENES OF LIFE. 117 This difficulty, in ordinary circumstances, increases until suflbcation ensues. The idea of this was to her parents peculiarly painful, and after the expiration of about fifteen minutes, they both, in an ecstasy of grief, cast themselves on the mercy and faithfulness of God, entreating that he would not add this one bitter drop to their cup of affliction, which already seemed full to overflowing. To the sui-prise of all, after a little, this distressing symptom began to subside, the sounds became fainter and fainter, and at length entirely ceased, and for some time she breathed quite easily. About half past one A. M. she was lyinj? with her eyes open, when, raising and ex- panding them, with an expression of sweet solemnity and surprise, she commenced looking upward and around, as if watching some particular obj ect. This was repeated three times, and then an expression of per- fect infantile innocence and peace settled down upon her countenance, and continued for about two minutes, and she was gone. So gently did her spirit quit its clay tabernacle, tliat the exact moment of its i: 118 MARGARET ELIZABETH. transit was not known. Thus passed from earth away, a being as sweet and gentle, and in all respects of as lovely a character, as perhaps was ever permitted for a few brief years to sojourn in this world of sin and sorrow. She died April 13, 1855, aged 19 years. TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 119 CHAPTER VI. TRAITS OF CHARACTER. In closing this memoir, some no dee of the more prominent traits of Margaret's char- acter may not be unnecessary. The first and most important that shall be mention- ed is her deep and devoted piety. This was altogether of an unobtrusive kind. Though she delighted in pious conversa- tion, and with her intimate friends, and on all proper occasions, was ever ready to engage in it, yet her devotedness to God manifested itself, not so much in words, as in the whole tone of her spirit, temper, habits, and general conduct. She carried her religion out into all the minutiae of daily life, and made it her governing prin- ciple through all her career. Deep-seated within her own breast, its clear and equa- ble stream, supplied from the great Fount- ain, flowed silent but unexhausted, too profound to exhibit on its surface any 120 MARGARET ELIZABETH. I considerable fluctuations, either of eleva- tion or depression. But the intensity of its power was proved by the action to which it impelled. Imparting an unflag- o-ing energy and perseverance, it led her to seize, with eagerness, upon the passing events and interesting occurrences of the day, v:hether in public or private life, not only for her own spiritual improvement, but also with the hope of exciting in other youthful minds serious thoughts and profit- kble reflections. " I think something use- ful might be made of that," she would say, on being made acquainted with any uncommon fact or striking circumstance, and her eye would kindle with a sacred enthusiasm. The purity of her motives, while pursuing such a course, was tested and proved; strong inducements, in a pecuniary point of view, having been held out to her on different occasions, would she but turn her attention to writing in a humorous and amusing style, suited to the popular taste. Though, from some early specimens of this kind, there can be little doubt that she might have excelled in this TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 121 [eva- y of n to flag- I her ssing e the I, not nent, other irofit- ^ nse- iTould L any iance, acred tives, bested in a I held fv^ould ; in a to the early ) little n this species of composition, yet these offers she unhesitatingly declined. As if with a pro- phetic eye, she had foreseen how brief was to be her career on earth, how limited the period allotted her for action, her mind could dwell only on one lofty theme, and direct all its energies to one great object only. To the rightly judging mind, there must be something unspeakably affecting in this consecration of youthful talent to God, this turning away from worldly ap- proval and reward, for the one purpose of contributing, however feebly, to the promo- tion of the spiritual good of others. How touching, also, to notice in her effusions, her frequent allusions to death, early death, and the ardent and spontaneous gushings forth of her heart after heaven, " that land of the weary, that home of the blessed !" Surely, if there are beings on this earth, akin to angelic natures, and whose hallowed tastes and sympathies hnk them- selves by the strongest of all ties to the " family in heaven," Margaret was among the number. Her piety was also evinced, as well as \p tl i. £t ■! ;il 132 MAROAEET ELIZABETH. Hi grace, yet, doubtless, in examining her heart and life by that all-pure and perfect law of God, she found daily cause for deep self-abasement and humiliation. "With respect, however, to her fellow- beings, those who knew her best, after carefully observing her whole spirit and conduct, in all the varying circumstances of her domestic and social life, have failed to discover anything essentially wrong in her governing motives, disposition, or habits. While, therefore, it is not attempt- ed to represent her as faultless, it can with truth be affirmed that she was re- markably free from the imperfections peculiar to youth, while in her were united so many and rare excellences and endowments, as to produce, on the whole, a beautiful symmetry of character but seldom equaled. MARGARET ELIZABETH. SELECTIONS FROM HER WRITINGS. f o^trg. 4 ft "•mmm ^^g^^^^fm-mMf^-^ li ^ I n mmm wmm Nearly all of the following articles, both in Poetry and Prose, were contributed, under the signature of "Bessie Beranger," to "The Provincial Wesleyan," published at Halifax, Nova Scotia. The incidents re- ferred to in them were not imaginary, but were scenes from real life. Ill i A CRY TO THE MISSIONARY. oetry re of yan," ts re- icenes Suggested by reading the Kev. Mr. Arthur's Speech, delivered at the Leeds Missionary Meeting. WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF THIRTEEN. By the Ganges' sacred stream, By the fiercely dark'ning gleam That lights the Hindoo mother's eye, As she drowns her infant's cry ; By the Kyonng's tow'ring heights, By Gaudama's bloody rites, By that gorgeous rolling car, By that music heard afar. Come to as, come. By that Gueber bending low. On those hills of stainless snow. As his fervent matin prayer, Floateth sweetly on the air ; As he owns the mighty sway Of the glorious orb of day ; As in silent awe he bows Where that flame mysterious glows, Oome to us, come. Where the lofty palm doth wave, By that warrior-chieftain's gave ; If (i 136 MARGARET ELIZABETH. By the marai's sacred shade, "Where it openeth through the glade ; By that stifled, waihng cry, Rising hourly to the sky, Where lie beneath the purple sand, The victims of a parent's hand, Come to us, come. Where the deeply crimson'd wave Erromanga's shore doth Uve; By those dark abodes of vice. By the nameless, matchless price, Of spirits hastening on in crime ; By the priceless worth of time, By that deep, heart-rending call, Borne upon the wave from all. Come to us, come. Where the surging ocean wave Circleth round the martyr's grave ; By the deathless love they bore, They who lie on Feejee's shore; By the shade of Hunt we call, Hear us, save us, ere we fall ; Ere expires that ghmmering light, And we sink in endless night. Come to us, come. I 1 *' 1 TO THE MOON. 137 TO THE MOON. Thou art floating on with a brow of light, In the depths of the vaulted sky ; Thou art gazing down with a smile too bright, Too fair for mortal eve. Thou art lighting the waves of the dark blue sea, When the evening star shines bright ; And they whisper murmuring music to thee As they sleep in the silver light. Thou art sleeping in many a palmy glade, *' On some green Southern shore ;" Thou art quiveriag deep in the vine's dark shade, " In the hush of this midnight hour." Thou art piercing down from the azure sky, In the convict's darken'd cell. Where smitten ones are call'd forth to die By the note of the passing bell. Thou art stirring the depths of the mariner's soul. Where Adria's waters foam ; Thou art bidding- him think, as they proudly roll. Of his own fail cottage home. Thou art lighting that lonely rock of the deep, Where the warrior's dust hath laid; Where the fearless, the true-hearted came to sleep, Far off in the forest glade. li^^ 138 MARGARET ELIZABETU. Thou art pouring thy rays on Albion's shores, Bless'd land of the brave and the free; Thou art bathing in glory her ruins and towers, And wreathing each leaflet and tree. But ah ! thou art lighting my own green land, This land of the mountain and flood ; Thou art tinging the pine on the billowy strand " Where the forest for ages hath stood." A LITTLE WHILE. A little while, a little while, Mourner! thy grief shall be, Yet upward raise thy tearful eye, Heaven yet hath joy for thee. O ! earth hath not a shadowy path, "Where sorrow leaves a trace, But Hope, with her fair sunny wing, May find a resting-place. A little while, a little while, And time's sad minstrelsy. Shall merge in the deep, rapturous tones. That fill eternity. The notes of that dark ^■ ■♦— THE WINTER WIND. It sweeps o'er the graves of the early dead, Telling of joys that have long since fled ; Of the smile of T ht and the loving tone, That now the embrace of the tomb hath won. It sighs where in summer the sunbeams play, Flinging their banner o'er leaf and spray ; Where now the cold footsteps of winter hath pass'd, And the blossoms have died at the breath of the blast. It moans on that desolate sea-beaten strand, Where the warrior dreams of his native land ; It awakens some chord in his aching breast. That home-voices alone may soothe to rest. But there is a land, where no midnight blast Shall rouse a tone of the vanished past; And the fond, yearning spirit forever hath rest, In that home of the weary, that land of the blest. February M^'i^^*^. iil f i i II Li :i 144 MAKGARET ELIZABETH. BIRTH-DAY STANZAS. Ay I 'tis a festal day, and holy thought, In her own countless, hidden cells awaking, From the young spirit's fresh and fragrant treasures, And bright and gushing founts the seal is break- ing; An hour of sacred promise, fair and high, Whose tc'.es shall echo through eternity. Youth's brilliant flush is on thy brow, and hope, With changeful, glowing light, hath lit thine eye; Life's spirit-witching dreams are all before thee. Undying, glorious hopes that live on high ; Thine is a stainless banner; spread it free. Till the red cross shall wave o'er land and sea ! ! we are sadly parted yet to-day ; As the full, solemn Sabbath chimes ascend, I would not win thee to thy home ; for life, The sunlight with the shade doth ever blend ; And life were bitterness without the smile Of him, who can the wanderer's hours beguile. Gird, then, thine armor on, and may the joy. Which Heaven alone doth give, be ever thine ; The joy to toil for gems of priceless worth, Around the everlasting throne to shine. Earth hath no purer, holier gift for thee ; Heaven hath no higher, nobler victory. Jvril 17. 1853. TO A FRIEND ON HEU MARRIAGE. 145 e; TO A FRIEND ON HER MARRIAGE. I had not thought to leave thee thus, Ere the hridal wreath was thine, And thy heart's deep, fervent homage. Placed on another shrine. Yet God's hlessing be upon thee ! O ! fair and gentle friend, Though together the glad moments We never more may spend. And though through life's dim pathway We yet may parted be, He whose love may never falter, Shall guide and cherish thee. May his joy be ever with thee ; Thy spirit be his home ; So shall no deep'ning shadow. O'er the heart's bright visions come. Then when life's wild dream is over, We may bow to his behest. And meet around our Father's throne. Where the weary are at rest. ill n ff ft 146 MARGARET ELIZABETH. ii:: I: 3 a. ■ Si I'S ' 1^ TO MY MOTHER. Vm thinking of thee now, mother, As the quiet evening hglit Falls lovingly on spire and tower, And all around is bright. r would that I could twine to-night, A garland fresh and fair, To wreathe around the aching brow, And rest in gladness there. If I were only by thy side. As in the hours of yore. When " softly fell the foot of time," Then hope might claim no more. Yet ! though sadly time and space Have sever'd us afar. May the love of Him who changeth not^ Still be thy guiding star. May his Spirit e'er be with thee. Through life's dark, changeful day. Till from its toil and feverish strife, Thou shalt have 'scaped away. God's blessing be upon thee, Whose hope is all in heaven, Till the spirit's wing is plumed for flight. And the earthly fetters riven. ■: a THE DEATH OF MOSES. 147 THE DEATH OF MOSES. There wrfs a sound upon ' l^o breeze Of mourning and of woe, But not as when, on battle-field, Relentless foe meets foe. It was the wall of stricken ones, For the true heart and tlie brave, For liim, whose treasured hopes and high. Were gather'd to the grave. He stood upon the mountain-top, A light was in his eye, A light of glory and of love, A light of majesty. O Israel ! he cried aloud. How sure is thy defense I The Eternal shall thy portion be. Thy guard, Omnipotence. He paused, and on the plain beneath One lingering look he bent. Where flash'd, in the broad sunlight's glance, Each snowy, glittering tent. There Israel's countless thousands lay, Beneath the mountain brow ; There were his loved and cherish'd ones ; How can he leave them now ? 'i 1, I 148 MARGARET ELIZABETH. The flush hath left the warrior's cheek, The storm hath pass'd away ; He look'd one lingering, deep farewell, Then left their bright array. There was no shade upon his brow, 1^0 dimness in his eye ; Alone with the Eternal One, He laid him down to die. November 21, 1853. ^|; A VALENTINE TO MY BROTHER. A fair, but fleeting wreath for thee, A sister's hand would twine. To waft across the waters A joyous valentine. To whisper love, when darker grows The web of destiny ; To breathe, perchance, in other hours. Some memory of me. To murmur to the lonely heart Some talismanic word. Guarding undimm'd the fount of love. Which Heaven's own breath hath stirr'd. O ! I love the flush upon thy cheek, The light upon thy brow ; There may they rest in other days. As joyously as now. PAETINa WOEDS. May He whose chosen one thou art, Give thee the joy to win Gems for the Saviour's coronal, In spirits pure from sin. So when the note of conquest Soundeth o'er all the field, Thou Shalt, in sacred triumph. Thy gather'd trophies yield. February 9, 1854. 149 iT'd. I PARTING WORDS. The night cometh. John ix, 4. So breathed a young, pure spirit. As the fading light of time Merged in the solemn radiance Borne from another clime. Deep are the gathering shadows, Vailing the earthly way ; Vain is the spirit's yearning. For the home so far away. Her home was where the myrtle blooms, Beneath the sapphire skies Of sunny, glorious Italy, ^ Where beauty never dies. Yet the breath of song and fragrance Could not charm the flush away That burif dupon the fever'd cheek Ere yet it turn'd to clay. ■ H n •I 160 MAKGAEET ELIZABETH. ^Wlght Cometh r thus a while she sigh'd, Till the fair home on high, With its unutter'd gladness, Rose brightly to her eye ; Then, with a song of triumph. The spirit pass'd away. Her all of melody and song Pour'd in that parting lay. February 6, 1854. •^ 3igh'd, MAllGARET ELIZABETH SELECTIONS FKOM HEli WKITJNGS. v\ dros^ ■^ "IS* i H THE DESTROYING ANGEL. The day had been hot and sultry, and as night drew on, and the shadows of twilight gathered around, gently and softly fell the refreshing dews of evening upon the now parched and weary earth. Beautifully did the sun go down that night upon Egypt, and when the last tints of day were gone, the stars stepped forth, as was their wont, in the clear heavens ; the moon shone down as calmly as ever upon leaflet and tree, and the glorious Nile rolled proudly on its course. Surely that night nothing betokened aught but peace. The evening waned; and as silence reigned, and "not a leaf stirred in the awakening breeze," a figure was seen moving half hid among the dark, cluster- ing shrubbery of the royal palace. It was the monarch of Egypt, who, in the stillness of the evening, was gazing around. Vi' y \m.. 154: MARGAEET ELIZABETH. He stood looking upward, but it was no sentimeut of gratitude or adoration that trembled on his lip, as the land in its love- liness, glowing in the silver light, lay spread like a picture before him ; triumph and exultation indeed filled his soul, but it was but the triumph of the tyrant over his victim, the unholy exultation of the oppressor over his prey. Far down among the fair fields of Goshen was another and a different scene. There a little band of Israelites had gathered, and their mel- ody broke upon the quiet of the hour, as their voices mingled in a hymn of praise with which they were concluding their evening service. But time passed on, and ere long the Egyptian monarch, and the lonely, stricken Hebrews, had alike retired from the scene, the one to the silence ot repose, the others to prepare for the cele- bration of that mysterious rite, upon the issue of which trembled the destiny of Israel's fii-st-born, when the sky, which had been so clear and iindimmed, became suddenly obscured ; dark, heavy masses of clouds came rolling up the firmament, %^ fi THE DE8TE0YING ANGEL. 155 ^is no 1 that s love- ^t, lay iumpli ul, but it over of tlie among ler and i band Av mel- lonr, as : praise [q: their on, and and the i retired ence of :he cele- ipon the istiny of r, which , became ' masses mament. r- heavens, unfolding themselves in tl the mournful breathings of the wind, as it swept up in strong and fitful gusts, seemed to warn of an approaching storm. Ah! those blasts thrilled through many a Hebrew, who, as he listened and marked the fierce scowl of the heavens, and heard the Nile surging and coursing by so fear- fully, drew closer to his bosom his first- born, and fancied the hour had come. It was midnight, and the terrible, tran- sitory tempest had passed ; the black clouds had rolled far back from the sky ; the breeze was sweeping through the thick olive boughs, and the moon and stars were again looking forth in undying bril- liancy : and so passed that solemn mid- night hour. But O ! who may paint the tide of troubled feeling that broke over the soul of many an Israelite, when, as in the deep silence and quietude of night he stood girded for his triumphant march, he heard the rush and fluttering of pinions, as the unseen visitant swept past his dwell- ing. He knew truly that the Zord God of his fathers was his sure defense ; that 10 •^1 ' I i' '' 166 MABGAEET ELIZABETH. he rested beneath the wing of the Omnip- otent ; bnt as he thought of Egypt he trembled ; and well might his cheek turn pale and his lip quiver on that feartul night, as the destroyer spread /ortli his wingi on the blast; for at " midnight here was a great cry throughout all the land, such as there was none like it nor sliall be like it any more." O ! the deep bitter- ness, the untold anguish of that waihng cry, as it rose to heaven from the agonized bosom of many an Egyptian mother! Who may tell of the rending of hearts, the blighting of cherished hopes, as Egypt arose and mourned for her first-born ! * * * * The morning arose clear and glorious, and the sun looked forth in splendor upon stricken and scathed hearts ; for he that swayed the scepter and " the captive that was in the dungeon," were alike smitten that night. But far on in the distance toward Succoth, moved the glittering phalanx of the Lord's chosen ones, for the same unseen hand that was laid so wither- ingly upon the glory of Egypt, had, as inip- )t he turn jarful li his there land, shall bitter- ailing mized other! learts, Egypt ^! orious, T upon le that ve that smitten iistance ittering , for the wither- had, as Is THE FIRST SABBATH SCHOOL. 157 with the grasp of Omnipotence, burst the galling shackles of Israel's bondage, and she was disenthralled. THE FIRST SABBATH SCHOOL Honor to whom honor is due.—ST. Paul. The name of Eobert Eaikes has long been embalmed in the memory of the Christian world, and has gone forth to distant regions, bearing imperishably em- blazoned upon it the enviable distinction of having been the primal originator of those eifective instrumentalities for good Sabbath schools. . We would not willingly pluck one leaf from the gloriously-earned laurels of Eob- ert Eaikes ; yet a regard to truth induces us to bring forward a fact, which may not be generally known, and which marked the year 1769. The year '69 ! many event- ful changes, many lights and shadows, are doubtless chronicled in its tablets. That year began the earthly career of two, lil !l 1 ,-< -Iff I 158 MABGAKET ELIZABETH. witli whose names the nations of the earth have since become familiar-the one of the storm and cloud, "the ^ceptered hem^ ' who burst upon Europe as a brilhant me- teor only to fade in darkness upon the rock of St. Helena ; and his more truly glorious, conquering foe-Welhngton ot Waterloo. But passing by these illus- trious names, ^ve point you to the toy. of Hieh Wycombe, in Buckmghamshn-e. In thi! sequestered spot that year witnessed the establishment by a young, unaided female, of the first Sabbath Bchool ever foundedinEngland. Thatfemalew^sHan- nah Ball, one of our primitive, standard Methodists, a friend and con-espondent ot our now sainted Wesley. In the memoir of this departed pilgrim, prefaced by Bev. Thomas Jackson, we find this iact thus registered : " Miss Ball was the first person who established a Sunday school m • this town, in the year 1Y69 ; which is rendered the more remarkable, from the fact of lier taking nearly fourteen years preced- ence of Mr. Raikes, of Gloucester, the i,ui,ovf^ admitted founder of Sunday THE FIRST SABBATH SCHOOL. 159 earth of the rmit," it me- )n the I truly ton of illiis- 3wn of ire. In tnessed maided ol ever asHan- tandard dent of memoir by Rev. ict thus ,t person L in this rendered fact of ' preced- ister, the Sunday schools in the year 1783. Miss Ball con- tinued this school for many years, and also met the children every Mond*^ '-, to instruct them in the principles of diris- tianity, earnestly desiring, as she observes in a letter to Mr. Wesley, to promote the interests of the Church of Christ." — Note to page 71. At page 84 of the same volume, in a letter to Mr. Wesley, Miss Ball thus alludes to her labors: "The children meet twice a week, every Sunday and Monday. They are a wild little company, but seem willing to be instructed. I labor among them, earnestly desiring to ]. /'^mote the interests of the Church of Christ." By other portions of her biography, we learn that Miss Ball successfully continued this school for many years, and that she had the satisfaction of witnessing the happy effects of her pious toil in numerous in- stances. Honor to our beloved Method- ism ! God has truly distinguished her, that from her midst should be chosen one, "rich in faith and an heir of the king- dom," to fii-st wield " in weakness, and in fear, and in much trembling," a potent in- ■I ) k Ml |i:i I \ 1 111 i ! I I 160 MA.EGAKKT ELIZABETH. struraentality for good, the glorious results of which shall be traceable, as in living characters, in that day, when all the fleet- ing and changeful glory of earth shall pass away before the searching eye of the Om- niscient. When Hannah Ball first gather- ed her youthful charge beneath the broad, mantling shadow of some old English oak, and there told them of the dying love ot Jesus, and rehearsed the wondrous story of the cross, no foreshadowing of fnture fame ever crossed her unambitious mind ; she little realized that she was opening up a channel, through which the watei-s of eternal truth should pour upon the in- fant mind, till the ceaseless labor of time should give place to the full fruition of eternity. And yet so it was ; and it ever has been the case, that human effort has been generally unappreciated, until after ages have discovered its magnitude and excellence. The name of Napoleon Bo- naparte has burst in chivalrous enthusiasm from the lips of admiring thousands, while that of Hannah Ball has scarcely passed bevond the limit of a chosen circle ; yet in i THE FIRST SABBATH SCHOOL. 161 38ultS iving fleet- Ipass Om- ither- )road, 1 oak, >ve of storv future mind ; )ening svaters lie in- if time ion of it ever )rt has 1 after ie and 3n Bo- usiasm 5, while passed ; vet in 7 a/ that day when all the things of earth shall be divested of the drapery of external pomp, which name shall go up as incense to the throne of the Omnipotent ? Which shall bear with it the trembling prayers and blessings of infant voices? ^^The day shall declared How true is that senti- ment: "The chords which our fingers touch shall vibrate throughout eternity." If we would have those chords vibrate in harmony during the ages of eternity, we must touch no jarring nor dis- cordant notes while travelers in time. Let us look, as did Hannah Ball, beyond the fleeting pageantry of earth, to the changeless realities of another and a per- manent state of existence, ever bearing in mind that " the things which are seen a/re temporal^ hict the things which a/re un- seen are eternaV^ September 22, 1852. |! ■. ' 162 MARGARET ELIZABETH. A I ii •■ \ A FRAGMENT. " What is the hero's clarion, though its bto* King with the mastery of a world?" WiLlis. Night had drawn her sable vail over the fair face of nature ; the pale moon trod on her patli of beauty amid the quench- less lights of heaven, and the dew lay quivering, like the tears of angels, upon leaf and flower. The hoarae booming of artillery, the last wailing cry of dying man, the joyous shoutof victory, and the mingled " sounds of blood and splendor, revelry and woe," had all ceased, and the holy hush of night was deep and unbroken. There was one who, in that day's tumultuous strife, had won for himself glory and honor that shall last while time endures. With a brow upon which no shade of fear was ever seen, and a courage which never faltered throughout that fearful day, he led his warriors on to battle. The flush of victory was on his cheek that night, for the imperial eagle had fallen, and the hero of Jena and "Austerlitz was vanquished on A FKAGMENT. 163 Willis. [ over )n trod Liencli- 5W lay ;, upon ing of g man, lingled Iry and y Inisli There ultuous d honor With ear was 1 never day, he he flush ight, for the hero ished on the plains of Waterloo. Life, like a picture of enchantment, now glowed before him in all the vivid coloring of hope. He stood in the full sunlight of glory, crowned with laurels, which the hand of i )yalty itself had placed upon his brow, and with the chivalrous homage of nations at his feet. Who may gaze upon that form of beauty and vigor, and think of death ? Is it not too glorious for the grave ? ^ * ^ ^ Summer had flown with her fair, pearly blossoms, and her incense of all things bright and beautiful, and autumn, with her gorgeous drapery, was smiling upon the " stately homes of England." Where was now the warrior that, more than thirty years ago, had won his triumphs on the fields of sunny France, and on the plains of Waterloo ? The shadows of the grave had fallen upon his spirit, the language of another sphere had burst upon his ear, the waves of the death-stream had borne him on to the unfathomed ocean of eternity : and while a nation wept around his bier, " The dust had returned to the earth as it ir.' im -r fva t tavfrn m ! , r» 164: MARGARET ELIZABETH. was, and the spirit had returned to God who gave it." Earthly fame and glory, what are ye ? Fair, fleeting shadows, transient as the wreathing foam npon the billows of ocean ! We seek after the treasures of earth, we grasp them, and they are gone. Let us place our hopes upon that which is '^Un- seen and eternal," for death is "around us in our peaceful homes, and the world calls us forth, and it is there." October dth, 1852. AUTUMN MEMORIES. "The Angel of the Covenant was come, and faithful To his promise, stood prepared to walk with her Through death's dark valo." Pollok. Bright, gorgeous autumn has flown, and once again is the step of winter heard on our New Brunswick shores. Despite the sneers of our English friends at our inhos- pitable climate, there is a brilliant color- ing, a rich, changeful glory, in the drapery of our magnificent forest-trees during au- tumn, which our fair fatherland, though k AtTTUMN MEMOEIE3. 166 ;o God ye? as the ocean ! rth, we Let us Ls "Un- Dund us rid calls Ithful ler POLLOK. »wn, and leard on spite the ur inhos- nt color- ) drapery iring au- , though I it be of beauty, can never boast ; and when the months have fled " unto the pale, the perished past," we sigh vainly for their return. But earth is not all joy, and though to us, whose homes are yet undeso- lated by the spoiler, with whom the silken cords that link us so mysteriously to life, are yet unsundered, the cup, which the Father of our spirits has measured to us, may have been overflowing with gladness ; yet to those who have laid their precious ones in the cold earth to slumber, these autumn months have been overshadowed with a pall. And many such there are ; for the stern " husbandman that reapeth always," hath brought his fallen sheaves, alike from the stately halls where Welling- ton breathed forth his gallant spirit, and from the cabin by the wayside where the son of toil expired. O ! what an autumn vision rises before me even now, though many moons have waned since its accom- plishment. She was very fair and lovely, with the glorious heraldry of beauty on her brow, and while the bright flush of morn- ing was yet on her cheek, was called to I .ip 166 MAEGAEET ELIZABETH. f\ t the mansion of the blessed. The grave had sealed that beaiitiful form for his, and one by one parted the ties of life, and the spirit plumed its wings for home. Slowly faded the shores of time in the dim dis- tance, and in the still, solemn night-time, voices from the far land to which she was ionrneying, gave their music to her ear. They called, " Spirit, come to the home ot thy Father." The radiance of heaven kindled in her eye, and though he to whom she was bound by the holiest vows, and three young blossoms of beauty clung imploringly to her mantle, she answered, " I come !" It was midnight, and as she lay upon her pillow, life was fluttering on her lips. Around her all were gathered in grief; father, mother, brothers, young sister, hus- band, and fair children. All were there, save one, the cherished sister of her heart, she who had just left her in the full bloom of her beautiful womanhood. Slowly lift- ing the lids from her dark eyes, she mur- mured dreamily, " Mother, where is Helen ? Has the steamer touched the wharf? O ! f ^ grave lis, and LTid the Slowly im dis- it-time, she was ler ear. lome of heaven 1 he to st vows, ty clung iswered, ay upon her lips, in grief; 3ter, hus- re there, ler heart, ill bloom owly lift- she mur- is Helen? arf? O! AUTUMN MEMOKIES. 167 b has Helen come ?" " jSTot yet, my darling," whispered the fond mother ; and she sunk again to sleep. "Wearily waned the hou'-s of that long, long night, and yet more faintly came the breath through the pale, motionless lips. Just as the gray morning light struggled through the shutters, those eyes again opened, all flashing with the light of immortality, and gazing upward, while glory unearthly shone on every feature, she exclaimed, " How beautiful ! O ! Annie, Annie !" The glittering bands of glorified ones stood waiting for her, and in their midst she saw a fair, young sister, that had long since passed from earth. One long, triumphant note of victory thrilled through the room, as seraph-fingers swept their harps, and all was still. Her spirit had rejoined the early "loved and lost." November SOth, 1852. 1 •i!| m i ■Mb-i zsm I Smm III i it ti 168 MARGAKET ELIZABETH. DECEMBER MUSINGS. " Thou hast folded thy pinions, thy race is complete, And fulfiird thy Creator's behest ; Then adieu to the year of our sorrows and joys, And peaceful and long be thy rest." M. M. Davidson. Time, with its noiseless, yet never-ceasing step, has nearly brought us to the thresh- old of eighteen hundred and fifty-three. Few of us can realize, in glancing back upon the pictured past, that twelve months have fleeted o'er since we gathered around our Christmas fires. Yet so it is, and some of us have only to look upon the changed and saddened groups that encircle our hearths, to know that time has not been stationary. Some there are who, twelve months since, bowed in the earthly sanctuary of the Lord of Hosts, whose voices mingled in our songs of joy, as we sang the birth of Jesus^ who are now at home, viewing the imvaiU-d glory before the throne of the Eternal Others, with whom we are linked by the heart's holiest affections, and witli whom we gathei^d joy- I lete, IVIDSON. ceasing tliresli- ^- three, g back months around id some ihanged cle our ot been twelve earthly » whose y, as we now at Y before irs, with s holiest ei^djoy- I DECEMBER MUSINGS. 169 ously last year, are now far away. They have left us, and " Strong as was a mother's love, and the sweet ties Religio! makes so beautiful at home, They flung them from them in their eager race," and are this day lifting up their voices far to the east, and proclaiming the unsearch- able riches of Christ. They may not mingle in the loving household band this year ; we miss their long-cherished voices when the quiet hour of even-tide has come, and the song of praise goes up to heaven from the family altar; when, ♦• Kneeling down to heaven's eternal King, The saint, the husband, and the father prays." But with them it is well ; the Uessing of the Lord God of their fathers is upon them. We look with hope and gladness to the future, in whose bosom is vailed our meeting again in joy. But apart from our own firesides, in the old ancestral halls of our beloved England, and the sober Puritan homes of our repub- lican brethren, what has this year brought? Change, sadness, and i .rting to many. 11! .-!i 170 MARGARET ELIZABETH. I 1^^': The mighty have passed away. The lion- hearted and invincible warrior, he who scaled the pinnacle of earthly glory, who " Heard every trump of fame, drank every cup of joy, Drank early, deeply drank ;" and the venerable and patriotic statesman, have alike slept in death, exchanging the stern and hoary magnificence of Walmer, and the sweet seclusion of Marshfield, for the shadow of that " silent waiting-hall, where Adam meeteth with his children." In this year of marvels, also, gay, chiv- alrous. Sabbath-desecrating Trance, has surpassed herself in wonders, and the scepter which but yesterday was trampled in scorn by an mfuriated multitude, now trembles in the despotic grasp of the pris- oner of Ham, who, with the matchless in- genuity and effrontery of his imperial uncle, is, like him, while claiming to be the emancipator of his country, weaving more and more thickly the meshes of the web of tyranny, obliterating every trace of freedom from the laws and institutions of la Idle France, and climbing, witli P DECEMBER MUSINGS. 171 le lion- e who r, wno p of joy, ;esmaii, ng the ''aimer, eld, for tig-hall, Idren." y, chiv- ce, has ,nd the •ampled de, now :he pris- aless in- imperial g to be weaving js of the ry trace ititutions ig, witli P feverish haste, the topmost round of the ladder of fame, only, perchance, to be hurled thence by an avenging Providence. Far away, among the sunny plains of Tus- cany, this year has brought change upon its pinions. There the rights of the citi- zen have been scorned, the sanctity of the home invaded ; there the ties of the house- hold have been sundered, and from the hearth and the altar have two of the Lord's chosen been mercilessly torn to grace the iniquitous triumphs of him, emphatically styled in Scriptures, the "man of sin." Yet " the Lord God omnipotent reign- eth," and we believe that Protestant Europe, and especially Protestant England, will never suffer the noble and true-heart- ed Madiai to languish out their lives under the desolating stroke of the oppressor. This year has been one of change and transition, deep, solemn, and startling. To each of us it is permitted in memory to traverse the sealed and finished past ; but the future, the dark, illimitable future, who can scan ? The far-searching eye of the Omniscient alone may read its mysterious 11 ..•ss;a.'WM*»a£u^K'i» 11.1 n f ''f U'» 172 MAltOAKET ELIZABETH. pages. Before the snows of next Decein- ber mantle the earth, before we again gather around our festal tires, the young heart, that now throbs so joyously, may have been crushed beneath the withering touch of sorrow, or its beatings may be stilled in death. Our homes, with all tlieir charities and endearments, are but trail, perishable structures, floating upon the tide of time, which the next wave niay sweep into the ever-sounding mam. But the future, with its weal and its woe, is ni the hand of a benignant Father, and with those who consecrate the precious unfold- ings of life to him, though the storm-bird may hover around their path, it shall be well— well. So when the shadows of this mortal life shall have passed away forever, and the fleeting pageantry of earth shall have merged in the solemn splendor of eternity, shall the pearly gates of that fair home on high unfold themselves to view, and the enraptured spirit, spreading forth its pinions, shall enter and bow before God. Deceniber 22d, 185 -2. to BURIAL AT SEA. 173 ecem- again young , may hering lay be 11 their t frail, )n the e may . But ^e, is in id with unfold- :*m-bird ihall be I of this forever, th shall [idor of :hat fair to view, ng forth r before BURIAL AT SEA. To tlice the lovo of woman hath gone down, Dark ilow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er 3'outh's bright loclcs, and beauty's flowery crown ; Yet slialt thou hear a voice, ' Restore the dead ;' Eartli sliall rechiim lier precious things from thee ; Restore the dead, thou sea !— Felicia IIemans. It was sunset on the broad Atlantic; bright, golden clouds hung in folds around the couch of the departing sun, and the slowly-fading light lay like a coronal of glory upon the blue waters. The stately ship rode gallantly upon their bosom, every spar tinged with brightness. " Bright and alone on the shadowy main, Like a heart-cherish'd home on some desolate plain, Who, as the beautiful pageant sweeps by, Music around her and sunshine on high, Pauses to think amid glitter and glow, ! there be hearts that are breaking below ! Or dreams that he watches afloat on the. wave. The death-bed of hope, and the young spirit's grave V And yet so it was, for within was death. The young and fair, the wife and mother, lav strinkpn and *' whilp. lifp vcroa in Ua rn I M jt^\^ JL A A ^^ rr ttkj XXX X i <* {■ if[r" p ' i li I ' a I iilM 174 MARGARET ELIZABETH. spring," disease came, and hiding his ghastly finger amid her sunny tresses, im- pressed the crimson death-bloom on her cheek. She had left her own beautiful England, and ancient halls of her fathers, to seek the shores of New Brunswick, and greet once more the sister of her child- hood, who had preceded her to that coun- try. But while the deep sea yet foamed between them, she was called to leave all the anticipated charms of her sweet Ameri- can home, to take possession of that "house not made with hands, eternal in the heav- jj ens. Calmly she closed her eyes, saying, " Are we not near, Maria ? Are we not nearly there?" then murmuring, "O, I am very sleepy," she sank to rest. Hour after hour moved on, and the tireless watchers by the couch of the dying feared to dis- turb her. But now, as the day-king was departing to his Western home, she woke, as the last waves of the chill waters of time were breaking upon her bark, and the solemn temples of the eternal city *" _«. .n. 4 I t %^ were about rising m full sight. A ^A ws \