tibravy of tht t:heoio0icai £minavy 
 
 PRINCETON • NEW JERSEY 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 Mrs. Alexander Proudfit 
 
 BR 1725 .G66 V84 1837 
 Vulliemin, L. 1797-1879. 
 Some account of the life of 
 the Rev. F.A.A. Gonthier 
 
LIFE 
 
 REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 
 
l/^Cc ^/<r/*~^^ i/?i *-*« JAl^ jCr-r~ ^.<c 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE 
 
 REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER, 
 
 Minister of the Gospel at Nimes and in Switzerland. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH/OF HIS NEPHEWS, 
 
 L. AND C. VULLIEMIN. 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY REV. C. B. TAYLER, M.A. 
 
 Church and Parsonage of St. Cergues. 
 
 THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY ; 
 
 DEPOSITORY, 56, PATERNOSTER-ROW ; SOLD BY THE BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 837. 
 
WILLIAM TYLER, 
 PKINTEH, 
 
 30LT-COU11T, FLEET-STREET. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Our first thought on laying down the life of 
 M. Gonthier, might be — Ah ! here, indeed, is an 
 instance of the melancholy fact, that "man is 
 born to sorrow as the sparks fly upward:" but 
 we must go into the sanctuary of God, and lift 
 up our hands towards his holy oracle, if we 
 would understand the life of man on earth, and 
 the dealings of the Creator with him. Then 
 every thing wears at once a new aspect. That 
 which seemed a bounded life, with no horizon 
 beyond the mound of the grave, becomes at once 
 the pilgrimage of an immortal being whose rest 
 is not here, but who is going onward to the 
 Land of Promise. He to whom we looked 
 in our unscriptural ignorance, only as God the 
 Creator, appears to us in his revealed character 
 as a covenant God, loving our fallen, guilty 
 
 B 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 world ; a Father full of pity, giving his 
 Son to suffer for us as our Redeemer, and to 
 plead for us as our Mediator, and sending his 
 Holy Spirit to make every returning sinner not 
 only a subject of the new birth, but a child of 
 adoption and grace. Then, though born to 
 trouble, the trouble itself is made, by chastening 
 love, that tribulation which worketh patience, 
 and by which the child of suffering is made per- 
 fect, as he follows the Captain of his salvation 
 to glory. 
 
 The reader of the life of this christian pas- 
 tor, whose domestic afflictions were so peculiarly 
 trying, may learn, therefore, that every trouble 
 was only a means to an end, and that end the 
 most glorious attainable. Amid the gloom, if 
 his eye have a spiritual discernment, he may 
 distinguish, even from the commencement of 
 his chastening, the first faint gleam of that shin- 
 ing light, which " shineth more and more unto 
 the perfect day." 
 
 To love (as we are told by those who knew 
 him) seemed necessary to the very existence of 
 M. Gonthier ; but the love of the natural heart 
 
PREFACE. 3 
 
 will entwine itself round any — every earthly ob- 
 ject, in preference to Him who has the highest 
 claim to our love ; indeed, so high a claim, that 
 the affection which we feel to our dearest human 
 connexions ought to be cold as hate, when put in 
 competition with the love we owe to Him. One 
 after another did such cherished earthly objects 
 seek to occupy, almost as a shrine of idolatry, the 
 heart of this child of God : but one after another, 
 the wife, the child, the other beloved friends were 
 successively removed : he was not permitted by 
 his gracious Father, to set his affections on any 
 thing below. The purposes of God were at 
 length accomplished, and He who is "altogether 
 lovely," became "all and in all" to this favoured 
 disciple. His path was, indeed, that of tribula- 
 tion; but "all the paths of the Lord are mercy 
 and truth unto such as keep his covenant." 
 
 M. Gonthier was a minister of the Most High 
 God, and he was highly honoured when thus 
 taught by God himself, that the sphere of a 
 minister is not merely within the pleasant circle 
 of domestic life; that he has, in fact, an embas- 
 sage committed to him of far greater importance 
 b 2 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 than that which passes from the sovereign of the 
 highest earthly empire ; that no responsibility is 
 so tremendous as that of the pastor of Christ's 
 flock. He must either "feed the church of God, 
 which He hath purchased with his own blood," 
 or appear before the great Shepherd and Bishop 
 of our souls, defiled with the blood of those who 
 have perished through his neglect. 
 
 But do we condemn the love of such a heart 
 as that of M. Gonthier ? We are far from doing 
 so : we are well assured, that the Grace which at 
 length made Christ Jesus the supreme object of 
 his love, enlarged the very capacity of loving in 
 his heart; ennobled, purified, and gave its own 
 enduring character to the affection which he 
 bore for every human being : and thus he learned 
 to sorrow not as one who has no hope ; and thus 
 he learned to look forward to his union in glory 
 with those who were taken before him, when 
 God himself shall wipe away all tears from their 
 eyes. How touchingly is it recorded, that he 
 lifted every morning the covering from the em- 
 broidered screen which had been the work of 
 his wife's hands, and then turned to those pas- 
 
PREFACE. 5 
 
 sages in the word of God, which assure the 
 members of Christ that they shall meet around 
 the throne of God and of the Lamb. 
 
 The most careless reader might come to this 
 conclusion, after following this man of many- 
 sorrows through the course of his weary pilgrim- 
 age, How much better it is to suffer than to sin ! 
 How much better to suffer affliction, as a child 
 of God, than to be celebrated among the wise, 
 or the mighty, or the noble of this vain world ! 
 We all know, from common observation, how 
 many a gifted favourite of the world has closed 
 his splendid career in darkness and in crime. 
 It is, therefore, a profitable study to consider the 
 unnoticed course of such a person as this lowly 
 minister of the gospel, and to observe how the 
 chastisements of his heavenly Father have 
 yielded the peaceable fruits of righteousness; 
 how death has been disarmed of its sting, and 
 he hath been made more than a conqueror, 
 through Him that loved him, over all the ene- 
 mies of his salvation. No, do not let the care- 
 less reader throw aside the volume, because it 
 contains the record of so much suffering. The 
 
6 PREFACE. 
 
 excuse would be a just one, if the book in ques- 
 tion were a mere tale of fiction, that we have 
 sorrows enough in real life without reading about 
 them. There is no fiction here. These are the 
 actual sufferings in the real life of a fellow-crea- 
 ture. Let the thoughtless man, who repines in 
 the midst of health and worldly comforts, think 
 of the trials of this suffering saint, and humble 
 himself before God for his own churlish ingrati- 
 tude. Let the minister of the gospel, with 
 strong health and unimpaired faculties, who 
 may be disposed to look upon the nervous ma- 
 ladies of this christian pastor with that pity 
 which is akin to contempt, let him blush to 
 recall how much more was accomplished in weak- 
 ness and infirmity, than he himself, perhaps, has 
 even attempted. And let all consider, that it 
 was not the religion of this child of affliction 
 that caused his suffering ; it was his only solace, 
 and, to God's glory be it recorded, he found it 
 to be all-sufficient. 
 
 One thing is inexpressibly beautiful in the ac- 
 count before us, the love of this follower of 
 Christ Jesus for his Master's name; even for 
 
PREFACE. 7 
 
 the single expressive Name of Jesus ! When his 
 nephew said to him, " Deprived as we are of the 
 interchange of words, there is one name which in 
 itself expresses every thing we could desire to say 
 to each other," — " Ah ! yes," he exclaimed, with 
 sudden and unexpected energy, " when all else 
 fades away, when we can no longer connect one 
 idea with another, or scarcely dwell on any 
 subject, the name of Jesus still remains to us; 
 every thing may fail and vanish away, one ob- 
 ject endures in imperishable brightness. It is 
 ever more and more to be desired, it is alto- 
 gether lovely. This, my beloved children, is 
 the cross of Jesus Christ ! " The same spirit 
 seemed to breathe in his touching reply to the 
 roman catholic missionary, when we read that, 
 as they parted, the latter could not help assum- 
 ing an air of authority, and exhorted his compa- 
 nion to avoid the perdition that awaited him, by 
 placing himself under the shelter of the romish 
 church. " I think," relates the brother of the 
 popish priest, who is himself the narrator of the 
 circumstance, "I think I still see the protestant 
 pastor, and hear the penetrating tone of his voice, 
 
8 PREFACE, 
 
 as he said, £ Ah, sir; if you did but know the 
 happiness of belonging entirely to Jesus Christ.' " 
 Throughout his illness, to the very last, this 
 simple faith, this single name, preserved the 
 power it possessed over him. The only word 
 that trembled on his dying lips, but spoken 
 always in a tone of perfect hope, was the one 
 name of Jesus; that which was the chief desire 
 of his soul, hung on the last accents of his ex- 
 piring breath; it was his watchword to those 
 around him, it was peace and assurance to himself. 
 There can be no doubt that M. Gonthier was 
 brought to that state of nervous disease, which 
 at one time threatened to impair for ever even 
 the faculties of his mind, by his extraordinary 
 exertions ; and w r e leave to the reader to condemn 
 or to excuse those exertions as he pleases. We 
 do not say that he was not mistaken ; but it is his 
 history, not his praises that have been set before 
 the reader. It is indeed a lamentable mistake 
 that an author makes, when he attempts to jus- 
 tify every part of the character and conduct of 
 the man whose life he records. Such eulogies 
 would probably be more painful to the subject of 
 
PREFACE. U 
 
 them, than to any other individual. There may 
 be parts in the history of this excellent man 
 which we should forbear to offer as a model for 
 imitation to a youthful minister of the gospel; 
 but two things must never be forgotten — that his 
 energies and exertions did not merely blaze 
 forth and burn out, but from first to last he was 
 a burning and a shining light; his course was 
 consistent to the very end: and, secondly, That 
 he had but one object before him, the glory of 
 God, even of God manifest in the flesh, and 
 crucified for sinners. We must love, therefore, 
 we must admire, even what we might not exactly 
 imitate. 
 
 Whatever he might have seemed during some 
 seasons of his protracted course of trials, it is 
 on his dying bed that every morbid symptom 
 disappears ; and that this meek and suffering 
 disciple of our Lord encounters the king of ter- 
 rors, in the fulness of that superhuman strength 
 which was literally made perfect in his lowest 
 extremity of weakness. It is here that the dying, 
 fainting child of mortality becomes more than a 
 conqueror, simply through Him that loved him; 
 
10 PREFACE. 
 
 and rides on valiantly; so that we are almost led 
 to exclaim, with the prophet of old time, " My 
 father, my father, the chariot of Israel, and the 
 horsemen thereof." Weakness and sinfulness, 
 death and the agony of suffering, seem swallowed 
 up in victory ; or become like the fearful shapes 
 and shadows of darkness, as they fade away, when 
 the sun comes forth in his splendour, and earth 
 and heaven rejoice in returning light. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 TO THE ORIGINAL WORK. 
 
 This account was not written for the public. 
 The incidents it contains do not extend beyond 
 the narrow circle of domestic life. Addressed 
 as it is to the friends of M. Gonthier, it enters 
 into many details which could interest few others. 
 To those who did not know him, much that is 
 here said may appear superfluous, and many 
 things exaggerated. But his friends will know 
 at once that we have not departed from the 
 language of simple truth ; and as to the details, 
 they themselves asked us for them. We wish 
 we had to send them something better than this 
 account, rapidly sketched in the midst of nu- 
 merous, and, for the most part, painful occupa- 
 tions. Will they forgive us, for having so im- 
 perfectly fulfilled the task they have allotted us ? 
 
LIFE 
 
 REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 
 
 TO THE FRIENDS OF MONSIEUR GONTHIER. 
 
 You ask us, as with one voice, to speak to you of 
 our friend. You ciaim a share in our inherit- 
 ance of sad, sweet recollections. You were 
 well acquainted with his life of continued trial, 
 and would fain know something of the inner 
 man; you would have us speak to you of the 
 Spirit of power in a heart so tender, yet so 
 severely tried ; so weak, yet at the same time 
 so enduring. 
 
 We will attempt to obey your wishes. Yet we 
 entreat you not to expect from us more than we 
 are able to perform. We cannot describe our 
 friend as he really was. Had he distinguished 
 himself in science, in letters, or in the strife of 
 the interests of the day, the things we should 
 
14 THE LIFE OF 
 
 have to tell, would be found already written be- 
 fore the eyes of men, in characters easily read. 
 It is, however, of his inward life that you wish us 
 to speak. You desire to read the secret depths 
 of his pious and affectionate heart. But 
 where is the heart to which another heart is 
 really known ? Does not the spirit of man con- 
 tinually elude the comprehension of his fellow- 
 man? Its life is motion, nay, progressive mo- 
 tion, advancing ever towards infinitude. It 
 may, indeed, be said of those to whom the Lord 
 himself has pointed out the high mark which 
 they press forward to reach, that their horizon 
 is far more extended than that of other men. 
 Their view of human things is always more ele- 
 vated. The air they breathe is too pure, their 
 sense of feeling is too exquisite, the colours of 
 their sky are too delicately tinted for us to be 
 able to depict them. Do we at times suppose 
 that we have reached their standard ? We find 
 that they have already far surpassed us in strong 
 faith, in purity of conscience, in holy love. It is 
 one of their trials on earth, that they should not 
 be fully understood. It is one of ours to remain 
 so far behind them. We may go still farther. 
 Could we be enabled to understand them better, 
 it would still be as difficult to be faithful in- 
 terpreters to them. How is it possible to de- 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 15 
 
 scribe the tone, the manner, which are the in- 
 dex of the soul within, without which the faith- 
 fully rendered words can give but a faint and 
 faithless representation? The very expression of 
 countenance, — who shall convey an idea of its 
 evanescent character, though it portrays so vi- 
 vidly the deep and glowing feelings of the heart? 
 And yet we owe to you, as a debt, that which 
 we have received from him. Circumstances 
 of which we were the sole witnesses, words which 
 we alone have heard, and which have taught 
 our hearts many an affecting lesson — the 
 record of these things is due to you; for you 
 revered our father, and your affection was de- 
 lightful to him, during the weary season of his 
 protracted sufferings. It is right also to pre- 
 serve to the church some memorial of a life de- 
 voted to its sacred service, and which may still 
 in some manner serve it. This obligation, 
 which has, indeed, about it more of comfort 
 than of sadness, we will endeavour to fulfil. We 
 will try to retrace some features of that charac- 
 ter which is ever present to our thoughts ; and 
 to recall him who was sent by our blessed Lord 
 to be our guide through this our earthly career. 
 There are some dispositions singularly gentle, 
 and tender, and extremely impressible; alike 
 fitted for exquisite enjoyment, and for keen 
 
16 THE LIFE OF 
 
 sufferings, of a sensibility soon excited and affect* 
 ed, and perhaps as soon exhausted. You know 
 that notwithstanding he possessed such a delicate 
 and lively temperament, his countenance was at 
 once calm and penetrating; his judgment was 
 remarkable for its equity. He had a quick and 
 clear perception, and an astonishing discernment 
 of character. But his distinguishing feature was 
 the overflowing affection of his heart. It could 
 be said of him, that it was necessary to his exis- 
 tence that he should have something to love. 
 He was naturally formed for strong attachment, 
 for filial love, for devoted friendship, for conju- 
 gal and paternal affection, for promoting the 
 happiness of his fellow-creatures. He seemed to 
 look for all his happiness in these enjoyments. 
 He sought, in fact, for heaven upon earth. You 
 know how he gave himself up entirely to his 
 friends, to his family, to the service of the church. 
 Almost all these links were broken. He saw all 
 those he most loved laid in the grave before 
 him ; and at length, worn out by sorrow, and by 
 incessant labour which had far surpassed his 
 strength, he found himself incapable of continu- 
 ing his ministerial duties. The most affection- 
 ate of human beings, he was forced from extreme 
 weakness to give up the society of every one. 
 We have seen him dying by degrees, alone, a 
 
THE REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 17 
 
 prey to acute sufferings, and deprived of almost 
 every thing which is generally looked upon as 
 enjoyment. But it was then that we were the 
 witnesses of a glorious spectacle. We saw the 
 development of his faith, we saw its increase, as 
 it became more powerful, more pure. All that 
 he had looked for in this world, all that he had 
 expected from earth, he found in Christ with as- 
 sured hope, and founded on better promises. 
 He then understood that the design of his God 
 through the whole of his life, and the use of so 
 many trials, had been the salvation of his soul, 
 the purifying of his faith, and that he himself 
 might be fitted for a happiness far above what 
 he could ever have enjoyed, or even desired in 
 this world. 
 
 Perhaps your friend (though he seldom spoke 
 of himself) may sometimes have transported you 
 by his descriptions to his own paternal dwelling. 
 Among the favours which he had received from 
 Divine goodness, he placed in the foremost rank 
 that of having been born of parents so worthy of 
 their children's veneration and devoted affection. 
 Our grandfather, though not a minister, was a 
 catechist in the little town where he lived, where, 
 also, he kept a school. Our grandmother — 
 a few words of her son's will best describe her. 
 I was saying one day to my uncle, that he had 
 c 
 
18 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 inherited his mother's mouth. " I wish it may 
 be so," he answered with animation, giving his 
 own application to my words, "for she never 
 failed to defend the absent ; nor did I ever hear 
 a word of slander from her lips." Every thing 
 about the house reminded one of old-fashioned 
 manners, and of real godliness. One day re- 
 sembled the other, but every day was well spent, 
 and I do not think that either my grandfather 
 or grandmother ever wished that a different lot 
 had been theirs. What the one desired, was 
 sure to be the wish of the other. Their festival 
 days were those on which they received God's 
 blessings ; and they felt that they received them 
 every day. They noted down, however, most 
 accurately, any occasions on which God's mercies 
 had been more peculiarly vouchsafed to them. 
 My grandfather wrote them down in a book, 
 which was found in his bureau after his death ; 
 and the anniversaries of such mercies were 
 always celebrated by them. Among them w r ere 
 written down the birth of their son, on the, 21st 
 of December, 1773; and that of their daughter, 
 on the 13th of May, 1775. To these, another 
 day was added, that of the last Sunday of the 
 month of September, 1777; and the reason for 
 so doing was thus noticed in the journal : — 
 "This year, 1777, has been a period of agi- 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 19 
 
 tation and uneasiness. The small-pox has been 
 making dreadful havoc in the neighbouring 
 towns, and in all the surrounding country. 
 Numbers of parents, even of those who had large 
 families, have seen all their children taken from 
 them. Some have lost their sight. With others, 
 the disease has fixed itself in various parts of the 
 body, and left behind it such fatal effects as will 
 most probably last for life. Those whose children 
 had as yet been spared, looked upon them, with 
 reason, as being between life and death; and 
 such as, after the attack, saw their children 
 recover, felt as if they received them again from 
 the dead. My wife and I having but two child- 
 ren both of whom we dearly love, and never 
 expecting to have another child, we could not 
 but feel a like anxiety. 
 
 " When, on the 9th of August, the disease en» 
 tered into our house, first by attacking our son, 
 and a few days afterwards, our daughter, we no 
 longer dared to hope that these dear children 
 would be preserved to us. Yet, in thy great and 
 undeserved mercy, O my God, Thou hast 
 spared them, and restored them to us. Blessed 
 be Thy name for ever ! Our son was fearfully 
 ill, and had the disorder very full. He was four 
 days without being able to open his eyes, lying 
 almost without strength or life. Those who 
 c 2 
 
20 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 came to see him, tried to comfort us concerning 
 his death, which they, as well as we, thought 
 near at hand. 
 
 " We ought often to call to remembrance the 
 mercy of God to us ; and it is that I may en- 
 deavour to appreciate it more thoroughly, that 
 I have resolved to set apart for this purpose the 
 last Sunday in the month of September in every 
 year, that being about the time when my children 
 were quite restored to health. 
 
 " On this day I propose, 
 
 " 1. To read over this account, and strive to 
 realize to myself what might have happened to 
 my beloved children. I will think of my son 
 as given to me again from the dead, and I will 
 return thanks to God for so great a benefit. 
 
 " 2. God having preserved my children to me, 
 I will reflect on the indispensable obligations I 
 am under of devoting them to his service. I will 
 strive to study their dispositions, their minds, 
 and what improvement they are making in wis- 
 dom and knowledge. It would have been better 
 that God should have taken them out of the 
 world in their infancy, than that, through my 
 neglect, they should grow up in ignorance and 
 sin. If God has given them to me, and preserved 
 them to me, ought I not, in return, to offer them 
 up to him, and devote them to his service? 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 21 
 
 When they are of a proper age, I propose to 
 speak to them of the things written in this book, 
 and of other things proper to lead them to dedi- 
 cate themselves to their heavenly Father. 
 
 " 3. On this day I will give alms to the poor. 
 When I am more at leisure, I will also make a 
 point of visiting on this day, or as soon after as 
 possible, my sick neighbours ; and consider the 
 best means of being useful to young persons, in 
 remembrance of God's having preserved my own 
 children to me. 
 
 " I do not bind myself by any vow to perform 
 what I have here written down, for fear of 
 breaking it in one way or another. But this is the 
 resolution that I make : I propose to myself to 
 fulfil the duties which gratitude has imposed 
 upon me, not merely on the day marked for that 
 purpose, but I would profit by this day to bring 
 before me, in a more particular manner, the 
 wonderful goodness of God. 
 
 " May God in his mercy fill me with gratitude 
 and love towards him for the blessings without 
 number which he has showered down upon my- 
 self and my family ; and may he grant that this 
 household may be devoted to his service ! May 
 he renew his blessings from generation to gene- 
 ration upon our descendants ; and may we all be 
 united with Him in heaven above ! " 
 
22 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 In this manner did our forefather express his 
 pious thoughts ; and it was in this moral atmo- 
 sphere that our uncle lived from his birth. The 
 religious sentiments of his father and mother 
 were the same : yet he soon perceived that the 
 character of their faith differed in some respects, 
 and that they did not express themselves in the 
 same manner. His father, who was of an ardent 
 temperament, looked upon religion as a solemn 
 call to virtue. His more gentle mother received 
 it simply as the election of the grace of God. 
 His father was most forcibly struck by the per- 
 fection of the moral law, by its grandeur, and 
 the holiness which it exacts. His mother loved 
 to dwell on the promises of God's love, and 
 they were as food to her soul. This difference 
 might almost be read on the countenance of each 
 of them. The one expressed thanksgiving ; and 
 the other zeal and adoration. Their faith in 
 reality was the same; and every difference 
 disappeared when they prayed together. Their 
 son thought that Heaven had united them, that 
 their opposite dispositions might be a mutual 
 help one to the other, and that the one might 
 temper the other. " I was struck," he said to 
 us one day, " to find this apparent disagreement 
 between two beings so perfectly united; I was 
 witness to the blamelessness of their two lives, 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 23 
 
 and it would have been difficult for me to say 
 which surpassed the other in purity. I learned, 
 amongst other things, not to receive, in religion, 
 the conventional language of any system or 
 form, as absolute ; and thus, from the contem- 
 plation of these two united but differing charac- 
 ters, I became enlightened on a point as to 
 which we are too often in error, and was enabled 
 to judge clearly and rightly in many difficult 
 positions in my after life." 
 
 This sober discretion was in him united to a 
 disposition naturally full of ardour. It is rarely 
 that we do not bring down our religion to the low 
 standard of our own views ; or endeavour to force 
 it into a conformity to the narrowness of our own 
 minds : and thus the beams of divine light are 
 often decomposed or broken amidst the darkness 
 of the natural heart. Hence, alas, it follows, that 
 there are as many different views, and as many 
 parties, as there are leanings and varying inclin- 
 ations in the world. M. Gonthier had early 
 directed his attention to this danger, and had 
 carefully kept up a watch against it in the inmost 
 recesses of his heart. His efforts were crowned 
 with such success, that a single-minded imparti- 
 ality was the distinguishing feature in his religion. 
 You are not ignorant how equally the christian 
 virtues were reflected in him, without any one 
 
•24 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 of them throwing the other into the shade. 
 Their influence equally pervaded his mind, his 
 heart, and the whole tenour of his life. Every 
 thing was subjected to this three-fold trial. 
 Whatever he said, no one could doubt that he 
 had thought it, had felt it, and had lived it. 
 From this proceeded his powers of persuasion, 
 and the wide sphere of action which he was 
 enabled to occupy. Others have brought to the 
 church the tribute of higher powers ; they may 
 have set forth, with greater lustre, certain portions 
 of moral truth, or they may have arrested atten- 
 tion by more splendid labours ; but I know not 
 that there are many, whose influence was more 
 generally or more beneficently exercised. It 
 was impossible not to recognise in him that 
 wisdom which understands, which weighs, which 
 conciliates, which reconciles extremes, which 
 abounds in good works, and which approves 
 itself to the consciences of men by a divine 
 power. It was not easy to resist the words of 
 one, whose life was in such perfect harmony 
 with them, or a voice so wise and at the same 
 time so gentle. The most cultivated as w r ell 
 as the most simple-minded, listened to him with 
 equal delight. Few could hear him without 
 feeling themselves touched on some point or 
 other. Fewer still there were, who did not do 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 25 
 
 homage, however involuntarily, to a religion so 
 intelligent, so full of life, so pure, and which 
 they saw could sanctify the soul without deaden- 
 ing its powers, ennoble the faculties without 
 absorbing any of them, elevate to the highest 
 things without leaving the lesser duties unful- 
 filled ; and shed over the whole economy of the 
 moral man a spirit of improvement, of love, and 
 of peace. The education and the examples set 
 before him in his paternal home were preparing 
 his heart for the reception of the gospel of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ, even as the field is made 
 ready for the good seed. 
 
 At the age of fourteen, he left the shelter of 
 his father's roof, to pursue his studies at the 
 college of Lausanne. He himself may as well 
 describe the impressions he received at this 
 period of his life. One day when we were seated 
 with him on a bench in his garden, we asked 
 him several questions concerning his studies and 
 residence at Lausanne. He answered us nearly 
 as follows : — 
 
 " At Lausanne, I had to breathe a different 
 atmosphere from that of my father's house. It 
 was at the time when the philosophy of the last 
 century was so generally prevalent. With its 
 plans and principles for the improvement of 
 social order was associated the most shameless 
 
26 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 immorality. I had scarcely arrived there, when, 
 notwithstanding my youth, for I was still a mere 
 boy, a student in theology, who professed a 
 sincere regard for me, put into my hands one of 
 the most licentious novels which the corruption 
 of that age had produced, in order, as he said, 
 to keep me from being dull on my first arrival. 
 My heart felt heavy within me as I read this 
 book : the tears gushed from my eyes ; I thought 
 of the chaste purity of the home I had left, and 
 feeling myself all at once deprived of the support 
 I had hitherto experienced from the enlightened 
 affection of my father, I sought earnestly for one 
 who could understand me, and in whom I might 
 safely confide. Such a friend I found, and I 
 began to believe that I possessed all that I could 
 expect from earthly friendship. Our studies 
 were the same ; our opinions were alike on most 
 subjects; our future destination was also the 
 same. Nothing would do, but that our lodg- 
 ings should be under the same roof, and this was 
 soon managed. We were inseparable friends. 
 Who would have suspected that the day on which 
 we took up our abode in the same dwelling, 
 would be the beginning of long and painful 
 trials? My friend was seized with a nervous 
 fever, which soon increased to a degree of ex- 
 traordinary violence. You may be assured that 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 27 
 
 I did not leave him ; I even concealed from his 
 parents, as well as from my own, the danger of 
 his state, that I might not be deprived of the 
 pleasure of nursing him. I left him neither day 
 nor night. I continued doing so, until I was 
 myself attacked with the same fever, and was 
 soon in as much danger as himself. For many 
 days I remained at the very gates of death. My 
 father and mother had given up all hope, when 
 against hope I was restored to life, and to their 
 affections, and to my friend. My poor friend ! 
 In what a melancholy condition I found him. 
 At the time I was taken ill, and in consequence 
 removed from him, his parents had hastened to 
 his bed-side, and while nursing him, they them- 
 selves were also attacked with the same disease. 
 His father, his mother, a brother, and a sister, 
 successively sunk under it; and he recovered 
 to find himself almost the sole survivor of his 
 once happy and healthy family. I felt that I was 
 called upon to devote myself to him, and I 
 mourned with him from my very heart. You 
 would hardly believe that your uncle, as you 
 see him now, had once handled a yard measure, 
 and sold more than one piece of cloth : but my 
 friend's father had been in trade, and had left a 
 quantity of goods, which it was necessary to dis- 
 pose of. I assisted him in the arrangement of 
 
28 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 the sale, the settling of accounts, and in various 
 other labours ; and perhaps the task was greater 
 than we were equal to, in our great weakness. 
 I often sunk, completely exhausted, under the 
 fatigue I went through : and it is from this 
 period that I may date the first failure of my 
 health. It had formerly been remarkably strong, 
 but had now received a shock which it never 
 recovered. As to my friend, it was hardly to be 
 wondered at that he should have yielded to 
 discouragement. He had almost given himself 
 up to despair. Neither of us had yet found in 
 the gospel the only sure remedy for human 
 misery. Besides all this, one dreadful thought 
 was gradually gaining strength, from the deep 
 sadness which inwardly preyed upon him ; and 
 this was the dreadful temptation to commit 
 suicide. A single link seemed still to attach 
 him to life; this was our mutual friendship. I 
 failed not to assure him of my undiminished 
 regard. He had threatened to attempt his life, 
 if I left him for a moment. I did not leave 
 him, I never lost sight of him. Thinking that 
 a residence in the country might be of service to 
 his health, I obtained my father's permission to 
 inhabit a small country-house belonging to him, 
 not far from the town. We remained there 
 several months. The more his melancholy 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 29 
 
 increased, the more did I labour to win him from 
 it. I was fearful every day that my parents 
 should perceive the increase of his disorder, or 
 the state of ceaseless agony in which I lived. 
 The day came at last, when I could no longer 
 keep up this system of concealment; my friend 
 contrived to deceive my watchfulness, and to 
 escape. He betrayed to others the disordered 
 state of his mind. My parents, as well as the 
 neighbourhood, were soon informed of it, and 
 they ordered me to return to them immediately. 
 ' You must choose between him and us,' said my 
 father to me, seeing my irresolution and my 
 sorrow. I obeyed, but with deep and heart felt 
 grief. 
 
 " I now resumed my studies, after an interval 
 of two years. I had the work of many months 
 to get through in a few weeks, in order to be 
 able to present myself at the yearly examination. 
 I received in the mean time, however, several 
 letters from my unhappy friend, who did not 
 cease to reproach me for having left him. His 
 illness had had the effect of changing his affec- 
 tion for me into bitter hatred. One day, as I 
 was walking with a book in my hand, in a wood 
 where we had passed many hours, he appeared 
 before me with his face deadly pale, and his 
 eyes looking haggard; and taking out two 
 
30 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 pistols, he declared that as he was resolved to put 
 an end to his life, he had sworn to do so in my 
 presence, and thus show me to what a state my 
 pitiless contempt had reduced him. I succeeded 
 in arresting his hand; and throwing myself into 
 his arms, I found words powerful enough to reach 
 his heart. It was graciously given to me to 
 prevail with him, and to see him in a manner 
 restored to himself. He endeavoured to exact a 
 promise from me that I would return to him. 
 I answered him firmly, that he must be con- 
 vinced nothing would induce me to disobey the 
 positive commands of my father — and thus we 
 parted. 
 
 Many months passed away before I received 
 the long-wished for and welcome news of his 
 entire restoration to health. He had during this 
 interval made several excursions. Some men of 
 talent about this time were travelling, by order 
 of government, near our frontiers, for the pur- 
 poses of science: he joined them; and the charm 
 of their society, the new food with which they 
 furnished his mind, and the variety of objects 
 which engaged his attention, had diverted the 
 channel of his thoughts. I no sooner learned this 
 than I wrote to him, and so anxious was I to win 
 back his friendship, that in my letter I opened 
 my whole heart to him. I repeated to him all 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 31 
 
 that had passed between us, omitting nothing. 
 I called upon him to bear witness to the truth 
 of what I said, and entreated him to admit at last 
 that my sentiments towards him had never 
 varied. My letter preceded me but a short 
 time. I hastened to him in person. It was in- 
 deed a happy day when I found my friend the 
 same as in former times, and we again took 
 sweet counsel together. 
 
 I had at last found rest, after years of anxiety, 
 and together we resumed our beloved studies. 
 I could now give myself up to them, without 
 being constantly haunted and disturbed by 
 troubled thoughts. I needed this delightful 
 calm, and felt the benefit of it, at this period of 
 my literary education. 
 
 Having nearly concluded my theological 
 studies, I had to answer a question which pre- 
 sented itself to me in all its awfulness. 4 Does 
 God call you to the sacred ministry of his 
 church?' I was not ignorant of the great wish 
 my parents had to see me enter into holy orders. 
 I had acquired the pleasant habit of giving way 
 to their wishes. But on this subject of deepest 
 importance, I felt that though it was my duty to 
 listen to their advice, it must not be a law to 
 me. I solemnly resolved to lay aside every mere 
 wish to oblige, and not to present myself for 
 
32 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 ordination, unless it were given to me to receive, 
 without any reserve, the call of the gospel. I 
 returned therefore to my studies, to solitary medi- 
 tation, and above all to communion with God. 
 How often have I retired to the wood of Sauva- 
 belin, near Lausanne, and there, with the holy 
 Bible in my hand, have I remained reading, 
 meditating, examining my heart, and calling 
 upon God to witness my inward conflicts, be- 
 seeching him to answer my prayers for his Di- 
 vine assistance. I prayed — I prayed much, and 
 I waited. For many years I had lived far from 
 the ways in which the child of God should walk. 
 Brought up in my father's house with other 
 youths who, for the most part, were intended for 
 a commercial life, I had insensibly imbibed a 
 taste for it, and my future plans had all some 
 reference to it. Afterwards, during the period 
 of my studies, I had given way to the ungodli- 
 ness of the times, and had too much forgotten 
 what I had learned in my father's house. While 
 I was thus insensibly led away from the right 
 path, it pleased God to make me pass through 
 the days of suffering I have just described to you. 
 A bright and clear light shone forth upon me 
 from the depth of that darkness. I had sought 
 for happiness in friendship, and I had expe- 
 rienced that all human affection, if apart from 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 33 
 
 a holier, surer, and deeper love, cannot satisfy. 
 It could not have answered the end for which I 
 was created ; and this is what the hand of the 
 Most Merciful had just traced before me in 
 characters of fire. I read — I felt conscious that 
 my soul was destined for higher pursuits, and 
 my heart was gradually converted to God. 
 From this time, my faith was a reality. I be- 
 lieved from my heart, and I then entered upon 
 the sacred ministry. My God led me into that 
 way, where I was at every step to find His hand. 
 He had just made me experience for the first 
 time, what I have since done so often, that even 
 in wrath He remembers mercy." 
 
 It was thus that my uncle related to us his 
 first trials, the feelings which they developed in 
 him, and his entrance into the ministry of the 
 gospel. From this time, and for several years 
 after his ordination, his horizon appeared to 
 brighten : a new career had been opened to his 
 activity. He had an end, and it was the noblest, 
 to live for; he had entered with holy trust, into 
 close communion with God, the covenant God 
 of the gospel; and he felt that henceforward 
 he should walk by this blessed and cheering 
 light. His father and mother beheld him with 
 joyful satisfaction walking in the paths which 
 
34 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 they themselves had traced out for him. His 
 appointment as stationary, or subsidiary minis- 
 ter, allowed of his settling near them. And 
 from this time his heart, so long cast down, 
 was cheered and comforted. Many new and 
 delightful feelings shed a charm over his exist- 
 ence : he wanted nothing now, but a companion 
 to share his happiness with him. This was soon 
 afforded him. At the Locle, in the mountains 
 of Neuchatel, resided a family of four-and- 
 twenty children, all of them belonging to the 
 same father. Several of them were married, 
 and had children of their own. When the three 
 generations were collected together to celebrate 
 any family festival, they were eighty in number; 
 they appeared then as an assembled tribe. It 
 was from this numerous family that my uncle 
 chose his wife. In Mr. Courvoisier's house, 
 simplicity of manners and patriarchal habits 
 were joined to that knowledge and information 
 which proceeds from extensive commercial con- 
 nexions. I will only say of our uncle's compa- 
 nion, what many among you know of yourselves, 
 that she was distinguished by a simplicity of 
 character, at once noble and graceful. I have 
 heard persons, who were in the habit of seeing 
 her every day, say, that had she been blessed 
 with health, they should not have known what 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 35 
 
 gift was wanting in her. Some kinds of maladies 
 give a precocious ripeness to a person's character. 
 Autumn, summer, and spring, appear to be 
 blended together in the person thus afflicted; 
 so that with mingled surprise, pleasure, and 
 sadness, we discover in them all the joyous 
 elasticity of youth, joined to the sound judg- 
 ment of a more experienced age. This was the 
 case with Madame Gonthier. Her complexion 
 of transparent clearness, the liveliness, yet soft- 
 ness of her manners, her lofty and pure expres- 
 sion of countenance, made one of us when a 
 child, as he still remembers, regard her as one 
 of those angelic beings described to us as hover- 
 ing between heaven and earth, and to whom all 
 human passions are unknown. She was exactly 
 the wife for my uncle; exactly suited to his 
 heart, and the chaste, yet ardent sensibility of 
 his imagination. His attachment for her ap- 
 peared to be as strong as it well could be, but she 
 acquired a yet stronger title to it, when she 
 made him a father. The mother of his little 
 Louise, and his little Francois, had opened to 
 him a new world of happiness and delightful 
 hopes. His gratitude to God increased as he 
 received these pledges of affection. He was 
 impressed with a feeling of respect and admir- 
 ation, in witnessing the solicitude and devotion 
 d 2 
 
36 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 with which God fills the tender heart of a 
 mother. His wife and he were becoming every 
 day dearer and more necessary to each other; 
 every day appeared to strengthen the bond 
 of their union, and this union formed their 
 mutual happiness. Short-lived happiness ! Years 
 of transient delight! How soon they were to 
 end ! 
 
 A first trial was sent them in the death of 
 their little boy. His fresh bloom, and his fair 
 clustering curls, gave a false promise of health 
 to this child. He died when scarcely a year 
 old. Their hearts were bleeding from this 
 still recent wound, when another affliction was 
 preparing for them. A storm was gathering, 
 and it was one which was to strike deep into the 
 heart of our uncle : and which, becoming more 
 and more threatening, was at length to deprive 
 him of his greatest earthly happiness. He saw its 
 approach; from this time he could no longer 
 conceal from himself, that the lungs of his wife 
 were attacked by a hopeless disease. Already he 
 perceived that all his care to preserve a life, the 
 springs of which were affected, would be in vain. 
 He was only permitted to use every means to 
 prolong its course. The least fatigue, and now 
 every thing had become a fatigue, the slightest 
 change of the atmosphere, (and in Switzerland, 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 37 
 
 the seasons change often very suddenly,) the 
 return of winter especially, affected the poor in- 
 valid, and brought on fresh attacks of her com- 
 plaint. The only hope that now remained, was 
 from the effects of a more genial climate. Our 
 uncle would have done every thing to save one 
 whose life was more precious to him than his own. 
 He did not, therefore, hesitate to leave his 
 country, and his father's house, to seek from a 
 milder sky, the restoration of her health, who 
 was so dear to him. An appointment w r as 
 vacant in the church at Nismes; he asked for 
 it, obtained it, and soon the carriage which con- 
 tained his wife and child, set off on slow jour- 
 neys towards the south. 
 
 When M. Gonthier became one of the minis- 
 ters of the church at Nismes, (it was in the 
 spring of 1805,) France was but just recovering 
 from the storms of the Revolution. In most 
 places, the churches had been deserted. At 
 Nismes, out of a population of fifteen thousand 
 protestants, scarcely fifty persons attended the 
 ordinance of the Lord's supper. We remember 
 hearing our uncle say, that many young persons 
 longing to approach the table of the Lord, and yet 
 not daring to brave the shame of doing so openly, 
 were accustomed to go to Cevennes, a distance 
 of ten leagues, to receive, in a retired village, 
 
38 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 the bread of the holy communion. Amuse- 
 ments, the theatres, the labours of business, 
 and above all, the stirring sounds of war, en- 
 grossed the minds of all. Every thing was as 
 B God to them, except the God of the Bible. 
 
 It will, therefore, be easy to imagine the 
 difficulties encountered by the new minister, 
 who had come to live among them, full as he 
 was of faith and zeal. His first wish was to 
 recall the people to their spiritual teachers. 
 " O my God," he prayed, " give to thy servant 
 a voice, not less powerful than that which draws 
 the multitude away from Thee;" and that his 
 practice might agree with the spirit of his prayer, 
 he studied to preach as plainly, as winningly, 
 and yet as forcibly as he could. He possessed 
 that which is the greatest help to eloquence — 
 faith. In his ideas he was not below his con- 
 gregation. His imagination was inexhaustible ; 
 his thoughts were as lively, as quick, and as 
 striking as those of any inhabitant of the 
 south; but his memory was not good. As this 
 caused him much trouble, he imposed upon 
 himself as a duty, to learn his sermons by heart 
 so perfectly, that in delivering them, this de- 
 fect should not be a hinderance to him. " I 
 never preached," he said to us, " without a three- 
 fold preparation : First, I engraved upon my 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 39 
 
 mind, the ideas and the expressions of my ser- 
 mons : secondly, I strove to overcome the faults 
 of my pronunciation, and to acquire a slow and 
 impressive manner, that the thoughts which 
 animated me, might reach the hearts of those 
 who heard me : my third preparation was, to 
 make myself so completely master of my sen- 
 tences, that they might present themselves to my 
 mind naturally, and in their proper order." His 
 memory from this time ceased to interrupt the 
 freedom of his thoughts, or to make them appear 
 in any way constrained. His style of preaching 
 became free and persuasive; he attracted the 
 public ; the churches again began to be filled, 
 and the preaching of God's word was again 
 listened to. 
 
 But this was not sufficient. He felt that he 
 must descend from the pulpit, and enter every 
 house, to preach the gospel, and to apply it to 
 the need of every one. To effect this, M. 
 Gonthier profited by the custom which, in spite 
 of the decay of religion in the church of Nismes, 
 was still kept up there ; that of calling the min- 
 ister to attend at death-beds. This became the 
 means of making him known among the families 
 there, and gave him many opportunities of caus- 
 ing them to hear the words of prayer and exhort- 
 ation. It became one of the ways by which he 
 
40 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 succeeded in gaining their confidence and affec- 
 tion. They soon came to him from all parts 
 for the benefit of his advice. In one of his 
 wife's letters, I find written, " Persons are 
 always coming to my husband to open their 
 hearts to him, and to consult him on particular 
 subjects, more especially on very delicate ones. 
 More than once persons have come to him after 
 the sermon, to make known to him their distress 
 of mind, and to ask for his prayers. I wish you 
 could see all the good ho is permitted to do in 
 this place. What a blessed calling is his ! one 
 of reconciliation and love ! .... I sometimes 
 say, that it is also a painful one, when we are 
 anxious to follow it to the utmost of our power ; 
 for there is no limit to occasions of doing good." 
 M. Gonthier's time was indeed so entirely 
 taken up with the duties of his ministry, that a 
 few of the evening hours were all that remained 
 for him to devote to his wife and child. Some 
 intimate friends joined them at that time. They 
 were of the number of those who are dear to us 
 as ourselves. Their affection had been of rapid 
 growth ; but their devotedness to him was proved 
 in the time of trial. This little assembly did not 
 long remain unbroken. Those who composed 
 it were scattered ; but they have never ceased to 
 live in communion with each other, and to feel 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 41 
 
 united by closer and yet closer bonds of inti- 
 macy ; for they loved each other in Christ, and 
 in the spirit of holiness. My uncle has often 
 spoken to us of his friends at Nismes, but he 
 never could express half what he felt towards 
 them. 
 
 You who were his beloved friends knew his 
 Louise. She also was your friend. When you 
 saw her better, you shared his hopes with him ; 
 and when the disease again attacked her, you 
 were partakers of his grief. You well know that 
 only a short respite was allowed her. Her suf- 
 ferings returned, her weakness increased, and 
 she was soon brought to that state of debility, in 
 which the patient has alternate days of amend- 
 ment and relapse. Such is generally the case 
 in a lingering consumption. You know the life 
 of our good uncle during this anxious season. 
 The day he devoted to the manifold duties of 
 his ministry, and the night to watching by the 
 bedside of his dear invalid. This delightful 
 privilege he never would resign to any one. 
 Who can tell the bitter anguish of his heart at 
 that time ? But who also can tell the secret 
 happiness they were still permitted to enjoy in 
 communion with each other, and in the unre- 
 served confidence of a union to which nothing 
 on earth can be compared ? Who, in short, can 
 
42 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 tell the still greater and more lasting comfort 
 they found in the reality of their faith in Christ? 
 He has, however, himself partly told us something 
 of this, in a letter written by him on the 12th of 
 May, 1809, the anniversary of his great loss, to a 
 friend who had often asked him for some account 
 of this mournful event. 
 
 " 12th May, 1809. 
 " What a day has just commenced, my dear 
 friend ! It was on this same day last year that 
 the ties were broken which bound me to my 
 sweetest friend, to her who had the first claim 
 to that endearing name. But do I say broken ! 
 No, they are not broken. My heart will never 
 cease to cherish my beloved wife. It will always 
 be full of the remembrance of her. The eleven 
 years we passed together in the closest intimacy 
 have formed a bond between us which nothing 
 can dissever. And did we not love each other in 
 God our Saviour, with the earnest desire of 
 being more and more closely united one with the 
 other in Him, and of meeting together after this 
 life, in his presence ? Ah, no, we are not quite 
 separated. Perhaps her thoughts now cannot 
 come down to me. Perhaps it is not given to 
 the blessed to behold what is passing on earth, 
 because they would witness too much sorrow, too 
 much corruption, and because their souls might 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 43 
 
 then be grieved by such contemplations. Yet 
 perchance they are permitted to look upon earthly 
 things, without their happiness being diminished, 
 because they see them from a higher point of 
 view, and under a different aspect. Perchance 
 they may have the privilege of observing what 
 is passing on this scene of our probation, once 
 the place of their pilgrimage, and of sympathiz- 
 ing with the friends they have left there. Per- 
 chance my own wife is even now beholding me. 
 
 " If she has seen me leave off writing to you 
 for a while, to lift up my heart in prayer, beseech- 
 ing the God of all mercy to look in pity on my 
 wretchedness, and to strengthen my weakness ; 
 beseeching Him, above all things, to help me to 
 triumph over all earthly temptation, over all my 
 own evil propensities, over every thing that might 
 prevent my re-union with her in heaven : if she 
 has seen the earnestness with which I breathed 
 this prayer, perhaps her glorified spirit has re- 
 joiced in the sight, and from her blessed abode 
 she is smiling on me. 
 
 " But a veil is drawn before the nature and 
 extent of our present connexion. This veil was 
 necessary, since it exists, (for there is wisdom in 
 every decree of the Most High,) I cannot with- 
 draw it. Yet I feel my soul still as closely 
 united to hers, and I cannot think, therefore, that 
 
44 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 hers can be completely estranged from every 
 thing that concerns mine. At least I know that 
 if she can no longer return to me, I can, through 
 the great compassion of our blessed Saviour, go 
 one day to her, to the place where she abides, 
 where there will be no more sorrow, no more 
 tears, but all will be perfect bliss, and I shall be 
 reunited to her for ever. What power there is in 
 this thought to support me, to heal the deep 
 wound of my heart ! I shall surely have strength 
 to collect together the circumstances of her last 
 hours, which you have so long asked for, my dear 
 friend, and which I have reserved till now, to tell 
 you. The remembrance of them is very painful 
 to me, yet it is softened by the thoughts of her 
 firmness, her calm composure, her deep piety, 
 and her truly christian resignation. 
 
 " You know, that sometimes when death is 
 about to inflict its last blow, it seems to delay it 
 for a time ; and the sick person, to all appear- 
 ance, revives for a short season. It was thus 
 during the last night that she remained upon 
 earth; she found herself a little better, than on the 
 days and nights preceding; she gained a little 
 strength, and I blessed God most fervently. I 
 besought Him with earnestness to improve this 
 change. She slept little, but she was less 
 agitated. I read to her at different times, some 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 45 
 
 chapters in the Holy Scriptures. The reading 
 of them had become the chief desire of her soul, 
 and its greatest comfort. Her calmness, how- 
 ever, was not of long duration. Towards morn- 
 ing, her most dreadful sufferings began. These 
 words escaped her lips — 6 Happy are those who 
 enjoy rest !' She pronounced them in so calm 
 and gentle a manner, that they could only be 
 regarded as the aspiration of a devoted spirit 
 seeking its God, and lifting its thoughts to the 
 mansions of eternal rest, and not in the slightest 
 degree as a murmur. Nevertheless her soul 
 appeared to reproach itself for having suffered 
 even these words to escape ; so near was she to 
 heaven. They seemed to her not sufficiently in 
 unison with that perfect resignation to God's 
 will, to which she had been enabled to habituate 
 herself, and which led her not to wish, even in 
 thought, that one of her sufferings, sent as they 
 were, by her heavenly Father, should be spared 
 her. She told me, she wished to be left a • few 
 moments entirely to her own thoughts, and to 
 communion with God. Afterwards she said to 
 me, « Now I have prayed ; and, blessed be God, 
 I hope from this moment to be free from every 
 inquietude.' With what an expression did she 
 accompany these words ! an expression of deep 
 humility, and of holy calm. Her agonies 
 
46 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 increased. About eight o'clock, she asked to see 
 her little girl, her beloved child, to whose educa- 
 tion she had devoted herself in the most affecting 
 manner, notwithstanding her weakness. I told 
 
 her that Madame de D had just taken her 
 
 home with her, but that I would send for her 
 instantly. She thought a moment, then said, 
 * No ; it is better she should not see me.' This 
 dear child, just herself recovered from a serious 
 illness, was still very weak : her mother feared 
 that the sight of her would occasion too great a 
 shock to the little girl ; and at once sacrificing, 
 as was her constant habit, her own gratification 
 to the good of others, she resolved to deprive 
 herself of a consolation so natural and so de- 
 lightful ; that of beholding for the last time on 
 earth, her beloved child. I insisted that she 
 should be brought to her, if only for a moment. 
 'No;' she answered, 'it is better not, my dear 
 
 husband, you know all I would say, 
 
 you will tell her all . . . .' 
 
 " Oh, yes ! / know all, and you also, my dear 
 friend, know what a mother my child had. I will 
 strive to make her feel this. I know that the 
 first wish of her heart was to dedicate the precious 
 charge committed to her, to the service of God 
 her Saviour, and to prepare her for eternity. 
 And I will go on with the work which she has 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 47 
 
 begun with such zeal and such wisdom. Were 
 I not to be diligent in the performance of this 
 duty, how unworthy should I be of that confi- 
 dence which my blessed wife reposed in me at 
 her last hour. 
 
 " Alas ! her strength was rapidly decreasing. 
 She now spoke with great difficulty; but her 
 eyes were raised to heaven, and appeared to 
 brighten, as with a foretaste of the perfect hap- 
 piness which there awaited her. She opened 
 her lips; my whole soul was watching to catch 
 her words. She said, ' Death .... God .... 
 heaven ! ' Thus in the extremity of her weak- 
 ness, she sought to prepare me for the blow 
 which awaited me ; to comfort and strengthen 
 my soul, and to keep me from an excess of 
 grief. Her sufferings were at times very severe : 
 my heart was pierced at beholding them. ' Ah ! ' 
 she said, with a calm peacefulness known to the 
 child of God alone, ' what are my sufferings to 
 those of my Saviour ! ' 
 
 " For a short time, she appeared to revive a lit- 
 tle. She felt it was but for a very short time ; and 
 her strong affection for her relations, her friends, 
 and for her husband, would not allow her to lose 
 these moments. ' Listen to me, my love,' she 
 said ; then with a voice slow indeed, but clear 
 and firm, she charged me to make her most 
 
48 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 affectionate farewell to every individual of my 
 family, of her own, and to each and all of our 
 common friends. Her strength failed her for a 
 time ; she was unable to proceed. Soon after 
 she continued, « My love, lift up my arms.' I 
 lifted them up, and she put them round my 
 neck. Oh ! how can I describe to you what I 
 then felt, when so many and such various feel- 
 ings rent my heart, and pierced to the inmost 
 depths of my soul. « My beloved,' she said, 
 with an expression of tenderness impossible to 
 
 describe, 'my admirable husband, I 
 
 thank you for all your goodness to me ; ... . 
 God will repay you : I cannot — I never could.' 
 
 Ah ! far from this, it was I who owed 
 
 every thing to her. All that a human being 
 could experience of happiness, I had known with 
 her. Her arms were still around me, and in the 
 inexpressible sorrow which filled my heart, feel- 
 ing unable to sustain myself in my own strength, 
 I called upon Him who is ever ready to help us, 
 to strengthen my weakness. I prayed aloud 
 for her and for myself. We remained thus, our 
 hearts close to each other, for the last time 
 uniting together in christian communion. When 
 our prayer was ended, I said, to soften the 
 agony of these moments ; * My beloved wife, 
 perhaps the Lord will grant us yet again to love 
 
REV. F. A. A. GO NTH I ER. 49 
 
 Him, and pray to Him together on earth.' 6 1 
 do not think it,' she answered; 'but if He 
 should, we would assist each other, would we 
 not, my beloved ? to purify our hearts, with His 
 all-powerful help, from every earthly motive, 
 and, in all we do, to have a single eye to His 
 glory. This is the one thing needful. Every 
 thing else is but vanity.' May these words be 
 for ever engraven upon my soul ! They were 
 the last legacy of my dying wife, and by them 
 the Lord seemed to make a solemn appeal to my 
 soul, calling upon me to seek Him above all 
 things. May He in his mercy help me, for 
 without Him I can do nothing ! 
 
 " My wife now appeared to undergo less 
 positive suffering; her strength was likewise fail- 
 ing fast. Who that had seen her in these last 
 moments, and had beheld her sorrowful expres- 
 sion when she turned to me, and her calm 
 peacefulness when she looked towards heaven, 
 and the foretaste of everlasting happiness which 
 appeared to be given to her spirit in the midst 
 of her suffering, — who that had seen this, would 
 not have felt how great are the privileges of the 
 child of God? 
 
 " 6 My dearest love,' I said to her, < has not 
 our most earnest desire ever been to be united 
 in the faith of our common Saviour, not only 
 
 E 
 
50 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 for time, but for eternity?' ' Oh ! yes, for 
 eternity,' she answered, raising her eyes to 
 heaven, as if to say, 'I go to wait for thee 
 there.' 
 
 " Her last hour drew nigh, and yet she found 
 strength to speak a few more words to me. She 
 gave me a last kiss. Alas ! I felt the cold chill 
 of death already on her lips. Once more those 
 lips unclosed ; it was to breathe out, though with 
 difficulty, the sacred name of ' Jesus Christ ! ' 
 She could say no more. Her blessed Saviour, 
 who heard this her last appeal to Him, called 
 her, and received her redeemed and purified 
 spirit, to dwell with Him in everlasting happi- 
 ness, and reunited her to that dear child who 
 had gone before her. 
 
 " I remain behind in this place of pilgrimage 
 and trial, with her dear surviving child. I have 
 
 still duties to fulfil O my friend, I beseech 
 
 you pray for me, that I may receive help from 
 God, and not be found wanting in devotedness 
 to my charge : so that, after having lived a life 
 like hers, I may die as she died, and at length 
 restore to her the beloved child she has left 
 with me !" 
 
 His little girl was ten years of age when she 
 thus became the only earthly comfort to her 
 father, and the object of his most devoted 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 51 
 
 affection. Though so young, she was an intel- 
 ligent little companion to him. Her home 
 education, the conversation and the example of 
 her parents, and the touching and mutual affec- 
 tion which united them, and illness still more 
 than education, had developed prematurely the 
 qualities of her heart and mind. Her feelings 
 were very acute. The gentleness of her dis- 
 position was joined to a liveliness which she had 
 much difficulty in subduing. Some time after 
 the death of her mother, she acquired the habit 
 of writing every two or three days, and regularly 
 at the end of each week, a short journal of her 
 life. In it she notes down every thing she does, 
 gives an account of all she reads, of her walks 
 with her father, of all she saw, felt, and ob- 
 served. She watches strictly over her own con- 
 duct, blames herself for the faults she commits, 
 and appears in every thing to consult the hap- 
 piness of the parent to whom she owed far more 
 than her existence. Some extracts from this 
 journal will serve to show us what he was to 
 her, and what she was to her father. It begins 
 on the 4th of May, 1809. 
 
 " When I have passed the day in a rational 
 
 manner, it does make me feel so happy, and it 
 
 does my dear papa so much good, and I am 
 
 sure he needs, it, especially at this time. Ah ! 
 
 e2 
 
52 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 if I do not behave well for my own sake, I ought 
 for his, and in remembrance of my dear mamma, 
 who always tried to make him happy. I feel 
 how much I ought to do for him, after the sad 
 loss he has met with, and after all the care he 
 has taken, and still takes of me every day. How 
 many reasons I have for trying to be good ! 
 
 " Friday, 12th May. I will try to begin 
 from to-day, without putting it off any longer, a 
 life which may give real pleasure to my dear 
 papa. Yes, I promise him to do so on this day, 
 which brings with it so many recollections of my 
 dear mamma. I will try to fulfil the wish of 
 her heart, and which has now become the wish 
 of mine also, to do every thing to please him, 
 at least as far as lies in my power. I will strive 
 to overcome all my bad habits, that I may not 
 be so unworthy of all the pains my dear mamma 
 took with me while she lived, forgetting herself, 
 and thinking only of me ; and also of all the 
 care which you take with me too, my very dear 
 papa. 
 
 " Tuesday, 6th June. I was in my good 
 place to-day, both morning and evening. But 
 I forgot to say what my good place was. When 
 papa has been pleased with me on account of 
 my temper, my work, and when I have not 
 hesitated once in any of my lessons, then I sit 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 53 
 
 by his side at table, and not opposite to him, 
 as I generally do." 
 
 " Tuesday, 27th June. I behaved well morn- 
 ing and evening, and I sat near dearest papa at 
 table. Well, and what has it cost me ? A little 
 more watchfulness over my temper, and a little 
 more care about my lessons. And have I not 
 been well repaid, not only during the time that 
 I was striving with myself, but afterwards, by 
 seeing papa pleased, and, more than all, by 
 the pleasant thought that I had done what was 
 right ? 
 
 " Friday, 22nd September. There has been 
 such a very beautiful sunset this evening. The 
 sky was at first of a clear yellow, and then there 
 came a soft cloud, of the same colour, which 
 gradually spread itself over the whole space of 
 the heavens. As the sun disappeared, the whole 
 changed to the most delicate rose colour, and 
 looked so very beautiful through the willows. 
 
 " Tuesday, 23rd January. I have been ill 
 with a cold and fever, but I thank God I am 
 now fast recovering. Papa, as in all my other 
 illnesses, has devoted himself entirely to me. 
 He alone sat up with me every night during my 
 illness, which lasted a long time; indeed he 
 never left me all the time, nor does he leave me 
 now, except to attend to his duties. We walk 
 
54 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 out together from twelve till one o'clock, and 
 papa always leaves his studies at that time, when 
 the weather is fine, though it is at the hour 
 he generally feels most disposed to read and 
 write." 
 
 The journal here gives an account of a jour- 
 ney into Switzerland, which they took in the 
 spring, Louise describes, in a lively manner, 
 the delight that she felt in beholding so many 
 interesting objects, and in the new impressions 
 she received. The love of her relations and of 
 her father's friends towards her affected her 
 deeply. She was very sorry to be obliged to 
 leave them. She says, " I must leave them, 
 and even for some years ; but though this time 
 may appear long to me, it will soon pass. T 
 shall spend it with papa. We shall write to each 
 other. These separations will not last for ever. 
 A time will come when there will be no more 
 partings, and when those who belong to God 
 will dwell together in everlasting happiness. I 
 leave you therefore, my dear relations, with less 
 regret. I shall see you again, and perhaps in 
 two years. 
 
 " From Monday, the 3rd, to Saturday, the 
 13th of September. I was taken ill with a fever 
 at Lyons, which kept us there twelve days ; and 
 during that time my dearest papa nursed me in 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 55 
 
 his usual way, that is, he quite forgot himself, 
 and thought only of me. 
 
 " Monday, 29th September. I have had the 
 pleasure of receiving a beautiful little Canary 
 bird, which Mademoiselle Meynier has been 
 kind enough to rear for me while I was in 
 Switzerland. I promise papa, in this journal, 
 to take great care of it, to clean out its cage 
 very often, and to mind and keep the door shut; 
 as I know that, when any one has been so kind 
 as to give me a bird, it is not right, at the end 
 of a few days, when it is no longer a novelty, to 
 neglect it, or not to attend to it quite as care- 
 fully as at first. 
 
 " Saturday, 13th October. Papa has been 
 good enough this week to rent a very pretty 
 garden near our house, and yet in the country. 
 From the terrace of the garden we have a beau- 
 tiful view. There is also a charming summer- 
 house, plenty of shade, many kinds of fruit, and 
 a very pretty arbour. I ought to be very grate- 
 ful to papa for being at so much expense for me. 
 
 " Saturday, 27th October. Yesterday was 
 my birthday. I have entered my thirteenth 
 year. Indeed, when I think how old I am, I 
 am alarmed at the thoughts of how much I shall 
 have to do when I again begin my lessons, to 
 make up for lost time. Let me at leasts till 
 
56 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 then, try and do what I am allowed to do well 
 and diligently. I think I am trying to do this. 
 
 " Winter has set in during the last four days. 
 I am writing by the fireside, and very glad to 
 be there. I comfort myself with the thought 
 that even in winter we shall have some fine 
 days. Besides, is not every thing ordered by 
 the wise and good providence of God, who is 
 ever watching over his creatures? 
 
 " Thursday, 18th April. Yesterday the wea- 
 ther was so very sultry, that from the dryness of 
 the earth, the dust in the roads, and the great 
 heat of the sun, we might have fancied ourselves 
 in the middle of summer. To-day it is raining, 
 and the rain will do a great deal of good to the 
 garden, if the cold does not return, and if the 
 fine days do." 
 
 Gentle child, the fine days were never to 
 return to thee ! These concluding lines in the 
 journal were the last that she ever wrote in it. 
 Louise, my sister, — for you called me your bro- 
 ther, — young as you were, your grave was pre- 
 pared for you; your place below, in your mo- 
 ther's grave, was marked out for you, and your 
 place above, near that mother in heaven. I feel 
 such perfect faith in the mercy of God, that I 
 fully believe this. And he whom we both called 
 our father, he whose comfort and delight you 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIEK. 57 
 
 were, he was no longer permitted to hear the 
 sound of your voice on earth. He watered with 
 his tears the fresh earth which covered your 
 mortal remains. His heavy grief so bowed him 
 down at first, that he could scarcely lift up his 
 eyes to heaven ; nor was it till after the lapse of 
 many days that he was able to give utterance to 
 his feelings, in the following letter, written to 
 the intimate friend of his wife.* 
 
 « 23rd June, 1811. 
 " This has been a trying week to me, my 
 kind friend. Every day has been a day of sor- 
 row ; and alas ! what have I now to look forward 
 to? Another trial has been added to those for- 
 merly sent to me. I had lost my son. I had 
 lost his beloved mother. My last remaining 
 comfort, my only daughter, has been taken from 
 me. They are all gone, and I am left in 
 wretched loneliness, separated for ever upon 
 earth from all those beings whom I loved so 
 very dearly. Without the gospel, what would 
 now become of me ! Were I not a christian, 
 or, rather, did I not earnestly desire to become 
 
 * Louise died at Montpellier, whither her father had taken 
 her to consult a very clever physician. Like Young, the 
 poet, he brought the body of his child back in its coffin. 
 A few days afterwards he ascended the pulpit, and preached 
 on Abraham's offering up Isaac. 
 
58 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 one, as much in heart and practice as I am in 
 faith — Hid not this earnest desire animate my 
 heart, how unbearable would existence now be 
 to me ! 
 
 "But I most earnestly beseech the Lord to 
 grant me such a measure of His grace, that the 
 trials He has thought fit to send me may not 
 find me rebellious against His purposes concern- 
 ing me, and that from this day they may draw 
 me nearer to Him ; that they may be the means 
 of showing me the nothingness of all the joys 
 of this world, and destroy the vile and earthly 
 feelings of my heart. If He, in his mercy, 
 should grant this my prayer, I feel there will 
 still be peace for me in this world. 
 
 " O my friend, pray for me. Implore the 
 Father of mercies to order the rest of my life 
 according to these my present purposes. En- 
 treat Him to give me the fulness of His strength, 
 which is made perfect in our weakness. Pray 
 that from this moment He will condescend to 
 put into my heart those thoughts and feelings 
 most pleasing in His sight. 
 
 " May the holy resignation of Job and of 
 David be also mine ! the godly obedience of 
 Abraham be also my obedience ! The sacrifice 
 has not only been commanded, it is already 
 accomplished. Oh ! that I may humbly bow 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 59 
 
 to the will of the Most High without a single 
 murmur. Do I not know that His thoughts are 
 not as our thoughts, and that His ways are far 
 above our ways ? Do I not know that He has 
 proved Himself a God of mercy to my Louise, 
 and to my two children, in removing them from 
 the miseries of this life, and taking them to 
 Himself? Shall I repine at the happiness they 
 are enjoying? Shall I think only of myself? 
 Rather let me bless the all-wise and merciful 
 God, that, in portioning out our sorrow and 
 happiness, He has appointed that the happiness 
 should fall to the lot of those dear objects of 
 my affections, and the sorrow to me alone; 
 yes, to myself alone, to whom they seemed so 
 necessary, and to whom the loss of them may 
 be made so profitable, unless the end which the 
 Lord had in view is defeated by my own wil- 
 fulness. O my friend, those dear ones are now 
 under the shadow of His wings, fed with the 
 best things from His mansion, filled with those 
 pleasures which are at His right hand for ever- 
 more ! Blessed thought ! May it continue to 
 support my heart ! May it become my con- 
 solation ! It is perhaps the only happiness I 
 can now enjoy on earth. 
 
 " O my Louise ! O my children ! have you 
 met, and have you recognised each other? I 
 
60 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 will hope so. I see you all united, loving one 
 another with a perfect love, which can never 
 again be disturbed, which can dread no more a 
 separation ; loving one another in the very pre- 
 sence of God your Saviour, and united together 
 in Him, filled with that fulness of love for Him 
 which forms the glorious happiness of those in 
 heaven. Oh that I could feel this love while 
 here below, at least as far as our present weak- 
 ness will allow. I know that it is to prepare 
 my heart for the reception of this love, that God 
 has thus tried me. He designed to show me the 
 littleness of earthly things, and to make me feel 
 deeply that there is for us but one thing need- 
 ful — but one good part, which can never be 
 taken away, and that I must, before all things, 
 desire it, ask for it, and seek it. How much I 
 need your prayers, that the end which God has 
 purposed in sending me my trials may not be 
 lost through my senseless neglect ! " 
 
 The friend of his wife thus replied to him : 
 " I entreat you to remember the affecting words 
 of your dear child, a few weeks before her death. 
 6 1 love you, dear papa, as much as I can love 
 any one; but I feel this is not enough for all 
 you have done for me. Happily my heart grows 
 larger every day.' It was God Himself who put 
 such thoughts into her heart, and He has re- 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 61 
 
 served to Himself the work of perfecting at 
 once her enlightened spirit. No, you are not 
 parted; or, if you are, it is but for a little time, 
 compared with the eternity which awaits you." 
 
 Fifteen years after this event, my uncle, in 
 talking to us one day without any reserve, let 
 these words escape his lips : "I am sure that it 
 was on those two days, on the 12th of May and 
 the 17th of June, — when my heart was almost 
 broken, — I am now quite sure it was then that 
 God showed the greatest love towards me." 
 But these words of his will be better understood 
 after the following account has been read. 
 
 We must return to Nimes, and to the path 
 now appointed for M. Gonthier to walk in. 
 
 After the loss of his wife and child, his 
 thoughts were continually turned to one object, 
 the duties of his ministry. From this time 
 the distinguishing features in his life were, 
 humble resignation, the entire surrender of him- 
 self to God, and the desire of dedicating all his 
 strength, and all that he possessed, to his sacred 
 calling. As earth could no longer bestow on 
 him any thing so dear as those that had been 
 taken from him, it was evident that God had set 
 him free from all those bonds which often re- 
 press and confine to earth the noblest affections 
 in man. By nature he was gifted with what is 
 
62 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 seldom to be met with, a heart to which de- 
 votedness, the devotedness of all its powers to 
 one sole object, is happiness. In him, this 
 entire surrender of self took now a character of 
 deep, pure, and decided godliness. It appeared 
 as if the inexhaustible spring of affection which 
 he had felt for his wife and child, now flowed 
 forth towards all his fellow-creatures. He felt 
 with them in all their joys, but more particu- 
 larly in all their sorrows. You know how com- 
 pletely he had the power of identifying himself 
 with others. This sympathy had never been 
 a mere poetical theory in him; but from this 
 time it became every day more and more an 
 active and powerful christian principle, which 
 enlarging his heart, and increasing as it were his 
 sense of feeling, made him enter into the suf- 
 ferings of others as if they had been his own. 
 He was still the same peculiarly pleasing per- 
 son. He lost none of the graces of his mind, or 
 of the lovely symmetry of his character; but, 
 initiated by sorrow into the experience of human 
 life, he received the power of administering to 
 the comfort of others in a higher degree than 
 is generally granted to mortal man. How many 
 doors were then opened to him ! How fre- 
 quently was he sent for ! Notwithstanding the 
 delicate purity of his character, the most wretched 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 63 
 
 and the vilest approached him without fear. 
 They knew that all their feelings would be un- 
 derstood by him. Bitter anguish of soul, either 
 transient or lasting, the sorrows of him who had 
 not suffered in vain, the errors of him who had 
 been long seeking to know his own heart — with 
 all of these he had a fellow-feeling. The doc- 
 trine of the natural corruption of the human 
 heart, with which he had become experimentally 
 acquainted, had produced in him a deep spring 
 of tenderness and gentle pity for others. It had 
 taught him, when he beheld their failings, to 
 think of his own, and to look upon their sinful- 
 ness as the common inheritance which he shared 
 with them. This made him carry up to God 
 their unrighteousness with his own, and mourn 
 over their sin as over his own burden, and im- 
 plore for them the same mercy he entreated for 
 himself. The wonderful intuition he had ac- 
 quired of reading the thoughts of others, he 
 never, I am convinced, took advantage of, by 
 turning it against any. He never made use 
 of this knowledge, but for the benefit of the 
 person who applied to him. He delighted in 
 every happy disposition, every noble gift of 
 human intellect, every thing which reminds us 
 of God, and is pleasing in man. * Whatsoever 
 things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, 
 
64 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 whatsoever things are of good report," he loved 
 to dwell upon with all the warmth and enthu- 
 siasm of a young heart. Neither his afflictions, 
 nor his experience in after life, altered this dis- 
 position, which proceeded from the spirit of love 
 within him. The following is one of the many 
 proofs which might be brought forward in con- 
 firmation of these statements. 
 
 An old soldier called one day at M. Gon- 
 thier's house, half grumbling, yet half ashamed, 
 and in fact very much embarrassed at the step 
 he was taking. At length he said, " I do not 
 know, Sir, what business I have here ; but, to 
 tell you the truth, my wife has made me pro- 
 mise to come and see you. She is a kind 
 soul, and I do not like to vex her; so here I 
 am." M. Gonthier made him sit down; and 
 then the veteran, in a few words, stated that he 
 was married to a very pious woman, to whom he 
 was much attached. For his part he could not 
 tell why, but she was always reasoning with him, 
 because he was without any religion. He must 
 say, that being a soldier himself, and having 
 been born and bred among soldiers, he had 
 never heard of such things, but his wife wearied 
 him with the repetition of them. He had borne 
 this pretty well till now, but she had lately heard 
 a sermon of M. Gonthier's on this text: "What 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 65 
 
 knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save 
 thy husband?" and ever since, she had not left 
 him a moment's peace, till he had promised to 
 do what he was now doing. " Forgive my 
 causing you so much useless trouble, Sir," he 
 added, as he concluded : " but I know you are 
 a kind man, and you will agree with me, that it 
 was better to act as I have done, for the sake of 
 peace at home." M. Gonthier was pleased with 
 the frankness of this honest soldier ; and in this 
 first conversation he tried to win his confidence, 
 and succeeded in making him wish for a second 
 interview. After his second visit, the soldier 
 expressed a desire to be instructed in the doc- 
 trines of religion. When he came the third 
 time, he said, " For the future, Sir, I will come 
 into your house by the front door, and not by 
 the back door;" for several of my uncle's 
 visitors preferred the most private entrance, 
 being half ashamed of coming to him. After 
 he had in this manner paid M. Gonthier several 
 more visits, he said to him, " Why should I add 
 to your labours, Sir, when I can be taught with 
 the children ? I shall for the future come with 
 the catechumens." He accordingly did so. When 
 Easter approached, his pastor asked him if he 
 wished to be admitted to the table of the Lord ; 
 and upon his answering in the affirmative, again 
 
 F 
 
66 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 inquired when he would wish his private ad- 
 mission to take place. " Private ! — and why 
 private ? Ah ! Sir, it is not fit that at the time 
 I receive such a wonderful favour from my God 
 I should seem ashamed of him. I shall go with 
 the children, Sir." And the veteran, though a 
 man of advanced age, came to church in the 
 midst of the youthful catechumens. Thus was 
 he taught of God, and guided by Him in his 
 heavenward course. 
 
 The field of M. Gonthier's exertions became 
 more and more extended. Ever humble, and 
 doing the work of God without ostentation, 
 the effects of his ministry were becoming, not- 
 withstanding, more visible every day. Many 
 souls were won back to be at peace with God, 
 and with themselves ; and in many families the 
 God of love and peace began to take up his 
 abode. 
 
 One day he went to see a widow, who had 
 but lately lost her husband. Her eight children 
 were divided against each other by self-interest, 
 to such a degree, that the hope of reconciling 
 them seemed vain. It was ail he could do to 
 make his voice heard, amid the loud abuse they 
 were heaping upon one another. At length, 
 collecting all his strength, and thinking only of 
 the good that might be done among them, he 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 67 
 
 succeeded in being heard and attended to. He 
 was enabled to convince them, and to touch 
 their hearts. They became deeply affected, 
 and promised to forget their differences; and, 
 when they had been reconciled to each other, 
 they went at once to ask their mother's forgive- 
 ness. They all knelt meekly down with that 
 blessed peacemaker, and offered up their prayers 
 and thanksgivings to the God of peace, whose 
 Spirit had just descended upon their household. 
 This holy and benevolent , activity knew no 
 limit but in the strength of my uncle ; nay, every 
 day it exceeded his strength. Not only protest- 
 ants, but many roman catholics came to him. 
 He was the means, in many instances, of re- 
 conciling parties where there existed rooted 
 enmity, owing to fifty years of religious perse- 
 cution, and the effects of the French revolution. 
 From the esteem in which he was held, and from 
 the friendship of his colleagues, M. Gonthier 
 even effected a happy improvement in the in- 
 terior of the consistory, and that body was 
 reorganized in a manner which extended its 
 influence, and rendered its working more effi- 
 cient. The different objects to which my 
 uncle directed his attention thus became daily 
 more numerous, and at length every hour 
 was so filled up, that the only time he had 
 f2 
 
68 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 for the composition of his sermons, was as 
 he went from one house to another, or from 
 one appointment to another. Formerly he ob- 
 tained some rest, however disturbed it might be 
 by sorrow, when he returned home to his wife 
 and child. After seeing his little girl in bed, it 
 sometimes happened that he spent, by way of 
 recreation, a few hours in the society of his 
 friends. But now, his labours engrossed the 
 whole of his time. To show how small a por- 
 tion of it he devoted to his own amusement 
 during the nine years he passed at Nimes, he 
 never saw the sea, which is only a few leagues 
 distant. Even his nights were not his own ; for 
 either they were made restless by thinking over 
 what he had to do, or he had sometimes to 
 rise as often as three or four times in the 
 night to attend to his sick parishioners. He 
 soon lost his sleep, and was by degrees brought 
 to that state of alternate excitement, languor, 
 and suffering, of which we have been witnesses. 
 A journey he took into Switzerland proved of 
 little benefit to him, because he was so anxious 
 to return to his duties that he hurried it too 
 much; added to which, the chief part of the 
 time was taken up in trying to establish a 
 communication between the protestant churches 
 in the south of France, and those of French 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 69 
 
 Switzerland. He had returned to resume his 
 duties with the superadded burden of excessive 
 labour and illness, when he received a letter from 
 his father, which caused his removal from the 
 church at Nimes, and changed all his projects 
 for the future. 
 
 We must, in order to understand this letter, 
 remind you of the motive which had made 
 M. Gonthier leave his parents and his country. 
 It was the hope of saving the lives of his wife 
 and child. When he lost them, it was natural for 
 his father and mother to think they had some 
 right to urge his return. They were both more 
 than seventy years old, and the infirmities of 
 age were advancing upon them. This being 
 the case, they could not conceal from their son 
 how inexpressibly dear he was to them, or with 
 what delight they looked forward to the hope of 
 dying in his arms. They had first made known 
 their wishes to him very soon after the death of 
 his little girl ; but the consistory of the church 
 of Nimes had, by the most pressing entreaties, 
 prevailed upon them at that time not to insist 
 on their son's return. Another year had elapsed, 
 and to their own private reasons for now 
 wishing to recall him, a new one was added. 
 They knew how much his health had suffered 
 from exertions beyond his strength, and therefore 
 
70 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 they no longer hesitated in expressing their wish 
 for his return ; and this they did in so decided a 
 manner, that it was evident their determination 
 was no longer to be shaken by the entreaties of 
 the consistory. 
 
 They thus answered the objections made to 
 their demand: "We feel how much it must 
 cost our son to leave Nimes ; but we know how 
 severely his health has suffered, and we are con- 
 vinced that the labours required from the pastor 
 of so considerable a church as yours, would en- 
 tirely destroy it. We think also that it would 
 cost him something to be absent from us during 
 our last hours, and not to attend upon us, and 
 receive our last blessing. You tell us that our 
 son may spend as much of his time with us as 
 we wish; only you entreat that the tie which 
 binds him to your church may not be broken, 
 and that, still preserving the title of your pastor, 
 he may put a suffragan minister in his place for 
 an indefinite period. We could wish it were in 
 our power, gentlemen, to express to you how 
 deeply grateful we feel for your liberal pro- 
 posals, and to agree to your proposal. But 
 experience would soon prove the inexpediency 
 of such a plan. Our dear son would never bear 
 to be called minister of a church, when he did 
 not fulfil the duties attached to it. He would 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 71 
 
 never consent to remain unemployed and use- 
 less. He must have some occupation, but it 
 should be one which will not be too much for 
 his strength. There will be no difficulty in find- 
 ing this in some parish in our canton, where, 
 should his health require it, he can also engage 
 an assistant for a shorter or a longer period. 
 On considering all this, we hope that you will 
 not blame us for persisting to urge the return 
 of our son. We think that reason approves 
 the plan which our affection alone had at first 
 dictated." 
 
 When our grandfather wrote thus, he had no 
 doubt how his son would act. My uncle, who 
 had ever looked upon his father's wishes as a 
 law, begged of the consistory to accept his re- 
 signation. " We accept it, because we must," 
 answered the president, from the midst of an 
 assembly all deeply affected; "but we do so 
 with unfeigned sorrow. For the space of nine 
 years you have served and adorned this church 
 by your christian devotedness, your piety, and 
 your virtues. You have been indeed a shining 
 light among us; and you leave behind you a 
 lasting remembrance of the blessings of your 
 ministry." * 
 
 * Extract from the archives of the consistory, and sent to 
 us by M. Gonthier's friends. 
 
72 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 Such was the departure of M. Gonthier from 
 this church, to which he was bound by so many 
 endearing ties. He had already refused to leave 
 it for Montauban, where the professorship of 
 theology had been offered to him ; and likewise 
 for Paris, when the situation of pastor there had 
 been pressed upon him ; but he at once obeyed 
 the command of his aged father. Again did his 
 tears fall over the graves of his wife and child ; 
 they flowed also at parting with so many valued 
 friends, and on taking his last leave of the field 
 of his labours, that field already ploughed up, 
 and where he had been permitted to sow the 
 good seed so abundantly. From that time he 
 treasured up in his heart the memory of the 
 past, and, looking forward to the aged parents, 
 who were awaiting his return, in a spirit of 
 humble resignation, he set forward on his 
 journey towards the mountains of his native 
 country. 
 
 We will take our leave with him of the 
 wealthy, industrious, and busy city, to follow 
 him to a very different scene. Amid the chain 
 of mountains which separates Switzerland from 
 France, are two long narrow defiles, where lie 
 the two smallest parishes, I believe, in the can- 
 ton de Vaud. Rocks, covered with dark fir- 
 trees, surround every habitation there. These 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 73 
 
 two villages, Ballaigues, which is situated on 
 the road from Paris to Lausanne, and St. 
 Cergues, on the route to Italy, may be seen 
 as you coast along the lake of Geneva. M. 
 Gonthier was about to become successively the 
 humble pastor of these two remote villages. 
 They are both situated on the extreme frontier. 
 It appeared as if my uncle wished to keep as 
 near as possible to his much-loved France. He 
 had, however, now left the orange groves, the 
 balmy air, the agreeable wit, and the animated 
 conversation of the south. The unceasing bustle 
 of a large city he had now exchanged for the 
 monotonous sound of the woodman's axe. He 
 would have little now to show the friends from 
 France who came to see him, but the chalets * 
 of shepherds, and the various stages in the art 
 of cheese-making. Let them, however, beware 
 of attempting to visit him before June, or after 
 September. I remember upon one occasion 
 accompanying my sister at Easter to St. Cergues, 
 where she was to be admitted for the first time 
 by her uncle to the holy communion. We both 
 experienced a feeling of sadness in leaving behind 
 us the green plains and the cherry trees laden 
 with blossoms, and finding, as we ascended the 
 
 * Huts on the mountains, where the Swiss shepherd re- 
 sides during the short summer season. 
 
74 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 mountain, nothing but snow, ice, and the piercing 
 cold of winter. To leave Languedoc for such a 
 place appeared indeed a banishment, and a cruel 
 one. It would have been so to him, had it not 
 been for his simple faith and trust in God ; that 
 true faith which gives life to the desert, which 
 reanimates and imparts beauty to every object 
 around, and becomes in him who possesses 
 it a secret source of inexhaustible peace and 
 happiness. By it, the two villages of Ballaigues 
 and St. Cergues were transformed into pleasant 
 and endeared abodes to M. Gonthier; indeed, 
 so dear did they become to him, that he would 
 never have left them, had not his impaired 
 health made it, after a time, a duty to descend 
 to the milder and more equable climate of the 
 plain. 
 
 The first parish that M. Gonthier was ap- 
 pointed to, was the pastoral suffragance * of Bal- 
 laigues. It was the situation to which his rank 
 in the church entitled him, according to the 
 established law of the Canton de Vaud. The 
 parish consisted of about three or four hundred 
 souls ; and this was just what he desired, mea~ 
 
 * This name is given in Switzerland to a small number of 
 unimportant parishes, which give an intermediate rank and 
 revenue to those who serve them, between pastor and 
 suffragan, or curate. 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 75 
 
 suring his wishes by his strength, and anxious 
 to become the pastor of his flock in the strict 
 acceptation of the word, by being known to 
 each individual, as the friend, the father, and 
 adviser of them all. Such he soon became. 
 The time he spent at Ballaigues was a happy 
 time to him, rendered so by the blessed inter- 
 course which subsisted between himself and his 
 parishioners, and by the confidence and affection 
 which they showed towards him. The anxious 
 endeavour of them all was, how they could best 
 prove their love to him. I well remember the 
 respect and affection which even the youngest 
 children had learned to feel towards him, and 
 how they would collect together, with smiles of 
 pleasure on their faces, to see him pass; or 
 sometimes steal gently up to him, and with 
 a look of delight place their little hands in 
 his. 
 
 Among his parishioners were two men who 
 possessed books of a pernicious tendency, which 
 they were in the habit of freely circulating; 
 they soon, however, brought all their books to 
 M. Gonthier, to dispose of them as he pleased. 
 One of these men said to my uncle, when he 
 was about to leave Ballaigues, " We ought 
 never to have known you, Sir, or never to have 
 lost you." 
 
76 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 The following circumstance proved the at- 
 tachment of the people towards their minister. 
 They heard that he was desirous of purchasing 
 a small wood, which he might consider as a sort 
 of quiet retreat, and which might be an object 
 to him in his walks. They at once begged him 
 to come and choose from among all the woods 
 in the district that which he would prefer ; and 
 when he had chosen one, they begged he would 
 accept it for as long a time as he might remain 
 among them. Nay, not satisfied with this, they 
 brought thither stones, boards, and moss, for 
 the reposoirs* which he intended to construct 
 there. Then fearing that the cattle might do 
 some injury to that part of the wood, very early 
 one morning they all set off for the spot, laden 
 with the necessary materials for an enclosure, 
 and, passing as gently as they could under 
 M. Gonthier's windows, reached the place, and 
 set to work so busily, that when their minister 
 visited it in the course of the day, he saw, to 
 his surprise, his retreat surrounded by a newly- 
 finished palisade. 
 
 My uncle would never have left Ballaigues, 
 had not his health again suffered. His parish 
 was one of those cures in which it is not allow- 
 able to engage an assistant. Forced, therefore, 
 
 * Resting-places. 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 77 
 
 to change, he now applied for the situation of 
 pastor, and was again appointed to a village in 
 the mountains. He came to St. Cergues, his 
 health in a much worse state than when he had 
 first arrived at Ballaigues two years before. 
 He had been far from insensible to the sudden 
 loneliness of his life ; and the change of climate 
 and habit seriously affected his whole bodily 
 system. From the natural effect of his situa- 
 tion, whatever subject set him thinking was now 
 too much for his enfeebled state of health; 
 study affected him, for he was too much alone, 
 and meditation, because it was too prolonged. 
 Even his correspondence with his friends fatigued 
 him; perhaps he carried it to 'too great an ex- 
 tent, for he was in the habit of writing to at 
 least thirty individuals. The climate among the 
 mountains is "piercingly cold in the morning and 
 evening, even during the finest weather, and a 
 long winter follows a short but brilliant summer. 
 He could receive no visitors during the winter, 
 and in the summer he had more than his 
 strength could bear. For the few weeks while 
 the warm weather lasted, not only his friends, 
 but strangers flocked to see him. The latter 
 were astonished to find a man of polished man- 
 ners and a highly educated mind, whose spirit 
 was occupied by the highest subjects, dwelling 
 
78 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 in so solitary a place. They heard from his 
 lips peculiarly intelligent opinions as to per- 
 sons and things, for he preserved in his re- 
 treat a remarkable quickness of thought and 
 rich spring of imagination. They could discover 
 no distaste to society in him, nor were they long 
 in discerning that if he loved his solitude, it 
 was because he had been placed there by God 
 and the calling of his ministry. His countenance 
 bore the traces of sorrow and suffering, but a 
 still more striking expression of peaceful re- 
 signation. His trials, indeed, had only given a 
 purer character to his remarkable mildness. 
 The remembrance of his own sorrows had never 
 prevented him from taking a lively interest in 
 the happiness of others. Persons have often 
 come to him to speak of their misfortunes, 
 and have quitted him ashamed "of the com- 
 plaints they had uttered, taught by his example 
 to seek for strength from the only real source. 
 
 Which of his guests could have thought, when 
 seeing him so attentive to them, so cheerful 
 in conversation, and with a mind so seemingly 
 at ease, that his nights were passed without 
 sleep, and that he was often suffering from 
 acute pain? Who would have guessed that 
 every household care devolved on himself, 
 that he was obliged to send for all provisions 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 79 
 
 from a distance, and that if he quitted his 
 visitors for a short time, it was to attend to 
 some common household care ? On his return 
 to his guests, his conversation was not the less 
 delightful, displaying as it did at one time the 
 faith, the love, the piety with which his soul was 
 filled, and at another time disclosing a depth 
 of serious thought. It was sometimes distin- 
 guished by delicate refinement, nay by a charm- 
 ing playfulness ; it was always, however, full of 
 easy, graceful kindness towards every one. He 
 loved to accompany his guests about the beau- 
 tiful environs of St. Cergues, and his observa- 
 tions threw an indescribable charm over every 
 object which presented itself on the way. He 
 was so childlike, that the commonest plant de- 
 lighted him; and the bluet, or common corn- 
 flower, which had been his wife's favourite 
 flower, often brought tears to his eyes. He had 
 an exquisite perception of the beauties of na- 
 ture ; there was not a quiet valley, nor a dis- 
 tant prospect, nor any place however ordinary, 
 which had not some peculiar beauty in his 
 eyes. The presence of his God was never 
 forgotten, and seemed to shed a new and glo- 
 rious character over every object. He ap- 
 peared to have an intuitive perception of the 
 exquisite harmony subsisting between the worlds 
 
80 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 of nature and grace, and of the extraordinary 
 adaptation of the things which God had made 
 to the persons for whose use they were created. 
 He had thus learned from his Saviour to describe 
 the things of heaven by the types and parables 
 of visible and earthly things. No one could ever 
 leave him without feeling his spirit elevated, 
 and his mind opened to many new impressions, 
 but I may also add, not without a painful sens- 
 ation of self-reproach. He had spoken perhaps 
 of heaven, as if it had been the first object of 
 your desires — of faith, of purity, of devotedness 
 to God and to your fellow-creatures, without ap- 
 pearing even to doubt that you sought them above 
 all things ; and you could not help feeling how 
 blessed you would have been, could your own 
 heart have testified to you that this was true. 
 Perhaps, at the time, you secretly reproached 
 him for not dealing faithfully with you, and 
 speaking plainly to you that truth which it costs 
 us so much to speak to ourselves; while, instead 
 of this, he had only read your heart by his own. 
 The general effect, however, of intercourse with 
 him, was to leave the mind deeply impressed, 
 serious, and thoughtful, and in this frame of 
 feelings you descended from the mountain. 
 He, however, returned to his solitary life, — re- 
 turned to it with his vivid remembrance of the 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 81 
 
 past, with his constant bodily sufferings, and 
 with all those refined thoughts and feelings 
 which he had the power of expressing in so sin- 
 gularly delightful a manner, but which he was 
 often constrained to shut up within himself; and 
 this most likely would be the case at the com- 
 mencement of winter. Ah, we had need to repeat 
 to ourselves that his heavenly Father was with 
 him, that his God and his beloved parish still 
 remained to him. We prayed that God would 
 graciously sustain him, for we could not conceal 
 from ourselves the fact, that to the happy and 
 cheerful, though fatiguing days just passed, long 
 hours of acute suffering were to succeed. Dearly 
 would he pay for every effort he had made, by 
 weeks of sleepless nights, of pain, and of ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 It was during one of these periods that he 
 was called to the performance of a painful office, 
 which appeared for the time to restore him to 
 his former strength. His mother, and shortly 
 afterwards his father, required his attendance at 
 their death-beds. He seemed to revive, in 
 order to fulfil this pious duty. I have seen him, 
 with his eyes fixed on his beloved parents, watch 
 their slightest movements or their feeblest signs, 
 guess the wants they were too weak to express, 
 bend down to them, and try to speak in a 
 
 G 
 
82 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 slow, distinct, but very gentle voice; smiling 
 on them when his strength was hardly equal to 
 it ; showing the most unalterable sweetness ; 
 ever ready to wait upon them, and to do so 
 quietly and calmly, allowing himself neither rest 
 nor relaxation. If it was insisted upon that he 
 should absent himself from them for a short 
 time, he was soon again at his post. His. father's 
 last words were, " O my dear, my dear son ! " 
 Until his father died, and even to the day 
 when we committed the remains of this revered 
 parent to the ground, and his spirit returned 
 to God who gave it, my uncle's strength did 
 not fail. Before he left us, he was enabled 
 to address a few words to us. They were as 
 follow : 
 
 "If there is a time when the voice of God 
 more expressly speaks to us, it is at such a sea- 
 son as the present. We have ourselves been able 
 to judge, by the most affecting example, and one 
 well calculated to make a deep impression upon 
 our hearts, what true Christianity is. We have 
 seen the blessed peacefulness it can give in 
 sickness and in death. We ought more than 
 ever to feel how true it is that there is but one 
 thing needful. We must seek to make this 
 heavenly and consoling faith our own, and not 
 satisfy ourselves with merely assenting to the 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 83 
 
 truth of it; we must give ourselves up, with- 
 out any reservation, to the full conviction of it, 
 and firmly resolve, God helping us, to bring 
 every thought, word, and action into agreement 
 with its precepts. In thus following the footsteps 
 of our honoured father, whom God, in His mer- 
 cy, gave us as a guide, there will still remain a 
 link between us which death cannot sever. And 
 whenever we have been enabled to overcome 
 our inward frailty, and to feel ourselves brought 
 nearer to our God and Saviour, we may imagine 
 we hear our beloved father's voice speaking to 
 us, and saying, i Take courage, my children, 
 relax not in your zeal and your ardour. Ah ! 
 if you knew, as I now do, what a glorious re- 
 compence of reward awaits those who faint not 
 — could I unveil before your eyes the mysteries 
 of everlasting happiness, you could then have but 
 this one engrossing object, to fight the good fight 
 of faith, and to press forward towards the mark 
 for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ 
 Jesus, and to obtain that eternal inheritance 
 bought for us by our blessed Saviour with his 
 own most precious blood, and which we may 
 inherit together one day, you and myself, your 
 dear mother, and all the beloved and happy 
 spirits who are gone before you ! ' " 
 
 My uncle parted with us to return to St. 
 g2 
 
84 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 Cergues, where he arrived, worn out with fa- 
 tigue, and broken down by this new affliction. 
 His health never recovered this new shock. 
 The few months he still remained among the 
 mountains were passed in weakness and in pain. 
 Very frequently, in the morning, when he rose 
 at his accustomed hour, which was five o'clock, 
 he had not enjoyed any sleep during the whole 
 night. The fever which consumed him ac- 
 quired strength when he was left alone, and yet 
 was increased by the excitement of conversation. 
 His weakness was so great that he was often ob- 
 liged to pause and sit down while preaching, to 
 regain a little strength before he could proceed. 
 After the service was ended, it was with great 
 difficulty, though leaning on his friend M. Gudet, 
 that he could walk the short distance which se- 
 parated the church from his house ; and when 
 he reached it, he would throw himself breathless 
 on the first chair which was offered to him. 
 There remained nothing therefore for him but 
 again to leave his parish ; and though it would 
 be a new trial to do so, it was quite necessary 
 for him to come down to the more genial cli- 
 mate of the plain. His friends, knowing the state 
 he was in, urged him to leave St. Cergues ; and 
 one of them, who was his godfather, insisted with 
 the authority of a father on his removal. He 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 85 
 
 thought it right to yield; and after having re- 
 mained three years in his second mountain 
 parish, he took up his abode at Rolle, as first 
 pastor of that town. 
 
 M. Gonthier settled at Rolle just at the time 
 of an important crisis to the Swiss churches. 
 As the eventful period of the French revo- 
 lution was drawing towards its close, those who 
 were accustomed to study the philosophy of his- 
 tory predicted the approach of an epoch of 
 order, peace, and religion, and what they had 
 foreseen soon began to appear. From the com- 
 mencement of the nineteenth century increased 
 attention was excited to religion. At the re- 
 storation of the Bourbons there was hardly a 
 country of Europe in which some commotion 
 did not show itself, having religion for its ob- 
 ject, or at least for its pretext. There seemed 
 to be a revival of religion, both among the 
 papists and the protestants. This returning 
 again to the ancient faith was looked upon by 
 all as an awakening; and, in fact, many of 
 the primitive doctrines of salvation were again 
 received by nations and by individuals. But, 
 as is always the case, the crisis was attended 
 by some flights of fanaticism. Political parties 
 took advantage of the excited state of the public 
 mind, to turn it to their own ends. Switzerland 
 
86 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 took her share in these various manifestations, 
 and the canton de Vaud became the theatre of 
 events, at once the most interesting and the 
 most deserving of attention. Either from indo- 
 lence and the attachment of the people to their 
 ancient customs, or from the especial favour of 
 God, the Vaudois church had departed less 
 than others from the doctrines of the reform- 
 ation. But it was too true that the blessed 
 effects of these holy doctrines were but feebly 
 exhibited in the lives of the people. There was 
 now, however, a sudden revival of religion 
 among the ministers of the church, principally 
 among the younger men. But with the glorious 
 spirit of the true faith was sometimes seen the 
 indiscreet and inflated opinions of distempered 
 imaginations. The consciences of many men 
 were troubled; a spirit of uneasiness and in- 
 quiry seemed at once to seize on whole families ; 
 old habits were disturbed among the people, 
 and their long, drowsy repose was at once 
 broken up. 
 
 Such was the state of society when M. Gon- 
 thier arrived at Rolle, in the November of 1818, 
 and his situation there gave him considerable 
 influence over the progress of this religious 
 awakening. He soon made up his mind how to 
 act. Firmly persuaded that the cause of religion 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 87 
 
 was to be the grand object of interest in the 
 nineteenth century, he looked upon those who 
 first appeared on the scene rather as pioneers, 
 and, if I may say so, as soldiers who had lost 
 their way in this great and holy enterprize. 
 Their errors neither astonished nor troubled 
 him. Many among them, in enumerating the 
 few faithful among their countrymen, purposely 
 avoided reckoning him among the number. He 
 felt neither offended nor irritated at this treat- 
 ment. He was contented, as to what regarded 
 him personally, to appeal to the judgment of God 
 from that of men; and as to what concerned 
 the church, to feel satisfied that it was in higher 
 keeping. He did, however, grieve deeply to see 
 the spirit of persecution appear in his country, 
 which could only tend to irritate wounds already 
 made, widen the breach between opposing par- 
 ties, and afford the sad prospect of a termination 
 at once deplorable and fatal. The report of all 
 this, which had spread even to other countries, 
 filled him with the deepest sorrow. He always 
 tried to turn the conversation away from such 
 subjects. He eagerly seized the first opportunity 
 which presented itself to protest against the 
 spirit of intolerance, nor did he suffer one day 
 to pass, as long as these disturbances lasted, 
 without offering up the most fervent prayers to 
 
88 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 God, that He would look with favour upon the 
 church, and with mercy upon its persecutors. 
 
 He did not, however, rest here. He judged 
 that, as a christian, and as a member of the 
 church, present circumstances imposed new du- 
 ties upon him. As a christian, he felt called upon 
 to consider attentively the new doctrines which 
 were brought forward, to weigh them well, and 
 to reject nothing which he thought was of God. 
 In more than one respect this was of service to 
 him; for he thus acquired clearer views, and 
 learned to express himself more decidedly, and 
 more in accordance with the simplicity of the gos- 
 pel. He got rid of some mistaken notions which 
 savoured of legality; and while he ceased not 
 to teach, that without holiness none could enter 
 heaven, he now preached more plainly salvation 
 as the free gift of God ; the natural corruption 
 of the human heart; the necessity of regene- 
 ration, and the inestimable love of God in send- 
 ing His Son Jesus Christ into the world to save 
 sinners. As a member of the church, and as a 
 pastor in it, he saw that his duty required that 
 he should examine his conscience, and consult, 
 not only his own experience, but the word of 
 God, and the records of history, that he might 
 be taught more distinctly what were his duties 
 in this eventful period. The result of this 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 89 
 
 inquiry was the settled persuasion that his place 
 was in the bosom of a national church, and in 
 that one where he now ministered. He had no 
 longer a doubt or a hesitation on this point, but 
 felt as firmly convinced of it as he was of the 
 duty of strengthening every day the bond of 
 charity towards all men, and that of brotherly 
 love towards every child of God. He thought, 
 however, that the eventful character of the times 
 required in every minister of the national 
 church a renewed spirit of earnestness and of 
 zeal, as well as that wisdom and that ceaseless 
 activity which are indispensable as proofs of spi- 
 ritual progress in our heavenward course, even 
 in the lowly path of christian perseverance. 
 
 Such were the opinions of M. Gonthier, and, 
 as was ever the case with him, his actions soon 
 plainly showed their agreement with them. His 
 brethren in the ministry can bear testimony to 
 his assiduity in attending the conferences and 
 conventions. He has come among them even 
 to the last years of his life, and sometimes when 
 he appeared almost too weak to move without 
 exertion. They know the deserved veneration 
 in which he was held there, the weight that was 
 attached to every word he said, and how his 
 very presence brought with it a spirit of peace 
 among those of different ages and of opposite 
 
90 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 opinions. On the other hand, his parish was 
 witness to the renewed zeal with which he ful- 
 filled all his ministerial duties. His preaching 
 became still more winning and persuasive. He 
 laboured more than he had ever done, and his 
 debilitated state was forgotten, while his whole 
 heart was given up to the one object for which 
 he lived. He might have been thought young 
 and full of vigour, had not these renewed ex- 
 ertions been soon followed by a fit of illness, so 
 violent that it was feared it must end in death. 
 He was obliged at once to commit the care of 
 his parish to a suffragan minister. 
 
 He did recover this attack, however, and the 
 raging fever, after a long continuance, at last 
 abated. It assumed a chronic form, but threat- 
 ened to resume its violent inflammable character 
 on the slightest exertion or fatigue. Weeks and 
 months passed away, and the beloved invalid 
 experienced no amelioration in his state of 
 health. For one of his ardent and active mind 
 to feel himself suddenly stopped in the labours 
 of his ministry, was a trial of a new character 
 from those he had before met with. He saw at 
 once that he could never hope to undertake 
 again the charge of the church of Kolle, which 
 embraces an extensive field of duty. Was he 
 then to do nothing, but drag on a useless ex- 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 91 
 
 istence ? Was his course ended ? Or what was 
 the will of his Lord concerning him? While 
 he was thus perplexed within himself, and look- 
 ing forward with some little anxiety to the 
 future, an appointment unexpectedly became 
 vacant in a neighbouring parish, inferior in rank 
 and in stipend, but where there was but little 
 labour required. The office of deacon at Nyon 
 required, in the person who held it, little more 
 than to preach on the Sunday. The thought that 
 perhaps strength sufficient would be granted to 
 him to enable him to perform the light duties 
 required in such a sphere, made his heart leap 
 with joy, and he decided upon making the trial. 
 To the great astonishment of many, he applied 
 for the vacant appointment ; and giving up, with 
 deep regret, the charge of his beloved flock 
 at Rolle, after labouring three years among 
 them, he came, at the end of his pilgrimage, to 
 take up his abode at Nyon.* 
 
 But here also was he disappointed in his 
 hopes. A few attempts which he made to preach, 
 though with long intervals between, brought 
 him again almost to the gates of death. They 
 left him in such a state of convulsed excitement, 
 and which lasted so long, that it was feared an- 
 other attempt would affect his reason, if not 
 * The native place of Fletcher of Madeley. 
 
92 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 altogether destroy the powers of his mind. His 
 heart was now severely tried. He was for the 
 first time almost desponding. I had been just 
 appointed as his assistant in the ministry, and, 
 with my eldest sister, had taken up my abode 
 with him. We saw the struggles of his mind. 
 Had it not been for the hope of being useful to 
 me, I have no doubt that he would at once 
 have given up the office of pastor altogether. 
 His affection for us, and the benefits he hoped 
 to confer upon us, appeared to become, in some 
 measure, the means of comforting him. From 
 the first moment of my sister's arrival, his chief 
 study seemed to be how he might make her 
 happy. His thoughts were constantly occupied 
 about her. She was beginning to replace his 
 own lost child in his affections. She had come, 
 thinking to take care of and attend upon him ; 
 but she herself received from him every care 
 and attention. On those days when he knew 
 me to be particularly engaged, I have seen him, 
 though very ill, rise from his bed, and, support- 
 ing himself against the wall as he walked along, 
 come and sit with my sister, and do all in his 
 power to please and interest her. He liked to 
 be with her as much as he could. They were 
 always happy when together; and this mutual 
 affection appeared to increase every day. This 
 
REV. F. A. A. G0NTH1ER. 93 
 
 lasted rather more than six months, when it 
 pleased the Lord to remove my beloved sister 
 from among us. God, in his goodness, had, 
 I feel assured, brought her to her uncle that he 
 might be made the instrument of preparing her 
 for another world. 
 
 My sister Marie was about twenty-one when 
 she died. No words can describe our feelings on 
 this occasion ; and our dear uncle — how did he 
 bear up under this fresh bereavement ! The 
 blow left him without strength, at least he found 
 none in himself; but God was merciful to him, 
 and upheld him ; and he imparted to us some of 
 that heavenly comfort wherewith he himself had 
 been comforted. He felt so firmly persuaded that 
 without the permission of our heavenly Father 
 not a sparrow falleth to the ground, that at once 
 he bowed himself under the hand of God, re- 
 pelled every thought that might seem like a 
 murmur, and taught us to reap with him the 
 blessed fruits of affliction. With what warmth did 
 he afterwards talk to us of the firm hope which 
 was as an anchor to his soul, I remember some 
 of his expressions : " Our sweet child is now in 
 heaven. She has received a crown of life ; nor 
 can the heart of man conceive the happiness 
 she now enjoys. It is in that blessed place I 
 strive to seek her every hour, though my weak 
 
94 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 heart is always longing to recall her, and brings 
 to my remembrance the past with its happiness, 
 and the future, once so bright, with its cheering 
 hopes. And Thou, O Lord ! pardon this self- 
 ishness, and grant that I may not love myself 
 so much, but that my love for her may become 
 more disinterested, while I aspire to that blessed 
 place where Thou, in Thy wisdom and great 
 mercy, hast removed her. This preparation of 
 mind can only come from Thee ; but Thou wilt 
 bestow it on those who faint not in seeking after 
 Thee, for the sake of Him by whom alone we 
 can have access to Thee, even Jesus Christ our 
 Saviour. He will give His peace, which the 
 world cannot give, to those who are weary and 
 heavy laden, and who come to Him for peace 
 and rest." 
 
 Our dear father thus tried to comfort us, and 
 yet we were well aware how much he himself 
 needed comfort. Seeing the state of his health, 
 and the severe shock it had again received, we 
 all entreated him to leave home on a tour for 
 some time, as travelling had always seemed the 
 only remedy from which he derived any benefit. 
 He had for some preceding years taken several 
 journeys through Switzerland and France, and 
 always returned much improved in health. The 
 south of France had a peculiar attraction to 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 95 
 
 him. As soon as he arrived in Provence, his 
 bodily feelings underwent a complete change, 
 his nervous irritation was soothed, and he be- 
 came as one inspired with new life. He was 
 like some withered fruit in the hands of a skilful 
 chemist, who, by means of his air-pump, gives 
 it for a short time the appearance and freshness 
 of its former state. The warm and balmy at- 
 mosphere, the variety and novelty of every 
 thing, as well as the life and animation of the 
 scene, had the same effect upon him. The 
 rapid communication of thoughts and feelings 
 were well suited to his own. They formed, in- 
 deed, a strong contrast to our national slowness, 
 and made him enjoy, almost as a kind of re- 
 pose, the easy flow of French conversation. 
 However, he was now under painful restrictions. 
 He was in a state of such extreme weakness, 
 that he could rarely take an active part in con- 
 versation; and the doctors whom he had con- 
 sulted had positively insisted on his avoiding 
 every occasion of excitement. He was in con- 
 sequence obliged to pass very near to some of 
 his most valued friends, without venturing to see 
 them. At Lyons, however, he could not deny 
 himself the melancholy pleasure of lodging at 
 the same hotel to which he had formerly gone 
 in company with his wife and child. The hostess 
 
96 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 knew him again. Seeing him alone, and so 
 aged in appearance, with tears in her eyes, 
 and without speaking, or waiting for him to 
 speak to her, she led him to the same room in 
 which his child had formerly been taken ill, and 
 where he had attended her for a fortnight with 
 the most unremitting and tender care. His 
 heart longed to visit Nimes, for his dearest 
 friends were there, and there also were those 
 two graves which he had so often visited, not to 
 weep, but to pray that he might be strengthened 
 in his godly resolutions. However, he obeyed 
 the orders of his physician, which forbade his ap- 
 proach to a spot where his deepest feelings would 
 have been awakened. He went the oftener to 
 Marseille, and to the Isles of Hyeres. Once 
 he embarked on the canal of Languedoc, visited 
 Bordeaux, La Rochelle, crossed La Vendee, 
 and, following the course of the Loire, returned 
 through Paris, where he remained a few days. 
 Finding, however, that he did not regain the 
 strength which was expected from this lengthened 
 excursion, he latterly confined his journeys to 
 the departments of Est, and to Provence. We, 
 however, must not think of him in these jour- 
 neys as unlike his former self. For in the 
 diligence, in the hotel, and in his solitary ram- 
 bles, he was ever the same devoted follower of 
 
REV, F. A. A. GONTHIER. 97 
 
 Christ; occupied with one glorious subject, the 
 effect of which was always visible in his life 
 and conversation. Many accounts have reached 
 us of the good he did, and of the blessings he 
 scattered around him on these journeys. Much, 
 doubtless, still remains unknown. He never 
 stayed at any place without leaving a lasting 
 impression in the hearts of the persons he met. 
 They could not forget his touching expression 
 of countenance, his heavenly serenity, his con- 
 versation, full of animation and of an interest 
 rarely to be met with, sometimes sparkling with 
 wit and gracefulness, but more frequently glow- 
 ing with the ardour of christian love. When 
 he departed, none felt as if a stranger had been 
 among them. Once he was seen to arrive at 
 his accustomed hotel at Geneva, accompanied 
 by several other travellers, who all appeared to 
 regard him with deep interest. When he re- 
 turned home to us, he thought that the account 
 of his acquaintance with them might be useful 
 to us. " I was sitting in silence, according to 
 orders," he said, " when a remark was made by 
 one of our fellow-travellers, which turned the 
 conversation to the subject of religion. It then 
 appeared that there were in the diligence per- 
 sons holding many shades of opinion, from 
 scepticism to true faith. Among them was a 
 
 H 
 
98 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 very well informed and agreeable man, who 
 spoke of religion with respect, but seemed to 
 think it a blessing which was, and most probably 
 ever would be unknown to him. I could no 
 longer forbear joining in the conversation, but 
 spoke as knowing by my own experience the 
 truth of what I advanced. The conversation con- 
 tinued between us, he bringing to it his brilliant 
 wit, and the stores of a rich and fertile imagin- 
 ation, while I spoke from my heart, from my own 
 conviction, and with my whole soul. Wearied 
 at last by a combat in which we engaged with 
 such unequal weapons, touched also by his noble 
 and generous manner, and sometimes by a tone 
 which appeared to come from his heart, I could 
 not help saying, from the very depths of my 
 own heart, c Ah, Sir ! you will think me strange 
 and hard-hearted, but I cannot help praying 
 that you may one day meet with a heavy afflic- 
 tion ! ' The expression of my own care-worn 
 countenance showed plainly enough that I had 
 myself experienced those trials which I desired 
 might one day be his ; perhaps, also, my deep 
 feeling was perceptible in the very tones of my 
 voice. There was a dead silence for some mi- 
 nutes, and each of us appeared to be absorbed 
 in thought. When we resumed the conversation, 
 it was with more seriousness. The man who 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 99 
 
 had before taken the lead still continued to 
 converse with a lively interest, but with less 
 levity ; he seemed to be less impressed with the 
 importance of his own opinions, more humble, 
 and now spoke from his heart. All of them, 
 and he especially, treated me with a degree 
 of interest and affection which continued to 
 increase during the remainder of our journey. 
 On arriving at Geneva, we did not separate. 
 They all agreed to accompany me to that hotel 
 where I am accustomed to stay. They begged 
 that we might form one party at the same table. 
 I have since received several letters, full of inter- 
 est, from the man whom I had thus permitted 
 to look into the secret state of my heart. And 
 from what then occurred I have learned this 
 lesson — Not to be so fearful, so distrustful, as 
 we often are, in speaking of those convictions 
 which bring with them the peace of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ." 
 
 Another consequence of the journeys of 
 M. Gonthier ought also here to be mentioned. 
 He had always been in the habit of reading 
 much, and rapidly, books of every description. 
 Even during the time of his active ministry at 
 Nimes, he had found means to keep pace with 
 the literature of the day. He took advantage 
 of the various situations in which his travelling 
 h2 
 
100 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 life now placed him, to study mankind as a 
 social body, under the various aspects in which 
 he met them. He not only read the books and 
 newspapers published in the capital, but sought 
 out carefully provincial publications, and made 
 himself well acquainted with their peculiar cha- 
 racter. Literature on the subject of religion 
 was, however, the chief object of his attention. 
 He collected together and read the writings of 
 opposite parties, and in doing so, he was accus- 
 tomed to make extracts of what appeared most 
 striking to him. "In travelling for the re- 
 establishment of my health," he wrote to us, 
 " T must not lose sight of that which is of infi- 
 nitely higher importance. Too often deprived 
 of the blessings of public worship, or absent 
 from those places where I might enjoy really 
 edifying conversation, I try at least to collect 
 around me the best books I may happen to 
 meet with. I extract from them what I think 
 may be useful, without always employing the 
 author's expressions, but modifying them occa- 
 sionally, that I may give them a personal appli- 
 cation to myself." While thus employed, a 
 thought struck him, which at first he rejected, 
 but which, gradually sinking deeper and deeper 
 into his mind, at last prevailed with him. It 
 was to collect these scattered fragments, and to 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 101 
 
 arrange them, in order to present them as an 
 entire work to the public. He did not adopt 
 this plan without extreme self-distrust. As a 
 young man he had advanced a few steps in the 
 paths of literature, and had published, while at 
 Yverdun, " Melanges de Litterature et de Mo- 
 rale," sketches full of grace and feeling. After- 
 wards, the " Portefeuille des Enfans " had ap- 
 peared by him, written for his own children; 
 and, about the same time, he and one of his 
 dearest friends had brought out together a 
 periodical publication, " La Voix de la Religion 
 au 19 e Siecle." In this work the two friends 
 hailed the first symptoms of a return to re- 
 ligion ; and in giving an account of the re- 
 establishment of the institutions of the church, 
 they sought to point out the means of restoring 
 life to them. They continued this publication 
 for two years. From that time M. Gonthier 
 had stopped short in a path where vanity, 
 he feared, had led him, and in returning to 
 it he proceeded cautiously. He attempted 
 small works at first, and printed only a few 
 copies. In 1824 appeared his " Exercices de 
 Piete pour la Communion." This little book, 
 which was much wanted, soon forced itself 
 into notice. Corrected year after year from 
 its first appearance, in successive editions, it 
 
102 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 soon took its place as a standard work. Three 
 other publications appeared the same year from 
 his pen, and had likewise a great run: they 
 were, " Un Coup-d'ceil Religieux sur les Ouv- 
 rages de la Creation;" " Lettres choisies de 
 Fenelon ; " and " Lectures Chretiennes." This 
 last consisted of three parts — Short Meditations ; 
 Reflections on the Sufferings of Christ ; and 
 an abridgment of the Confessions of St. Au- 
 gustine. He was soon called upon to reprint 
 these works. 
 
 The course which he had thus tried now ap- 
 peared to him to be his appointed path. He 
 began to see what was the will of God concern- 
 ing him. His heavenly Father, in His infinite 
 goodness, called him to a work full of pleasant- 
 ness, and proportioned to his weakness. He 
 could not, it is true, devote himself to it as he 
 might have done in his former days of health, 
 when he wrote with a facility rarely equalled. 
 Now he was soon exhausted. He was fre- 
 quently obliged to leave his employment, and 
 return to it again ; to efface very often what he 
 had written, correct it, copy it again and again, 
 striving at the same time against the acute pain 
 in his head, from which every day and every 
 hour he suffered. Worn out as he was, the fever 
 occasioned by composition excited him at the 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 103 
 
 time, and left him afterwards in a state of de- 
 bility and irritation of nerves impossible to 
 describe. Still he went on in spite of all, and 
 could not sufficiently bless God, who had, con- 
 trary to his expectation, provided for him, in the 
 midst of his loneliness, another kind of pulpit 
 and ministry. He received strength to fulfil 
 his new vocation. Year after year he saw it 
 extend itself. During the eight years of his 
 life which he passed in writing, twenty-four 
 thousand copies of his works issued from the 
 Geneva press. Few pious families, in a widely- 
 extended circle, are without some of M. Gon- 
 thier's works. 
 
 The publications we have already mentioned 
 contained the germ of his more extensive 
 writings. In the Confessions of St. Augustine 
 was contained that of " La Petite Bibliotheque 
 des Peres de l'Eglise;" that of "Collection 
 de Lettres Chretiennes," in " Choix de Lettres 
 de Fenelon;" and in his "Meditations" was 
 the germ of "Melanges Evangeliques." He 
 introduced into the "Melanges" the extracts 
 which he had made during his several jour- 
 neys, as well as the fragments in which the 
 fruits of his own meditations were incorpo- 
 rated, and also some reflections which his 
 own experience, the study of his own heart, 
 
104 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 and of the Holy Scriptures, had suggested to 
 him. Thus these three volumes were com- 
 piled, and entitled, "Considerations;" "Me- 
 ditations Chretiennes;" and " Remarques sur 
 quelques Passages du Nouveau Testament." 
 We hope soon to add to this collection a 
 fourth volume, which was nearly completed 
 when we lost our uncle : it is called, " Re- 
 flexions sur la Passion de notre Seigneur Jesus 
 Christ." 
 
 The second collection published by M. Gon~ 
 thier was, " Lettres Chretiennes." It was a 
 happy idea to let the fathers of the church, — 
 popes, obscure believers, martyrs of different 
 sects, reformers, members of port-royal, as well 
 as those belonging to the order of the Jesuits, 
 missionaries of divers communions, — all succes- 
 sively speak the common language of the christian 
 faith. There was unity, and yet variety, in the 
 work — variety of situation, of character, and of 
 information. These letters, written from differ- 
 ent places, and at such different periods, were 
 likely to have an interest with many kinds of 
 readers; and they did, in consequence, ob- 
 tain a speedy and welcome reception. En- 
 couraged by their success, M. Gonthier tried, 
 in every new edition, to perfect and enlarge the 
 work, till in the last it was increased to five 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 105 
 
 volumes. The first contains letters written be- 
 fore the eighteenth century. The second, those 
 of Fenelon. The third volume, which contains 
 Duguet's letters, caused some trouble in the col- 
 lecting. The writings of this pious jansenist were 
 difficult to be met with. It happened, however, 
 that the book lay forgotten on the shelves of a 
 bookseller, who was one of his congregation ; it 
 was unknown to the man himself, or perhaps he 
 might have scrupled to harbour the work of one 
 belonging to a hostile sect ; however, it was to 
 be had for gold; and M. Gonthier, happy in 
 the possession of his treasure, set to work to 
 extract from it materials for the third volume 
 of his collection. The fourth volume comprises 
 letters written during the eighteenth and nine- 
 teenth centuries. The fifth is for the use of 
 persons in affliction. He who had suffered 
 much himself, was well calculated to make such 
 a selection. We wish to add to these five vo- 
 lumes a sixth, composed entirely of our uncle's 
 own letters : there are many of them in the pos- 
 session of his friends. He also wrote many to 
 persons who, after reading his works, had asked 
 his advice in situations of difficulty. Doubt- 
 less there would be many things in such a cor- 
 respondence which ought to remain secret ; but 
 there must be others admirably fitted to become 
 
106 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 a common benefit. May we be allowed to 
 solicit copies or fragments of those letters which, 
 by being made public, might be useful to others? 
 We claim this favour from the kindness and 
 courtesy of those persons from whom we ask it ; 
 and we hope, from what we may thus receive, 
 to find materials for a sixth and last volume of 
 " Lettres Chretiennes." 
 
 M. Gonthier's last work was his " Petite 
 Bibliotheque des Peres de l'Eglise." It had 
 long been a subject of regret to him, that the 
 ancient fathers of the church, who are almost 
 worshipped by the papists, should be altogether 
 neglected by protestants. These holy fathers, 
 formerly so very powerful — for nations had been 
 converted through their instrumentality — had 
 surely not become utterly unworthy of the study 
 of men of the present age. Every thing in the 
 present day announces an awakening. It is a 
 sign of a revival in the church, when a deep 
 interest is felt in the records of her ancient 
 days; indeed there never is a real awakening 
 without this. The church renovates herself by 
 returning to the contemplation of her saints 
 and martyrs ; and in this manner retraces her 
 steps to her divine source, to draw afresh its 
 pure and living waters. Such researches have 
 already commenced. In England, in Germany, 
 
REV. F. A. A. G0NTH1ER. 107 
 
 and in France, we have seen the fathers of the 
 church furnish matter for many a laborious 
 undertaking. We have even seen them offered 
 to the astonished eyes of persons in the drawing- 
 rooms of the capital, by the most elegant of our 
 literary men.* M. Gonthier approached these 
 subjects with a serious and thoughtful mind. 
 During his long winters at St. Cergues, their 
 writings formed his habitual studies, and he 
 then began to make extracts from them. In 
 his various journeys, he sought to form a col- 
 lection of their works ; and profiting by the dis- 
 persion of the monastic libraries which took 
 place at the revolution, and filled the book- 
 sellers' shops with their contents, he succeeded 
 in making it complete. He then applied him- 
 self to accomplish his last and crowning work. 
 It was performed in the spirit which always 
 animated him. He thought less of making it 
 an historical work than an edifying one. From 
 the lives and writings of the fathers, he chose 
 out that which appeared to him to possess an 
 interest, at once the most pure, the most exten- 
 sive, and at the same time of the most abiding 
 service to the church. He occasionally intro- 
 duced into the narrative some of the thoughts 
 
 * M. Villemain, of the French Academy, in his work en- 
 titled, " Nouveaux Melanges." 
 
108 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 of his own heart, and the reflections drawn from 
 his own experience. In the translation, he 
 united simplicity with his own natural elegance. 
 Sometimes a passage which had been translated 
 twenty times before, appeared new from him. 
 As his health declined, study became more and 
 more irksome to him, and he was obliged to re- 
 vise, over and over again, what he had written. 
 A letter to any one of his family has taken him 
 several days to write, and many pages in " La 
 Bibliotheque " have been re-written ten times 
 before sent to the press. These volumes, pro- 
 duced so slowly, would have been completed 
 with difficulty, if the lonely and retired life he 
 led had not afforded him so many long days, 
 and if he had not acquired the habit of im- 
 proving every moment. And thus, in the midst 
 of pain and suffering, he persevered in the task 
 set before him, for which indeed he seemed to 
 live, but which he was not spared to finish. 
 
 It is a mistake, in taking an account of the 
 years of our life, to reckon the troubled and. 
 the untroubled together, for our years may 
 be weighed as well as measured; and how 
 heavy are some of them with the burden of our 
 sufferings ! Sorrow and labour had made our 
 uncle an old man at fifty, except in spirit and 
 in heart. To see him, or to hear him speak, 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 109 
 
 one would have thought him still young, be- 
 cause, while conversation lasted, the fervour of 
 his spirit animated his heart, his looks, and his 
 manner. His inward fever, alas ! assumed the 
 appearance of the vigour of life, but failed not, 
 at the same time, slowly to wear away the poor 
 sufferer, who for some time was able to oppose 
 to it his strong constitution, his temperance, 
 and his regularity of diet. His doctor was his 
 housekeeper Fanchette, who knew exactly how- 
 to adapt his food to his state of health at the 
 time, and to combine that which was nourishing 
 and strengthening, in his daily repast, with 
 some ingredient of a soothing nature. Kind, 
 good Fanchette, your devotion to our uncle has 
 indeed spared him much suffering, and been 
 the means of prolonging his existence. It has 
 added to the hours which he was thus enabled 
 to dedicate to God, and to the service of his 
 fellow-creatures. You understood him per- 
 fectly; you guessed his wants; you have been 
 his hand and foot to him, when he could 
 no longer himself visit those in sickness and 
 affliction. We have seen you always the same 
 towards him, during the nine years you served 
 him. Together with us you closed his eyes. 
 If any one has loved M. Gonthier, or has 
 been benefited by him, let them bless you, 
 
110 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 as we do. Yes, you have done what you 
 could ! 
 
 Alas ! we could not prevent our beloved in- 
 valid from feeling the change of seasons. When 
 winter came, he remained for weeks together, 
 trembling both with cold and fever, under the 
 duvets * with which he was covered, with no 
 respite, no sleep, and obliged to forbid himself 
 all communication with us, as the slightest ex- 
 ertion would have increased the violence of the 
 disease. How many days has he thus passed ! 
 How often has he reckoned the hours of the 
 night by those of his sufferings ! And when 
 the morning dawned, when every thing awakes 
 refreshed by the night's repose, it was with diffi- 
 culty he could lift up his languid head. If he 
 hailed the returning day, it brought not to him, 
 as it did to others, the society of children, of a 
 wife, of friends, of recreations, of joys, to lighten 
 
 his labours. His days were He alone 
 
 knew what they were ! We have known no- 
 thing of them but what it was not possible for 
 him to conceal. Ever ready to open his heart 
 to us on the subject of his blessings, he kept to 
 himself the secret of his sufferings. How did 
 he try to spare our feelings ! He prayed, he 
 
 * Coverlids, filled with down, and commonly used in some 
 parts of the continent. 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. Ill 
 
 trusted in God, he cast himself upon Him, and 
 waited patiently for happier hours, assured that 
 they would come at last. And they often came 
 to him, even in the midst of his severest agonies. 
 The God of all comfort alone knows the secret 
 and ineffable sweetness which he was enabled 
 to taste through faith, even in his seasons of 
 heaviest suffering. My uncle, on more than 
 one occasion, has gratefully borne witness to 
 this. Once we found him, though we knew he 
 was very ill on that day, with that expression of 
 happiness in his face, which was indeed habitual 
 to him, and we could not help alluding to that 
 which struck us so sensibly. "It is true," he 
 said, "that often on those days in which my 
 physical anguish is the greatest and the most 
 protracted, and when I feel most worn out and 
 cast down, that I am permitted at the same 
 time to experience in the highest degree those 
 joys which the peace of God imparts. I feel 
 distinctly, at such times, my double existence, — 
 that of the body, which suffers; and that of 
 the spirit, which remains calm, comforted, and 
 happy." 
 
 While this state of severe suffering lasted, 
 M. Gonthier could not apply himself to any 
 kind of study. It was always succeeded by 
 days of languor and extreme debility, from 
 
112 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 which a journey generally relieved him. The 
 strength he then acquired he hastened to de- 
 vote to the composition of his works, to writing 
 letters, and, when he was able, to paying his 
 visits, particularly among the afflicted. His 
 days were passed in this manner, when a pe- 
 tition was sent to him by my mother and my 
 only remaining sister, who lived together near 
 Yverdun. Since the death of my eldest sister, 
 my uncle had given all the affection which he 
 had before divided between his two nieces, to 
 my sister Anna. She reminded him of his 
 mother. Her gentleness had a peculiar charm 
 to him. He had, but a short time before, 
 united her in marriage to a young minister of 
 the gospel, who was endeared to us from our 
 childhood; and now they entreated that he 
 would come to them, and be a witness of their 
 happiness. He answered the letter by saying : 
 " My Anna, my own beloved child, I cannot 
 tell you how much I feel at the thought of once 
 more embracing you, nay, of finding myself 
 under your roof. Yet you know how much I 
 dread lest a visit from me should prove a fatigue 
 to my sister, when over-exertion of any kind is 
 hurtful to her. Nor would I interfere in any 
 way with the engagements of our dear Auguste, 
 who must necessarily have much to do at the 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 113 
 
 present time, when the festivals of our church 
 are so near at hand. Tell me just how things 
 stand. The enjoyments which God has in store 
 for us are always fuller and sweeter when in 
 seeking them we have not only consulted the 
 wishes of our hearts, but the dictates of reason 
 also. I shall still look forward to this delightful 
 journey, the mere thought of which already 
 makes my heart throb with pleasure." 
 
 There was but one voice in the parsonage to 
 urge our uncle to hasten his journey. Anna, 
 full of happiness, wrote the letter to entreat him 
 to come. The day she wrote she was full of 
 life, and appeared to be in the enjoyment of 
 excellent health. Ah, who could have thought 
 that she was calling her father to attend her 
 deathbed, and that a week afterwards she 
 would breathe her last in his arms ! 
 
 Hadst thou yet any tears left, kind, suffering, 
 sympathizing friend ? My own mother ! my 
 more than father! how anxiously did we — my 
 brother and myself — desire to show you not 
 only the affection of a son, but to replace the 
 gentle daughter whom you had lost ! Dearest 
 mother, so heavily afflicted, while leaning upon 
 us, you turned at the same time to your 
 brother ! and he was enabled to console and 
 support you. Like that heavenly Friend from 
 
114 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 whom alone he derived his strength, he did not 
 fail you. Words of comfort were still given to 
 him for your sake. He was enabled to comfort 
 you in your trouble, by the comfort wherewith 
 he himself was comforted of God. 
 
 He wrote thus to our dearest mother, a few 
 days after the death of Anna : 
 
 " My beloved sister, dearer to me than ever : 
 I wish you were able to read my whole heart, 
 that you might see how your sorrows are be- 
 come my sorrows, your life my life, and your 
 future my future. I did not think it possible 
 that any thing could have drawn closer the 
 ties of affection which have united us from 
 our childhood ! It has known no change by 
 any change of circumstances, but has strength- 
 ened itself in the midst of the varied events 
 of our lives. The common interest we both 
 felt in your children, whom I look upon as 
 my own, only increased our affection ; and that 
 affection appeared to have obtained a more 
 perfect character from the ever-growing desire 
 of our hearts to live entirely and devotedly to 
 our Divine Saviour; to Him, by whom alone 
 we can hope to enter together the blessed 
 and eternal mansions of heaven. And yet, 
 when I think of that inexhaustible flow of 
 affection which your Anna felt for you, from 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 115 
 
 which you were permitted to draw at all times, 
 and in the blessing of which no one ever re- 
 joiced more than myself, I feel how great a 
 call there is upon those still left, to make 
 up to you for what you have lost. But I 
 know, and I feel so much delight in saying 
 it — nay, I cannot repeat it with expressions 
 of sufficient strength — that your loving and 
 dutiful children yearn towards you with a far 
 more anxious and affectionate tenderness than 
 they have ever felt. They would surround 
 you with a more lively and devoted love. In- 
 deed, no words of mine can interpret the lan- 
 guage of their hearts towards you. But per- 
 mit your brother also, identified as he is with 
 you, he who alone remains to you in the place 
 of your revered father and your tenderest of 
 mothers — permit him to tell you, being thus 
 the representative, in some sort, of the lively 
 affection of our parents towards you, that he 
 would hava you regard him also as the repre- 
 sentative of your Anna, of her whose affection 
 was your joy upon earth; your joy, and mine 
 as well as yours. You cannot conceive how 
 powerfully I feel my heart drawn towards 
 you. We know, however, in whom alone it is 
 sweet, it is blessed, to love one another: we 
 know Him, who alone can bear us away in 
 i 2 
 
116 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 spirit from the storms of this life to the enjoy- 
 ment of that peace which passeth all under- 
 standing, to the magnificent beatitudes of 
 heaven. We will pray to Him to sanctify our 
 close affection, to reveal Himself to our hearts, 
 and to take up His abode within us. And let 
 us never be weary in earnestly entreating and 
 interceding for each other, that He will send 
 to both of us the light, the wisdom, and the 
 strength of His Holy Spirit, to dispel our na- 
 tural darkness, and to banish the ill-regulated 
 thoughts of our minds, that He will turn us 
 from the seduction of outward things, so that 
 He may truly abide in us, and we in Him, 
 through His great mercy — mercy which is so 
 boundless, that the praise of it will be sung by 
 the choirs of the blessed in heaven to all eter- 
 nity, so inexhaustible is the glorious theme ! " 
 
 A short time after the death of my sister 
 Anna, we lost an aunt, a sister of our grand- 
 mother. Her residence was at Yverdon, and 
 she was very old and infirm. As long as she 
 lived, my mother would not consent to leave 
 her. After her death, however, we were en- 
 abled to realize the wish of our hearts, which 
 had long been to live all together near my 
 uncle. My health no longer allowed me to 
 continue as his suffragan. My brother replaced 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 117 
 
 me, and my mother took up her abode with 
 us. To describe how her brother prized her 
 dear society, how he devoted himself to her, 
 and what he was to us, would be to present 
 him under a new aspect. But it is time we 
 should stop. We have already entered too mi- 
 nutely into family details, to which your at- 
 tachment for M. Gonthier could alone impart 
 interest. Little need be said concerning our 
 mother and our uncle. A few words will suffice 
 to show in what light they stood the one to the 
 other. They strove to anticipate each other in 
 their mutual wishes, and their every wish, their 
 grand and ruling principle and motive was, to 
 be conformed in every thing to the will of God. 
 The only strife between them was, w T ho should 
 excel in kindness. They could not recollect an 
 instance, in the whole course of their lives, when 
 a word of difference had been interchanged by 
 them. There was such a strong sympathy be- 
 tween them, that as long as my mother was 
 spared to us, my uncle was tremblingly alive to 
 every change even in the state of her health. 
 It was her last illness which brought him to his 
 lowest degree of weakness, in the month of 
 March, 1832. For many weeks they had not 
 been able to see each other. On the 13th of 
 that month, in the morning, my mother 
 
118 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 appeared so fearfully weak, that we could no 
 longer bear to put off informing my uncle of 
 her state, and of our fears that she could not 
 live through the day. On hearing this, he rose, 
 attempted to walk a few steps, then a few more : 
 at length, supporting himself partly on his stick 
 and on my arm, he succeeded in reaching my 
 mother's apartment. On seeing him, she was 
 just enabled to exclaim, "My brother!" and 
 joy seemed at once to take away the little life 
 that remained. He knelt down by her bed- 
 side, and bending close to her ear, he prayed. 
 When he had finished, she thanked him by a 
 sign, then closed her eyes, and opened them 
 once more : it was her last effort. We turned 
 our eyes from her beloved form, as if following 
 with our upward looks the spirit which had 
 already ascended to the paradise of God ! 
 
 I could not attempt to describe the state of 
 my uncle at this moment, or for several days 
 afterwards. He folded us both closely to his 
 heart, and while he was sustained by our arms, 
 he poured out his soul before God in fervent 
 prayer. Then, still supported by us, he walked 
 back to his own parsonage, which he reached 
 with great difficulty. When he attempted to 
 sit down, the rush of blood to his head and 
 heart nearly suffocated him. He was obliged 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 119 
 
 to rise at once, and tried to move about his 
 room with a gentle and regular step. But the 
 violence of his palpitations would not allow of 
 this, and he was forced to walk up and down the 
 chamber at a rapid pace. These pulsations in 
 his head continued to be so violent, that he felt 
 every instant as if it were about to burst. At 
 the expiration of an hour or two, he again at- 
 tempted to sit down, but the effort was made in 
 vain, nor was he able to do so during the rest of 
 that day and night, or for the two days and 
 nights which followed. It was only on the third 
 day that extreme fatigue brought him a short 
 season of repose. We shall afterwards mention 
 on what occasion my uncle described to us the 
 agonized feelings of these three days. For two 
 years he never alluded to the subject. His 
 palpitations continued without much intermis- 
 sion for another fortnight, and with such vio- 
 lence, that although we knew but in part what 
 he suffered, we feared that every hour might be 
 his last. In this state, could we dare hope that 
 he would summon resolution sufficient to enter 
 a carriage and take a journey ? or, if he would, 
 how could we bear to see him go, knowing how 
 impossible it would be to prevail upon him to 
 allow one of us to accompany him. He did 
 make up his mind to set out. He wrote to us 
 
120 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 from Geneva, to tell us he had been enabled to 
 bear the journey so far. He wrote again from 
 Bellegarde, to say that his palpitations were less 
 violent. At Lyons he consulted his physician, 
 who could only repeat his former advice : " Con- 
 tinue your journeys," he said; "work in your 
 garden ; employ your thoughts as little as pos- 
 sible; avoid conversation where you cannot 
 help giving way to your natural ardour ; and, 
 above all things, shun, the least . excitement." 
 This was just ordering him to do. what he na- 
 turally, dreaded, but it was. wise counsel; he 
 felt it. to be so, and he recognised the will of 
 God in it. He therefore determined to follow 
 it implicitly,, except when a higher duty, called 
 upon him to neglect it. He at once attempted 
 to extend his tour. < These journeys were never 
 undertaken from his own inclination. " God 
 is my witness," he said, " that I never set out 
 on one of them for my own satisfaction, and 
 that the chief end I had in view was to render 
 myself, if possible, less unfit to promote, the 
 advancement of his kingdom." The necessity 
 of his journey on the present occasion, isolated 
 as he felt himself, and so very ill, was pecu- 
 liarly painful to him. But God softened it for 
 him, though He did not see fit that he should 
 derive any great accession of strength from it. 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 121 
 
 The blow that had just struck him had been 
 too violent. He no longer outstepped the nar- 
 row circle which had now been marked out as 
 the limits of exertion to him. The least at- 
 tempt to do so threw him into a state similar 
 to that which he had experienced during those 
 three days, — a period' to which he looked back 
 with terror. He thus spent the two years he 
 lived after my mother's death. All the re- 
 strictions he submitted to, and all the repose he 
 sought, served but just to keep him from the 
 dreadful malady into which he must otherwise 
 have sunk. They afforded him also a short 
 season for study, and allowed him to devote 
 some: small portion of his time to his family. 
 His thoughts, however, were extensively occu- 
 pied by? a variety of other objects dear to 
 his heart. It may indeed be said of him, 
 that he never looked with indifference on any 
 thing. He could no longer hold intercourse 
 with society, except through the medium of a 
 correspondence, i now become more and more 
 painful to keep up, by the public journals, 
 and what he gleaned while in the' society of my 
 brother and myself. But his heart was not less 
 open to all. Now, as in former times, there was 
 nothing in which he did not take an interest. 
 He inquired minutely into all that concerned 
 
122 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 our children, their education, our relations, our 
 common friends. More especially did he re- 
 ceive with eagerness, as if it were the food that 
 nourished him, every thing relating to matters 
 of faith and to the spread of the gospel. Those 
 rapidly fleeting moments which we spent with 
 him shed their influence over the rest of the 
 day, and enlightened and purified it. The 
 recollection of them proved as a guide to us, as 
 a safeguard, and a powerful encouragement. If 
 we were in trouble, he lightened us of our load ; 
 if we were in any difficult situation, his advice, 
 which was always weighed in the balance of the 
 sanctuary, soon placed us in a safe position. 
 Latterly, it is true, we were obliged to relin- 
 quish the delightful habit which we had ac- 
 quired of consulting him on every occasion. 
 Seeing how absolutely necessary quiet had now 
 become to him, we avoided as much as possible 
 affording him any matter for thought. We were 
 the more careful on this point, because we could 
 not help seeing that his attacks were becoming 
 more frequent, and less excitement than for- 
 merly would now bring them on ; while, at the 
 same time, the means employed to counteract 
 them were by degrees losing their efficacy. 
 
 The last resource that remained to him, by 
 which he was enabled to regain strength, was 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 123 
 
 working in his garden. It was situated not far 
 from the parsonage, and had been laid out by 
 himself. The ground, consisting of an abrupt 
 declivity, had been cut into terraces, and these 
 were thickly set with trees, so distributed, as 
 to present a great variety, both of situations 
 and aspects, within its small compass. In the 
 whole design, and in the neatness and care 
 exhibited in the smallest details of it, the dis- 
 position and taste of M. Gonthier were easily 
 recognised. He showed himself the same here 
 as in his writings, and as in his life. Here 
 also no object was regarded with indifference. 
 Every tree seemed to be in its right place, 
 and had been trained with scrupulous care : 
 each separate plant appeared to have been the 
 peculiar object of his solicitude. Beautiful 
 garden, thou wert indeed a blessed retreat, and 
 at the same time a blessing to our beloved 
 friend ! In thy silence and thy shade he found 
 repose, and for a length of time thou didst 
 revive his worn-out, wearied frame ! Thou wast 
 of use to him even in his studies, and didst bring 
 thy sweet refreshment to his mind ! He seemed 
 for a time to share the calm, unconscious ex- 
 istence of thy plants, and then to come forth 
 reinvigorated in his intellect, with new powers 
 for the work of his ministry ! His heart always 
 
124 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 seemed to find rest among the fair creations of 
 his God. In every flower he saw a witness of 
 the greatness and goodness of the Most High, 
 and a messenger of Divine mercy. Even now, 
 in visiting this spot, our hearts appear more 
 open than in any other place to the heavenly 
 and consoling influence of the language we so 
 often heard there from his lips. Other reasons, 
 it is true, contribute to render this little spot of 
 ground peculiarly dear to us. It was there our 
 children were accustomed to see their uncle, 
 who was generally too weak to receive them in 
 his own room. On the turf and on the benches 
 of that garden he often played with them, and 
 received their caresses. We also, in those sea- 
 sons when he felt himself better, were accus- 
 tomed to come and seat ourselves by his side ; 
 and being less fearful at such times to disturb 
 him by our conversation, we have often plied 
 him with our questions, and received his an- 
 swers ; - and indeed it was there we learned the 
 little that we know of him from his own lips. 
 Every conversation, all he said, remained deeply 
 impressed on our memories; and thus his gar- 
 den has become in a manner haunted with 
 sweet and interesting associations. It was in 
 such a spot that we were seated together one 
 bright May morning, when he said to us, 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 125 
 
 " Nature is indeed beautiful in this place ! How 
 sweet are these flowers ! What a delightful 
 spring this is ! No : true religion never banishes 
 joy; it only sanctifies it. Assuredly God is 
 love ! " In another part of the garden, we first 
 informed him of the loss of one of our dearest 
 friends : " My dear children," he said, " God 
 has attached so much happiness to this life, that 
 we form a habit of earthly enjoyment; and 
 then, when affliction comes, we hardly under- 
 stand it : but as these blessings are withdrawn 
 one by one, we begin to associate the remem- 
 brance of them with our sorrow in losing them, 
 and to find affliction more natural to us; we 
 learn to dread it less, and to receive it with 
 a consciousness of the blessings which accom- 
 pany it." 
 
 It was on this spot that he related to his col- 
 league in the ministry, and to myself, the ac- 
 count of a visit he had received, I believe after 
 one of his sermons, from an adulteress, who 
 had become a sincere penitent. He described 
 to us the grief of the wretched woman, who could 
 at first express herself only by her tears, which 
 flowed without ceasing. He told us how God 
 had taught him to raise up this poor penitent ; 
 what deep repentance she showed ; the sorrow 
 with which she still continued to be bowed 
 
126 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 down ; and the entire change which took place 
 in her conduct, and in the whole course of her 
 life. " This change was so great," he continued, 
 " that the seducer of the unhappy woman was 
 at last himself touched at witnessing it. There 
 was such a reality in it, so much piety and dis- 
 cretion proceeded from it, that, deeply affected, 
 he at length yielded to the conviction of his 
 grievous offence. He humbled himself before 
 God, and took His yoke upon him. I have 
 known and observed him during many years 
 from that time, and, by the purity of his con- 
 duct, he has never ceased to deserve general 
 esteem, and my own particular confidence. He 
 has even become, through the Divine blessing, 
 an instrument of conversion to several others." 
 
 Another time, on the very same spot, I re- 
 peated to my uncle a circumstance which had 
 happened to myself during a journey I had 
 taken in France. A person with whom I was 
 breakfasting turned to me and said, " Sir, you 
 ought to know at Nyon a minister of the gos- 
 pel, whom I met with in returning from Mar- 
 seilles. We were travelling in the same car- 
 riage. The party consisted of my brother, 
 (who was a principal of one of those monarchical 
 and religious missions at that time dispersed 
 through the provinces,) the protestant pastor, 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 127 
 
 and myself. My brother was in all the fervour 
 of his zeal ; and seeing himself seated opposite 
 to a man of gentle demeanour and polished 
 manners, he directly became anxious to make a 
 convert of him. He thought he had succeeded, 
 upon hearing that his unknown companion had 
 already attended some of the meetings of the 
 mission, as one to whom the concerns of re- 
 ligion are of the greatest value. My brother 
 was already beginning to address him as one of 
 his own party, when our travelling companion 
 humbly and simply, yet in words which showed 
 much judgment and learning, interrupted him, 
 and pointed out the difference between vital 
 religion and that which he had heard preached 
 by our ministers. My brother was not accus- 
 tomed to contradiction, and, much surprised, 
 asked, ' What, then, are you not a roman 
 catholic ?' ' No, I am not.' < And what, then, 
 are you?' 'lama minister of the reformed 
 church.' Recovering himself at once, my bro- 
 ther immediately brought forward his arguments 
 against the Reformation. I believe he employed 
 the first which presented themselves to his 
 mind; for the minister answered them easily, 
 and with so much wisdom, ability, and elo- 
 quence, that I could not help declaring he had 
 conquered. Nevertheless I said to my brother, 
 
1*28 . THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 ' Take courage, you must be victorious, for you 
 have truth on your side/ Upon which he be- 
 gan a fresh attack. But he did not advance an 
 argument which was not answered by his oppo- 
 nent ; not a word, to which the other did not reply 
 with calmness, gentleness, and with a singular 
 charm of manner. There was force in his rea- 
 sons, persuasion in his manner, and something 
 in the very tone of his voice which produced an 
 irresistible effect. In short, I must confess that 
 I was sensibly affected, and so was my brother, 
 and we made up our minds to leave off arguing, 
 and to finish our journey by enjoying the so- 
 ciety of the amiable and interesting man with 
 whom we had but a few more hours to remain. 
 We expressed our regrets when the time arrived 
 for us to separate. My brother had quite laid 
 aside his assumed manner, and had shown him- 
 self in his natural character. He could not, 
 however, as he was leaving the carriage, help 
 resuming it, and, with a tone of authority, he 
 exhorted our travelling companion to avoid the 
 perdition that awaited him, by placing himself 
 under the shelter of the roman and apostolic 
 church. I think I still see the protestant mi- 
 nister, and hear his answer, and the penetrating 
 tone of his voice, as he said, < Ah, Sir, if you 
 did but know the happiness of belonging 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 129 
 
 entirely to Jesus Christ ! ' He said no more. 
 We parted, promising ourselves to meet again, 
 should circumstances allow of it. Often since 
 then have I thought of this excellent man. 
 Often and often have I wished to see him 
 again. He has even served me as a buckler of 
 defence against my brother, who with me, as 
 with others, sometimes assumes the same im- 
 perious manner as he did on that occasion. At 
 such times I simply bring the reformed minister 
 to his recollection, and propose a journey to 
 Nyon, and this never fails to bring him back to 
 words of gentleness. And now, Sir, be so good 
 as to tell me if you know the person I have 
 been speaking of; and if you do, will you tell 
 me his name, for I have forgotten it?" I pro- 
 nounced the name of Gonthier, and he at once 
 remembered it. My uncle perfectly recollected 
 the circumstances which I have related, and 
 which I had received from the lips of a stranger, 
 in a place where I should never have supposed 
 it likely for me to learn any thing about him. 
 
 Let us descend a few steps lower in this gar- 
 den, and we shall perceive on the other side an 
 apple tree, belonging to the neighbouring gar- 
 den. Some children were one day gathering 
 the fruit there, and perceiving M. Gonthier, 
 who was then enjoying his own peaceful medi- 
 
130 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 tations, they directly began to sing, with loud 
 voices, the words of a song, in which the 
 " Momiers"* were turned into ridicule. In the 
 mean time, some of the fruit had fallen over the 
 paling into M. Gonthier's garden. He pointed 
 this out to them, and in a gentle voice, which 
 it would have been impossible to resist, he 
 begged that they would come round and gather 
 up the fallen apples. They came accordingly, 
 hanging their heads, while he helped them to 
 pick up the fruit, talking kindly to them all the 
 time. They took leave of him, looking very 
 much ashamed ; nor from that day do I suppose 
 that he ever again met with any such inter- 
 ruption from them. 
 
 A few more words before we leave this gar- 
 den. We were remarking to him one day, as 
 we sat beside him, that his countenance often 
 deceived those who did not know him well, by 
 its healthy appearance. One of us said, " It 
 is because there is more vigour in the soul than 
 in the body." " So it is thought," he answered, 
 " for so it ought to be. It would seem that 
 he who has suffered much should have learned 
 much : but, alas ! I only know that at such 
 trying seasons one feels almost bewildered. But 
 
 * A term of derision often bestowed on religious persons in 
 Switzerland. 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 131 
 
 it is not in the midst of such perplexing con- 
 flicts that a right judgment can be formed. We 
 must retire to the silence of our closet: it is 
 there that, alone with our God, we shall see 
 ourselves as we really are, and shall behold 
 nothing but the most wretched weakness." 
 
 The time was now fast approaching when my 
 uncle was to leave his garden for the last time. 
 Extreme weakness was now more and more 
 combined with his severe sufferings. The day 
 that he had purchased this garden, Fanchette 
 had expressed her hopes to him that he would 
 long find enjoyment there. " You forget," he 
 answered, "that the day of my death will be 
 the day of highest enjoyment to me." This 
 long wished for day he saw approaching nearer 
 and nearer. He even thought it right to fore- 
 warn us of it at the end of the autumn. " My 
 children," he said, "there is a period in our 
 lives when years no longer add to our strength, 
 but are, on the contrary, daily depriving us of 
 it. My garden has given me notice of this. 
 Formerly I was able to dig in it ; a few months 
 ago I could still handle a small spade; now I 
 have scarcely strength to stoop to tie up my 
 young shrubs. I have but little strength left, 
 and winter is coming on !"... .Winter came, but 
 it was the mild one of 1834. M. Gonthier 
 k2 
 
132 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 appeared less tried by it than he was in gene- 
 ral. On new year's day he was still able to re- 
 ceive us all, and to give us his blessing. We 
 hoped much from the return of spring, and 
 from the journey which he might then under- 
 take. The first, however, which he did attempt, 
 decided at once that his strength was entirely 
 gone. 
 
 He was taken very ill upon arriving at Ge- 
 neva. He wished to set out at once on his return 
 home, but having attempted to walk from the 
 inn to the place from whence the carriage 
 started, he found himself unable to do so, and 
 waited till the next day. We saw him return 
 home with his countenance quite changed, and 
 the expression of pain imprinted in every fea- 
 ture. I cannot attempt to describe what we 
 felt. We understood each other's looks; we 
 foresaw that now the day of our separation in 
 this world could not be very far off. He folded 
 us in his arms, and said, " There are two things, 
 my beloved children, which I can never express 
 as deeply as I feel them : one is, my great af- 
 fection for you ; the other is, the power of the 
 cross of Christ in the midst of suffering." 
 
 The day following, which was the 28th of 
 January, must have been a solemn one to my 
 uncle. Thinking that his hour was at hand, he 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 133 
 
 made a last effort, that he might leave every 
 thing belonging to him in perfect order. All 
 the morning, Fanchette saw him, or heard him, 
 slowly coming and going from one place to an- 
 other, leaning for support against the wall as he 
 went, and frequently obliged to stop to rest 
 himself. We supposed that he must have been 
 looking over his inventories, and putting every 
 thing in its right place. Some of his linen he 
 laid on one side for the poor. At one o'clock 
 he descended for the last time into his dining- 
 room, dined there, gave a last look at every 
 object around, then turning with affectionate 
 kindness to Fanchette, he said, "Let us bless 
 God every day, and look forward to the best 
 day." When the usual hour arrived in which 
 we were accustomed to pay him our daily visit, 
 he said to us, " How great is God's mercy 
 towards me, and with what ineffable consola- 
 tions He rejoices my heart!" When we left 
 him, he stood at his window, and watched us 
 while we crossed the court, as he generally did. 
 He then sat down, quite worn out, and ready to 
 depart, no doubt blessing God, on our account 
 as well as on his own, for having so ordered 
 it that death had not overtaken him during 
 one of his journeys, when far from us, and 
 alone. 
 
134 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 The next day was one of exhaustion. He 
 could not come, as usual, to his window, but 
 was obliged to be satisfied with making us un- 
 derstand that his heart accompanied us. On 
 the 30th he could not even sit down; his 
 breathing was impeded, his face quite drawn, 
 and his eyes were neither able to bear the light, 
 nor the slightest movement before them. His 
 looks, however, dwelt by turns on each of us, 
 with an expression of unutterable affection. We 
 saw by his countenance that he was praying for 
 us, and that he blessed us. I said to him, 
 " Deprived as we are of the interchange of 
 words, there is one name which in itself ex- 
 presses every thing we could desire to say to 
 each other." "Oh, yes," he exclaimed, with 
 sudden and unexpected energy, " when all else 
 fades away, when we can no longer connect one 
 idea with another, or scarcely dwell on a single 
 subject, the name of Jesus still remains to us. 
 Every thing may fail and vanish away; one 
 object endures in imperishable brightness; it is 
 ever more and more to be desired; it is al- 
 together lovely. This, my beloved children, is 
 the cross of Jesus Christ ! Ah, you can never 
 sufficiently declare the inestimable value of this 
 to every one to whom you may have access. 
 And more especially may my dear grand- 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 135 
 
 children find this sure refuge in the morning of 
 their life ! " We pressed his hand at parting 
 with him; it was cold as ice; his lips were 
 burning, and trembling with emotion. He had 
 exerted himself too much. The night which 
 followed, was, he owned to us, the worst he had 
 ever passed. " I have not, however, been left 
 alone or comfortless," he hastily added ; "I 
 experienced on my sick-bed what M. de la 
 Flechere did so vividly on his death-bed, the 
 need of repeating to myself every hour that 
 which makes the heart thrill with unspeakable 
 joy whenever it is really felt, the blessed as- 
 surance that God is love ! This is all you will 
 hear from my lips to-day, my beloved children ; 
 but I will not cease to beseech the Lord that 
 He will make known to each of you, by the 
 life-giving unction of the Holy Spirit, the mean- 
 ing of this Scripture in all its grandeur and ful- 
 ness of delight." 
 
 We now considered that my uncle had reached 
 his lowest possible degree of weakness. He 
 could not move himself without bringing on 
 fever. Still, however, he rose every morning, 
 thinking it right to do so as long as God gave 
 him the power. As he was obliged to rest fre- 
 quently, it took him some hours to dress him- 
 self. When this was accomplished, he would 
 
136 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 then, stopping as he passed from one chair to 
 another, at length reach his couch, where he 
 remained during the rest of the day. From 
 thence his looks were turned towards those 
 objects most dear to him. First of all, to an 
 embroidered screen, the work of his wife ; and 
 he lifted the cloth which covered it with an 
 emotion that had never lessened. After he had 
 looked at it, he would turn to those promises in 
 his Bible which assure the children of God that 
 they shall meet in heaven. Over the chimney- 
 piece was a likeness of his daughter. We have 
 been told that a servant, soon after the death 
 of Louise, had let this picture fall, and that it 
 had, in consequence, been so injured and ef- 
 faced, that no trace of what it had been re- 
 mained. M. Gonthier never complained of this 
 accident. It was the girl herself who mentioned 
 it. He thought it could never be repaired, and 
 mournfully preserved the shattered fragments. 
 His sorrow was only known by the joy which he 
 showed when the drawing was restored to its 
 former state. The sides of his room were hung 
 with the portraits of Fenelon, of Duguet, of 
 some of the reformers, and of other men whose 
 memories were dear and delightful to him. 
 Above them all was that of Christ on the 
 cross. 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 137 
 
 For many successive days we could only have 
 a glimpse of our dear uncle. On Monday, the 
 3rd of February, Fanchette came to us, in a 
 state of much agitation, to bring us a message 
 from him. "M. Gonthier," said she, "has just 
 formed a resolution, which he bids me commu- 
 nicate to you. Notwithstanding all his endea- 
 vours for several days to regain some portion of 
 his strength, he finds that he continues to get 
 weaker and weaker : it appears to him that his 
 time is now very short ; and he wishes to em- 
 ploy the little that remains in doing what he 
 can ; at all events he wishes to make the trial. 
 He proposes therefore to receive to-morrow, by 
 his bedside, all those of his parishioners who 
 may desire once more to hear the voice of their 
 pastor; and if God should give him strength, 
 he will speak to his flock, and will pray with 
 them, and for them. I am going to make his 
 intention known about the parish." 
 
 We were deeply affected at hearing this. It 
 was requiring us, the members of his own fa- 
 mily, to lay aside all our private feelings as sons 
 and daughters, and to consider our beloved 
 father only in the light of the minister of Christ, 
 and the apostle of His everlasting consolations. 
 We knelt down in prayer to seek from above 
 strength for our breaking hearts, and committing 
 
138 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 the whole to God, we waited, not without 
 anxiety, for the morrow. 
 
 Towards four o'clock, M. Gonthier's room 
 and the adjoining apartment began to fill, and 
 soon every place, even to the passages, was 
 crowded with persons, who, not being able to 
 enter, tried at least to catch a few words from 
 the lips of their dying minister. Then, raising 
 himself in his bed, and making an effort which 
 was astonishing even to himself, he addressed 
 his flock. His words came forth, one bv one, 
 from a voice at first very weak, but which ac- 
 quired strength as he proceeded. Those who 
 heard him have not forgotten the sweetness and 
 gentleness of his tone, nor the earnest sincerity 
 of his manner. 
 
 He began : " O my God, assist Thy poor 
 weak servant, and put words in his mouth which, 
 by the power of Thy Holy Spirit, may conduce 
 in some degree to Thy glory, and to the benefit 
 of those who hear them ! " 
 
 After this short prayer, he turned towards his 
 auditors : " My beloved brothers and sisters ! 
 This church has never known, and never can 
 know, my deep affection for it. My heaviest 
 cross, during the last few years, has been my 
 want of power to give some proofs of this, and 
 my inability to perform the public service among 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 139 
 
 you, But it was the Lord who deprived me of 
 the means and of the strength to do so. I had 
 
 only to bow down myself, and adore Him 
 
 I may at least tell you that I have never passed 
 one day without offering up prayers for this 
 beloved church at the throne of grace; un- 
 worthy prayers, I confess, they have been, and 
 so very languid, that I have need to be deeply 
 humbled on account of them : the Lord, how- 
 ever, knows that they have at least been sin- 
 cere. 
 
 " But I have to speak to you about things of 
 much higher importance. I am addressing you, 
 in all human probability, for the last time. It 
 is true that God alone can number our days; 
 He can restore me yet, but I do not think He 
 will, Let me therefore at this awful moment, 
 when my earthly career is in all likelihood well 
 nigh ended, and when I must soon appear be- 
 fore the tribunal of my Judge, — at this moment, 
 when disguise becomes impossible, when I see 
 eternity full before me, — let me declare to you 
 most solemnly from my very heart, and before 
 God who hears me, that nothing, absolutely 
 nothing in myself, can give me the least con- 
 fidence, or the least security for the future. 
 What the world might be tempted to call my 
 righteousness (pardon me, O my God, that such 
 
140 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 a word should have passed my lips,) is in my 
 own eyes but as ' filthy rags ; ' and in Thy sight, 
 O Lord most holy, how infinitely more vile and 
 offensive ! If I have injured no one on earth, 
 (which, however, I do not think any man can 
 say, in speaking of himself, had he injured his 
 neighbour in no other way than by his careless 
 words,) not a day — what do I say? not an hour, 
 not a minute has passed, when I have not sinned 
 against Him from whom I have received every 
 thing. Powers of mind, affections of the heart, 
 strength of body, all proceeded from His infi- 
 nite bounty; I ought therefore to have em- 
 ployed all these gifts in His service, and never 
 to have thought, spoken, or acted, but with the 
 earnest desire of pleasing Him, and submitting 
 myself entirely to His holy guidance. And 
 when I consider what I have been in the midst 
 of such astonishing mercies, I see an immense 
 heap of transgressions rise up, and arrange 
 themselves as in battle array against me; so 
 that if I looked to myself alone, I must plunge 
 at once into an abyss of despair. 
 
 ".But blessed be God, yea a thousand times 
 blessed ! I know in whom I have believed ; I 
 know Him who left heaven, with all its happiness 
 and all its glory, to come down to earth to seek 
 and to save those who were lost. I know that 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 141 
 
 we have redemption through His blood, even 
 the remission of our sins, according to the riches 
 of His grace. I know that there is now no 
 condemnation to them which are in Christ 
 Jesus ; that He ever liveth to make intercession 
 for us, and to save those who come unto God 
 by Him. So that, blessed be God, all fear is 
 banished from my heart: death has lost its 
 sting ; the grave has lost all its terrors ! I can 
 even say, that, notwithstanding my strong affec- 
 tion for those beloved beings who are yet pre- 
 served to me through the goodness of God, the 
 day of my departure will be a high festival to 
 me, a day of unspeakable and glorious happi- 
 ness for I see heaven open, and my Saviour 
 
 waiting to receive me. He says to me, as to 
 His disciples, * The will of my Father is, that 
 where I am, there shall you be also.' 
 
 "Allow me to tell you, my beloved friends, 
 that during the last few days I have been suf- 
 fering at times most acutely ; but my merciful 
 and faithful Saviour has never failed to support 
 me. He has not for an instant forsaken me, 
 but has shed His peace and His comfort in my 
 heart. And when the night has come on, with 
 its long hours of darkness and suffering, I am 
 bound to declare, to the glory of God, that my 
 Saviour was ever near me ; so that I felt calm 
 
142 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 and peaceful under His keeping. During the 
 time of my earthly pilgrimage, as some of you 
 know, I have met with many painful trials; 
 such trials as overwhelm the soul, and leave 
 their deep traces behind them, have crossed 
 my life ; but Christ was with me also at those 
 trying times ; His grace upheld me, and I found 
 strength and comfort in Him. 
 
 " When, therefore, we have made trial of 
 such a friend," and found Him an unfailing 
 Friend, a Friend who is all-sufficient, do you 
 not think that we must earnestly desire that 
 those whom we love should in like manner 
 attach themselves to Him, and find in Him the 
 same comfort, the same blessings, and the same 
 peace ? 
 
 " May I be permitted, a poor weak creature 
 as I am, to ask you a few questions upon these 
 subjects? 
 
 " I know that there are in this church, I love 
 to believe it, a considerable number of persons 
 who have come to their Saviour, and who love 
 Him in earnest ; for this I have often and often 
 blessed God. But this treasure of faith and 
 love which has been bestowed upon them, have 
 they carefully watched over it to preserve it 
 from every defilement ? Do they seek to pre- 
 serve it entire, to increase it? Do they shun 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 143 
 
 every place, and every occasion, where it might 
 be endangered? If they examine themselves... 
 if they recall the zeal and the fervour of their 
 former days, even of their first love, how many 
 sighs will escape from their sorrowing hearts ! 
 Ah, let those who do feel thus weak and un- 
 steadv, come humbly, and as for the first time, 
 to Him who is ready to confirm the feeble 
 knees, as soon as he is called upon in faith. 
 Others among you are still fluctuating between 
 the gospel and the world. You wish for all the 
 joy and the comfort which are to be found in 
 Christ, and you wish only to keep back, perhaps, 
 a single desire, a single taste, or a single habit ; 
 but is it not this very desire, or taste, or habit, 
 which comes between you and God ? Here is 
 the real source of your secret dissatisfaction. 
 Christ has said, you cannot serve two masters : 
 as He gives Himself in His fulness to you, you 
 must, in your turn, make an entire surrender of 
 yourselves to Him. Understand me, however ; 
 I do not ask you to do this in your own strength, 
 but I know that you can do all things through 
 Christ which strengthened you ; and I earnestly 
 entreat you to come to Him, and implore Him 
 to teach you how to give up every thing which 
 might keep you from Him. Draw near to God 
 through Christ Jesus ; and the blessed day when 
 
144 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 you shall have given yourself to Him without 
 reserve, will be indeed a day of joy unspeakable 
 to your hearts. 
 
 " Among those whom I rejoice to see around 
 me, there are some, perhaps, who have never 
 yet seriously thought about the concerns of their 
 soul. This, alas ! is too probable. They allow 
 day after day to glide away from them, while 
 they are engaged in the trifling pursuits, the 
 petty interests, the childish amusements, which 
 agitate or divert a world at enmity with God. 
 I call upon such to consider themselves, and 
 
 then to look stedfastly at me The new kind 
 
 of pulpit from which I address them, speaks in 
 much more eloquent language than any feeble 
 words of mine; for death gives its unearthly 
 force to the appeal. Let them remember that 
 they themselves most certainly must die ; they 
 must be brought to the very brink of eternity, — 
 boundless, unchangeable eternity, and it may 
 be sooner than they suppose. What will be- 
 come of them at that hour of extremity, if they 
 have not found a Saviour in Christ Jesus? 
 I turn to you, my friends, you who feel your- 
 selves to be in this state : I beseech you, in the 
 name of God, in the name of your dearest 
 interests, to begin at last to think of the con- 
 cerns of your souls ! I beseech you to fall down 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 145 
 
 at the foot of the cross of your Divine Saviour, 
 and ask Him to open your eyes. I beseech 
 you to take the Holy Scriptures in your hands, 
 to search them as in the presence of God, and 
 to pray at the same time for the light of His 
 Holy Spirit, that you may be . enabled to say, 
 6 Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth ! ' Behold, 
 Jesus stands at the door of your heart, and 
 knocks: the words which you now hear from 
 the lips of one of His weakest servants, they 
 are another of His gracious calls to you 
 
 come then, come to our Lord Jesus, who will 
 supply all your need, who will Himself make 
 rich amends for every thing else, who comforts 
 us in all our troubles, — come to this perfect 
 Friend. If you have felt touched in any way 
 while you have been here, do not, when you 
 leave me, do not suffer this impression to pass 
 away. As soon as you return home, fall down, 
 
 1 beseech you, upon your knees, and ask God 
 to strengthen this good impression; do this 
 again to-night; do it again to-morrow; do it 
 
 every day and if you persevere, little by 
 
 little, day by day, you will feel new thoughts 
 arise in your hearts; and, casting off the suc- 
 cession of cares, perplexities, and fears, which 
 are the portion of all those who do not choose 
 Christ for their refuge, you will begin to live in 
 
 L 
 
146 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 an atmosphere of peace and happiness, to which 
 
 you have been hitherto strangers If, 
 
 however, there should be one present still cold, 
 and careless, and unconcerned, one who has 
 closed his ears against the gracious and the 
 loving call of his* God, O Lord ! send an arrow 
 of Thine to his soul; may it pierce him, and 
 cleave to him, and leave him no rest till he is 
 brought captive to the foot of Thy cross ! 
 
 " I have yet one more request to make. We 
 are not now, I know, about to approach the 
 table of the Lord ; but accept from me the little 
 book * which will be given to you as you leave 
 this house. Pray read it, thinking seriously, 
 while you do so, of your present state; nay, 
 search your hearts strictly and with sincerity; 
 and perhaps, God helping, it may be the means 
 of giving you a clearer insight into the state of 
 your heart than you ever had before. 
 
 " In conclusion, I offer to God my most fer- 
 vent supplications for all belonging to this church, 
 which is so very dear to me. I beseech Him 
 to grant unto it His Spirit of life. Blessed be 
 His holy name that He has given you in its 
 first minister a pastor after His own heart, one 
 who unites zeal with faithfulness, and whose 
 ardent desire is to win souls to Christ. I pray 
 
 * Exercices de Piete pour la Communion. 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 147 
 
 most earnestly that God will bless his ministry 
 among you. I beseech Him also, when He 
 shall have removed me from this world, to put 
 a minister in my place animated by the same 
 faith and the same anxiety for souls as my col- 
 league. May God also bless the gospel labours 
 of my beloved brethren de Charriere and Testuz ; 
 and should it please Him to restore my two 
 beloved sons to that health and strength which 
 they would gladly spend in His service, may 
 He bless their labours most abundantly ! 
 
 " I could desire to offer up many, many more 
 prayers at the throne of grace, but my ex- 
 treme weakness and exhaustion will not allow 
 me. I shall reserve them within my heart, to 
 offer them up to the Lord in secret and alone. 
 
 And now grant, O my God ! to those who 
 
 are assembled here, that we may all, without one 
 exception, meet together in heaven ! Then we 
 shall know how much Thou hast loved us ; then 
 shall we love, with a more perfect love, that 
 compassionate, that faithful Friend, whose love 
 for us has known no limits, who has purchased 
 for us such glorious happiness, and at a price 
 beyond calculation. It is in the name and 
 through the merits of this blessed Saviour that 
 I beseech Thee, O my God ! to hear and an- 
 swer my prayer ; for the love of Thy Son, our 
 l2 
 
148 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 prevailing Saviour, Jesus Christ, Amen 
 
 Amen." 
 
 Such was the pastor's last farewell. Till he 
 had finished speaking, God gave him strength, 
 astonishing strength. It seemed as if his youth, 
 for a short season, was renewed to him, that he 
 might fulfil this the last office of his ministry. 
 His thoughts arose fresh and vigorous, and 
 flowed in succession, with ease and freedom; 
 they were not only connected, but full of energy. 
 This duty accomplished, it appeared as if M. 
 Gonthier's task was ended, that heaven would 
 now open to receive him, and that an exertion 
 like the one he had just made must complete 
 the breaking up of a frame already fearfully 
 shattered by its severe and repeated shocks. 
 Witnesses, as we were, to all that he suffered, 
 and to his ardent longing to reach the end of 
 his course, we ought perhaps to have wished 
 with him for the termination of all his earthly 
 troubles. We own, however, that we could not 
 forbear beseeching God that he might be spared 
 to us a little longer. It seemed as if our 
 prayers were answered, for he lived yet four 
 months. The thought of having given to his 
 beloved flock a last proof of his affection for 
 them, seemed to soothe him in the midst of 
 his continued agonies ; a feeling of unspeakable 
 
REV. F. A. A. G0NTH1ER. 149 
 
 joy took possession of his heart, as in secret he 
 thought of the unexpected favour which he had 
 received from God, and these feelings had the 
 effect of reviving him for a while. He would 
 willingly have lifted up his voice to glorify 
 God with loud praises for all His mercies, but 
 he had only strength enough to say to us, "I 
 have indeed experienced that out of nothingness 
 God can draw forth words to His praise." 
 More weeks of suffering passed away. Seeing 
 how much the effort to speak cost him, we re- 
 mained but a short time with him in our daily 
 visits, and contented ourselves with a word or 
 with a look from him. He had no sooner, how- 
 ever, regained a little strength by perfect re- 
 pose, than he wished to turn it to account. He 
 received the visit of a relation who had been an 
 old friend of his; and a few days afterwards 
 that of a young man to whom he was very much 
 attached. He also desired that our children 
 should be brought to him, and, after talking to 
 them of the love of God, he entreated them to 
 ask God every day to teach them to love Him : 
 he then put his hands upon them, and blessed 
 them one by one. Several days after this, he 
 desired us to sit down near his bed, rang for 
 Fanchette, and said he wished her to hear what 
 he had to tell us, and then spoke to us as 
 
150 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 follows : " My dear children, my own dear 
 children, I feel an anxious desire to explain 
 myself to you on one point, that you may quite 
 understand me ; you will then join with me in 
 blessing God for the goodness He has continued 
 to manifest towards me. You know what strength 
 was lent me a month ago, when I was permitted 
 to receive by my bed-side so many of my beloved 
 flock, and you have seen, and still see, the ex- 
 treme irritability of nerves under which I have 
 laboured since that period. It is on this subject 
 that I wish to speak to you. You may remem- 
 ber that, two years ago, at the time my beloved 
 sister was taken from us, I made an exertion 
 to visit her, far beyond my strength, and after 
 her death I fell into a state which I can never 
 think of without shuddering or rather, with- 
 out recalling to mind the mercy of my God, 
 who neither then nor at any time forsook me. 
 I was three days without being able to lie or to 
 sit down, but was obliged, in order to avoid 
 suffocation, to walk rapidly up and down my 
 chamber. The pulsations of my heart, more 
 violent than I can describe, seemed to spread 
 from thence to every part of my head, and the 
 throbbing of my temples was as strong as that 
 of my heart. Every instant I expected that the 
 next would deprive me of my senses : the 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 151 
 
 abyss was there — I saw it — I was near its fear- 
 ful edge, so near... so very near, and my God 
 did not permit me to fall into it. He only 
 showed me my danger, that He might at the 
 same time make known to me His great de- 
 liverance. Oh ! let me bless His holy name 
 for this fresh proof of His mercy towards me ! 
 About three weeks afterwards, I was enabled to 
 go to Lyons, and there I saw my physician. 
 Having felt my pulse, he was frightened at its 
 rapidity, though so much reduced then from 
 what it had been. Among other directions 
 which he gave me, he insisted more particularly 
 on the observance of one. Speaking with that 
 authority to which his experience and his friend- 
 ship for me entitled him, he conjured me never 
 again to think of speaking in public ; and point- 
 ing out the peril from which I had just been 
 preserved, he assured me that it must again 
 overtake me, if I did not carefully avoid what- 
 ever might in any degree give rise to it. You 
 will judge, after hearing this, how urgent must 
 the wish of my heart have been to address my 
 flock once again, and how powerful the inward 
 feeling which impelled me. But other circum- 
 stances conspired to induce me to listen to this 
 secret whisper. First of all, I must tell you, 
 that as soon as I had familiarized myself to this 
 
152 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 idea, a great many thoughts were presented to 
 my mind, at once clear and well arranged. 
 You know, for you have sometimes witnessed 
 it, how difficult it often is for me to connect 
 two ideas together; but now they succeeded 
 each other without any effort on my part, nay 
 even with a rare facility. This is not all. I 
 never possessed a good memory as to mere 
 words, and of late years my powers of memory 
 have been altogether weakened ; but words now 
 came readily without my seeking, and when once 
 come, they remained fixed in my mind, as they 
 might have done to a person possessed of a 
 good memory. All was thus prepared without 
 anxiety, or trouble, or effort. Add to this, that 
 my pulsations had left me for two days — I do 
 not say my palpitations, which are quite distinct. 
 These last accompany fever, and are irregular ; 
 while the pulsations, on the contrary, are per- 
 fectly regular, shaking, with violent and mea- 
 sured strokes, both the head and heart. These 
 had ceased. In short, my weakness was now 
 so great, that it seemed to me almost im- 
 possible I could again experience the return 
 of so violent a malady. I foresaw, indeed, 
 that I might suddenly stop short in my ad- 
 dress. I did not think it improbable that 
 expressions might fail me, and that I should 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 153 
 
 do nothing but stammer, and seek in vain 
 for words. Shall I hide it from you, my be- 
 loved friends? Why should I? I will there- 
 fore tell you. I was ready to bear any mor- 
 tification that might be in store for me. I 
 would not willingly assert any thing which I do 
 not feel assured that God, who sees me, had 
 not really imparted to me. But it is true, that 
 if it had pleased my heavenly Father to humble 
 me, (every heart of man has need of this, and 
 my own much more than any other,) I should 
 have submitted, I hope not without rejoicing. 
 I do not say that afterwards I continued to feel 
 in this manner, but, at the time I am speaking 
 of, I certainly did. When I felt assured of this, 
 I hesitated no longer. I rang my bell, and 
 made known my resolution to my good Fan- 
 chette, and begged she would inform you. You 
 know how God sustained me, and that He did 
 enable me to speak, not certainly without 
 weakness, but, to my own astonishment, with- 
 out difficulty, and in a sufficiently connected 
 manner. 
 
 " I must now say a few words about the days 
 which succeeded. I soon experienced that He 
 who gives all things, gives when and in what 
 manner it pleases Him. I had a great desire 
 to see two persons very dear to me, and I cannot 
 
154 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 tell you how happy I felt in receiving them. 
 But when they were gone, I found that I 
 must for a time deny myself any such enjoy- 
 ment. After my interview with the first, my 
 pulsations returned, accompanied by the most 
 tumultuous agitation; and when the second 
 
 visit was over, I was in a state like that 
 
 from which, as you are well -aware, the tender 
 compassion of God alone delivered me. I am 
 once more delivered. Join with me, therefore, 
 my beloved children, in blessing Him, with your 
 whole heart, who in His great mercy has never 
 yet forsaken me." " It is not," he added in a 
 feeble voice, " that I do not feel more tranquil 
 now. Nay, I might perhaps be enabled to 
 
 receive any one who might wish to see me 
 
 but you will now understand the necessity I felt 
 of explaining all this to you." 
 
 We said but litcle in reply. The expression 
 of what we felt I reserved for writing. We 
 merely entreated him not to follow the in- 
 clination of his kind heart by receiving visitors, 
 and to be careful not to deprive himself of 
 rest, God having plainly shown us how very 
 necessary it was to him. We declared our own 
 willingness to set the first example of submission 
 to those privations which his state now absolutely 
 required, feeling assured that we should derive 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 155 
 
 a gratification from our self-denial, if it should 
 become the means of alleviating, in any way, 
 his sufferings. He made us understand that he 
 agreed to what we said, and would henceforth 
 live in that solitude to which the Lord called 
 him. 
 
 In weakness and loneliness, he was now shut 
 up within a more* narrowed circle. His habitual 
 energy, however, did not forsake him. His 
 universal love still felt the need of being 
 strengthened, his faith of being purified, his 
 brotherly kindness of being more perfectly de- 
 veloped. He no longer hoped to behold his 
 friends on earth. His voice would be heard 
 by them no more. But the presence of quiet 
 thoughts still remained to him. He could still 
 call them to remembrance ; he could still pray 
 for them. The names of every one he loved 
 were by turns upon his lips ; those friends passed 
 in succession before his spirit, which now seemed 
 but to exist in the exercise of prayer and faith. 
 Every day, in what he called his " little journey 
 of prayer," he visited, as far as he was able, 
 every one of them ; he could not bear to forget 
 a single being dear to him. He always con- 
 cluded by dwelling on two or three names, 
 which remained more particularly in his thoughts 
 during the rest of the day. In this manner did 
 
156 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 he bequeath his legacy of affection to all his 
 friends. He did so to each of the churches he 
 had served. When he heard that at Nimes the 
 church had offered up public prayers for their 
 former pastor, the tears flowed from his eyes. 
 " I have been united to that church," he said, 
 " by the closest bands of affection. I cannot ex- 
 press to you my deep regret when called to leave 
 it, nor have I from that time ever ceased to bear 
 it on my heart in my prayers to God." He often 
 wept in reading the letters he received from 
 Nimes. " How gracious is God," he would say, 
 " to have given to one so unworthy as myself 
 a place in the affections of so many of His 
 children ! How very good and merciful He is ! 
 How can I help blessing Him, even with tears 
 of joy and gratitude ! " He would then, in a voice 
 which became for the time powerful and solemn, 
 bless those of his friends who had visited him in 
 his solitude. Thus was his life still in some 
 manner spent in active and useful occupation. 
 Doubtless it was so in the sight of Him who 
 ceased not to feed that spirit of deep affection 
 within him, which transmuted every thing that 
 came to it into holy love. 
 
 But if M. Gonthier had not ceased to exist 
 even for his friends, the prolongation of his life 
 was an inestimable blessing to us his children. 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 157 
 
 What a glorious sight were we permitted to be- 
 hold ! We saw death, with its accompaniments 
 of suffering and anguish, take its stand by the 
 bedside of him whom we tenderly loved, allow 
 him no intermission, and imprint upon every 
 feature its pale and ghastly characters, and yet, 
 when the first shock was over, we could look 
 upon it without terror. Our first impression had 
 given place to a feeling of deep emotion, at once 
 sweet and solemn. The mortal life of our father 
 was on the point of being extinguished ; his eyes 
 had no longer the power to remain unclosed, 
 nor could his hand return our gentle pressure ; 
 but there was something in the midst of all 
 this which neither fever nor intense suffering, 
 nor the languor which followed, could disturb. 
 The inward man remained still youthful and un- 
 impaired within that mortal frame which earth 
 was now reclaiming as its own, and continued to 
 develop its hidden germ and principle of life in 
 the midst of the dissolution of its earthly ta- 
 bernacle. Through the thick darkness which 
 shrouded the bed of death, the voice of his im- 
 mortal spirit hailed the dawn of eternal day ! 
 Who was it, O beloved friend ! that cheered 
 thee with this glorious light ? Who gave thee 
 such a sure and certain hope ? Who taught thee 
 to smile in the midst of suffering ? Thou hast 
 
158 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 often and often told us, and thou hast desired 
 that heaven and earth should be the witnesses to 
 thy words. There is but one way in which a 
 sinner can be justified, and that is by the blood 
 and righteousness of our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 There is but one power by which fallen man 
 can become regenerate, and that is by the Spirit 
 of our God. Jesus ! that single name, — how 
 often hast thou uttered that one name Jesus ! 
 when thou hast wished to speak on many glori- 
 ous subjects, but the strength to do so was denied 
 thee. That one word, Jesus ! was to thee the 
 expression of every thing : it comprehended all 
 in all. " Yes," thou hast added, " and when 
 one has received such surpassing consolations as 
 He has vouchsafed to me from the first days of 
 my illness until the present time, then indeed we 
 are led to repeat, with inexpressible joy and gra- 
 titude, not only the separate word, Jesus ! but, 
 my Jesus ! my Saviour ! " 
 
 What deep wretchedness we should have felt, 
 had not faith been given us to believe that such 
 a never-failing Friend was watching over our 
 beloved father, and that in such high keeping he 
 was safe. Deprived, as we were, by his extreme 
 weakness, of the comfort of being near him, we 
 knew that sometimes he sank fainting under his 
 sufferings, and remained for a long time quite 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 159 
 
 insensible upon his couch. Fanchette found him 
 one day just coming to himself, after having 
 thus fainted away in trying to reach his apart- 
 ment. Seeing her look of alarm, " Do you not 
 know," he said, his countenance as calm and as 
 full of blessed confidence as usual, " that we 
 are always well kept ; let us never forget this." 
 Alas ! I forgot it but too frequently. " He 
 is alone :" this thought was constantly before 
 me ; " he is alone, and dying." One day, 
 on leaving him, I felt almost overcome by the 
 anguish of mind caused by this reflection, and 
 wandered on, scarcely knowing whither I went, 
 till, finding myself close to the lake, my no- 
 tice was attracted by a little flower which grew 
 alone upon the naked shore. It was the first I 
 had seen that spring. I asked myself the ques- 
 tion, Who has caused this fair and lonely flower 
 to spring up in this spot, among these stones 
 and broken fragments? It seemed as if the 
 flower answered me, and that its answer was 
 re-echoed by every thing in nature. It was the 
 answer which my heart needed at that moment. 
 It said to me, as from my Saviour, " Is not thy 
 God present here ? and if He has clothed this 
 short-lived flower with such brilliant colours, is 
 He watching with less tender care over the soul 
 that he has created to know Him, to love Him, 
 
160 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 and to trust in Him ?" I recognised the con- 
 soling voice of my Saviour ; and as I stood there, 
 my tears flowed ; I felt humbled at my want of 
 faith ; I prayed for pardon, and was comforted. 
 I recollected that I had often heard from my 
 dear uncle's lips the lesson which I had just 
 learned from the lonely flower. I remembered 
 the numberless proofs he had received of his 
 heavenly Father's love ; I called to mind his own 
 assured and stedfast hope, and the happiness that 
 soon awaited him in heaven ; and these thoughts, 
 accompanied by the Divine blessing, helped to 
 restore peace and tranquillity to my heart. 
 
 In the mean w T hile my uncle on his part, though 
 moving in a far purer and more elevated sphere, 
 was acquiring fresh experience from the study of 
 his own heart. He had also his inward strug- 
 gles ; and the prolongation of his life, dear to his 
 friends, and most precious to his family, was still 
 more useful to himself in his advancement to- 
 wards perfect holiness. We were witnesses to 
 one of his inward conflicts. It was on the only 
 day during that interval of four months, when 
 he felt a passing glow of life. During our short 
 visit, I thought I saw an expression which re- 
 minded me of his former energy, and a thrill 
 shot through my heart, as if my father was 
 restored to me. We looked at each other, and 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 161 
 
 he easily guessed what was passing in my mind. 
 As soon as we were gone, Fanchette heard him 
 get up and make the trial to walk a few steps 
 across his room, supporting himself with both his 
 hands as he did so. He then rang his bell, and 
 with a saddened countenance gave her his coat 
 to brush and put ready for him. " Who would 
 have thought it," he said, on her return, " that 
 I should ever again wear this coat, which you 
 have made to look so neat ! God's blessed will 
 be done ! Ah ! if He should think it right to 
 restore me to health, how solemnly should I be 
 called upon to consider my ways, nay, to weigh 
 every action, and to live anew to His glory." 
 " You would look," said Fanchette, " upon your 
 recovery as a trial." " Ah ! judge if it would 
 not be so," he answered, " after having seen the 
 gate of heaven so very near ! But that which is 
 my heavenly Father's will must always seem 
 good and pleasant to me; and such, in fact, 
 it always is." During the remainder of the day, 
 the struggle having doubtless ceased within him, 
 his countenance declared still more strikingly 
 the resignation, the confiding love, and the peace, 
 which were its habitual expression. 
 
 This appearance of returning health, however, 
 lasted but one day. The very exertion he had 
 made to try his strength brought back his fever, 
 
 M 
 
16*2 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 and he passed a worse night than ever. A 
 return also of the north wind increased the 
 irritability of his nerves and his inflammatory 
 symptoms to a high degree, and though the 
 windows were kept carefully and closely shut, 
 his mouth and lips were so much swollen, that 
 he could not speak without suffering violent pain. 
 " We shall understand one another without the 
 help of words," I said to him. " Yes," he re- 
 plied, " in blessing God under this dispensation, 
 as well as every other." — " God be blessed for 
 ever" were the only words he could say to us on 
 the morrow. We could only exchange looks 
 during the days which followed. He gave us his 
 blessing, placing one hand on his heart, and lift- 
 ing up the other, though not without difficulty, 
 towards heaven. Whatever else he had to say 
 to us he endeavoured to put upon paper, and 
 wrote in a little book, under the form of prayer, 
 the following thoughts. 
 
 " 18th March.— O Lord our God, grant that 
 we may constantly fix our thoughts on the glo- 
 rious promises which Thou hast given us in Thy 
 Word, so that, deeply impressed with the sense 
 of such wonderful mercy, and keeping in mind 
 what ought to be the conduct of citizens of 
 heaven, we may desire nothing so much as to 
 purify our hearts, by the help of Thy Holy 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 163 
 
 Spirit, from all pollutions of the flesh and of the 
 spirit, and to perfect holiness in Thy fear and 
 love !" 
 
 19th March. — " O Lord God, grant that we 
 may labour for that meat which endureth unto 
 everlasting life, with at least as much zeal as the 
 children of this generation do for the meat which 
 perisheth. Ah ! ought not our zeal to be infi- 
 nitely greater than theirs? Grant us, Lord, 
 the grace to understand this, and to feel it, 
 that from henceforth we may not advance so 
 slowly along our onward course, but move swiftly 
 towards our heavenly calling." 
 
 20th March. — " O Lord, in Thy great 
 mercy Thou hast permitted us to taste how good 
 and gracious Thou art. But Thou hast taught 
 us, that after having attained this sweet, this 
 blessed experience, we should nourish ourselves 
 with pure and spiritual milk, in order that we 
 may grow thereby. O may prayer and the 
 milk of Thy Word be our greatest enjoyment; 
 that, feeding ever upon it, we may grow in grace, 
 in love, and in the knowledge of Thee ; so that 
 in all things our will may be conformed to Thy 
 will : and do Thou, O Lord, bring into capti- 
 vity every thought to the obedience of Christ ! '' 
 
 When the tendency to inflammation had some- 
 what abated, my uncle began to address some 
 m 2 
 
164 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 few words to us in conversation. On the 21st 
 of March he said to us, " How gracious is the 
 Lord to me ! He has now given me to see 
 more clearly, and at times to feel more powerfully 
 than before, the long succession of His mercies 
 towards me. At the sight of such innumerable 
 benefits, the soul melts into gratitude. O my 
 beloved friends, bless Him with me, and for 
 me." 
 
 On the 22d of March—" No one can tell what 
 he loses, who does not familiarize himself to the 
 blessed habit of praise and thanksgiving. I do 
 not think that on earth there is a more delight- 
 ful employment than that of blessing Him, to 
 whom all blessing belongs. Oh that I could 
 make known to every one what I have felt at 
 those times, when the Lord, in His tender com- 
 passion, has granted me ease after suffering ; or 
 when, in still greater mercy, He has revealed to 
 me more clearly the greatness of my deliverance 
 through Christ Jesus ; or when, after opening to 
 me a brighter glimpse of the joys of heaven, He 
 has at the same time given me grace to praise 
 Him, with some degree of warmth, for all these 
 His wonderful mercies. Yes, and I have often 
 felt the desire to bless Him yet again for grant- 
 ing me the power of blessing Him : such happi- 
 ness had I tasted in doing so ! " 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 165 
 
 23d of March, the first day in Passion Week. 
 — " What a week have we just entered upon ! 
 what recollections does it not awaken ! what 
 amazing love ! what rich blessings ! where is 
 the human heart of man, who can, while here 
 below, comprehend the immensity and extent of 
 these blessings ? Ah ! at least let us pray with- 
 out ceasing, that the Lord will vouchsafe to re- 
 veal to us as much of His glorious goodness as 
 our present weakness can apprehend, and that 
 He will put into our hearts such love towards 
 Him, that we may make a less unworthy return to 
 Him who has loved us with such surpassing love ! 
 Yes, my beloved children, let us always pray for 
 this love, ever for love, ever for more love, and 
 with love every other grace will be ours. How 
 joyfully shall we then go forward in the ways of 
 the Lord ! How dear, how sacred must His 
 will, must all His will, then become to us." 
 
 28th of March, Good Friday.—" What a day 
 is this, my beloved children ! No words of man 
 can express what we should feel upon this day ! 
 Our desire, at least, will be to kneel in thought 
 at the foot of the cross, and there to worship, to 
 admire, and to praise with all the powers of our 
 souls, and with all the ardour it may be given 
 us to feel!" 
 
 5th April. — « What will be the issue of my 
 
166 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 illness, God alone knows. If I dared to form 
 any secret wish about it, you know what that 
 
 wish would be But I abstain from this. Thy 
 
 will alone, O my God ! no will of mine, be 
 done ! There is nothing but darkness in me. 
 Thou only art light ! unerring wisdom ! infinite 
 goodness ! therefore, Lord, do with me what- 
 ever may seem good unto Thyself ! " 
 
 On the 11th he showed us a letter he had 
 received from one of his most valued friends, 
 saying, " Here is a delightful letter, except for 
 the praises it contains. Praises ! when they 
 are given to us, let us at once translate them 
 thus : — Hasten, poor wretched sinner, hasten to 
 embrace, with fresh ardour, that cross, without 
 which thou wert lost, immediately lost. Before 
 it, the false scaffolding on which men desire to 
 raise thee will soon crumble into nothing, and 
 thou wilt find thyself sunk to thy proper level, 
 surrounded by thy wretched unworthiness, and 
 by thy innumerable sins, w T hich Jesus alone could 
 cover and blot out." 
 
 On the 15th of April he had still strength 
 enough to address us in these words : " Among 
 the benefits to be derived from sickness, more 
 especially when our sufferings are sharp and pro- 
 longed, there is one about which I wish to speak 
 to you. It is, that we are led to fix our eyes 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 167 
 
 more constantly upon sufferings of a totally 
 different nature, and infinitely more dreadful ; 
 and meeting the compassionate looks of our 
 Saviour, we learn to bless and love Him more 
 and more." 
 
 Again for several days we could only press 
 our beloved father's hand, without hearing a 
 word from his lips. 
 
 On the 8th of May, he could merely articu- 
 late : " Without Christ what would have become 
 of me ? I cannot even think of it without shud- 
 dering ! " 
 
 The 9th — " Till now I have been enabled 
 to forbear asking God to diminish my sufferings, 
 but rather to give me a full acquiescence in His 
 
 will all else will soon come to an end" — He 
 
 could say no more. 
 
 On the 10th—" One day in the Lord's courts 
 is better than a thousand elsewhere — and an 
 eternity in those courts ! " — and then the words, 
 " Oh, to love ! " gently escaped his lips, not 
 once, but again, and yet a third time. 
 
 The 11th — " Not a day passes in which we 
 have not fresh sins to bring forth in contrite 
 confession before the Lord — not a day in which 
 we are not sustained by a fresh supply of His 
 all-sufficient grace. Ought not, then, our love 
 to keep pace with these benefits?" 
 
168 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 On the 12th he put off his clothes for the last 
 time. It was the anniversary of his wife's death. 
 He said to us, referring to this subject : " The 
 children of God are enabled to speak with calm- 
 ness about these temporary separations. Twenty- 
 six years ago my beloved Louise put off every 
 kind of earthly raiment on this very day when I 
 have just put off this part of mine. This trifling 
 coincidence is delightful to me. But how much 
 more delightful is the glorious prospect of one day 
 meeting with those we so tenderly love around 
 the throne of the Lamb ! Oh ! what grace there 
 is in that rich treasury of graces which flows down 
 to us from the love of Christ I What a subject 
 for praise and thanksgiving, to all eternity, is 
 here presented to our souls. My dear Louis,"* 
 he said to me, gently pressing my hand, " to be 
 united for ever ! We shall be united for ever ! " 
 
 The 13th — "My dear children, look upon 
 those days as your happiest days when you have 
 spoken with most love of Christ." 
 
 The 14th — " Perhaps some persons, in speak- 
 ing of me, might say, < His conflict is much pro- 
 tracted; for his own sake we ought to desire 
 that it may soon cease.' But I can declare that 
 this is not the case with myself; indeed it is 
 not. My poor miserable heart still needs to be 
 * He means his nephew, Louis Vulliemin. 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 169 
 
 cleansed from many earthly feelings. Many 
 new desires must still be born there. O let me 
 thank God, who is never weary of showing His 
 goodness towards me, and who, by His wonder- 
 ful power, has, during these last few days, caused 
 some of these new desires to spring up within 
 
 me. If you could but know what a new and 
 
 real light the approach of eternal glory throws 
 into the darkest and most hidden corners of our 
 
 hearts ! If, in order to prepare me for a 
 
 heavenly inheritance, bought with the price of 
 His most precious blood, my Saviour should see 
 fit to prolong my sufferings ; if even He should 
 think it necessary to call me to a still severer 
 conflict, I should bless Him from the bottom of 
 my heart, persuaded that it would be gain — yes, 
 that it would be all gain to me ! " 
 
 The 15th — " There are two things for which 
 the minister of Christ can never sufficiently pray 
 every day of his life ; one is, an ever-growing 
 persuasion of all that Christ is to us, so that he 
 may be able to speak of it to others with more 
 and more earnestness; the other is, an ever- 
 increasing longing for the salvation of the souls 
 committed to his charge. I beg you will carry 
 these words to M. de Charriere,* as the legacy 
 
 * His assistant in the ministry since my brother's health 
 had prevented his continuing as such. 
 
170 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 which my heart leaves to his heart." On this 
 day his eyes lost the power of reading. 
 
 The 16th — "It is sickness which renders us 
 a little less ungrateful. In discovering to us 
 our unworthiness, (I speak of those who live by 
 faith,) it teaches us to feel more than ever that 
 every thing from the Lord is of grace." 
 
 The 17th— " Every day teaches me to bless 
 Him, and it is sweet indeed to bless ! " 
 
 The 18th — When he knew that from every 
 quarter persons sent to us to inquire about him, 
 and that we had likewise a great number of 
 letters to answer, he went so far as to apologize 
 for the trouble he thus occasioned. This grieved 
 us, and I entreated him not to speak so again. 
 " Well," he answered, " I retract what I have 
 said. You cannot be near to attend me on my 
 sick-bed as your heart would desire ; my state 
 will not allow of this: the letters you write, 
 therefore, shall stand in place of your attendance 
 upon me. Look upon them as such, and forget 
 what I said." 
 
 The 19th — During this day his prayers were 
 particularly offered up for the Classe, or Synod, 
 which was to assemble the next day ; for each 
 of his colleagues, and for the rapid spread of the 
 gospel in their parishes. 
 
 The 20th, he said to us — " We do not reflect 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 171 
 
 enough upon the holiness of God. If we could 
 bring before ourselves His absolute hatred of all 
 kind of sin, of all defilement, however imper- 
 ceptible to human eyes, of every secret feeling 
 of impatience or self-love, of every light word 
 spoken, or hasty judgment formed against our 
 brother, — with what earnestness we should be- 
 seech the Lord to put away from us even the 
 appearance of evil, and how powerfully such an 
 habitual consciousness would act towards the 
 advancement of our own sanctification ! " 
 
 The 21st — "To love perfectly is heaven: to 
 love even imperfectly is a foretaste of heaven." * 
 
 The 22nd — " If I could speak, it would be to 
 tell you of the wonderful goodness of God." 
 
 The 23rd — " At the commencement of every 
 day let us say to ourselves, Here is a day which 
 God gives me to do His will, and not my own ; 
 I shall be happy indeed if, at the end of it, I 
 may be able to say, that, with the help of His 
 grace, frequently prayed for, I have not wan- 
 dered very far from His blessed and most holy 
 ways." 
 
 The 24th, his weakness and emaciation had 
 
 * "Aimer, c'est le ciel; aimer un peu moins imparfaite- 
 ment, c'est un avantgout du ciel." These few words are 
 engraved upon the stone which covers the mortal remains 
 of M. Gonthier. 
 
17*2 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 reached the last stage. What he wished to say, 
 he had not sufficient strength to finish. " It is 
 no longer permitted me to speak even those few- 
 words to you, which were so delightful to me. 
 
 God wishes to establish me in my own 
 
 nothingness Let us glorify Him for His wis- 
 dom !" 
 
 The 25th — He could only just pronounce 
 these words, " God is good." In the evening 
 I asked him to allow me, as the sweet and 
 sacred privilege of a son, to perform some little 
 services necessary to him, and he consented. 
 
 The 26th arrived. He thought in the morn- 
 ing that he could perceive symptoms in himself 
 which were the forerunners of his departure. 
 He asked to see a medical man. " You know," 
 he said to him, " that the christian does not fear 
 the day of his death ; it is a festival day to him. 
 Will you kindly tell me, therefore, if you think 
 my hour is at hand?" The answer he received 
 was this, " Perhaps it may be to-day — perhaps 
 to-morrow." At these words tears of joy and 
 thanksgiving flowed from his eyes. Every fea- 
 ture wore the expression of gratitude towards 
 God. He sent for us. " My children," he said, 
 " I bless you for all your goodness to me — I 
 bless you and your dear children." We re- 
 mained by his bedside during the whole of this 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 173 
 
 day, for he lived through it ; and our colleagues 
 in the ministry spent part of it with us. 
 
 He had not been able to take nourishment 
 for some time. A small sponge placed near 
 him served to moisten his lips at intervals, and 
 to convey a few drops of wine and water into 
 his mouth. Every now and then he just pro- 
 nounced the single name of " Jesus" with a tone 
 of assured hope — that all-powerful name, which 
 was to him a shelter and defence — that name of 
 peace, which was all-sufficient for him — that sure 
 refuge, which never failed him for an instant ! 
 In pronouncing it, he tried to raise his hand, and 
 point upwards, his countenance beaming with 
 heavenly joy. After twelve o'clock he was no 
 longer able to swallow the few drops of wine and 
 water with which his throat had been moistened. 
 " There is now one tie less to detain me," he 
 said. His colleague, Mr. Dupraz, read a few 
 verses from the Scriptures, and prayed near his 
 bed: the dying man blessed him with much 
 affection. " Jesus ! Jesus !" did he still repeat 
 with an expression of adoring love and joy. He 
 frequently also unclosed his eyes, to fix them 
 upon us, with a look of tender affection, at the 
 same time lifting up his hand and pointing to- 
 wards heaven, to recall to our minds the place 
 
174 THE LIFE OF THE 
 
 of our meeting again. During the night he 
 begged us to go and take some repose ; he re- 
 peated his wish, and the third time insisted upon 
 our doing so. Fanchette remained for some 
 time alone with him. When we returned, he 
 had still sufficient strength to press our hands. 
 Then came the last struggle — there was no ter- 
 ror, no agony. The spirit was in peace, but still 
 the body suffered ; the heavy drops on his fore- 
 head told this too plainly. At length, towards 
 six o'clock, he fixed his eyes upon us for the last 
 time, and they closed no more — the heavy death 
 sweat became of icy coldness — we lifted up our 
 hearts to God in prayer. 
 
 " Servant of God, well done ! 
 Kest from thy lov'd employ ; 
 The battle fought, the victory won, 
 Enter thy Master's joy ! " 
 
 We must not conclude without an answer to 
 those persons who have asked us to make known 
 to them the contents of our dear uncle's will. He 
 restores to the family of his mother-in-law every 
 thing that came to him with his wife. His poor 
 relations are not forgotten. Some few legacies 
 
REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 175 
 
 are bequeathed to funds for the use of the poor, 
 others to some christian societies. His two 
 nephews are his heirs. He concludes his testa- 
 ment with an emotion which he finds it difficult 
 to repress, in bearing testimony to the deep 
 affection he felt for us, and by throwing himself 
 in thought at the foot of the cross of Christ, em- 
 bracing it as his only hope of salvation. It has 
 caused some surprise to find how little he had to 
 leave. He possessed 50 louis a year of his own, 
 and received 1380 francs* as his salary, which 
 sum he about shared with his suffragan. To see 
 how much he sowed he might have been thought 
 rich ; but he had two sources from which he drew 
 the supplies of that liberality in which he in- 
 dulged : one was the produce of his works, which 
 he looked upon as a sacred deposit to be entirely 
 employed in deeds of christian love ; the other 
 was his perfect system of order. His house was 
 like his heart. The desire of perfection was 
 carried into its minutest details. There was an 
 inventory of every thing, and every thing had 
 its proper place. He noted down all his ex- 
 penses, however trifling, even till the day before 
 his death. Every month, what was written down 
 
 * 1380 Swiss francs are equal to rather more than 86/. 
 sterling. 
 
176 LIFE OF REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 
 
 was classed, balanced, and adjusted carefully. 
 It was the order and economy of charity that 
 desired to have sufficient to bring the costly box 
 of ointment to the feet of Jesus. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 In the Life of Felix Neff, published by the 
 Religious Tract Society, which owes much valu- 
 able information to the Rev. Ami Bost, and to 
 the Rev. M. Guers, of Geneva, M. Guers men- 
 tions that M. Gonthier was the chief instrument 
 in the conversion of Felix Neff, who frequently 
 attended his ministry. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 VV. Tyler, Printer, Bolt-court, Fleet-street. 
 
1 1012 01236 9908