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THE 
 
 EMPTY CRIB 
 
 ^ Mzvxoxml of Eittle ©eorgi'e. 
 
 WITH WORDS OF CONSOLATION FOR 
 BEREAVED PARENTS. 
 
 BY 
 
 / 
 
 REV. THEO. L. CUYLER, 
 
 BROOKLYN. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 R. CARTER AND BROTHERS, 
 
 530, Broadway. 
 
Eutered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 
 ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 
 of New York. 
 
 University Press : 
 John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 
 
\ths 
 
 /'^ 
 
 GEORGE SIDNEY CUYLER, 
 
 ONE OF THE TWIN CHILDREN OF 
 
 Rev. Theodore L. and Annie E. Cuyler 
 
 Born in Brooklyn, July 9, 1863. 
 Went Home to Heaven, April 19, 1868. 
 
 The one sJiall he taken^ and tJie other left,** 
 
 i'A'^'^^ *..' 
 
dhn so h is not i^z foiU of gonr J^at^er fofeic^ is i« 
 ^ea&ert, t^al ont of l^jse liltle ojt^s sl^oulir ptris^. 
 
"W^o f hocked tJiat Flower .?" 
 
 CRIKO THH GARDENER, AS HE WALKED THROUGH THE GARDEN. 
 HIS FELLOW-SERVANT ANSWERED, 
 
 "THE MASTER I" 
 
 AMD THB GARDENER HELD HIS PEACE. 
 
 [Inscription in an old English churchyard.] 
 
%xits l^eg s^all be mine, sail^ t^e ^ax'it of ^osts, in l^al 
 ban foljcn | ntalw up mn jefoela. 
 
 "^Jj? 
 
Page 
 
 Memorial 9 
 
 A Child in the Midst 107 
 
 God's Bitter Cups for Sick Souls . . 115 
 
 Our Baby 124 
 
 Quietness before God 126 
 
 Is it well with Tuy Child? 133 
 
 The Conversion of Children .... 135 
 
 Children in Heaven 144 
 
 Only a Baby's Grave 148 
 
 A Walk in Green\vood 150 
 
 The Empty Little Bed 159 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 A FTER the death of our dear boy, a 
 very large number of tender and 
 beautiful letters of condolence reached us 
 from all parts of the land. As it was 
 quite impossible for us to reply to all these 
 kind letters, it occurred to us that the 
 most fitting response would be to prepare 
 a brief sketch of our child, and of the 
 touching circumstances of his death, and 
 to send it to those whose words of sym- 
 pathy have been so grateful. Many of 
 these letters contained words of precious 
 consolation that are as well calculated to 
 comfort other bereaved parents as they 
 
lO THE EMPTY CRIB, 
 
 were to comfort us in our first great 
 sorrow. Such passages from them as 
 could be printed, without any violation of 
 delicacy, have been wrought in with the 
 following brief narrative. Both the nar- 
 rative and the succeeding articles are 
 published simply and solely with the hope 
 that they may be a solace and a blessing 
 to some hearts in the great Household of 
 the Sorrowing, 
 
 This is the largest household in the 
 world. There is hardly a dwelling "in 
 which there is not one dead." In almost 
 every home there are stored away, 
 among its most cherished treasures, a lit- 
 tle photograph, or a box of toys, a torn 
 kite, a halfvvorn cap, or a pair of tiny 
 shoes. They all tell a story too deep for 
 tears. 
 
 Into such homes I have been called, 
 like other pastors, a thousand times. I 
 
MEMORIAL. II 
 
 have sat down beside the afflicted fathers 
 and mothers in my flock, and tried to 
 comfort them. I have read to them the 
 heavenly messages of consolation, and 
 knelt beside them as they rocked and 
 trembled under the tempest of their ag- 
 ony. But how often have these mothers 
 said to me, "Ah ! my pastor, there is one 
 thing in this world that you never can 
 understand until you have felt it for your- 
 self, — and that is the sensations of a 
 parent over his or her own child as it lies in 
 the first awful silence of death. You must 
 go through all this for yourself, and then 
 you can realize what it is we suffer, and 
 what it is that our smitten souls most 
 need." After hearing such things, we have 
 come back to our happy home and said, 
 " Oh ! if those lessons are to be learned 
 only by having the little crib emptied 
 in this house, may the Hand that takes the 
 
12 THE EMPTY CRIB, 
 
 treasure be the same Hand that can open 
 our eyes to see the infinite blessedness 
 of a sanctified sorrow ! " 
 
 Three years ago, in a half-playful 
 description of "A New Home" (in the 
 New York "Evangelist") I wrote, "What 
 sorrows this home hath in store for us, 
 God only knoweth. Perhaps in yonder 
 nursery a little crib may grow deeper 
 until it deepens into a grave. Father, 
 not as we will, but as Thou wilt." The 
 prophecy is fulfilled. And I trust that 
 it will not be an indelicate exposure of 
 private griefs if a father's heart utters, at 
 such a time, a few words to the large and 
 ever enlarging circle of those who mourn 
 beside a deserted cradle, or in a silent 
 nursery. As one of old has said, " these 
 pages, if thou be a father, thou wilt par- 
 don me ; if nocht, then reserve thy cen- 
 sure till thou be a father." 
 
MEMORIAL, 13 
 
 /^UR little Georgie and his twin- 
 ^^^ brother Theodore came to us on 
 the ninth of July, 1863. The double 
 gift of' our heavenly Father to us called 
 forth peculiar joy ; and from that birth- 
 hour until that chill, dark Sabbath night 
 in which they were parted, they never 
 gave us one moment's pain or dis- 
 pleasure. They never cost us any but 
 tears of thankfulness. The twofold care, 
 even in earliest infancy, was a twofold 
 delight. 
 
 They were both consecrated to God in 
 baptism a few months after ; on the day 
 of the service I preached on the Mission 
 of children as the instructors of their 
 parents (" He set a little child in the 
 
14 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 midst of them"). The sermon closed 
 with a quotation of the following pathetic 
 lines : — 
 
 "I shall miss him when the flowers come, 
 
 In the garden where he plaj'ed ; 
 I shall miss him more by the fireside 
 
 When the flowers have all decayed. 
 I shall see his toys and his empty chair, 
 
 And the horse he used to ride ; 
 And they will speak, with a silent speech, 
 
 Of the little boy that died. 
 
 We shall all go home to our Father's house, — 
 
 To our Father's house in the skies, 
 Where the hope of our soul shall have no blight, 
 
 And our love no broken ties ; 
 We shall roam on the banks of the River of Peace, 
 
 And bathe in its blissful tide; 
 And one of the joys of our heaven shall be 
 
 The little boy that died." 
 
 Some of our congregation expressed 
 their surprise at the allusion to the death 
 of children and the quotation of such 
 lines, and thought them ominous. 
 
MEMORIAL, 15 
 
 For nearly five years God spared our 
 noble boys to be the sunlight of our 
 dwelling. "I almost envy you those 
 rarely beautiful and lovely twins," wrote 
 the Rev. Dr. P , of New York. Usu- 
 ally the first inquiry of our visitors was 
 to " see the boys ; " and many an one has 
 said to us since, "Georgie was far the 
 most beautiful boy I ever saw." "Give me 
 one of these," our brother Newman Hall 
 used to say at our fireside, "for I have 
 none in my nest at home." Those who 
 recall the little fellow^s, as they were led 
 by their faithful German nurse Gesine 
 through the streets of Brooklyn, or in the 
 park at Saratoga, will remember the pe- 
 culiar loveliness of Georgie's countenance. 
 It was a face to dream about. His photo- 
 graphs (which are skilfully engraved for 
 this volume) , give no adequate idea of 
 the flood of joyous light that seemed to 
 
1 6 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 beam from his large lustrous eyes and 
 bewitching mouth and golden hair. 
 There was a fine vein of poetry in his 
 nature. Among the first words which he 
 ever uttered were "moon" and "'tar," 
 as he gazed with infant glee at the 
 heavens, from his nursery window. At 
 three years of age, when riding with our 
 friends at Cedar Cottage, his constant 
 exclamation was, "Oh ! see the beautiful 
 clouds ! " One day when he came in from 
 the garden, he said, "Mama, I've been to 
 see where the strawberries are sleeping. ^^ 
 There is a mystery about twin-life that 
 affords a constant study to the parent. 
 Sometimes the resemblance, both in feat- 
 ures and in character, is so striking as to 
 make each one the shadow of the other. 
 The only marked likeness between our 
 twin-lads was in the tint of their fair com- 
 plexion, and of their hair. Georgie, 
 
MEMORIAL. 17 
 
 though the most delicate at his birth, 
 became much the larger, and possessed 
 the most keenly sensitive nerves, and the 
 liveliest exuberance of spirits. Neither 
 his feet nor his tongue could move fast 
 enough to keep up with his ardent tem- 
 perament. It was quite in character 
 with him, that one of the first prayers he 
 ever uttered was in these summary words : 
 "O God, please to make Georgie a good 
 little boy, right awayf'' A sweet arch- 
 ness of expression played over his coun- 
 tenance, while he was making his droli 
 speeches or practising his roguish fun, 
 that was quite inimitable. As he was play- 
 ing horse rather violently in his mother's 
 room, she corrected him several times 
 without his making any answer ; at length 
 he said, " Mama, doo know that horses 
 never talk.^^ 
 
 From their early infancy the boys had 
 
1 8 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 been, in part, under the care of an excel- 
 lent Ger;Tian nurse, "Neenie;" and she 
 continued with us until she saw her 
 " sweet lomb " (as she used to call 
 Georgie) close his eyes in death. Neenie 
 was their almost constant companion in 
 the nursery, and often in their walks. 
 No recollection is more familiar to our 
 neighbors than the sight of the little 
 German woman pushing a double baby's 
 carriage along the sidewalk ; or, when 
 they grew older, leading one by each 
 hand. How proud she felt when passers- 
 by halted to admire their beauty, or to 
 steal a kiss on the little velvet cheeks ! 
 She taught them to count and to say their 
 prayers in German ; and from her they 
 acquired a sort of broken half-German 
 brogue that made Georgie's droll speeches 
 all the droller and more entertaining. 
 The boys were very much attached to 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 19 
 
 their nurse. But when his mother asked, 
 "Georgie, which do you love best, Mama 
 or Neenie?" he repHed, "Mama, dere is 
 a difference in my love. I love Neenie a 
 sousand dollars ; but I love doo more 
 than tunc [tongue] can tell." 
 
 The color of a faithful negro servant 
 was a perpetual puzzle to him. At length 
 he discovered a solution that was about as 
 satisfactory as the theories of some writers 
 on ethnology in our times. Seeing a 
 painter putting a fresh coat of black on 
 our iron railing, he asked with much 
 earnestness, "Is dot de mon what painted 
 Diana?" He was accustomed to see 
 domestic servants and coachmen calling 
 with messages for me. One day he 
 peeped into the sitting-room, and saw me 
 talking with a worthy brother-pastor of 
 an "African church." When I came out, 
 he inquired, "Papa, whose colored mon 
 
20 THE EMPTT CRIB, 
 
 was dot in de sittin'-room ? " I replied, 
 "My child, he was nobody's man; he is 
 Jesus Christ's servant : he is a minister." 
 With a most ludicrous look of wonder he 
 said, "Well, I soodn't sink any minister 
 would be so culled as dot." 
 
 The tall figure of Dr. M was about 
 
 as much a study with him as the origin 
 of color. When the doctor had left the 
 house, after a professional visit, Georgie 
 
 asked, "Mama, \vo\i high is Dr. M ?" 
 
 The answer was, " He's six feet." " Oh, 
 dear ! six feet 1 Where does he keep 'em 
 all?" When we used to ask Georgie, 
 "Of what are you made?" instead of the 
 usual answer, " Of the dust of the earth," 
 he always persisted in saying, " I'se made 
 of blood, and of flesh, and bones, and 
 hair, and nails." How plainly we can 
 hear him repeat his amusing paraphrase 
 of Joseph's history, in which he told us 
 
MEMORIAL. 21 
 
 how " his brothers took him out of de 
 hole, and sold him to de Arabs, and dey 
 put him up on de commel, and he had a 
 nice ride down to Egypt and growcd and 
 groiued till he got to be a gentlejuon.^^ 
 While recording these sprightly speeches 
 and winning ways, we do not set up our 
 dear child as a prodigy. He was not ; 
 nor did he ever display any morbid men- 
 tal precocity. 
 
 Both the boys had superb health, and 
 enjoyed their play to the top of their bent. 
 Once, when playing in the third story of 
 our house, they daringly crept out of the 
 dormer-window into the eaves-trough ! 
 and when their affrighted nurse found 
 them there, and drew them in, one of them 
 cried, " O Neenie ! we was lookin' to see 
 how pretty it is down in the garden ! " 
 
 After this providential preservation of 
 their lives in their third year, and after 
 
2 2 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 their happy deliverance from many of the 
 perils of early childhood, we confidently 
 trusted that they were both to be spared to 
 us. Their mother spent much solicitude 
 in securing a large photographic picture 
 of them ; and it was brought home but a 
 few days before Georgie's death. 
 
 It w^as a singular coincidence, — the 
 superstitious would say an omen, — that, 
 on the day preceding his death, Georgie 
 w^as playing w^ith his blocks in the nursery, 
 and when his mother asked him if he was 
 building a house, he answered, " No ; Tm 
 makin' a coffin." Coming in from digging 
 in the garden, he said, " I've been makin' 
 a little grave ! " The little hollow in the 
 earth which the dear hand made that day 
 is there yet, with the bits of wood and 
 brick beside it. To his grandma, — who 
 watched the white cap and blue cloak 
 that day, bending over the task with so 
 
[mliisth-irdyear ] 
 
MEMORIAL. 23 
 
 much glee, — that miniature "tomb in the 
 garden " is the most touching and cher- 
 ished rehc of our lost treasure. 
 
 In a bon-bon he found a piece of candy 
 singularly shaped like a tombstone ; and 
 bringing it to his mother, he said, " Mama, 
 I've found my tombstone." After eating 
 it, he said, "There, I've swallowed it! 
 Will it kill me?" 
 
 On the evening of the seventeenth of 
 March, a " church-sociable " was held at 
 my residence, and many of our beloved 
 congregation gathered to offer their con- 
 gratulations, as it was the fifteenth anni- 
 versary of our wedding. Music and 
 conversation occupied the happy evening ; 
 and, at the close, I took the bright, merry 
 boys in my arms and made an ofF-hand 
 address of thanks to our guests. The 
 boys never looked lovelier ; and when it 
 was over, some one asked, " What would 
 
24 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 you do if one of them should be taken 
 from you?" Our reply was, "We have 
 had nearly five years of perfect happiness 
 in them already, and if they were both to 
 die to-morrow, we should always thank 
 God that He gave them." That was the 
 last evening in which the wee lads ever 
 were brought in together to see our 
 visitors. 
 
 A few days later, their mother made 
 her last excursion with them. It was to 
 witness the panorama of Bunyan's " Pil- 
 grim," at the Athenaeum. The pictures 
 of the fiend Apollyon, of the Valley of 
 the Shadow of Death, and of horrible 
 Giant Despair, rather terrified Georgie, 
 who was always timid. At length he 
 covered up his eyes, and said, " Don't 
 make me look again until the angeh 
 come.^^ Blessed boy ! they were not far 
 off; and very soon the " gates of pearl " 
 
MEMORIAL. 25 
 
 which the Dreamer saw in vision, were to 
 open to his coming footstep. 
 
 In the diary of the teacher of the in- 
 fant class of our sabbath school I find the 
 following loving record of our boy's brief 
 career under her faithful teachings : 
 
 "Georgie C was one of the sweetest 
 
 lambs of our infant flock ; his affectionate 
 temperament, gentleness, and other lova- 
 ble traits drew our hearts to him at once. 
 We have felt for some time that if there 
 was a representative from our pastor's fam- 
 ily called for in heaven, Georgie would be 
 the one selected. I recollect, at one time, 
 he recited a part of the hymn * Jesus loves 
 me ; ' after endeavoring to portray the 
 Saviour's character in a way that a little 
 child's mind could appreciate, a tear stood 
 in his eye; he was asked, 'Georgie, do 
 you love the blessed Jesus ? ' and his face 
 lighted up with one of his sweet smiles, 
 
26 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 — ' Oh, zes, mam.' * The last lesson he 
 recited will never be forgotten, — a verse 
 from the Psalms. The lisping tones of his 
 voice still sound in my ear as he slowly 
 repeated, * Hide me — under de sadow — 
 of d}^ wing.' When we heard there was 
 sickness in the pastor's house, not having 
 had the slightest intimation who it was, 
 we said to ourselves, 'The messenger is 
 at the door ; Georgie is called for ; such 
 loveliness is not often permitted to remain 
 in such a world as this.'" 
 
 Georgie grew sweeter and more win- 
 some every hour during the last winter ; 
 and, sometimes, when he came home 
 from the sabbath class, and laid his 
 golden curls on my shoulder, and re- 
 peated his hymns in so tender a voice, I 
 felt a secret tremble at the thought that so 
 
 * Georgie never saidj'e5; but always "zes." 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 27 
 
 much treasure was intrusted to so frail an 
 earthen vessel. On the sabbath preced- 
 ing his death, he came in from the school, 
 and shaking the snow from his coat, 
 marched up to me, and began to repeat 
 the verses he had committed to memory, 
 " God is love," and " Knock, and it sail be 
 open to doo," and "Hide me under de 
 sadow of dy wing." Already was that 
 "wing" being outspread to hover over our 
 darling ; but our eyes were mercifully 
 holden, that we saw not its coming. The 
 card which he brojight home that sabbath 
 from school, and which was discovered 
 afterwards in his little box, contained the 
 appropriate passage, " They shall be 
 mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day 
 when I make up my jewels." 
 
 The day before his departure from us 
 was spent in frolicsome and happy play. 
 We observed a peculiar flush on the faces 
 
28 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 of both the boys, but it excited no alarm. 
 At the tea-table they both stood up, and 
 repeated, in jocular style, a bit of verse 
 which their cousin had taught them : — 
 
 "As I was walking out one day, 
 A sinkin ob de wedder, 
 I spied a pair ob roguish shines,— 
 A neat and happy fedder. 
 
 She looked at me, I looked at her, 
 
 My heart it went tit-tat, 
 And den see turned so smililge, 
 
 How does doo like my hot? 
 
 Oh ! I sink it's gay and pretty too, 
 
 Dey look so well togedder, 
 Dame glossy coorls and yockey hot 
 
 Mit de rooster's fedder." 
 
 When Georgie had finished his in his 
 broad amusing pronunciation, he kissed 
 us all "good-night" for the last time, and 
 ran laughing from the room. As he was 
 put to bed, he roguishly said, " My little 
 footies are tired at both ends." Hearing 
 his mother pass the nursery, he said, 
 
MEMORIAL. 29 
 
 " My sweet little mama, come and kiss me 
 good-night; I want to talk to doo." 
 
 Early on the next morning (sabbath, 
 April 19th) the dreaded scarlet fever — 
 most mysterious of all permitted scourges 
 of the fireside — smote his lovely form 
 with a violence past all skill to arrest. 
 The first symptoms were a vomiting, ac- 
 companied with a high fever, and a rac- 
 ing pulse. The usual rash did not make 
 its appearance. The malignant poison 
 of the disease seemed to crush the whole 
 nervous system at once, and in a few 
 hours he lay in an entire collapse, like 
 that of the Asiatic cholera. He suffered 
 no acute pain, — only complained of being 
 " tired ; " but the livid and purple hues of 
 his delicate skin told how rapidly death 
 was changing his countenance, and send- 
 ing him away. 
 
 The sermon which I had before pre- 
 
30 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 pared for that very morning was on 
 reading aright the discipline of our 
 heavenly Father, — especially in the 
 death of our children ! In that sermon I 
 said, " A thousand times over have I pit- 
 ied more the mother of a living sorrow 
 than I have pitied the mother of a departed 
 joy. Parents, spare your tears for those 
 whom you have laid down to sleep in their 
 narrow beds of earth, with the now with- 
 ered rose-bud mingling with their dust. 
 They are safe, Christ is their teacher 
 now, and has them in His sinless school, 
 where lessons of celestial wisdom are 
 learned by eyes that never weep. Save 
 your tears for your living children, if they 
 are yet living in their sins, unrepentant 
 and unconverted." The sermon Uosed 
 with the hymn (selected the day before) : 
 
 "Mj times are in thy hand, 
 Great God ! I wish them there." 
 
MEMORIAL. 31 
 
 I had already prepared and marked for 
 the next Sunday a discourse on the words, 
 " Blessed are they that mourn ; for they 
 shall be comforted ! " 
 
 While this almost prophetic service was 
 going forward in the church, Georgie 
 seemed to have the premonition — which 
 often makes a dying child wiser than 
 parent or ph3^sician — that he was near 
 his end. He repeated his cradle-prayer, 
 "Now I lay me down to sleep," and then a 
 part of his favorite Sunday-school hymn : 
 
 "Jesus loves me, this I know, 
 For the Bible tells me so : 
 Little ones to Him belong; 
 They are weak, but He is strong, 
 
 Jesus loves me; He has died, 
 Heaven's gate to open wide; 
 He will wash away my sin, 
 And bid His little child come in.'* 
 
 After he had finished this most perfect 
 of modern child-hymns, he looked up to 
 
32 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 his mother, and his nurse Neenie, and 
 whispered, "Does Jesus love me? What 
 will Jesus say to me when he sees me?" 
 We flattered ourselves with the vain hope 
 that he might survive until the next day, 
 and accordingly I left him for a couple of 
 hours, to fulfil a most important pulpit 
 engagement. The little fellow kissed his 
 hand to me, and his feeble "bye-bye" 
 were about the last words that ever fell 
 from his lips. The agonizing convulsions 
 presently came on ; and soon after sunset, 
 our glorious boy lay cold and silent on his 
 pillow. Our Sabbath evening was his 
 bright and endless Sabbath morn ! 
 
 I foas bumb; | opciub not mg ntoullj, bKause 
 %\z\x bibst it. 
 
 Will f orb tpSii, aub i\t ITorb ^atb taluu afeag ; 
 bUss-eb \iz ll^c nanu of \\t Jtorb. 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 33 
 
 A S the tidings of his death spread 
 through the neighborhood, there 
 were wakeful and weeping eyes in nearly 
 every dwelling. One of the neighbors 
 preserved, as long as she could, on her 
 parlor window, the faint print of his little 
 hand, left there the day before his death ; 
 and other such touching proofs of affec- 
 tion for the child reached us from many 
 quarters. The old Irish gardener came 
 weeping to his work in the garden. "It 
 e'en a'most kills me,'' said he, "not to hear 
 the boys halloo to me from yon nussery 
 window." * 
 
 Our Lafaj^ette - Avenue congregation 
 were celebrating, that evening, the anni- 
 versary of their mission-school, in the 
 church. The Brooklyn Union of next 
 day, in its report of the celebration, says, 
 that, "While Mr. Thompson, of Ohio, 
 
34 
 
 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 was speaking, a message was received 
 
 that one of Dr. C ^'s twin-children had 
 
 just died, and Mr. T spoke most 
 
 touchingly and eloquently of the sad 
 event. A feeling of sorrow settled upon 
 the whole audience ; and, after a hymn 
 by the children, they were dismissed." 
 A valued friend, who was present at the 
 service, gave such expression to her feel- 
 ings and those of our beloved congrega- 
 tion, in the following letter, that we cannot 
 refrain from inserting it. 
 
 "Well do I know, my dear Mrs. C , 
 
 how utterh' inadequate are human words 
 to give consolation in such a tr3'ing hour; 
 but be assured that the household of our 
 pastor, over which death has thrown his 
 gloomy pall, and the bereaved hearts 
 bowed in sorrow there, are held in ten- 
 derest remembrance by the whole church. 
 Tn each household within it are thoughts 
 
MEMORIAL. 35 
 
 and words of sympathy which must find 
 
 expression. ' Hitherto,' as Mr. C 
 
 said in his remarks at the funeral of Mr. 
 Crook, 'no badore of mourning has ever 
 hung at the door of his own dwelHng, or 
 any coffin ever yet passed its threshold,' 
 — so never before have we had occasion 
 (in the great mercy of God w^ho has 
 spared you) to have our hearts draw^n out, 
 and our tears to flow for you. But now 
 this sorrow^ is taken up and shared by all 
 as one common sorrow. I was struck, 
 on Sunday morning, with the intense in- 
 terest felt by the entire congregation in 
 the sickness which had invaded your 
 dwelling ; and w^hen at night it was an- 
 nounced that * little Georgie had gone 
 home to heaven,' how all hearts were 
 thrilled ! How many low, earnest words 
 were spoken sadly, and how, as in one 
 great family, did the sorrow seem to per- 
 
36 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 vade the church ! It must, in some meas- 
 ure, comfort you to know that in your 
 affliction we too are afflicted. I have 
 seldom known a church which seemed so 
 much like one great harmonious house- 
 hold, — the result of the untiring efforts 
 of your husband and yourself to create 
 friendly feeling, and of the cordial hospi-- 
 tality which you have always exercised 
 towards us. May you all have your 
 reward now by the outpouring of sym- 
 pathy from the many hearts 3'Ou have 
 blessed ! 
 
 The form of your trial is peculiar to 
 you. The gift of two beautiful children 
 at once is seldom granted ; and these two, 
 — hozu beautiful the}^ were ! There must 
 be a certain pleasure and pride enjoyed 
 in a pair of such lovely boys that no sin- 
 gle child could give ; and I think we all 
 felt this pride and admiration too. Now 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 37 
 
 that the twins are separated, and so sud- 
 denly, what can I say to comfort your 
 bleeding heart? Nothing, perhaps, that 
 you will not hear from others ; but I do 
 so long to lift your thoughts (as mine 
 were in my bereavement) out of this 
 earthly home up to that beautiful home, 
 through the pearly gates of which has 
 flown your darling child. The sweet 
 flower, lent to you a little while to adorn 
 your dwelling, and so tenderly cherished 
 there, is now transplanted to the garden 
 of the Lord, where it wdll expand into 
 more wondrous beauty than any earth- 
 culture can create. Oh ! could the veil 
 which hides him from your view, be lifted 
 for one brief moment, and you behold 
 the radiant glory of that upper world; 
 could you but see the seraph-form wing- 
 ing its flight in snowy whiteness toward 
 the throne of God, and there amid the 
 
38 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 angel-choir singing the angel-song with 
 happy voice, — without a fear or a home- 
 longing, — how would you be comforted, 
 and, in time, 7'cjoice that in his innocence 
 and purity he was ^"^for ever with the 
 Lord''! Tread softly now ; for you are 
 the " mother of an angel ; " and from out 
 of that shining band of little ones, gath- 
 ered to beautify the Palace of our Lord, 
 one lovely cherub shall watch and wait to 
 welcome his " svveet mother." 
 
 May Jesus, the " Man of sorrows," so 
 fill your heart with the rich consolations 
 of His love, that you may be sustained 
 through all this trying scene, and be able 
 to yield your precious treasure, unmur- 
 muringly, to Him who doeth all things 
 well ! "What we know not now, we shall 
 know hereafter." May the God of all the 
 families of the earth put underneath you 
 His everlasting arms of love, to shield 
 
MEMORIAL. 39 
 
 and protect you ; and as this link is 
 formed with the heavenly world, may you 
 be gathered there at last, an unbroken 
 household ! Will you please to put these 
 flowers in little Georgie's casket? " 
 
 " Little Georgie loved flowers," wrote 
 one who was very near and dear to him. 
 " Often have I gathered them for him. 
 Please place this cluster in our darling's 
 hand. They have been watered with my 
 tears. Their silent language may tell of 
 the wealth of love and tenderness, and 
 the agony of grief that fills this heart at 
 the memory of the angel-child." 
 
 From many sympathizing hearts, in 
 one of the most generous of flocks, came 
 similar fragrant tributes. To the cluster 
 of flowers (arranged in the form of a 
 
 cross), which were sent by Mrs. C 's 
 
 sabbath-school class, was appended the 
 motto : — 
 
40 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 '"'■We say, 'Good-night, Georgie, dearl* 
 The a7igels say — have said, 
 * Good-morni7igr " 
 
 From a household in Philadelphia, tc 
 which the twin-laddies were especially 
 dear, came these soothing words, on the 
 day of the burial. "We are thinking of 
 you all at this hour, fancying the change 
 which death has made in the aspect of 
 every familiar room in your cheerful 
 house, and not yet able to banish the 
 sound of children's voices. *The boys' 
 are everywhere still. 
 
 " Yet we know that in one room must 
 lie the darling of all hearts, ready for his 
 burial. God comfort you in the sad hour 
 of this day when you take him out of the 
 house, and come home again without him I 
 We shall all be thinking of you this after- 
 noon, and of the new-made grave in 
 Greenwood. Who would have said that 
 
MEMORIAL. 41 
 
 Georgie must be the first to take possession 
 of that silent home? God seems most 
 like d, father just now, when he comes, 
 and, with an authority we do not think of 
 questioning, chooses the httle tender child 
 for whom we had thought no one but 
 ourselves could care properly, and places 
 him at once beyond the reach of all 
 harm. I am sure you can say, 'We shall 
 always be glad that he was ours even 
 for a few years.' 
 
 ''But then to be always missing Georgie, 
 always reminded of him by the sight of 
 Theo., about whom, sweet little lamb, 
 there seems a sort of forlornness, when 
 without his playmate ! — oh ! one needs a 
 great deal of comforting under such 
 thoughts ; and sometimes thick clouds 
 will appear, to keep out every ray of 
 light. The photograph of the boys lies 
 close by my pen, and as I look from my 
 
42 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 page to the two faces, I cannot think that 
 one is so changed. Sweet Georgie ! 
 what thoughts did he have when he 
 asked Svhat Jesus would say to him'? 
 We shall always think of him when the 
 children say that hymn, 'Jesus loves me,' 
 of w^hich they are so fond. Yesterday, 
 w^hen brother Theodore's boys came over, 
 they seemed to be awe-struck, as if some- 
 thing they could not comprehend had 
 befallen Georgie and Theo. ; — how the 
 two names seem to flow together as if 
 we never could separate them ! Dear' 
 cousins, I know you w^ill not turn away 
 from any source of comfort ; and whatever 
 the sympathy of friends can give, you 
 now have in the richest abundance, and 
 in heavenly consolations infinitely more." 
 Well might our dear friend say that 
 "one needs a great deal of comforting" 
 when they go into a nursery that rang 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 43 
 
 every day with the music of merry voices, 
 and find it silent; and beside an empty 
 crib, see, by the dim light, only a white 
 sheet covering a little form whose still- 
 ness makes the heart ache I In such a 
 chamber of silence with what a heavenly 
 sweetness does the voice of Jesus say to 
 our aching heart, " Thy son liveth ! " 
 
 On the afternoon of April twenty- 
 second, — a golden spring day, when the 
 early violets were opening to the sun- 
 shine, — we bore away our darling to his 
 burial. The simple story is told in the 
 following passage from the "Union" of 
 April 23d : — 
 
 "Yesterday afternoon the burial-sei- 
 vices of little Georgie Cuyler took place 
 at his late home in Oxford Street. The 
 house was thronged ; and friends, unable 
 to gain admission, lined the sidewalk, 
 stood in groups in the yard, and crowded 
 
44 
 
 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 the piazza. In the parlors, the hall, and 
 everywhere were flowers in profusion ; 
 many of them were wrought into the 
 most tasteful forms of crowns, crosses, 
 anchors, stars, and other fitting devices. 
 Over the medallion likenesses of the boys 
 was a superb floral crown, and on the 
 white casket rested an exquisite cross of 
 fragrant buds. The Rev. Theodore S. 
 Brown, of the Memorial Church, read the 
 Scriptures ; Rev. Dr. Hall made the 
 opening prayer ; Rev. Dr. Duryea made 
 an address and offered prayer ; and Dr. 
 Cuyler uttered a brief testimony to his 
 assembled people, on the sustaining grace 
 of God in trial. The choir of the church 
 sang the two hymns, — * Jesus loves 
 me,* and * Peacefully sleep ; ' and at 
 the close of the services, the remains 
 were taken to Greenwood." Georgie's 
 resting-place is on Fountain Hill, by 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 45 
 
 Rill Path, in a plot wherein no one else 
 has yet been laid. When we lowered the 
 precious sleeper into his narrow bed, it 
 seemed a cold lonely spot to leave a 
 delicate child. But we parents must re- 
 member that it was in just such a spot 
 the Master lay ; and from His tomb in 
 Joseph's garden, as from His living lips, 
 issues His divine command, "Suffer the 
 little children to come unto Me,^'' It is 
 only when we open a gateway of earth 
 for the body, that He doth open to the 
 spirit a gateway to glory, — 
 
 "And bid His little child come in." 
 
 In arranging this simple Memorial of 
 our child, this seems to be a fitting place 
 to introduce two poetic tributes which 
 may w^ell be laid as chaplets on his new- 
 made grave. .The first one is from an 
 unknown friend in Virginia. The other 
 
^6 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 IS from a gifted authoress whose produc- 
 tions are ah'eady famiHar to the American 
 people. 
 
 WHAT WILL JESUS SAY? 
 
 SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF GEORGIE 
 CUYLER. 
 
 '' He looked up to his mother and whispered, ' Does Jesus lov; 
 n%e ? What will I/e say to me when He first sees me ? ' " 
 
 ''I KNOW that He loves me, mother; 
 
 I know that He hears me pray; 
 But when He sees me coming, 
 
 What will Jesus say? 
 
 When He hears my little footstep, 
 
 Will He cross the crystal sea, 
 A id out from among the angels 
 
 Come to welcome me?" 
 
 All through that April sabbath. 
 
 With head on the mother's breast, 
 The sweet child murmured of Jesus 
 
 Till the sun was low in the west- 
 Then the door of heaven opened, 
 
 That had been ajar all day, 
 And our darling alone could answer, 
 
 " What will Jesus say?" 
 
MEMORIAL. 47 
 
 We know that He went to meet him ; 
 
 We know that a pierced hand 
 Was the first that clasped our dear one's, 
 
 In the bliss of the better land. 
 
 We cannot grow used to the silence; 
 
 We listen all the day 
 For the voice that made such music, 
 
 For the voice that's far away, — 
 
 For the merrj foot on the stairway, 
 
 For the voice like a silver bell; 
 And Thou knowest, O our Father! 
 
 How hard to say, It is -well! 
 
 The cup is very bitter 
 
 Pressed to our burning lips ; 
 The shade of that April sabbath 
 
 Hath left our lives in eclipse. 
 
 But our hearts are lifted higher. 
 
 In the holy hour of prayer; 
 And our heaven hath drawn the nigher, 
 
 And grown exceeding fair. 
 
 On the grave we scatter floAvers ; 
 
 But our glorious boy hath gone 
 Where no shadow of death shall darken 
 
 The flowers around the throne. 
 
48 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 And the sacred touch of sorrow 
 
 Wafts from earth's cares away, 
 As we think how sweetly he whispered, 
 " What will Jesus say ? " 
 
 M. E. M. 
 Norfolk, Va. 
 
 THE TWINS. 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF GEORGIE C — , APRIL I9 
 
 I SAW twin-lilies on one stem 
 
 Pure, beautiful they were to see ! 
 Life's morning dew on each, — a gem 
 
 Shone in the sunlight lustrously; 
 Almost alike, and yet in them 
 
 Strange difterence there was to me. 
 
 I passed again ; but one was gone — 
 The fairest ///«^— the first to fall ! 
 
 Its lily-mate drooped all alone 
 
 A frail sweet flower, the gardener's all 
 
 Yet not his all — a rose had grown 
 Before within his garden-wall. 
 
 I heard the voices of twin-birds, 
 
 Fair fledglings of the sunny Spring; 
 Their notes seemed lik<^ prophetic words. 
 
MEMORIAL. 49 
 
 Fulfilled when one at morn took wing, 
 Leaving his mate among the herds 
 Of mortals and of beasts to sing. 
 
 I saw twin-children, noble boys, 
 
 Fairer not Beauty could create! 
 They loved : yet one cared less for toys 
 
 And more for dreaming than his mate. 
 Death sundered these ! Now heaven employs 
 
 The high-souled boy in seraph-state. 
 
 The flowers that grew upon one stalk, 
 
 Will blossom never as before; 
 The birds that cheered the garden-walk, 
 
 Will sing in sweet duet no more; 
 But those twin-souls rejoined shall talk. 
 
 In the new life, their first life o'er. 
 
 O large-eyed boy ! and were those eyes 
 In which such depth of love we found 
 
 Opening so wide on Paradise 
 
 While our short sight by earth was bound? 
 
 Did he the child, than man more wise, 
 See that his life lay all beyond? 
 
 Who would recall him from that life? 
 
 Would love parental see again 
 Its darling in the mortal strife, 
 
 Or growing up to sin and pain? 
 4 
 
50 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 If meet that dust to dust be given, 
 
 'Tis meet that beauty should return 
 In all its freshness back to heaven. 
 
 We give but ashes to the urn : 
 The flame by which life's shell is riven, 
 The soul of Beauty cannot burn. 
 
 E. C. K. 
 New York, May, i86S. 
 
 While the form of our precious child 
 was yet lying in the nursery, his twin- 
 brother (who had been removed with his 
 sisters, for fear of contagion, to the house 
 
 of our kind friend, Mr. H ) was 
 
 seized with the scarlet-fever, though in a 
 less malignant form. The rash made its 
 appearance immediately ; but the pros- 
 trating effect of the disease brought him 
 into great danger, and this danger was 
 increased by a sympathetic suffering 
 about his lost mate. Before either of the 
 children were informed of their brother's 
 death, little Theo. wakened Mary in the 
 night, and said, *' Mary, do you know 
 
MEMORIAL, 51 
 
 Georgie is an angel?" " I don't want to 
 get well," he whispered to his nurse when 
 at the worst : " I want to go and be with 
 Georgie. Don't give me any more medi- 
 cine." 
 
 On Wednesday afternoon, about the 
 hour when his brother was borne away 
 to his burial, Theo. looked up suddenly, 
 and said, "Neenie! why didn't jyt*?^ look 
 up and see Georgie when I did? " — " Be- 
 cause I did not know that Georgie was 
 here." — " Why, yes : he was," the boy re- 
 plied : "he just came and put his little 
 face right in that little round hole" 
 (pointing to the arch above his bed) , "and 
 looked at me, and then went away." The 
 nurse inquired, " How did Georgie look?" 
 — "Just like he always did," the child 
 replied, "only that his hair was brushed 
 away back. I think he had wings, but I 
 didn't see them." When asked afterward* 
 
52 
 
 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 "Why didn't you speak to Georgie?" he 
 answered, "I didn't think it best, mama, 
 because he was an angel." The impres- 
 sion of havin^c seen his twin-brother on 
 that day remains to this moment in my 
 child's mind as firm and distinct as any 
 recollection of the past. I record the 
 singular incident without either comment 
 or conjecture. 
 
 For five weary weeks, which the little 
 fellow bore with unmurmuring patience, 
 our devoted friends and his physicians 
 watched over him with untiring fidelity.' 
 He often hid away his face, and seemed 
 to be mourning the loss of his other self. 
 In his childish frankness he once said. 
 "I think *God w^as real mean to let 
 Georgie die ; I wont have an3'body to play 
 with." Older people have felt quite as 
 rebelliously as the bereaved child; only 
 they were not willing to say it as bluntly. 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 53 
 
 Sitting on his mother's lap by the win- 
 dow, she spoke of his brother's spirit, and 
 he said, "I knew Georgie's body; but I 
 don't know his sotil.^^ Looking out to- 
 wards the sky, he inquired, ^'Mama, is 
 Georgie in the white cloud, or in the 
 blue ? " Again, as his mother said, 
 "Theo., Allie Edsall is almost the only 
 one Georgie knew when he got to 
 heaven," the child gravely answered, 
 "O mama, you forget Jesus." It was 
 a trying day to us when the little fellow 
 sat at that window, and watched the chil- 
 dren of our Sabbath school march past in 
 their anniversary procession, with their 
 badges of mourning. The infant-class 
 banner, that the twins were to have, 
 carried, was draped in black. As the 
 younger children passed the little survivor 
 in the window, they took oft' their hats, 
 and sang Georgie's death-bed hymn, 
 
54 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 ** Jesus loves me, this I know." There 
 has been many a stateHer procession in 
 honor of eminent departed officials, that 
 has not touched so closely the fount of 
 tears. 
 
 Another trying day was that to us 
 when we brought our surviving son back 
 to his home, and to the empty, silent 
 nursery. The playthings were there just 
 as before, — the kite which Georgie had 
 flown on his last day of happy health, 
 and the little block which he had held 
 in his hand when he fell asleep on so 
 many a night. On the wall were hung 
 the big letters, — the " round O," and the 
 "crooked S,"' — which he had tried to re- 
 peat over when he lay dying of the fever. 
 The slate and pencil were there in the 
 nursery drawer ; but the little hand that 
 made pictures for us had "forgotten its 
 cunning" in the grave. Theo. felt the 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 55 
 
 meaning of all this as keenly as we did 
 ourselves, and for many days wandered 
 lonely over the' house, as if searching for 
 his lost mate. Awakeninor the first morn- 
 ing in one of his pensive moods, his 
 mother asked him, "Wouldn't you be glad 
 to see Georgie come back into this room 
 now?" With a very confident tone, he 
 answered, "Mama, he is here! When- 
 ever I'm a good boy, God always sends a 
 sweet, happy little angel to stay with me ; 
 and I'm sure He wouldn't send any one 
 but Georgie." All these may seem to be 
 but trivial incidents to record even in so 
 unpretending a volume. But remember 
 this is a child's biography, and is written 
 for the eye and heart of those who know 
 how much of every home-life is made up 
 of the childish words and acts of those 
 young mirrors in which we see ourselves. 
 This is written, too, for those who know 
 
56 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 too well what it is to wait and weep in 
 vain, — 
 
 " For the touch of a vanished hand, 
 And the sound of a voice that is still." 
 
 But to resume our narrative. During 
 his visit with us, last autumn, my beloved 
 brother, Newman Hall, of London, be- 
 came very fond of the boys, and had 
 many a merry romp with them, carrying 
 them around the room on his back, and 
 swinging them up in his arms to the ceil- 
 ing. Georgie went into these romps with' 
 a glee that made his eyes glisten ; and 
 one of the most characteristic pictures of 
 Brother Hall in my memory, represents 
 him cantering through the house, play- 
 ing "pig-a-back," with a jolly face peer- 
 ing over each shoulder. 
 
 On the last sabbath morning of his 
 sojourn in America, he sat in my family- 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 57 
 
 pew, and heard a few simple thoughts on 
 God's method of dealing with His people 
 in "stirring up their nests" of domestic 
 enjoyment. One of the earliest letters of 
 my friend, after his return to London, 
 commences thus : — 
 
 "How little I thought, my dear C , 
 
 when I heard you describe (as I felt you 
 did) your own flaxen-haired child, that it 
 was yoxLT nest, which was to be thus 
 "stirred"! God help you ! Mine is the 
 constant grief of never having had a 
 child in the home-nest. Yours has been 
 the repeated joy of receiving — the con- 
 tinued joy of retaining — such treasures ; 
 and now, all at once, you have to endure 
 the blow of the sudden 7'emoval of the 
 object of such accumulated love and de- 
 light ! Only He who gives can help you 
 to endure the stroke ; and His name is 
 Father! But this means, oh, how 
 
58 THE EMPTY CRIB, 
 
 much ! Dear boy ! I did not think, when 
 I mounted him on my shoulder, and 
 played with him, that I was so near a 
 cherub (soon to be). What remarkable 
 intelligence and childish faith he seems 
 to have indicated ! Those traits of intel- 
 lect and early goodness endear him the 
 more, and aggravate the loss. Yet they 
 show the beauty of the work of God in 
 him, and his meetness for such a promo- 
 tion. It would be an impertinence to 
 remind 3'Ou of any of the trite arguments 
 of consolation. 
 
 " It is all very well to be told how he has 
 been saved from the sorrows and perils 
 of earth. You wanted to see him wpheld 
 amid the perils by God's grace, doing a 
 brave, true-hearted man's work in this 
 life, and then receiving his reward up 
 yonder. It is easy to say that he has 
 '*only gone on before." You wanted him 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 59 
 
 as a companion /lere. It /s a grief, — a 
 terrible loss, — which I can only imagine. 
 But He who made a fathers heart knows 
 the pain, and knows, too, how to soothe 
 it. May He be with you and your sor- 
 rowing household, and give you sunshine 
 through your tears ! " 
 
 In a later letter. Brother Hall says, — 
 " I keep the photograph of your dear 
 boys on my table before me where I write. 
 You would have been here, and I rejoic- 
 ing in your fellowship, and enjoying with 
 you some of our old English scenes, if 
 3^our boy Georgie had not gone home to 
 heaven. But his was the des^ journey 
 after all. It costs many tears to see those 
 we love taken there ; but we could hardly 
 be so selfish as to call them back. *I 
 shall go to him,' said a bereaved father 
 of old. Heaven is not far off. You and 
 I may have to go there by a slow train ; 
 
6o THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 but then, again, God may send for us by 
 the * express ' I And wont one of us look 
 out for the other? Which it may be, God 
 only knovveth. I sometimes hope it may 
 be myself. My precious mother is visit- 
 ing us at the age of eighty ; but we must 
 soon part from her. Love to her has 
 been a passion from my infancy. I shall 
 so want to go when she goes. But it is 
 best to have no will of our own ; but to 
 wait our Master's will, and meanwhile to 
 do diligently and thoroughly each day's 
 work for Him." 
 
 I trust that my brother will not chide 
 me for giving to other eyes this glimpse 
 into his own heart-life. But the author 
 of " Come to Jesus " belongs to the whole 
 Church of Jesus ; and to them every syl- 
 lable of this artless letter will be fragrant 
 with the " odor of the ointment." With 
 this epistle of Christian love, came also 
 
MEMORIAL. 61 
 
 across the water a like expression of 
 sympathy from my old Brooklyn asso- 
 ciate, and now the pastor of the Ameri- 
 can Chapel in Paris. Let bereaved 
 parents read this and the succeeding 
 letters as if every word of consolation 
 were addressed personally to them. 
 
 Paris, France, May 19, 1868. 
 
 My dear Brother and Friend, — 
 The papers brought me the sorrowful 
 intelligence of your bereavement several 
 days since ; but I thought you might 
 possibly be on your way across the ocean 
 before a line of fraternal sympathy could 
 reach you. Last sabbath, I was glad- 
 dened with a sight of your elder T. M. 
 
 S 's face in the chapel ; and I learned 
 
 from him, that you now feel obliged to 
 relinquish the idea of an European tour 
 this summer. 
 
62 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 In my precious photograph -book, 
 where the images of dear old Brooklyn 
 friends meet me with a look of welcome 
 that often draws tears to my eyes, there 
 is a card with thy face upon it, and oppo- 
 site, in one chair, are cuddled up together 
 the forms of two babies that you and I 
 crowed over more than once, when "the 
 tw^ins " were an " institution " in your 
 household. I am not asharned to say, 
 my brother beloved, that I have wept 
 bitterly over those mementoes of years 
 ago. My heart is full for you in what I 
 know is one of the keenest afflictions you 
 were ever called to suffer. I wish no 
 wish more tenderly this morning than 
 that it were in my power to utter one 
 word that would give comfort to you and 
 yours. 
 
 You know that every word I now send 
 you is written out of the very valley of 
 
MEMORIAL. 63 
 
 the shadow of death in which I have 
 been treading these weeks past. In the 
 loss of him who was at once a brother 
 and my own child all in one, I have suf- 
 fered beyond any experience I have ever 
 known in a somewhat tried and broken 
 life. And so, down here in the dark, I 
 cannot say that I bid you welcome as 
 you come down. Such "misery does 
 not love company." But I feel an irre- 
 pressible desire to help you somewhat, 
 and lift you as I can. 
 
 It is just a question now how we are 
 to stand such shocks, and not betray the 
 hopes and promises of the new life. " A 
 good man struggling with adversity is a 
 sight for the gods to look at," said the 
 heathen long before Christ came to earth. 
 And may we not feel a thankfulness and 
 glory in the thought that even now there 
 IS no shadow between our Father's face 
 
64 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 and our own? My poor head, on the 
 stone-pillow, looks right up through all 
 space, without an intervening cloud, to 
 the very presence of the Master ; and I 
 am ready, this moment, to w^hisper to 
 any ascending angel on the ladder, "tell 
 him I am unbroken and acquiescent in 
 His will ! " 
 
 Meantime, I doubt not that you feel, 
 at times, that terrible sense of inscctirity 
 which makes you look tremblingly on 
 every thing that yet remains to you. 
 Some of us have been through all that, 
 and it does not come to any thing. Such 
 misgivings may distress us sorely ; but 
 they do not render any thing we love the 
 more unsafe. To fear an earthquake, 
 may make one restless ; but it does not 
 do any thing like heaving the earth after 
 all. God does not follow our foolish 
 alarms ; but He follows His own pur- 
 
MEMORIAL, 65 
 
 poses. And one of those purposes is to 
 hide His face for a moment', and another 
 is, with everlasting kindness to draw 
 those who trust Him. Whom He loveth, 
 He oft doth chasten. 
 
 So, my dear old fellow -worker, I 
 stretch out my hand to you over the 
 ocean. We cannot carry each other's 
 burthens ; but we can entreat each other 
 to be brave and unflinching. " And Jon- 
 athan, Saul's son, went forth into the 
 wood unto David, and strengthened his 
 hand in God.'''' Never doubt for a mo- 
 ment that not only will it be "well with 
 the child ; " but you will more and 
 more see that "it was good for me to 
 be afflicted." The sweetest office of 
 Agnes' " little key " was to open the 
 locked hearts of those who had been 
 bereaved of their children. Praying 
 for you, over and over again, that our 
 5 
 
66 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 good God will be pitiful, I remain, as 
 
 ever. Fraternally yours, 
 
 C. S. R. 
 
 One of the venerated pastors of the 
 "Collegiate Church," in New York, had 
 been prepared, by no small measure of 
 bereavements, to "weep with those who 
 weep ; " and three-score years of experi- 
 ence of God's grace enabled him to send 
 us these words of fatherly sympathy : — 
 
 "Since I heard of the sudden death of 
 your lovely twin-boy, it has been in my 
 heart to write you. I am not a stranger 
 to like afflictions with this in which God 
 has visited you and your household. Of 
 the eight children whom the Lord gave 
 us, He has removed six unto Himself; 
 three in infancy, one in early childhood, 
 and the two whom you remember, at the 
 ages of nineteen and twenty-one. None 
 but a parent who has been similarly tried, 
 
MEMORIAL. 67 
 
 can enter into full sympathy with you. 
 An additional interest was imparted to 
 your little boy, in being one of the lovely 
 twins. There is an exquisite tenderness 
 in the heart of a mother, which a father's 
 may resemble, but cannot equal. My 
 wife desires me to express her tender- 
 est sympathy with yours. May she be 
 drawn, by this very sorrow, closer to the 
 Saviour who has taken her little lamb 
 into His own arms in heaven ! May 
 this trial deepen your own experience of 
 that Saviour's love, and enable you to 
 minister more effectually the consolations 
 wherewith you are comforted, to the 
 children of sorrow. Your Redeemer is 
 with you in this furnace ; and not a hair 
 of your head shall be harmed. 
 
 "Your brother in the faith and service 
 of Jesus. 
 
 "T. D. w." 
 
68 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 Out of the fulness of his warm heart, 
 — that heart which has so endeared it- 
 self to his Rochester neighbors, in their 
 hours of trouble, — Dr. Shaw sent us 
 this characteristic note. 
 
 "I see by the 'Evangelist,' my dearly 
 beloved brother, that a shadow has 
 fallen upon your household. But it is the 
 shadow of the One who came to give as 
 He came to take, the shadow of Him 
 whose shadow is light. My brother and 
 sister, how gladly would those who love 
 you take this great grief and divide it 
 among themselves, and not leave one 
 single drop for you. This we cannot do ; 
 but perhaps something better than this. 
 We can commend you to Him who heals 
 the broken hearts, who binds up the 
 wounded spirit, and who can re^iore all 
 that He takes away, — and how much 
 more beside ! Oh, what a child that will 
 
MEMORIAL. ' 69 
 
 be when you meet him again ! so glori- 
 ous, so wonderfully changed, that, like 
 Mary at the sepulchre, you will have 
 to look the second time before you can 
 recognize him. 
 
 " But this is a sacred as well as a sad 
 hour, and I would not trespass on it, much 
 as I love you, much as I would do for 
 you. Alas ! that we should find our- 
 selves so weak, in that hour when we 
 would do the most. Again I wish you, 
 dear, dear friends, grace, mercy, peace, 
 and consolation, — and all in that One 
 
 who hath dealt the blow ! 
 
 "J. B. S." 
 
 The intimate associate of many happy 
 hours wrote me from Stockbridge, Mass., 
 on the same day : — 
 
 "I was very much surprised and pained, 
 on taking up the 'Evening Post' in the 
 cars last night (on my way here), to find 
 
*jO THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 the announcement of your little boy's 
 death ! My dear friend, what can I say 
 except that it is the Lord's doing, and 
 therefore must be right. He knows just 
 what is best both for you and for the 
 child. He has gathered another lily to 
 the Conservatory above. The Lord Jesus 
 loved him more, and has done more for 
 him than you can possibly do, and He 
 has taken him. I think that I can, in 
 some faint degree, realize the great blank 
 which this must make in your household , 
 for the little ones so entwine themselves 
 about our hearts, that any rupture of the 
 strands is like breaking the very heart- 
 strinf{s themselves. But this will make 
 one more attraction to heaven, — having 
 one so dear already there before you. 
 He has gone to that blessed household so 
 largely composed of little children. He 
 will hunger no more, neither will he 
 
MEMORIAL. 71 
 
 thirst any more, nor will the sun light on 
 
 him, nor any heat. But, with the Saviour 
 
 who so loves little children, he is in the 
 
 Golden City, in a bliss of which we can 
 
 form no conception. May the blessed 
 
 Comforter give you of His comfort, and 
 
 enable you to say, 'The Lord gave, and 
 
 the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be 
 
 the name of the Lord ! ' 
 
 "Affectionately yours, 
 
 " P. C." 
 
 "The elder saints 
 Seemed to my ejes a countless multitude; 
 But these cherubic babes outnumbered them, 
 As the dark pine-trees of Siberia's wilds, 
 Unfell'd, immeasurable forests, yield 
 In numbers to the ferns and summer flowers 
 Which grow beneath their shadowing boughs, 
 And fringe their gnarled roots with beauty." 
 
 BiCKERSTETH. 
 
 On the same sabbath in which our 
 darling boy left us to " go up higher," my 
 good friend Governor Buckingham was 
 
72 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 called to part with his wife, — one of the 
 noblest of women and of wives. The 
 last time I ever saw Mrs. B., — at Sara- 
 toga, — our boy was standing by her side ; 
 and two more perfect pictures of exuberant 
 health there were not in that whole draw- 
 ing-room. In a note, sent us a few days 
 after his wife's departure, the governor 
 says, — 
 
 " I had noticed the death of your dear 
 boy, which occurred on the same da} 
 on which m}^ beloved wife was called 
 " into that joy which is to be found only in 
 the presence of Christ Jesus, whom her 
 soul loved. I know what it is to bury all 
 the hopes which cluster around a beau- 
 tiful, bright, and only son, — a little 
 younger than yours ; and in that grief 
 we can to some extent S3'mpathize with 
 each other. But you know not what 
 loneliness and desolation follow the re- 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 73 
 
 moval of the very light and life of your 
 home. God grant that you may be kept 
 in blissful ignorance for many, many 
 years ! I pray, too, that God may find it 
 best to spare your other dear boy ; and 
 may he comfort you and your dear wife 
 abundantly ! We will struggle on a little 
 longer ; and then meet these loved ones 
 where there is no pain, no sickness, no 
 sin, no sorrow. 
 
 "Ever yours, 
 
 *'W. A. B." 
 
 I find it very difficult to know where 
 to stop, as I look at the piles of kind 
 and sympathetic letters which lie before 
 me, — every one of them moistened w^ith 
 tears of gratitude as they w^ere read. 
 One touch of sorrow makes the whole 
 world kin. Perhaps one reason why 
 God leads us into the vale of bereave- 
 ment is that our hearts may waim to- 
 
74 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 wards others who are suffering the same 
 griefs as ourselves. When we have laid 
 one of our own children in the grave, 
 every other little grave becomes an ob- 
 ject of interest ; and we can hardly pass 
 a doorway with a white ribbon floating 
 from it, without a desire to go in and 
 inquire the particulars of the tender sor- 
 'row, and to offer a syllable or two of 
 condolence. No stroke touches all hearts 
 like the death of children. ''My eyes 
 are still wet from reading the story of 
 your little boy's death in the 'Indepen- 
 dent,'" wrote an eminent civilian to us. 
 The tenderest episode in Lincoln's career 
 of trial and glory is the breaking down 
 of his father's heart over the loss of the 
 boy "Willie." To this day, Horace 
 Greeley is ready to turn away from the 
 most gifted and entertaining guests, and 
 to talk, by the hour, with any one who 
 
MEMORIAL. 75 
 
 will listen to him, about that beautiful 
 and idolized son "Pickie," who was 
 buried nearly twenty years ago. I know 
 of few finer passages from Mr. Greeley's 
 prolific pen than the following, with 
 which he closes a statistical sketch of 
 Lake Superior and its shores : — 
 
 "Who shall then know or care that I, 
 a tired wanderer from the city's ceaseless 
 strife, once roamed along these shores, 
 patiently turning over the pebbles and 
 sand, in search of agates and cornelians, 
 or joyously gathering the red berries of 
 the mountain-ash, — and all for thee, dear 
 son of my heart ! polar summer of my 
 rugged life ! then so anxiously awaiting 
 me in our distant cottage home, as now 
 more calmly in the radiant Land of Souls? 
 God keep me worthy of thy love through 
 the weary years, till I meet thee and 
 greet thee in that world where the 
 
76 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 loving re-unite, to be parted no more 
 for ever." 
 
 I should like to have known that noble- 
 man w^ho is said to have kept a certain 
 box beside his bed as the most treasured 
 article in his mansion, and, in his will, 
 made a provision for its farther safe-keep- 
 ing. After his death, the box so sacredly 
 guarded was opened, and, instead of 
 imagined stores of gold or jewels, it was 
 found to contain only a few playthings of 
 a darling child, who had died many long 
 years before ! How true to nature is the 
 New-Testament history which pictures to 
 us the ruler Jairus hastening to bring the 
 divine Healer to the bedside of his sick 
 daughter, and the anxious father beseech- 
 ing the Saviour to "Come down, ere my 
 child die ! " Then, as now, the blow 
 which makes the heart bleed the soonest 
 is that which falls upon the head of a 
 beloved child. 
 
MEMORIAL. 77 
 
 It has been from those parents who 
 have themselves been bereaved that we 
 have received many of the sweetest let- 
 ters of condolence. In the subjoined 
 passages from a few of these letters are 
 the experiences of some who have learned 
 in their own homes the lessons of an 
 empty crib. The first is from the author 
 of that delightful hymn, — 
 
 *' My faith looks up to Thee ! " 
 
 Bible House, N.Y., April 21, 1868. 
 My dear Brother, — I know that 
 sorrow is a sacred thing, on which a 
 stranger has no right to intrude ; but I 
 do not count myself a stranger, though 
 we have not met as often as I could wish. 
 If I have no other ground to justify my 
 sending this note, this you will allow to 
 be a valid one, that my dear wife and 
 myself have committed seven sweet chil- 
 
78 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 dren to the dust ! All of them that was 
 mortal^ I mean ; and now we always 
 think with a tranquil joy of our family in 
 heaven. Full well we know how to 
 sympathize with you. Our own experi- 
 ence has been, that the sympathy of those 
 who have themselves suffered has some- 
 what more of meaning and of comfort in 
 it than that of most others. I do not 
 doubt that you will take this affliction 
 lovingly, as from the hand of your faith- 
 ful Lord ; and that He will send you such 
 special gifts, such delightful revelations 
 of Himself, that you will have no dif- 
 ficulty in saying, " He hath done all 
 things wcll.^^ It is, probably, in part, for 
 the sake of their flocks that ministers are 
 called to suffer; that, like our Lord, we 
 may the more readily be touched with a 
 feeling of others' griefs. A child in 
 Heaven ! It is a thrilling thought. I 
 
MEMORIAL. 79 
 
 never knew how much there was ex- 
 pressed in the Bible of divine love to 
 little children till I searched for it beside 
 my precious dead. I pray God to give 
 you and yours all comfort in this great 
 sorrow, and believe me, 
 
 Faithfully yours, r. p. 
 
 Jersey City. April 23, 1868. 
 
 My dear and afflicted Brother, — 
 Although not claiming the intimacy with 
 you accorded to many others, yet to-day 
 I feel very near to you, by the similarity 
 of our grief. Twelve weeks ago, this 
 day, God, who kindly gave us our twin- 
 boys, took one away. He spared them 
 both, in mercy to us, three and a halt 
 years ; but one grew too lovely for earth, 
 and our heavenly Father took him unto 
 Himself. Every Thursday is sacred to 
 us, on account of the memory of our lost 
 
8o THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 treasure, — lost to us, but gained to God. 
 Every grief is solitary^ and God only 
 knows our grief, and He only knows 
 yours. 
 
 This sorrow we must so heal (by the 
 divine help) that it may make us purer 
 and stronger for the Master's service. 
 May God sanctify your sorrow greatly, 
 and give you the support which I too 
 sadly know you will need ! Bonar's 
 hopes are ours, — as he gives them in 
 the lines, — 
 
 "Years are moving quickly past, 
 And time will soon be o'er; 
 Death shall be swallowed up of life, 
 On that immortal shore. 
 
 "Then shall we clasp that hand once more, 
 And smooth that golden hair; 
 Then shall we kiss those lips again, 
 When Lucy shall be there." 
 
 In deep sympathy, yours, 
 
 G. H. P 
 
MEMORIAL. 8 1 
 
 Allegheny City, Maj i6, 1868. 
 
 My dear Sir, — If it ever falls in 
 your way to visit Allegheny Cemetery, 
 you v^dll there see "a flower" on three 
 " little graves." " Aima, aged seven years ; 
 Sadie, aged five years ; Ltllie, aged three 
 years;" all died within six days, and all 
 of scarlet fever ! It sometimes may rec- 
 oncile us to our own affliction to hear of 
 one still greater elsew^here ; and this is 
 the reason why I, a perfect stranger, 
 venture to trespass upon you in your sore 
 bereavement, and to tell you of my heart- 
 felt sympathy. I am especially drawn 
 towards your suffering household because 
 your beloved boy died with that dreadful 
 disease, the scarlet fever, which, in its 
 malignant form, no medical skill seems 
 yet able to master. May God, in his all- 
 wise providence, spare the life of the 
 remaining twin-boy. 
 
82 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 Our little ones were as lovely in char- 
 acter as in appearance. We trembled 
 often at the thought that their stay with us 
 might not be long, as they seemed to be 
 ripening for heaven. The older ones 
 were wont to pray often for me when I 
 was away, and very tenderly for me, if 
 any thing occurred to trouble or grieve 
 me. When Annie was sick, and she saw 
 a tear on my cheek, she wiped it away, 
 patted my face, and said, " Don't cry, dear 
 ma ; you are a dear good ma ; but let 
 me speak to God." She clasped her little 
 hands, and said, "O God! wont you 
 please make mamma try and not cry^ and 
 please take the pain out of my knees. 
 Amen." 
 
 When Sadie was brought into the room, 
 attacked in the same way (with severe 
 vomiting), she smiled sweetly, and said, 
 "Ma, I am not much sick." I said, 
 
MEMORIAL. 83 
 
 "Daughter, would you be afraid to be 
 much sick, and perhaps die?'' Her cheer- 
 ful answer was, "No, no: if God wants 
 me, I am willing to go." When the 
 sprightly fairy-like little Lillie with her 
 golden curls, was brought into the nur- 
 sery, — prostrated from the first, — she 
 faintly said, "Dear ma, when us all die, 
 us will all be in heaven ; and that is such 
 a nice place." 
 
 Oh, what a sorrow was this! God 
 grant that His hand be stayed with you ! 
 I can feel now that all that affliction was 
 needful for me. When I go to their three 
 little graves, week after week, and place 
 their favorite flowers there (as they come 
 in their season) , I fancy that I can still 
 feel that soft little hand patting me, and 
 saying, "Don't cry, ma ; don't cry. ^^ When 
 there, I realize that their spirits are near 
 me, and I come home comforted and re- 
 
84 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 freshed. It may be so with you and 
 yours in days to come. 
 
 A Reader of the Independent.* 
 
 NORTHVILLE, CaYUGA Co., N.Y., 
 
 July 9, 1868. 
 
 My dear Mrs. C, — When the sad 
 intelligence of the death of your beautiful 
 little Georgie reached us, it found us 
 most anxiously watching at the sick-bed 
 of our aged father ; but he is now quite 
 restored. Not a day has passed that I 
 have not thought of you and of your 
 great sorrow. I have made numerous 
 attempts to write you, which have only 
 ended in blinding tears and choking sobs. 
 I know so well how bitter a cup it is to 
 drink when a darling child is snatched 
 
 * This is but one of many kind letters received 
 from unknown "readers of the 'Independent,'" 
 and "of the N.Y. ' Evansrelist.'" 
 
MEMORIAL. 85 
 
 away so suddenly : one of my own house- 
 hold's treasures was taken in the same 
 manner with only a few hours' longer 
 illness. I know, too, how poor and power- 
 less are words to comfort the heart so 
 sorely smitten as yours. When all looks 
 dark, and the sunshine even is sad, and 
 even what once made life joyous but 
 adds to its gloom ; when every thing 
 around you reminds you of the loved 
 one, — then there is only One, who, in 
 such an " even time," can give you 
 "light." 
 
 I know how painful must this, the anni- 
 versary of the birth of your dear boys 
 be, bringing back as it does so many 
 sadly-sweet memories of past joys and 
 disappointed hopes of a bright future for 
 noble Georgie ; for we love our little ones 
 not only for what they are, but for what 
 they are to be. I cannot express to you 
 
86 THE EMPTl^ CRIB. 
 
 how much I loved and admired your 
 little boys. (I hope I did not covet them.) 
 Theo.^ with his merry prattle and win- 
 some ways ; Georgle^ with noble brow 
 and thoughtful face, — once seen, were 
 never to be forgotten. I have ever loved 
 them, and felt such an interest in them 
 as I felt in no others. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 S. M. A. 
 
 [An Indian lettei, — enclosing seeds of flowers.] 
 Vermont, May 19, 1868. 
 For many moons the words of the pale- 
 face brave have come to the heart of his 
 red sister, — sweet as the murmuring of 
 rippling waters to the thirsty lips of the 
 weary w^anderer. The steel tongue has 
 come to the ear of your red sister, and 
 told her that the Great Spirit has entered 
 the door of your Iodide, and taken to the 
 
MEMORIAL. 87 
 
 happy hunting-ground a light from 3^our 
 wigwam. Ah ! my brother, the Great 
 Spirit has a beautiful garden, where live 
 the little red and pale-face pappooses, free 
 from all earth's storms. The Great 
 Spirit, my brother, can take better care 
 of your little Georgie, give him a better 
 home, and an education among the 
 angels ! The oak grows strong by the 
 storm. So will your love to the Great 
 Spirit grow deeper, since He has taken 
 to His care your beautiful boy. 
 
 Will you plant on his grave these star- 
 flowers? As they come up with their 
 sinless blossoms, may they cheer you in 
 your sorrow, and bring him near in 
 memory and hope ! Few places on earth 
 are nearer heaven than the spot where 
 rests our dead. 
 
 Your red sister has said her talk, and 
 would hear from the pale brave. With 
 
88 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 greetings to the gentle partner of your 
 sorrows, I am yours in Christian love. 
 
 Your red sister, C. 
 
 West 44TH Street, New York, 
 April 20, 1868. 
 
 The shadow has indeed fallen upon 
 your household, and one of its sunbeams 
 has been shut out. I know how dark is 
 that shadow, and how yearningly the 
 heart seeks after its sunbeam ; and with 
 deep sympathy and sorrow, I take you 
 by the hand, and mingle my tears with 
 yours. 
 
 I well remember the dear boy, as I 
 saw him at Saratoga last summer, so full 
 of life and promise, so joyous, twining 
 himself so lovingly about your hearts ; 
 and the thought comes welling up, — 
 has that life gone out? Is that all that 
 
MEMORIAL. %(^ 
 
 we are to have of Georgie? No, no: 
 he is not dead. The Master had need of 
 him, and said, "Come up higher," and 
 so, on that holy day, sent His chariot of 
 winged angels, and took him home. 
 
 My brother and sister, look not into 
 the grave : your boy is not there ; he is 
 above, with the redeemed ; his life has 
 just begun. Look up, and see him in 
 the arms of the blessed Jesus, who 
 smilingly says to you, "Suffer the little 
 child to come unto Me." In the spiritual 
 garden, you have now a new interest : 
 your own plant is there ; and the great 
 and good Gardener has Himself under- 
 taken its culture. You may be sure it 
 shall become a glorious tree. Let not 
 your hearts be troubled : a heavenly 
 mansion has received your darling boy, 
 and ere long j'ou shall go to greet him 
 there; then, if not before, will you learn 
 
pO THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 the full import of those blessed words, 
 
 "What I do, thou knowest not now, but 
 
 shalt know hereafter,^^ 
 
 T. S. B. 
 
 Oh ! what sorrow, my precious friends, 
 has this day brought me : for your sorrow 
 is my sorrow; and your grief, mine also. 
 
 G called me in hurried accents, and 
 
 read to me the terrible announcement. 
 Can it be possible that the angel of death 
 has snatched away one of those lovely 
 cherub-boys, the pride and joy of your 
 home? Would to God it were impossible ! 
 Oh that I had wings to fly to you this 
 moment, to tell you how my heart is over- 
 whelmed by your grief! Amid your 
 tears, and in your deepest sorrow, let 
 your hearts swell with gratitude, that his 
 precious twin is still spared to you ! God 
 bless, sustain, and comfort you both ; and 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 91 
 
 bind your hearts all the more closely to 
 
 each other and to Him ! 
 
 S. C. H. 
 
 This morning, I was telling little 
 Charlie — our only son, and two months 
 younger than your treasure — all you 
 have written in the "Evangelist," of 
 Georgie's illness and death. When I 
 told him that Georgie asked, " What will 
 Jesus say to me when He sees me?" 
 Charlie answered immediately, "Mama, 
 He will say, ' Suffer little children to 
 come to me, and forbid them not.^" 
 Those words of the blessed Jesus, com- 
 ing in such a response from the child's 
 lips, had such an heavenly sound, that I 
 thought, surely those mourning parents 
 would be comforted by them ! No words 
 can comfort you like those of the precious 
 Saviour. Yet blessings, rich and large, 
 
92 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 may be given you, in answer to the prayer 
 of many, who, like us, have never seen 
 you face to face. 
 
 N. K. H. 
 Michigan, May loth. 
 
 My interest in your twin-boys has been 
 deepened by seeing their beautiful photo- 
 graphs ; and I can realize how keen the 
 pang, how poignant the anguish of sepa- 
 ration. I hope that by this time the con- 
 solations of Jesus have soothed your 
 grief, and fortified your courage to en- 
 dure what your heavenly Father has laid 
 upon you. These mysteries of His prov- 
 idence are tests of the faith of a Chris- 
 tian heart ; and though we cannot help 
 wondering why a child of light and hope 
 and grace should be removed, while our 
 streets are noisy with waifs born into sin 
 and misfortune ; yet we, who see the love 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 93 
 
 and care of a heavenly Father over the 
 world, can believe His wisdom, and trust 
 His goodness. I hope that the rest of 
 your children may be spared to live and 
 to work for Christ, which is the highest 
 end of life here, and which takes hold of 
 heaven hereafter. 
 
 Mrs. G. L. F. 
 
 Death emptieth the house, but not the 
 heart. That keeps its darling safe, even 
 though out of sight. I know well the 
 ache of utter loneliness, the silence never 
 broken by a sound we still keep listen- 
 ing for. These are His ways to draw 
 us nearer Him. Then lean heavily on 
 Christ. Lie down on His promises ; 
 claim them for your own. Although 
 affliction's rod is made up of many keen 
 twigs, they are all cut from the tree of 
 life. Did it never occur to vou that there 
 
94 
 
 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 is a great spiritual want about those Chris- 
 tians who have never suffered f Leigh- 
 ton says, that "God had only one Son 
 without sin, and never one without sufl'er- 
 ing." 
 
 A goodly portion of my own life has 
 been spent on the bed of an invalid, shut 
 out from all the cheerful and useful activ-' 
 ities of life. But my meditations of Him 
 have been sweet. During my invalid 
 life, — one of intense suffering, but yet a 
 life of perfect peace in Jesus, — your 
 husband's writings in the " Independent " 
 have so comforted me, that I w^ould fain 
 return to you both even one little ray of 
 
 spiritual comfort. 
 
 A. E. A. 
 
 We lost our first-born, a bright beauti- 
 ful "Georgie," born one year before your 
 own. On the Sabbath morn he came, 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 95 
 
 and at the noon of another glorious 
 Sabbath he breathed his last sigh upon 
 my bosom. Thenceforth how inexpres- 
 sibly nearer and dearer are Jesus and 
 heaven ! 
 
 We have been along the shore of the 
 "dark flood," and held the hand of our 
 darling until the surge swept black be- 
 tween. But the path to heaven has been 
 bright ever since, and still his footsteps 
 shine along the air, and the gates above 
 stand evermore ajar. Our best love and 
 prayers are for you in Jesus. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. G. L. T. 
 
 I HAVE just noticed an article of yours 
 entitled "Gathering the Grapes," and in 
 another column of the same paper, the 
 death of your little twin-son. I know 
 something of the sorrow that has come to 
 
p6 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 you ; for we lost our dear boy at two ^n<\ 
 a half years of age. 
 
 Yet I am sure that even in this "wilder- 
 ness " into which you have been brought, 
 your heavenly Father will " give you 
 your vineyard from thence " so that the 
 Valley of Achor shall be to you a dooi 
 of hope. Thank God ! we sometimes 
 get a taste of " the grapes " in what many 
 would deem strange and dreary places ; 
 and even amid the dry sands of the desert, 
 the rich clusters are brought to us by un- 
 seen yet gentle hands. 
 
 J. M. C. 
 
 What can human sympathy do but 
 commend you to the great Consoler, who 
 wept with the sisters in Bethany? lie 
 only can heal bleeding hearts. My 
 earnest prayer goes forth to Him that He 
 will sanctify your grief and make your 
 
MEMORIAL. 97 
 
 life richer and sweeter, and gently guide 
 
 you towards the land of Beulah where 
 
 the shining ones shall often visit you 
 
 this side the river. 
 
 J. E. H. 
 
 How the poor stricken heart turns, in 
 its yearnings, toward that unseen world, 
 the home of our loved ones ! If it were 
 not for our faith in the certainty of the 
 life beyond, how could we bear such 
 blows as this? To consign our lovely 
 cherubs to the tomb, is a prostrating 
 agony ; but when we can raise our heads 
 in the serene hope of a re-union, the 
 keenest edge of sorrow is tempered, and 
 we can feel with Whittier, that, — 
 
 " Somewhere and somehow we shall meet again." 
 
 The. conviction, too, that God is good^ 
 and doth not afflict willingly, helps us 
 
pS THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 steadily forward, giving us gleams of light 
 in the valley of the shadow of death. 
 
 F. L. 
 
 To me, there was always on little 
 Gcorgie's face such a sweet pensive ex- 
 pression that it seemed almost heavenly ; 
 and I can easily behold him now, by the 
 eye of faith, as a sweet little angel in the 
 bosom of the Saviour. Heaven will be 
 nearer to you than ever before; and I 
 
 know it will be dearer. 
 
 M.S. 
 
 God never loves us better than when 
 He sends us bitter troubles. He so 
 mingles mercy-drops in our cup, that we 
 love more and more the hand that touches 
 us, even though we bathe with sorrowful 
 tears that hand to which w^e cling. The 
 river of sorrow is often a new haftisni for 
 
MEMORIAL. 99 
 
 the ministry, Ma}^ it be so to you, and 
 " as one whom his mother comforteth," so 
 may God comfort you ! 
 
 M. E. G. 
 
 Heart-thanks, my dear friend! for 
 the sacred picture, and for the touching 
 story of "The Empty Crib." Had you 
 or had I kept silence, the very stones 
 would have cried out. Perhaps few feel 
 more for you both in this dark hour than 
 I, who learned early the lesson of grief, 
 and so lately saw your cherub-boy in all 
 that mysterious beauty which 'seemed to 
 foretell his early recall to the children's 
 Paradise. Truly it is no common trial to 
 lose such a boy, and to see such a tie as 
 bound him to his bereaved mate, torn 
 asunder in a moment. Such a wound 
 cannot be bound up save in the " balm of 
 Gilead," and by a Saviour's hand. 
 
lOO THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 The photograph you sent me cannot 
 
 do justice to a soul-beauty hke Georgie's. 
 
 As for my verses, so unworthy of the 
 
 heavenly child, they are yours ; do what 
 
 you wdll with them. How truly w^ere 
 
 "angels whispering" to your boy when 
 
 he spoke those dying words ! Favored 
 
 ones are we who have little ones training 
 
 in the school of heaven. My first and 
 
 fairest entered that High School a quarter 
 
 of a century ago. With a loving kiss for 
 
 the "other half" of your now glorified 
 
 child, and for his bereaved sisters, 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 E. C. K. 
 
 Has that bright sunny bo}^ — whose 
 brief biography we have tried, with trem- 
 bling hand, to write — lived and died for 
 naught? Nay: verily he has not. The 
 value of the lives of those whom God 
 
MEMORIAL. lOI 
 
 sends into this world, are not to be al- 
 ways measured by their duration. Our 
 precious child completed his earthly mis- 
 sion before his fifth summer had shone 
 upon him ; yet he as truly fulfilled " the 
 work of Him who sent him," as if he had 
 lived to threescore and ten. 
 
 The music of his merry voice, and the 
 sight of that face — which was not only 
 to be looked at^ but to be looked into — 
 will be a joy for ever to hundreds who 
 knew him. His sudden departure stirred 
 and softened many a heart ; and the tears 
 shed over little children — 
 
 "Have their own sweetness too." 
 
 No bereavements are' commonly so 
 fruitful in spiritual blessings as those 
 which, at once, empty our cribs and fill 
 our hearts with Jesus. To me and to 
 mine this cloud of trial has been rain- 
 
I02 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 bowed with mercies and blessings. We 
 have learned the blessedness of tears : 
 they wash the eyes, that faith may see 
 farther into heaven. We have tasted 
 the sweetness of sympathy in hours of 
 grief; and the onl}^ pain I feel in pre- 
 senting this brief memorial, is that its 
 brevity must exclude many scores of 
 sympathizing letters, which were quite 
 as precious to us as any in this vol- 
 ume. We have, been admitted to the 
 sacred circle of the sorrowing. Hence- 
 forth, while we "weep with those who 
 weep " over children in the grave, we 
 can also " rejoice with those who rejoice " 
 over children in glory. Henceforth this 
 world is so much the less dear, and Christ 
 is by just so much the dearer, and heaven 
 is the nearer. 
 
 Henceforth Jesus is not only our Re- 
 deemer, but the guardian and teacher of 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 103 
 
 our cherub-boy. To every one who may 
 read this story of our empty crib, I gladly 
 offer my testimony, that the everlasting 
 gospel, the presence of the divine Com- 
 forter, the all-sufficient grace of God, the 
 "anchor sure and steadfast," which I have 
 so often tried to commend to others, are 
 now to my smitten soul infinitely and in- 
 exfresstbly frecious^ Welcome be the 
 baptism, however bitter, that shall make 
 any of us ministers of the Word, more 
 consecrated to the glorious work of 
 preaching CHRIST and Him crucified ! 
 I close this love- tribute to my boy, in 
 the very room whence his spirit took wing 
 for heaven. The pillow in the crib is 
 all smooth and undisturbed to-day. A 
 picture of yestis blessing little children^ 
 hangs before me on the wall. Every 
 shelf in yonder closet is filled with his 
 keepsakes ; and on the nail hangs his 
 
I04 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 little velvet cap. As I look at all the 
 playthings, and at the precious little slate 
 on which he tried to mark, with feeble 
 hand, on his dying day, I cannot believe 
 that he is dead. He must be somewhere 
 in my dwelling yet. 
 
 *' I walk yon parlor-floor, 
 
 And through the open door, 
 I hear a footfall on the chamber-stair; 
 
 I'm stepping towards the hall 
 
 To give the boy a call, 
 And then bethink me that he is not there. 
 
 *'I know his face is hid 
 
 Under the coffin-lid; 
 Closed are his eyes ; cold is his forehead fair. 
 
 My hand that marble felt; 
 
 O'er it in prayer I knelt; 
 Yet my heart whispers that he is not there. 
 
 ' "Not there! Where then is he? 
 
 The form I used to see 
 Was but the raiment that he once did wear. 
 
 The grave that now doth press 
 
 Upon that cast-off dress, 
 Is but his wardrobe locked : he is not there. 
 
MEMORIAL, 105 
 
 '** He lives ! in all the past 
 
 He lives; nor to the last, 
 Of seeing him again, will I despair. 
 
 In dreams I see him now; 
 
 And on his angel-brow, 
 Behold it written, — " Thoic shalt meet me there ! " 
 
A CHILD IN THE MIDST.* 
 
 \T 7HEN Christ wished to rebuke the 
 selfish ambition of his disciples, 
 he took a little child and " set him in the 
 midst of them." From that child they 
 were taught a lesson of unselfishness and 
 humility. 
 
 So our heavenly Father now sets little 
 children in our houses to be otcr teachers, 
 as well as to be taught themselves. No 
 home is complete without child-music to 
 enliven it, and little faces to light up its 
 
 * This is from the discourse preached on the day 
 of Georgie's baptism in the Lafayette-Avenue 
 Church. 
 
I08 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 apartments. Never was there a cottage 
 so humble, or so meagre, but that it 
 could be made cheerful, by the crow and 
 chirrup of infant gladness. And we 
 have seen a magnificent mansion that, 
 with all its rosewood and velvet, its 
 ^pictures and marbles, was yet sadly 
 emfty; for no crib stood in its sumptu- 
 ous chambers, and na child- voice rang 
 through its lofty halls. No house is a 
 "furnished house," until God, in his 
 loving kindness, setteth a little child in 
 the midst of it. 
 
 Bear in mind that the little immortal is 
 placed there to teach us, their parents, as 
 well as to be trained themselves. What 
 lessons they impart to us, what inspira- 
 tions, what exhibition of our own faults, 
 what spiritual discipline ! They are not 
 sinless cherubs, or they would not teach 
 us so much : we are not sinless Adams 
 
A CHILD IN THE MIDST. lOQ 
 
 and Eves, or else we should not so much 
 need to be taught. 
 
 One of the first lessons they give us is 
 in PATIENCE, — a virtue that some of us 
 are slow in acquiring. But who can 
 teach it better than a helpless, dependent, 
 and often wayward and exacting child? 
 Through long, wakeful nights, the pee- 
 vish cry of the little sufferer means, 
 ^^ Bear with me, mother! I know no 
 better. I can't help it. I can't be any 
 lighter to carry, or any quieter, undei 
 the dartings of pain's sharp needles. 
 You must bear with me." Every year is 
 a year of added instruction. Is the 
 youngster slow and dull over his books? 
 Then be patient. If it is hard to get the 
 truth in, it will be harder to get it out. 
 "Why do you tell that child the same 
 thing a dozen times?" said the father of 
 John Wesley to his persevering mother. 
 
no THE EMPTY CRIB, 
 
 **Because," replied the shrewd woman, 
 "all the other eleven times will go for 
 nothing unless I succeed at the twelfth." 
 We do not know whether it requires more 
 patience to get on with mercurial, quick- 
 tempered children, or with slow-witted 
 ones. Both require forbearance and care- 
 ful handling. Both can drill us into pa- 
 tience. How patient God is with oitr 
 wilful disobedience and ingratitude and 
 stubbornness ! Should not we be long- 
 suffering toward the little trespassers 
 against parental law? 
 
 Children are more than teachers of 
 patience and forbearance. They are 
 household mirrors to reflect our own 
 faults, — sometimes, too, our own graces. 
 If we wish to see how ridiculous and 
 hateful are our ebullitions of sudden pas- 
 sion, we have but to look at the anger- 
 storms of our little imitators at our own 
 
A CHILD IN THE MIDST. ill 
 
 firesides. That sullen scowl was caught 
 probably from our brows. That ill- 
 natured snarl was the echo of our own. 
 That revengeful blow struck at a brother 
 may be but- the rehearsal of the last 
 angry slap we gave the lad, more in 
 revenge than in the love of correction. 
 
 Would you see your own faults ? Look 
 at your children. They are the plates on 
 which father and mother are photo- 
 graphed. Sometimes the " family like- 
 ness" is frightful. Would you see how 
 your own desecration of the sabbath 
 looks? Look at your eldest son, lounging 
 down, late and ill-humored, to his tardy 
 meal on a Sunday morning, more keen 
 for your "Sunday Herald" than for a 
 preparation for the house of God. He is 
 only photographing his father. Would 
 you know how melodious is an oath? 
 Listen to the young practitioner of your 
 
112 THE EMPTY CRIB, 
 
 own profanity. When you lose temper 
 at his spendthrift habits, remember who 
 it was that taught him to prefer a fine coat 
 to a fine character. Are your daughters 
 extravagant? They but begin just where 
 their fashion-worshipping mother leaves 
 off; and they go commonl}- as much be- 
 yond her, as she went beyond Christian 
 prudence and economy. Do you get pro- 
 voked at their tattle? Perhaps they 
 canght a relish of scandal at their 
 parents' table ; perhaps they learned to 
 coin falsehoods from your hypocrisy 
 toward visitors, or from false messages 
 sent through servants to the door. Child- 
 ish deceit is often the mirror's reflection 
 of parental cunning and dissimulation. 
 Many a worldly-minded mother has seen, 
 in the mocking impenitence of a daughter, 
 the reflex of her own " lust of the eye 
 and the pride of life." Many a David has 
 
A CHILD IN THE MIDST. 113 
 
 wept over his sensual, licentious Absalom, 
 — and tears all the more bitter because 
 he saw his own sins stereotyped in his 
 offspring. 
 
 Believe it, O parents ! that when God 
 sets a child in the midst of us, he puts a 
 looking-glass there to see ourselves in. 
 Our vices are often made to glare back 
 hideous from the countenance and con- 
 duct of those who sin our sins over again, 
 and " break out " with our own moral in- 
 fections ! I once saw a mother weeping 
 over the coffin of an infant who had died 
 from a disorder communicated by herself: 
 It was to me a t3^pe and a parable. When, 
 on the other hand, I have seen a godly- 
 minded pair, looking with grateful joy on 
 the child of their love, as he came home 
 with his prize from school, or as he stood 
 up before the church to confess Jesus 
 Christ, in the fresh beauty of a youthful 
 8 
 
114 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 consecration, then I saw the mirror of 
 childhood giving back the beautiful re- 
 flection of parental piety and grace. If 
 we are faithful to our children's souls ; 
 if we more ardently desire to see them rich 
 toward God than rich in gold or bank- 
 stocks ; if we live out so lovely and con 
 sistent a religion, that they may long to 
 reflect it in their own lives ; if we con- 
 secrate our children to God, by consecrat- 
 ing ourselves, — then we may thoroughly 
 expect to rejoice in the early conversion 
 of our ofl^spring to Jesus, and in an after- 
 career of usefulness and honor. And 
 when we reach heaven at last, thcre^ 
 too, it will be seen that Jesus Christ "sets 
 our child in the midst" of us. 
 
 ^> 
 
GOD'S BITTER CUPS FOR SICK SOULS. 
 
 /^^OD is the wisest and best of physi- 
 ^-^ cians. He understands precisely 
 the soul's diseases. He never selects the 
 " wrong bottle," and never gives one drop 
 too much of corrective medicine. My 
 brother, can you not trust your heavenly 
 Father? Do you fear that he will give 
 you poison in His cup of chastisement? 
 Do you try to avoid the draught which He 
 has prepared, and with a wry face push 
 it from you ? " The cup which your Fa- 
 ther gives you, shall 3^ou not drink it?" 
 
 God often comes to one of his own 
 children, and finds him in sore need of 
 
Il6 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 spiritual medication. He has become 
 sick from indulged sin, and eating of for- 
 bidden fruit ; or else he is utterly debili- 
 tated in all his powers and affections. 
 His pulse beats low; his graces are 
 weak. Perhaps this very Christian used 
 to pray for more grace, for more strength 
 or humility or patience or assurance of 
 hope. God takes him at his own w^ord. 
 The Christian asks to be made purer, 
 better, stronger, and more Christ-like. 
 And the very first thing that his heavenly- 
 Father does is to mingle for him a cup 
 of bitter disappointments or afflictions. 
 Instead of relieving him, God seems to 
 be smiting him. Instead of increasing 
 his joys and hopes, he seems to be blight- 
 ing them like Jonah's gourd. 
 
 Perhaps this is the way, my reader, 
 that God is treating you. A bitter cup 
 of trial has been commended to your lips. 
 
GOD'S BITTER CUPS. 1 17 
 
 B\it it is your leather's cup : drink it. 
 What does faith in God 7iiean but just this 
 very thing, — that you will trust him though 
 he slay? What is faith but the firm and 
 delightful belief that when God goes into 
 the laboratory of his secret purposes, and 
 mingles for you a bitter draught, he 
 knows just what he is doing, and also 
 just what your soul's disease requireth ? 
 It may be bitter, but the disease is 
 worse. 
 
 I call 3^ou to witness that those con- 
 fiding souls who have taken God's medi- 
 cines of trial in the right spirit have found 
 their prayers answered in their afflictions. 
 Behold ! the very graces they prayed for 
 — the patience, the meekness, the heav- 
 enly-mindedness — were in that cup, 
 that bitter cup ! If the cup had not been 
 drank, the sweet coveted blessings would 
 have all been lost. If God had not dealt 
 
Il8 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 with them precisely as he did, the spirit- 
 ual disease would have raged on, and the 
 soul have been sick unto death. Do not 
 then push away that tear-draught of sor- 
 row which your merciful Father is press- 
 ing to your trembling lips. The cup is 
 encircled with this precious inscription : 
 '' Whom I love I chasten; all things 
 work together for good to them that love 
 ?;2^." Will you refuse to drink it? 
 
 Oh ! what blessings are afflictions to 
 those who can bless God for afflictions ! 
 "Oh ! " said a bright-hearted young man, 
 who was tortured with a fatal and painful 
 bodily disease, "when I have the most 
 pain in my body, I have the most comfort 
 in my soul. When Christ suffered, he 
 had none but enemies about him, and 
 they gave him gall and vinegar to drink. 
 When I thirst, I have beside me the Friend 
 that sticketh closer than a brother. The 
 
GOD'S BITTER CUPS. 119 
 
 cup that He gives me, shall I not drink it? 
 I do not doubt but that there is love in the 
 bottom of the cup, though it is bitter in 
 the mouth." 
 
 There was a fine Christian philosophy 
 in this last thought of the suffering youth, 
 — that at the bottom of the cup lay the 
 precious blessing. He must, therefore, 
 drink the whole bitter draught, in order to 
 reach it. Depend upon it, brethren, that 
 many of the purest and grandest displays 
 of Christian grace can only be reached 
 under a regimen of severe trial. Faith's 
 anchor is never so fully tested as in a 
 hurricane. Patience never shines so lus- 
 trous as in a midnight of black adversity. 
 Courage never shows so grandly as when 
 death on his "pale horse" is careering 
 down upon us over a battle-field strewn 
 with defeat and disaster. 
 
 There is a patience of hope, a joy un- 
 
I20 THE EMPTY CRIB, 
 
 der tribulation, and a sense of the imme- 
 diate support of Jesus that never can be 
 reached by us when we are in a condition 
 of ease and outward prosperity. These 
 rich graces lie in the boUom of trial's bit- 
 ter cup. And God esteems these graces 
 of such priceless value that he mingles 
 for us just such cups of suffering, in order 
 to bring out the graces in their beauty 
 and power. God so esteemed faith in 
 Abraham that he proved it with a knife 
 flashing over the throat of his darling son. 
 He so esteemed patience in Job that he 
 stripped him of all his wealth, and left 
 him the richest soul on all the earth. 
 What a cup of compounded trials did he 
 mingle for the heroic apostle ! Yet that 
 apostle gratefully acknowledges that " the 
 trial of his faith, being much more pre- 
 cious than of silver and gold, though it be 
 tried in the fire, would be found unto 
 
(rOD'S BITTER CUPS. I2I 
 
 praise and honor and glory at the appear- 
 ing of Jesus Christ." 
 
 Be not surprised, my friend, when God 
 mixes for you a bitter cup. He sees that 
 you need it. Disappointment and be- 
 reavement do not put sugar into their 
 cups : they are meant to be bitter. So 
 are the best tonic medicines bitter ; but 
 they quicken appetite, and invigorate the 
 system. Many a cup of wormwood has 
 braced a Christian's graces. Many a 
 sore loss has proved an everlasting gain. 
 Bereavements are often full-brimming 
 cups of tears ; but they have been a medi- 
 cine to the soul more healing than the 
 sweetest " balm " on Gilead. God never 
 mingles a cup of trial for one of his chil- 
 dren without a merciful purpose. He 
 either means to cure a soul's sicknesses, 
 or to save it from eternal death. The 
 cup which our Father gives us, shall we 
 not drink it? 
 
122 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 Let US all be careful how we choose a 
 cup for ourselves, and insist on having it. 
 Children choose confectionery always 
 sooner than medicine : one may bring 
 sickness, the other health. God some- 
 times lets us have our own selfish way. 
 He left rebellious Israel to their own way 
 when they grew tired of Heaven-sent 
 manna, and lusted for the quails. He 
 sent them the food they asked for, and, 
 while the "flesh was yet between their 
 teeth," they were smitten with a terrible 
 plague. 
 
 So has many a Christian lusted for 
 what has proved a plague to his soul. I 
 have known professed Christians to choose 
 for themselves a cup of great worldly 
 prosperity; and // made them drunk! 
 There was Satan's sorcery in the cup. 
 Their heads grew dizzy, and they were 
 lifted up with pride. They grew greedy 
 
GOD'S BITTER CUPS. 1 23 
 
 for lucre, fond of fashionable follies, self- 
 indulgent, and neglectful of their religious 
 duties. Prosperity spoiled them. It has 
 ruined thousands in our churches. Ah ! 
 had all these foreseen what was in that 
 cup of worldly prosperity, they might 
 well have cried out, " O Father ! I pray 
 thee, let this cuf pass from me ! " 
 
OUR BABY. 
 
 'T^O-DAY we cut the fragrant sod 
 
 -^ With trembling hands asunder ; 
 And lay this well-beloved of God, 
 
 Our dear dead baby, under. 
 Oh hearts that ache, and ache afresh ! 
 
 Oh tears too blindly raining ! 
 Our hearts are weak, yet, being flesh, 
 
 Too strong for our restraining. 
 
 Sleep, darling, sleep ! cold rains shall steep 
 
 Thy little turf-made dwelling ; 
 Thou wilt not know, so f^ir below. 
 
 What winds or storms are swelling. 
 The birds shall sing in the warm spring, 
 
 And flowers bloom about thee ; 
 Thou wilt not heed them, love, but oh, 
 
 The loneliness without thee ! 
 
OUR BABT. 125 
 
 Father, we will be comforted ! 
 
 Thou wast the gracious Giver : 
 We yield her up, not dead, not dead, 
 
 To dwell with thee for ever. 
 Take thou our child, — ours for a day^ 
 
 Thine while the ages blossom. 
 This little shining head we lay 
 
 In the Redeemer's bosom ! 
 
QUIETNESS BEFORE GOD. 
 
 QUIETNESS before God, especiall}/ 
 in dark hours of trial, is one of the 
 most rare and difficult of graces. Yet 
 when it is gained, it proves one of 
 the most wholesome in its influence. 
 None pleases God more ; none renders 
 religion more beautiful in the eyes of 
 men. 
 
 Yet how we dread the hour of trial ! 
 How fervently we beg that " this cup may 
 pass from me." No one loves to be af- 
 flicted. No one loves to have his plans 
 defeated, or his hopes dashed; to be 
 stripped of his property or to be cast 
 
QUIETNESS BEFORE GOD. 127 
 
 down from his perch of ambition ; or to 
 be bereaved of his household treasures. 
 
 We shudder at the sight of that surgi- 
 cal knife which God employs upon us. 
 Our self-love rebels against the excrucia- 
 ting "operation." But when God — who 
 wounds in order to heal — is engaged in 
 His providential process of amputating 
 a darling lust or cutting out an ulcer of 
 besetting sin, our "strength is to sit stillJ'^ 
 "Keep still, my friend ; be quiet," says the 
 army-surgeon to the writhing soldier un- 
 der his keen knife. Restlessness only 
 endangers a false cut of the knife and 
 only aggravates the wound. So, when 
 God is operating on the heart by sharp 
 trials, the first duty of his child is perfect, 
 submissive, unquestioning quietness. 
 
 " Thy will be done on earth as it is in 
 heaven," is the very core and essence of 
 our model prayer. When a sabbath- 
 
128 THE EMPTT CRIB, 
 
 school teacher once asked of his class, 
 ^"^ How do the angels in heaven do God's 
 will?" one child answered, "Immediate- 
 ly." Another said, "Diligently." A third 
 answered, "With all the heart." A fourth 
 said, "Always." A fifth said, "They dc 
 it altogether." After a pause, a little 
 girl spoke up and said, " Sir, they do it 
 without asking any questions.^'' Here was 
 a perfect definition of quietness before' 
 God. It is a rare grace, because it is so 
 difficult to exercise. A score of Chris- 
 tians can pray and give and work for 
 God, where one can be found ready to sit 
 down and suffer. To go into battle, with 
 the bugles sounding and the very blood 
 leaping to the fingers' ends under the im- 
 petuous charge, is full of thrilling exhil- 
 aration. But to be picked up bloody and 
 mangled, and borne back among pitying 
 comrades to the rear ; to be laid down 
 
QUIETNESS BEFORE GOD. 129 
 
 helpless in the hospital, and await your 
 slow turn for the surgeon's probe ; to be 
 transferred from his knife (with one limb 
 the less) into the nurses' silent " ward " of 
 sufferers, — to do and bear all this, calls 
 out the loftiest qualities of true heroism. 
 The battle-field costs less than the hospi- 
 tal. So, in the spiritual conflict, God puts 
 especial honor on the grace of passive 
 submission. He commends the "strength 
 to sit still." He approves that patient 
 quietness which "behaves itself like a 
 child that is weaned of his mother." And 
 the loftiest saints in the Bible are those 
 who have become the most "perfect 
 through suffering." 
 
 Quietness under God's discipline is 
 simply the willingness to let God have 
 His own way. It is ready to go where 
 He sends us, to bear what He lays upon 
 us, to sit still just where He places us. 
 9 
 
130 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 Why should we try to get away from His 
 blessed discipline? When you would fill 
 a vessel with water from a hydrant or a 
 rain-spout, you do not remove the vessel 
 while the stream is pouring in. It is filled 
 by sitting still. And if God's storms are 
 filling your heart with heaven-descended 
 graces, why should you seek to move 
 away from beneath its blessed out-pour? 
 If God is refining your heart, why seek 
 to be taken out of the furnace? 
 
 " Pain's furnace-heat within me quivers, 
 
 God's breath upon the flames doth blow, 
 And all my heart in anguish shivers, 
 
 And trembles at the fiery glow; 
 But yet I whisper, '■As God xvill ! ' 
 And in His hottest fire sit still." 
 
 We have seldom met with a finer illus- 
 tration of this grace of quietness than was 
 presented by an aged lady, who, after a 
 busy life of doing good, was at length 
 
QUIETNESS BEFORE GOD. 131 
 
 laid upon her bed, pain-worn and help- 
 less. A good minister went to see her, 
 and asked if, after her active habits, she 
 did not find her confinement hard to bear. 
 "No, sir," said she : "not at all. When 1 
 was well, I used to hear the Lord say 
 day by day, *Betty, go here; Betty, go 
 there ; Betty, do this, and do that ;' and I 
 used to do it as well as I could. But now 
 I hear him say, 'Betty, lie still, and 
 cough.' " Which of these two acts of 
 obedience was the most difficult to per- 
 form, we leave our readers to testify, from 
 their own experience. 
 
IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD? 
 
 "And she answered, It is well." — 2 Kings iv. 26. 
 
 \7'ES : all is well, though from thy longing 
 JL gaze, 
 
 The darling of thy heart hath passed away ! 
 The anxious eye of fond maternal love 
 No more shall rest upon his cherub-face ; 
 No more the joyous laugh, the prattling tones 
 Of infant mirth, shall greet thy listening ear. 
 The little lips, so often prest to thine, 
 No more in beaming loveliness shall smile , 
 And from the empty ^rib there comes no 
 sound. 
 
 The above lines — never before published — were 
 written by a beloved relative of our child, and have 
 an appropriateness that calls for their insertion. 
 
IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD? 133 
 
 No gentle breathing from the slumbering one, 
 To tell thy child is there. 
 
 Oh, what a sense 
 Of anguished loneliness comes o'er the heart 
 As oft thine eyes upon the garments fall, 
 Wrought with such pride for him ! 
 
 Can it be well, 
 That ne'er again the absent father's arms 
 Shall clasp the beauteous boy ; that fancy's 
 
 eye 
 Shall trace no more upon his smiling face, 
 The faint resemblance of the cherished dead ; 
 That the fair picture hope's bright pencil 
 
 drew. 
 In richest coloring, is washed out in tears? 
 Yes : all is well! Oh, lift thine eyes above 1 
 What can a mother's fondest wishes ask, 
 For her lost darling, like the bliss of heaven? 
 
 And thou must go to him ! May the same 
 
 robe 
 That made him spotless in the sight of 
 
 Heaven, — 
 The costly robe a dying Saviour wrought, — 
 Be cast around thee too ! And when the ties 
 
134 
 
 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 That bind ye now to earth are torn and rent, 
 
 May every little voice that mingled here 
 
 In sweet communion 'round your happy 
 
 hearth, 
 Unite to swell the ceaseless choir of heaven ! 
 
 Zanesville, August, 1S41. S. W. C. 
 
THE CONVERSION OF CHILDREN. 
 
 OOME worthy Christians are strangely 
 sceptical in regard to the conversion 
 of children ; they admit the impressibility 
 of childhood ; they admit that early piety 
 is beautiful ; they read in their own Bible 
 the promise, "those that seek me early 
 shall find me ; " and they read, too, of 
 such examples of 3^outhful religion as 
 Samuel and King Josiah and the well- 
 taught Timothy. But about their own 
 children's conversion they have grave 
 doubts and misgivings. 
 
 Just as well might they doubt the abil- 
 
136 
 
 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 ity of a child of ten years of age to love 
 its mother, or to obey the commands of 
 its father. A child trusts its parents im- 
 plicitly. How does your little girl know 
 that it is not rank poison that you are giv- 
 ing her when she is sick? She cannot 
 analyze the medicine ; yet she swallows 
 it down from simple faith in your say-so 
 that it is " good for her." 
 
 If a child can love a parent and trust 
 a parent and obey a parent, it can love 
 and trust and obey God. These three 
 mental acts are the very essence of reli- 
 gion. Bear in mind, too, that in every 
 thought and act toward God the child 
 may have the supernatural aid of the Holy 
 Spirit. Also bear in mind that the cen- 
 tre of Christianity is Christ. Now, an 
 ordinary child of ten or twelve years can 
 appreciate Christ's history, his beautiful 
 deeds of power and mercy, the sweetness 
 
CONVERSION OF CHILDREN. 1 37 
 
 of his promises, and his death of self-sac- 
 rifice, just as well as a man of threescore. 
 The mysteries of Christ's incarnation I 
 cannot understand any better than a 
 child ; nor need either of us do it. A 
 child can love Jesus with all the ingenu- 
 ous ardor of its young heart. Is not this 
 the touchstone of vital Christianity? 
 
 Just as soon as your son and daughter 
 are old enough to understand right from 
 wrong, they are old enough to do right 
 or wrong. Doing right is religion ; do- 
 ing wrong is sin. Sorrow for wrong- 
 doing is contrition. Ceasing to do wrong, 
 from right motive, is repentance. Asking 
 Christ to forgive wrong is an act of faith. 
 Did you never know a child to be capable 
 of these exercises? 
 
 Why argue the possibility of childish 
 piety, when innumerable cases of sincere, 
 intelligent, well-founded godliness have 
 
138 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 been exhibited by the very young? One 
 of the most beautiful examples of almost 
 angelic piety I ever witnessed was in a 
 sweet girl, who w^as transplanted to 
 heaven at the age of nine years. Her 
 talk with me in my boyhood impressed 
 me more than my minister's sermons. 
 When a little sick lad was asked by his 
 pastor, ''Would you like to get better?" 
 he answered, "I would like the will of" 
 God." — " If you get better, would you live 
 just as you did before?" — "Yes ; if God 
 did not give me his grace ^ I certainly 
 would." Could an adult mind have any 
 better conception of dependence upon 
 God than this? 
 
 It may be said that " children's minds 
 are volatile and chanfjeable." Are jrrown 
 people never changeable? Do men and 
 women of forty years never become back- 
 sliders? I had rather risk the volatility 
 
CONVERSION OF CHILDREN 139 
 
 of childhood, than the temptations to self- 
 seeking sharpness and worldliness that 
 beset middle life. If childhood is credu- 
 lous, manhood and old age are too scep- 
 tical. Better a heart that believes too 
 much and too easily, than one that is too 
 slow to believe and to move at all. Oh ! 
 be assured, ye parents and teachers, that 
 there is no such soil in the world for 
 religious truth and converting grace as 
 the heart of a frank, susceptible, trustful 
 child. From that soil grows the loftiest 
 and sturdiest piety of after years. 
 
 The most important ten years of human 
 life are from five to fifteen 3'ears of age. 
 The vast majority of those who pass 
 twenty irreligious are never converted at 
 all. Dr. Spencer tell us that, out of 235 
 hopeful converts in his church, 138 were 
 under twenty years of age, and only /our 
 had passed their fiftieth year ! I have 
 
140 
 
 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 been permitted, during my ministry, to 
 receive over one thousand persons into 
 the church, on confession of their faith ; 
 and not one dozen of these had outgrown 
 their fiftieth year. I did, indeed, once 
 baptize a veteran of eighty-five ; but the 
 case was so remarkable that it excited 
 the talk and wonder of the town. Such 
 late repentances are too much like what 
 the blunt dying soldier called "flinging 
 the fag-end of one's life into the face of 
 the Almighty." 
 
 In judging of the genuineness of chil- 
 dren's conversions, we must remember 
 that they are but children. Don't expect 
 a converted boy to be a pious man ; he 
 is yet only a boy. Like a boy, he 
 loves to play, and ought to play. But 
 if he is willing to leave his play to 
 attend a prayer -meeting, why is not 
 that as good a proof of his heart- 
 
CONVERSION OF CHILDREN. 
 
 141 
 
 devotion, as for a man to quit his work 
 for the same purpose? The little girl 
 who denies herself a doll or a dress, in 
 order to give the money to a missionary- 
 box, practises a Christian benevolence 
 as pure as our noble merchant princes, 
 when they bestow their thousands in 
 munificent charity. A child that con- 
 trols its temper, because God forbids 
 anger, does as saintly a thing as Stephen 
 did when he forgave his persecutors. 
 Hypocrisy is one of the most heinous 
 and hateful of sins : is there more of it 
 under twenty years of age than over? I 
 trow not. In estimating the evidence of 
 childish religion, we must look for chil- 
 dren's graces, and make allowance, too, 
 for childhood's weaknesses. God's grace 
 does not make a boy a man : it simply 
 makes him a better boy. 
 
 At what age should a child be admitted 
 
142 
 
 THE EMPTT CRIB. 
 
 to the church? To this question we 
 would answer, that every one should be 
 admitted to Christ's church as soon as 
 they give good evidence of a Christian 
 conduct. The church is for all who love 
 the Lord Jesus, and who seek to serve 
 him. The Bible does not make age a 
 condition of salvation. Shall a truly con- 
 verted child be kept away from Christ's 
 table until it has got over being a child? 
 And what is the use of having a fold, "if 
 the lambs are all to be kept out until they 
 can stand the weather"? 
 
 In every age of life, piety is possible, 
 is attractive, is indispensable to salvation. 
 We rejoice to see the man of middle life, 
 or the mother amid her cares, yielding to 
 Jesus a heart that has long been enslaved 
 by worldliness, or haunted by scepticisms. 
 But still more do we rejoice to see the 
 divine Redeemer take his place in a 
 
CONVERSION OF CHILDREN. 143 
 
 young hearty — a heart, like that new tomb 
 of Joseph of Arimathea, which received 
 Christ's wounded body, — a place "in 
 which 110 other one has ever yet been 
 laid:' 
 
CHILDREN IN HEAVEN. 
 
 [From Rev. E. H. Bickersteth's *' Yesterday, To- 
 day, and For Ever."] 
 
 A BABE in glory is a babe for ever. 
 Perfect as spirits, and able to pour 
 forth 
 Their glad hearts in the tongues that angels 
 
 use, 
 These nurslings, gathered in God's nursery, 
 For ever grow in loveliness and love, — 
 Growth is the law of all intelligence, — 
 Yet cannot pass the limit which defines 
 Their being. They have never fought the 
 
 fight, 
 Nor borne the heat and burden of the day, 
 Nor staggered underneath the weary cross. 
 
CHILDREN IN HEAVEN. 1 45 
 
 . . , Infancy 
 Is one thing, manhood one. And babes, 
 
 though part 
 Of the true archetypal house of God 
 Built on the heavenly Zion, are not now, 
 Nor will be ever, massive rocks, rough- 
 hewn, 
 Or ponderous corner-stones, or fluted shafts 
 Of columns, or far-shadowing pinnacles ; 
 But rather as the delicate lily-work. 
 By Hiram wrought for Solomon of old, 
 Enwreathed upon the brazen chapiters, 
 Or flowers of lilies round the molten sea. 
 Innumerable flowers thus bloom and blush 
 In heaven. . , . 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 The one who nestled in my breast had seen 
 All of earth's year except the winter snows : 
 Spring, summer, autumn, like sweet dreams 
 
 had smiled 
 On her. Eva — or living — was her name; 
 A bud of life folded in leaves and love ; 
 The dewy morning-star of summer days ; 
 The golden lamp of fireside happy hours ; 
 TJie little ewe-lamb nestling by our side ; 
 10 
 
X46 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 The dove whose cooing echoed in our 
 
 hearts ; 
 The sweetest chord upon our harp of praise '. 
 The quiet spring, the rivulet of joy. 
 
 Many of my readers will doubtless 
 thank me for adding to these striking lines, 
 the following exquisite letter of Arch- 
 bishop Leighton, addressed to a bereaved 
 brother : — 
 
 " I am glad of your health, and recovery 
 of your little ones ; but, indeed, it was a 
 sharp stroke of a pen that told me your 
 pretty Johnny ^2iS> dead; and I felt it 
 truly more than, to my remembrance, I 
 did the death of any child in my lifetime. 
 Sweet thing ! — and is he so quickly laid 
 to sleep? Happy he ! Though we shall 
 have no more the pleasure of his lisping 
 and laucrhincr, he shall have no more the 
 pain of crying, nor of being sick, nor of 
 dying ; and hath wholly escaped the 
 
CHILDREN IN HEAVEN. 147 
 
 trouble of schooling, and all other suf- 
 ferings of boys, and the riper and deeper 
 griefs of riper years, — this poor life being 
 all along nothing but a linked chain of 
 many sorrows and many deaths. Tell 
 my dear sister she is now much more 
 akin to the other world ; and this wdll 
 quickly be passed to us all. Johnny is 
 but gone an hour or tsvo sooner to bed, as 
 children use to do, and we are undressing 
 to follow. And the more we put oif the 
 love of this present world, and all things 
 «ifperfluous, beforehand, we shall have 
 the less to do when we lie down. It 
 shall refresh me to hear from you at your 
 leisure. 
 
 " Sir, your affectionate brother, 
 
 " R. Leighton. 
 •• Edinboro', January i6th, 1677." 
 
ONLY A BABY'S GRAVE. 
 
 ONLY a baby's grave ! 
 Some foot or two, at the most, 
 Of star-daisied sod ; yet I think that GoJ 
 Knows what that little grave cost. 
 
 Only a baby's grave ! 
 
 To children even so small 
 That they sit there and sing, so small a thing 
 
 Seems scared}' a grave at all I 
 
 Only a baby's grave ! 
 
 Strange, how we moan and fret 
 For a little face that was here such a space I- 
 
 Oh ! more strange, could we forget ! 
 
ONLY A BABY'S GRAVE, 149 
 
 Only a baby's grave ! 
 
 Did we measure grief by this, 
 Few tears were shed on our baby dead ; 
 
 I know how they fell on this. 
 
 Only a baby's grave ! 
 
 Will the little life be much 
 Too small a gem for his diadem, 
 
 Whose kingdom is made of such? 
 
 Only a baby's grave ! 
 
 Yet often we come and sit 
 By the little stone, and thank God to own 
 
 We are nearer to Him for it. 
 
A WALK IN GREENWOOD 
 
 /^THER people hereabouts, when they 
 wish to get away from brick and 
 mortar, and feast their eyes on verdure 
 and foliage, go to Central Park, or to its 
 new rival, the Prospect Park, of Brook- 
 lyn ; but, for some years past, my own 
 favorite resort has been the beautiful and 
 incomparable Greenwood, It has no rival 
 in the world. "Nothing that I have ever 
 seen in Europe compares with this," said 
 Newman Hall to me, as we stood on Syl- 
 van Cliff, on a golden day of last Octo- 
 ber ; and he added, " Nothing I have yet 
 
A WALK IN GREENWOOD. 151 
 
 seen in America gives me such an im- 
 pression of wealth, taste, and refinement 
 as this exquisite spot." Old Jeremy Tay- 
 lor says that it is good to knock often at 
 the gates of the grave ; and, truly, there 
 is no terror in death to one who only has 
 to look forward to bewitching Greenwood 
 as the resting-place of his body, and to 
 Heaven as the dwelling of his ransomed 
 soul. 
 
 Yesterday I went to Greenwood alone. 
 How often, in times past, have I walked 
 there with a pair of little feet tripping be- 
 side me, which now, alas ! are laid under 
 a mound of green turf and flowers. The 
 night before the precious child departed, 
 having wearied himself with play, he 
 quaintly said, "My little footies are tired 
 at both ends." Ere twenty-four hours 
 were past, the tired feet had ended life's 
 short journey, and were laid to the dream- 
 
152 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 less rest. Thousands and thousands of 
 other little children are slumbering around 
 him ; for Greenwood is one vast nursery, 
 in which cribs give place to little caskets 
 and coffins, and no one is afraid to speak 
 loud lest they wake up the silent sleepers. 
 Over the dust of these sleeping treasures 
 are hundreds of marbles which bear only 
 such pet names as "Our Lucy." or "Our 
 Willie," or "Sweet little Carrie, or "Our 
 Darling." Close beside the narrow bed, 
 so dear to me, lie a pair of children in 
 one spot, and on the tiny marble above 
 them is carved this sweet verse : — 
 
 "Under the daisies two graves are made, 
 Ujider the daisies our treasures are laid, 
 Under the daisies? It cannot be thus; 
 We are sure that in heaven thej wait for us." 
 
 What a celestial cheerfulness breathes in 
 such words I How like to a guardian an- 
 gel's song I There are other inscriptions 
 
A WALK IN GREENWOOD. 
 
 153 
 
 scattered through the cemetery which are 
 equally redolent of Christian hope and 
 immortality. For example, on a stately 
 monument is written only the name of the 
 dead, and on the other side of the granite 
 shaft the simple, thrilling announcement, 
 " The Lord is Risen I " If Christ be risen, 
 then is the believer's glorious resurrection 
 made certain likewise. What a contrast 
 between the above words of joyful faith 
 and another tomb, which bears this fear- 
 fully startling verse : — 
 
 "There are no acts of pardon passed 
 In the cold grave to which we haste ; 
 But darkness, death, and long despair 
 Reign in eternal silence there." 
 
 Awfully true as may be the utterance 
 contained in these lines of Watts, yet I 
 should not care to have it preached from 
 my monument. 
 
 Several tombs bear the single line, ^^Our 
 
154 ^^^ EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 Mother,^'' No inscription in the whole 
 city of the dead touched me so tenderly as 
 the one word, " Good-night," on the tomb 
 of a young wife. Perhaps this was her 
 last utterance as the twilight of the " val- 
 ley" fell upon her advancing footsteps. 
 Among many carved clusters of lilies, 
 myrtles, and violets, we often discovered 
 on the monuments of God's departed chil- 
 dren this flower, from the Holy Spirit's 
 own hand : " Blessed are the dead which 
 die in the Lord." This is the amaranth 
 which angels wreathe above the sainted 
 dead. How fragrant it is with the love 
 of Jesus ; how dewy with precious prom- 
 ises ; how it glitters in the light which 
 falls from the sapphire walls of the New 
 Jerusalem ! Matchless line : that never 
 grows old, and never stales its heavenly 
 freshness ! If there be any line which 
 the " ministering spirits " chant above the 
 
A WALK IN GREENWOOD. 155 
 
 sleeping dust of Christ's blood-bought 
 heirs of glory, it must be this one which 
 the Spirit taught to the beloved John. 
 Not as a dreary dirge do they chant it ; 
 not as a melancholy requiem : it is a 
 jubilant paean of triumph over those who 
 have come off more than conquerors, — 
 whose achievements are complete, and 
 for whom wait the " robes made white in 
 the blood of the Lamb." 
 
 In my stroll yesterday through Green- 
 wood, I was again impressed with the fact 
 that so few, even of the most eminent, 
 sons of New York rest in New York's 
 most famous cemetery. Clinton, indeed, 
 is there, buried beneath a pedestal which 
 does not contain his name, only his colos- 
 sal bronze statue. Dr. Bethune sleeps 
 there among his beloved flock. Dr. 
 Mitchell, the celebrated New-York chem- 
 ist, lies there too ; and, not far oflf, his 
 
156 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 illustrious namesake, the hero-astrono- 
 mer, who fell asleep, with his sword by 
 his side, at Port Royal. Soldiers from 
 the " Empire City " are buried in nearly 
 every avenue and shaded path, with 
 devices of cannon or sword or knapsack 
 or starry flag upon their monuments. 
 But Fulton, the chief architect of our 
 city's material grandeur, lies elsewhere, 
 Washington Irving, the most celebrated 
 of her sons, has his sepulchre at the en- 
 trance of his own " Sleepy Hollow." Al- 
 exander Hamilton, Marcy, Silas Wright, 
 and Van Buren are buried among their 
 kindred ; the chivalrous Wadsworth 
 sleeps in the valley of the Genesee ; and 
 glorious old John Brown among the rocks 
 of North Elba. Greenwood surpasses all 
 other cemeteries in loveliness of land- 
 scape, in variety and splendor of its mar- 
 bles, and in entrancing views; but it is 
 
A WALK IN GREENWOOD. 157 
 
 not a Westminster Abbey in its roll of 
 illustrious dead. 
 
 Of all the outlooks in Greenwood, one 
 of the finest is that from Battle Hill. New 
 York, Brooklyn, the bay, and the forest 
 of masts, are all beneath you in one 
 superb panorama. One can imagine the 
 departed spirits of the "merchant princes " 
 looking down from this height upon the 
 busy, roaring scene of their life-toils. 
 What shall it profit them now, if, for 
 3^onder fleeting treasures of the bank or 
 the warehouse, they bartered away their 
 immortal souls? 
 
 To me, the most captivating view is 
 from Sylvan Cliff, overlooking Sylvan 
 Water. On that green brow stands a 
 monument which bears the figure of Faith 
 kneeling before a cross, and beneath it 
 the world-known lines of Toplady : — 
 
 "Nothing in mj hand I bring, 
 Simply to Thy cross I cling ! " 
 
158 THE EMPTY CRIB. 
 
 As I stood beside that graceful tablet yes- 
 terday, the light of an October sun threw 
 its mellow radiance over the crimsoning 
 foliage, and the green turf, and the spark- 
 ling water of the fountain which played 
 in the vale beneath. In the distance was 
 the placid bay, with one stately ship rest- 
 ing at anchor, — a beautiful emblem of a 
 Christian soul whose voyage had ended 
 in the peaceful repose of the " desired ha- 
 ven." The sun went down into the pur- 
 pling horizon as I stood there ; a bird or 
 two was twittering its evening song ; the 
 air was as silent as the unnumbered sleep- 
 ers around me ; and, turning toward the 
 sacred spot where my precious dead is 
 lying, I bade him, as of old. Good- 
 night! 
 
 
THE EMPTY LITTLE BED. 
 
 MY little one, my sweet one, 
 Thy crib is empty now. 
 Where oft I wiped the dews away 
 
 Which gathered on thy brow. 
 No more amidst the sleepless night 
 
 I smooth thy pillow fair : 
 'Tis smooth, indeed ; but rest no more 
 Thy darling features there. 
 
 My little one, my sweet one. 
 
 Thou canst not come to me ; 
 But nearer draws the numbered hour 
 
 When I shall go to thee ; 
 And thou, perchance, with seraph smile, 
 
 And golden harp in hand, 
 May*st come the first to welcome me 
 
 To our Immanuel's land ! 
 
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 *' In this beautiful little volume the author presents a 
 grateful offering to the * desponding and bereaved.' . . . 
 He offers to others what he has tested for himself. The 
 book is written out of a full heart and a vivid experi- 
 ence." — Presbyterian Review. 
 
 ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 

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