PASTOR'S library; — Fii'Sit Eeolexin^ti**;* I Society. THIS BOOK BELONGED TO THE LIBRARY OF Rev. .JOEL T-TAWKS, D . D . , For 40 Voat>-n Pastor ofTkig Church. Ordpfatfl March 4, L818. Died Jun Person 'HI J? 2 ™** ^v. Joseph Emerson Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2009 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library http://www.archive.org/details/lifeofrevjosepOOemer tibrary of t:he ry;&an hardly be understood without practice, nor practice j:frpii?vtd wuhout theory. Their separation has been t>a lyine'of both. ; " ' The literary „ '■■ lis rativh ^of, w y < i-Jii\'(ft> ood , was much infe- rior — almost nothing 1 . -.My^parents" taught me very little, and. my teachers scarcely more. I did indeed attend school several months in a year, but it was attendance rather than attention. I did scarcely any thing. Almost my whole business was, to sit idly upon my seat through nearly the whole of the six long, long, tedious hours of the school. Fifteen or twenty minutes might have been taken up in reading and spelling alone, four times a day. In all this there was scarcely any benefit. It conduced rather to dulness than to energy. It may indeed have had some effect to promote subordination and patience. But what a grievous loss! How much useful knowledge and impor- tant habit might have been gained, had I been properly stimulated and properly taught. Some have supposed these years the most precious part of pupilage. There are subjects enough that children can easily and delightfully understand and profitably pursue. At eight or ten years of age, I was placed in a class, and taught to study my lessons. This rendered my liter- ary pursuits somewhat more pleasant and profitable. But little progress was made, compared with what might have been. Besides reading, writing and spelling, at the dis- trict school, I paid some attention to English Grammar and Arithmetic. The latter interested me much, and I made some progress; but my attention to Grammar was perhaps worse than lost. The greatest advantage I then derived at school, was in reading the New Testament, with some parts of which I was very much interested. This was much the best religious instruction I then had. My attention was much more roused to literature by committing to memory and declaiming facetious composi- tions for the amusement of my friends. These I could EARLY PROPENSITIES. 17 understand and feel, and they greatly helped to improve my reading. Reading Pilgrim's Progress had a still greater effect. I believed every word to be literally true. A good old man was kind enough to tell me, that every part of it had a striking and wonderful spiritual meaning. I thought him an old fool, and still chose to retain my opinion. Still more interesting and stimulating, was the reading of Milton's Paradise Lost. Having heard a part of the story of it with the most thrilling emotions, I longed most ardently to read it. This is the last sentence of his narrative, as dictated by my brother to his youngest daughter, as she sat by his dying bed. Alas — it has closed when just begun ! Would that he might have been spared to trace, in his own pecu- liar style, at least a few more lineaments in the picture of his opening mind, glowing as it was with the seraphic spirit of poetry, and 'ardently longing to read of that Par- adise which we had lost by sin.' But God saw fit that here his labor should thus abruptly end, and his spirit be called to enter the Paradise regained by a Savior's blood. Bowing to the divine will, we must say, Even so, amen! Thanks to that God that spared his frail life so long ; and thus gave him a delight to work while the day should last. Were his beloved pupils and intimate friends now present, they would unitedly bend the knee with me to implore that grace I so deeply need in attempting to continue this narrative. May it be simply for God's glory and the best good of those who may read it. Being younger than himself by ten years, I can person- ally recollect no facts respecting his childhood. Before closing this chapter, however, 1 will adduce one or two which I have learned from his acquaintances. At the earliest period, he was distinguished for the frank declaration of truth. If, for instance, any disturb- ance occurred in schooJ, his teacher would always rely on his honesty to confess or to declare the facts in the case, when called upon. The same frankness early appeared in the expression of his opinions ; and that perhaps in cases where nothing but 2* 18 FRANKNESS. ANECDOTE. his honesty could apologise for the seeming impudence. A very respectable townsman, whose early trade was that of a shoemaker, and who for a while possessed but little property, used often pleasantly to relate the following short dialogue that passed between them. While Joseph was one day amusing himself in his shop by pounding leather, he noticed stones instead of andirons in the fire-place. "What do you have them stones there for? My father has andirons. Why don't you?" "O, I am a poor man. I can't afford to have andirons." He continued pounding, and in a thoughtful mood, and nothing more was said for some time. When the good man had forgotten what had passed, he was suddenly accosted again: "I don't believe that is the reason !" "The reason for what?" "The rea- son why you don't have andirons." "Well, what then do you think it is?" "I believe it is because you are too shiftless!" This was all as soberly said by him, as it was indulgently heard and pleasantly rehearsed by the kind neighbor. Few that have been intimately acquainted with my brother, will here fail to recognize the germination of traits which were afterwards prominent in his character. He was himself habitually and deeply impressed with his inbred propensity to an abrupt, if not a blunt declaration of his independent opinion; and while he labored to cultivate a real independence of judgment as a sterling excellence in the pursuit of truth, he prayed much and labored much to soften the expression of his opinions, and to adapt his language to the persons he addressed and the circumstan- ces in which he spoke. He often cautioned other mem- bers of the family against this propensity to bluntness, of which he was so conscious, calling it "that portion of old father Moody which some of us inherit." Indeed, he carried his caution to such an extent, as more frequently to err on the score of extreme delicacy, than that of blunt- ness, in the expression of adverse opinions, and in admin- istering reproof. Whether it was from native feeling or acquired habit, no man would less readily wound the ear or the heart of a friend. Another anecdote of his early childhood, I may here mention, which will serve to illustrate at once his native temperament and the power of early discipline. I have it from my sister Smith, who took the chief care of him in EFFECT OF EARLY DISCIPLINE. 19 his tender years, my mother being often too feeble. He was naturally irritable and impetuous. His friends may have supposed the reverse, but my sister assures me of the fact. At about the age of three or four years, he one day flew at his sister Hannah, in a great raga, and began to kick her. Upon this, Ama, (now Mrs. S.) took him by the arms, and holding him fast, remonstrated with him in the most serious and decided tones, for a good while. At length, all at once, he submitted; his hands dropped su- pine at his sides; and she never afterwards witnessed in him the like exhibition of temper; and probably no one else witnessed the like, from that time to his death. Pas- sion, indeed, he doubtless afterwards felt, and sometimes ex- hibited in a degree. It would glare for a moment, says Mrs. S., in his eye, and then fade back into mildness. For myself, I can say, that 1 have not the least recollec- tion of any indication of anger during his life; but my recollections of him are imperfect previous to the time when grace had increased what discipline began. How blessed are the effects of right discipline at the right time. What a decided victory did it help him thus early to gain. How much trouble and pain may it have prevented to his parents, playfellows, schoolmates, and more important as- sociates in active life. And how much positive good may it have occasioned, by contributing to turn the strong tide of his passions into the prolific channels of sympathy and love. And who can tell the influence it may have exerted, under the providence and Spirit of God, on the early sub- jugation of his heart to the obedience of the faith ! Had the masculine mother of Bonaparte, instead of encourag- ing his unhallowed and ambitious spirit, but rightly inter- posed the check of timely discipline, that man of blood might perhaps early have become, (what his ungodly com- panions began to fear of him under the pressure of his final exile,) a ".metiiodist," a pious man, perchance a mighty preacher of righteousness. Surely the time will come when the christian discipline of children will be better un- derstood and better administered, in the spirit of mingled firmness, love and faith, and with suitable appeals to the conscience. Not till then, will the little Bonapartes, and Nebuchadnezzars, and Manassehs be saved from a life of blood, and bitter repentance in exile from among men, and the earth be afflicted with war no more. 20 NOT DESIGNED TO BE A FARMER. Still, we are not to attribute too much to the power of early education, lest by extravagant theory we destroy all faith in its real power. What it appears to do for one, it may not effect for another. There are springs in the complicated machinery of human action, that none but the eye of the Omniscient can see, and no finger but his can touch. As it respects my brother's readiness to labor, of which he speaks, I have no doubt, but as to the amount which he performed on the farm, I doubt whether his statement, as it is liable to be understood, will convey a right impression: and as physical education now justly claims so much at- tention, it may not be improper to enlarge the statement, especially as it respects one who was always an invalid, and whose constitution might perhaps have been further benefitted by more of such labor. I well recollect his dex- terity and delight in raking hay. Some of the other em- ployments of the farmer, he may also have understood : but I greatly doubt whether he ever understood or performed much of such business. His early life was frequently a topic of remark by my father in my hearing; but while he gave him large credit for other and more important things, there was but little on the score of manual labor. No charge of idleness was ever hinted ; but a want of adapt- edness to the business of a farm, was a frequent theme, and one that was occasionally illustrated by examples that would make a farmer smile. One day, my father set him to drive oxen at the plough. He took the whip for the purpose, and very honestly went, as it happened, to the off-side. The whip was resumed, and his labors in that department dispensed with. In fact he never knew how to speak to an ox or a horse, nor how to take care of either — a deficiency of which himself seemed less con- scious than his animal. God had made him for other cares, and to these higher cares his father had dedicated him in infancy. And as no expectation was entertained of his becoming a farmer, probably but little effort was made to enlist his feelings or improve his skill in those parts of business for which he discovered no particular taste. His health was also too frail for very efficient labor. Our tender mother, while she lived, was at least suffi- ciently afraid that her sons would be injured by hard work ; and he was pretty early dismissed to his studijs in AGRICULTURAL PURSUITS. 21 preparation for college. Had he labored longer on the farm, and become more familiar with the complicated rou- tine of its manly, invigorating, and improving occupations, it might have given him more vigor of constitution, while it could not have failed to benefit his practical judgment in all human affairs. I know of no occupation so well adapted to produce this last mentioned and very desirable effect, as that of the farmer. Common sense is every thing to the farmer, and must be kept in constant requisi- tion. A tact for devising expedients to the accomplish- ment of the details of his business, is incessantly culti- vated. The mechanic may work merely by rule, and thus himself become almost a machine — very exact and nice, so far as his rules will guide him, but nonplussed when these fail. His mental effort, in that case, becomes chiefly that of the memory, not the judgment. Not so with the farmer. Constantly compelled to act in new cir- cumstances, for which he has no specific rule, he is called to continual acts of independent judgment. Every foot of fence that he makes, every step that he guides the plough, every stroke with the scythe, the sickle, or the hoe, de- mands a fresh and prompt exercise of practical judgment. So does the estimate, the care, and the management of his animals. Thus the farmer becomes what himself so significantly designates by the term, a man of common sense. Practical philosophy is his pursuit from morning to night. Thus the New-England youth, bred on the paternal farm, may thence shape his course for any profession, and excel in it those who have done nothing but to study for that pro- fession. Master of expedients, inured to hardship, and acquainted with common character, he may go to the ends of the earth, and take the lead in any business. Give us then the farm, in preference to any other school, for both physical and mental improvement, during a suitable por- tion of the period of youth. The invigorating sports of my brother, were longer pursued: and, as himself intimates, with a keener relish. Few could propel or catch the ball like him ; and he was long remembered on the tennis common. He was also fond of fishing, and hunting, and skating. Still these pursuits were not regarded as his business, but his recrea- tion, to prepare him the better for efficient study. But 22 HIS PERSON. whether to work, to study, or to play, it was done with his might. I may as well observe here as any where, that in person, my brother was tall, and slender, in proportion to his size, lacking an inch or two of six feet in height; — alert in his motions, but not strong. In the latter part of life, he was bowed and emaciated by disease. His countenance was rather dark, and his eyes hazel, with a mild expression. Some incidental remarks respecting himself while at the common school, will be found in the next chapter, in connection with other matters from his own pen. In early life, he was facetious, and also rather fond of what are termed practical jokes. A vein of pleasantry, indeed, ran through his whole life; but well subdued and modified in maturer days. One more fact is worthy of a place among the memo- randa of his early years. It has been said of him, that, when quite young, and in the absence of my father, he would ask a blessing and return thanks, at the family table, with great solemnity and propriety. CHAPTER II. FROM HIS CHILDHOOD TO HIS GRADUATION AT COLLEGE. At the Academy — Enters College — Relinquishes a project of leaving Harvard for Dartmouth — Influence of emulation on his character and studies — Death of a young brother — Religious state of the College. 1 have been able to learn but little concerning him during his studies preparatory for admission to college. A part of this time, perhaps the whole of it, he was at the acade- my in New-Ipswich, N. H,, then under the care of Mr. Hubbard, who was afterwards professor in Dartmouth College. But I have no facts illustrative of his character or his proficiency in study while there, except the flatter- ing mention of him in my hearing, some years after, by Esq. Hartwell, in whose family he boarded. In the year 1794, he entered the freshmen class in Cambridge College, in the seventeenth year of his age, at the time when his oldest brother Daniel, since dead, left it. At the close of his first year in college, as appears from the following letter, he made arrangements for re- moving to Dartmouth College. I insert the letter entire, as much for the purpose of showing the characteristics of his mind at that period, as for the account it contains of his circumstances. It is addressed to Mr. Stephen Bemis, then a student at Dartmouth. Cambridge, Sept. 2-1, 1795. My Friend, — Since I am greatly pressed for time, I shall say, what I have to say, in our vernacular tongue. When I saw you last, I expressed some intentions to dissolve my present connections, and to become your classmate. All this I suppose you took to be a mere jest, and thought my words were rather intended to keep conversation alive, than to signify any real design to leave my present habitation. Whether you understood me to be in earnest or not, I 24 LETTER TO S. BEMIS. cannot tell; but I assure you, what I said was the real ex- pectation of my heart. My intentions increased continu- ally by slow degrees until commencement. After I went home in vacation, they soon grew to a resolution, which every day became more fixed; and one thing, which served to strengthen it, was, that I did not expect a room in col- lege, and it would not be convenient living out in town. I carried my determination so far, that I even provided means for my transportation, and thought there were at least ten chances that I should go, to one that I should not. A few days before our vacation expired, 1 made a journey to Cambridge in order to dissolve my connections. Upon my arrival here, I found the government had as- signed me an excellent room ; other circumstances too seemed to rise up and forbid my leaving this antiquated seat of literature. Frequently did the many pleasing hours, I had spent here, recur to my mind, and frequently did my heart pal- pitate with the great esteem I had for many of my class. Sweet was the remembrance of past times. I went imme- diately to Charl&stown, where I found my brother, who used many arguments, and reminded me of many circum- stances, before unthought of, all of which tended to dis- suade me from my former determinations. The next day I returned to Cambridge, where 1 reviewed my transac- tions, and weighed, as justly as was in my power, every circumstance. One minute, some advantage peculiar to your college, would so forcibly impress my mind, that I was fully determined to take up my connections here and go to Hanover; the next, some circumstance peculiar to Harvard, would directly invert my mind. One moment I figured to myself, how I should be transported in walking with you upon your delightsome green, on the fertile mar- gin of that beauteous river; the next, I considered that my mother's life was not expected fiom one month's end to another's, and I should not hear from home once in three months. Thus was my mind alternately agitated between two resolutions, till I at last fixed upon a determination, which I fear will seclude me from your presence for a longer time than T shall patiently wait. Yet, thanks to old Cadmus,* I have one consolation left; I hope the short * Alluding to the alphabet, a portion of which was introduced into Greece by Cadmus. IMPORTANT DECISION. 25 distance of one hundred and forty miles, or less, will not entirely cu f off all means of conversation, and flatter my- self that I shall frequently receive such pleasing portions of your thoughts, by the medium of letters, as shall be like the balm of Gilead to my soul, and afford infinite comfort to my mind. I have a thousand things to write ; yet a thousand things must go unwritten at present, since I have neither time nor room to write them. O may Minerva seat you on her throne, May al! the muses own you for their son. Yours, a/c tcv aiZvx J. Emerson. Thus the scale barely turned in favor of his remaining at Cambridge, — and so turning, virtually decided his whole destination for future life. Scarcely can a more important thing be named in the external circumstances of a young man, than that of the college at which he is to complete his early course of study. There, peculiarly, is his mind to be shaped, and his intimacies to be formed with those who are to act their part with him in the drama of life : and from that point he takes his destination in re- spect to all that is to follow. Had my brother, for instance, removed to Dartmouth, he might never have resided for a day in any one of the places in which he afterwards abode for years ; and perhaps would never have seen one out of a hundred of those who have since become endeared to him by relations which are to last for eternity. Whether he would have done more or less good in the world, or have been more or less happy, we cannot conjecture ; but the consequences would doubtless have been widely di- verse to himself and to others. The contemplative youth, the parent, the guardian, who takes this view of the com- plicated wheels of Providence, will never decide a ques- tion so deeply fraught with unknown consequences, with- out first committing his way to that God "who kuoweth the end from the beginning." So trivial a circumstance as the ' accommodations of a room,' will weigh but little in the scale of duty, which is lifted for the balance of moral probabilities, not temporary convenience. 3 26 ON EMULATION. The " room," however, was not the only thing with my brother, in this case, though it came to have a serious bearing on the question : but it has been intimated to me, by a respected correspondent, that it was an early trait in his character to vaccillate, and to decide questions some- times from the circumstances of the moment, especially when feelings of friendship were involved in the decision. The above letter appears, indeed, to bear such an impress ; but he subsequently learnt a more divine logic. I shall here subjoin some connected extracts, taken from two pieces of his on emulation as a proper stimulus to effort. The first of these pieces was published in the Connecticut Observer, of 1828 ; and the other in the Annals of Education, for 1832, vol. ii. p. 354. While these extracts will cast light on the period of his college life, they will be found also to reflect back considerable upon the earlier period of his childhood. It may be proper, before the extracts, to remark, that my brother expressly defines the sense in which he uses the term emulation, being the same as the scripture use of it in Romans xi. 14, where Paul speaks of* provoking to emulation them which were his own flesh' — ' a desire to do more than others in what is just and good,' — not an onhallowed and envious ambition. Had the term been uniformly employed in this sense by others, and had all been able, from their personal experience, to enter into its genuine import, there would have been less dispute re- specting the thing, if not concerning the means to be em- ployed for exciting it. But we proceed to the extracts, the principal object of which is not here so much the discussion as the historic allusions it contains to my brother's early history. "Experience has taught me to favor the use of emulation. And here I must beg for the utmost exercise of candor, to overlook the apparent egotism of stating my own experi- ence. This is my strong hold. At least next to the bible itself, which bids me regard whatsoever things are excel- lent, and covet earnestly the best gifts, experience is my strong hold, from which it seems to me, I can never be driven. Is it not most unpropitious to the progress of mental philosophy, that a person can hardly publish the exercises of his own mind, but at the risk of his character? RIVAL AT SCHOOL. 27 Presuming upon the indulgence of my readers, I will ven- '.ure to testily a few things, that I know, upon this sub- ject. " I have not felt those dreadful effects from emulation, that many fear — that many think inseparable from its vigorous exercise. I do acknowledge my indebtedness to emulation. If any mental principle has ever done me good, it is assuredly this; though not indeed without some alloy of evil. Most confident I am, that it has conduced to restrain me from many evils — that it has conduced to make me more industrious, more orderly, more obedient to parents and teachers, more moral, more knowing — that, if I am truly religious, it has conduced to make me such, to make me a better christian, a better teacher, a better minister. " But these are only general statements. The argument would be entirely defective, if I did not descend to partic- ulars. I felt the power of emulation in early childhood. I felt it in my boyish sports, in my rustic toils, in the be- ginning of my literary pursuits. It roused my activity, and made me run to my labor, as well as to my school, and to my play. Sometimes I had the happiness to out- strip others ; but often saw my fellows before me in the race. I trust I was not much exercised with envy for the latter, nor contempt for the former. I did indeed feel contempt for those, who seemed to be scarcely touched with the spur of emulation, and whom I could hardly re- gard as my competitors. " And now I must be allowed most solemnly to testify, that according to the best of my recollection, I never in- dulged in hating a rival ; no, not for an hour ; nor had occasion to strive against it. If, for a moment, I ever felt the stir of envy, in consequence of sudden and grievous discomfiture, it was but for a moment. It was but the lightning's stroke upon the tranquil sea; when, instantly all is smooth and peaceful. Nay, my rivals have been among my dearest friends. This was especially the case with my greatest rival ; not indeed the greatest in genius or attainments; but the greatest in contest ; by whom I have been the most outdone. As my argument rests much upon this case, more than upon any other of my experience, I must beg leave to state it with some partic- ularity. Our contest was at school, in our boyish days, at 28 EMULATION. the age of twelve, thirteen, and fourteen. He was about a year younger than myself. Honesty seemed to be written in large capitals upon his face. Doubtless he was in this respect, such a one as Shakespeare would pro- nounce 'one of ten thousand.' Neither of us had then much to fear from any other rival. The contest was in spelling and writing. In these he won the meed and the prize. But I did not hate ; did not envy. I felt no dis- position to complain of him or of the teacher. I felt that he had gained every inch of advantage by fair means, by lawful striving ; and that he deserved to be thus openly crowned. And I believe the whole school rejoiced to see such honor conferred upon one, who, though not a leader in sports, not eloquent, not facetious, not possessed of any special personal attraction, except that honest look, yet one who never injured them, who gave them such an example of punctuality, application, and patience, and who perhaps never received from his teacher one word or look of dis- pleasure. " It is worthy of special notice, that while we were thus emulously pressing towards the mark, we often aided each other in the race ; and I believe neither of us ever did the least thing to retard his fellow. When our associ- ates were engaged in sports, we were sometimes employed together, in pronouncing words to each other in the spell- ing lesson, each aiding his competitor to gain the ascend- ancy. This was done, as 1 trust, without the least un- pleasant emotion. This mutual kind feeling, I am confi- dent, has never ceased ; though I know no reason for my special attachment to him, but his good conduct. Had he won the prize by unlawful means, no doubt my resent- ment, my envy, my fierce wrath, would have been kindled; and our contentions might have been almost like the bars of a castle. "The stimulating influence of such a friend and rival, I consider one of the greatest blessings I ever enjoyed. To be seated continually at his side, sometimes above him, though more frequently below him, to see his intense ap- plication, his untiring patience, his vigorous efforts for improvement, his unexceptionable morals, and propriety of conduct — could not but be favorable to my progress. It might indeed have been salutary in a mere friend, but much more so in a rival. If I have been enabled in any RIVALS AT COLLEGE. 29 measure to benefit others, I have probably owed it more to that boy, than to any literary teacher. Nearly similar, as it respects the feelings excited, have been all the literary competitions of my pupilage. I cannot doubt that they conduced to preserve me from idleness, from truantship, from animosity and misrule. " The effects of my emulation at college were happier still. There its influence was more energetic. I was particularly excited by the exhortation of an elder brother, who panted for my improvement. I can never forget the force with which his words dropped upon my heart. "From two-thirds of your class," said he, "you have noth- ing to fear. With the other third, you must dispute every inch." Kindled to enthusiasm, I bounded forward in the race. But it was not a race of malice. My chosen, my dearest associates were almost wholly from among those, from whom alone, as rivals, I had anything to fear — with whom I delighted to reciprocate instruction to the very utmost. I never grieved, I always rejoiced, to hear their correct and ready answers, their fine translations, their commanding eloquence, their thrilling rhetoric, and every performance suited to awaken in the teachers the glad well done. Nor did I rejoice, but always mourned, when they manifestly failed of their wonted excellence. 1 do not recollect ever to have had a contention with any of them, unless the most friendly contending for eminence is contention. I never was displeased with their good per- formances; but only stimulated to desire and strive to do as well — if possible, to do better. Nor was I grieved or envious, when some of them, by more honorable appoint- ments, were placed before me. If they had not surpassed me in diligence and good conduct, they had been favored with superior talents and superior health. I felt that they had fairly earned the meed they enjoyed. "My emulation was considerably quickened by regard for a most honored father, from whose funds were all my pecuniary supplies. I wished that a good report might be truly made to him of my conduct and my scholarship ; and I had scarcely any idea of scholarship, but by comparison with my fellows. " A still happier effect, which I then most probably real- ized from emulation, was, that it apparently delivered me from the destructive influence of the theatre. It delivered 3* 30 EMULATION. me when I was actually sinking in deep mire. It would have been better still, if it had saved me entirely from the polluting touch of that moral pestilence. This it did not do. With grief and shame, I must confess, that neither this, nor a religious education, nor studious habits, nor all these and other motives united, did entirely prevent me from entering that school of vice. A few times I attended. With the honest gains of a most tender father, and without his consent or knowledge, I purchased this jeopardy of my soul. This I did to the neglect of my studies, to the neglect of college exercises, to gratify a vain and wicked curiosity. I violated a wholesome law of the college, that I had particularly bound myself to keep. I sent a false excuse to my teacher, for neglecting a recitation. This was a sudden and tremendous plunge from virtuous habits, which is probably not very frequent in the history of ruin. Nor was this the worst. I was charmed, I was infatuated with what I had seen and heard. My heart was often dancing to the syren song of ' The merry, merry mountain- eers.'' It echoed back upon recollection, when I should have been absorbed in study. And when I consider what powerful restraints I overcame, how aggravated were my offences, I have reason for admiring gratitude, that I was not given up to my own lusts a prey — that I was delivered as from the very jaws of the lion. Of this deliverance, I consider emulation as having been, under Providence, the principal cause. By emulation, I had acquired studious habits, a relish for books, and a lively sensibility to char- acter. These, for a time, were depressed by theatrical enchantment. But soon the glare of the stage became somewhat dimmed, these forces resumed their ascendency, and those chambers of death were forever forsaken. But for emulation, I might have gone from the theatre to haunts more infamous, and from those haunts to the eter- nal pit. " Soon after that great deliverance, (probably the great- est ever conferred upon me by the providence of God,) my attention was powerfully arrested to the concerns of im- mortality, in the midst of the excitements of emulation, without any particular cause that I now recollect. The place of my residence was the very frigid zone of religious feeling. Not that emulation directly produced this sol- emn impression. There was nothing around me that was ITS CONSERVATIVE INFLUENCE. 31 suited to provoke to serious emulation. And ere long, as I humbly hope, I was brought, though not in that place, to embrace the Savior. 1 Thus it really appears to me, that I have derived from emulation several important advantages, which without it, I should in all probability never have enjoyed. " In conclusion, therefore, I must be at the greatest re- move from thinking it possible, that this fundamental prin- ciple of our nature is evil and only evil continually." Those who were intimate with my brother, will recog- nize his image at once in the above extracts, and to such I need make no comment, and no apology. But to those who knew him not, I feel bound, in justice to his charac- ter, to say, that the aspect of egotism here, for which he apologises, was the offspring of a far different principle — an enthusiasm in moral science, which would prompt him at any time, to subject his own character, his own heart even, to the anatomist. In the voluntary and almost too thorough discharge of the self-denying office, he has here preferred a charge against himself, of which I presume he would never have been thought guilty, viz. that of 'sending a false excuse to his teacher.' The like plain dealing with himself, is elsewhere to be met with in his writings : and were it not that this is the scripture manner of giving biographical sketches, I might be more tempted to draw the pen over such passages, pleading in my justification the old and good natured adage, Nil de mortuis nisi bonum. But were his spirit to witness the obliteration, would it not rebuke the presumption of thus marring the truth of the picture, and preferring the authority of a. heathen adage to the inspired example of sacred history ? I shall then let such passages stand, and shall endeavor to aim at the like honesty in what I adduce from other sources. Man must be presented as he is, if we are to instruct from real life, instead of amusing the reader with fiction. The conservative influence of emulation, was by no means peculiar to my brother. Were it meet, I could name a very distinguished scholar at Y ale, and who is now a no less distinguished preacher in one of our cities, who declared, in my hearing, more than twenty years ago, that nothing but his ambition kept him back from absolute profligacy and ruin, while in college. I could mention 32 SCHOLARSHIP. CONVERSION. many other instances, in which I have no doubt of the same salutary effect. This effect is too commonly over- looked in the discussion ; and may serve at least to console us under the serious moral evils which are often found, in fact, as attendants on literary as well as political. competi- tion. Comparatively few emulous spirits, I fear, are found possessed of such magnanimity as to love a rival in proportion as his excellent qualities enforce their respect. Still it is clear that Paul would fain rouse us to a holy emulation ; and it is our own fault here, as in every thing else, if our emotions are not holy. While in college, my brother suffered much from sick- ness. Indeed, he was always an invalid. He also kept school some portion of the time, as in Holies, in the winter of 179b-7. Still his scholarship was respectable, as is indicated by the part assigned him on taking his first de- gree, viz. a forensic disputation, in which he is said to have acquitted himself well. In reference to the terms of profound respect in which he speaks of the performances of some of his classmates, it may afford some explanation to state, that his class was distinguished by the names of such men as Story and Channing. But a still more important topic than merely that of the developement and cultivation of his intellectual powers, now claims our attention. It was during the third year of his college course, that he hopefully passed from death to life. For several years, there had prevailed, in his native place, an uncommon degree of attention to the " great salvation," and many, in gradual succession, had been added to the church. Here he had spent his vacations, enjoying not only the preaching, but the familiar society of his brother-in-law, Mr. S,, and, as will be seen by sub- sequent notices from his pen, it was to these means chiefly, under God, that he attributed his conversion from sin. When he offered himself as a candidate for the commun- ion of the church, he presented a written statement of his religious views and feelings, for the satisfaction of the brethren. Such was then the custom in that church, and such it continued till within a few years. These written statements were read before the whole congregation at the close of the services on the Sabbath, two or three weeks before the season of communion, at which the candidate PROFESSION OF RELIGION. 33 was to present himself for admission to the church, provi- ded no objection should be brought against him. The public reading of these " relations of experience" as they were called, was often immensely solemn, and not unfre- quentlv proved the occasion of an effectual impression on the minds of some who had before remained obdurate. What added much to the effect on some minds, was the circumstance, that during the reading by the pastor, in the pulpit, these candidates stood before the assembly in the broad aisle, thus appearing as though they came out from the world to be separate, as at the day of judgment, while there was openly declared what God had done for their souls. Many a time did this prove too much to be resisted by the stout heart of an unbelieving husband, or wife, or parent, or gay companion. — Still there are, doubtless, evils to be apprehended from such a custom ; and it is not my object to complain of its discontinuance. The following is the statement presented by my brother, as found in the archives of the church. I give it simply as containing an authentic and solemn declaration of the religious state of his mind at that momentous period, and not for any special excellence in the execution. TO THE CHURCH OF CHRIST IN HOLLES. The great Jehovah, who is ever calling to the sons of men, sometimes in the thunder of his providence, and sometimes in a still, small voice, to repent, return and live, has frequently called my attention to religion. But with shame I acknowledge, that I have resisted conviction, and in my heart said to the heavenly messenger, go thy way for this time, at a more convenient season I will call for thee. Many excuses did I frame to justify my neglect of religion. Sometimes I have thought that, as I did not allow myself in the practice of any known vice, as my moral character was in a degree unspotted, that I had done nothing for which I could expect eternal misery ; not considering that my heart was carnal, that it was at enmity against God, that my thoughts were evil continu- ally. Sometimes I considered that an attention to religion would infringe on my college exercises ; and thus neg- lected the one thing needful, for things infinitely less val- uable. At other times, I cherished the idea that vouth 34 RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE. was the spring of life, the season of gaiety ; and why should I be sorrowful ? that religion would deprive me of amusements, which I could not bear to relinquish ; — thus exposing myself to eternal torments for a momentary grat- ification, unworthy of the name of happiness. Resting on pretences like these, such foolish, such impious pretences, I have lived for so many years, casting off fear, restraining prayer, without any grounds for hope, without God in the world; until of late, I trust, God, in infinite mercy, has been pleased to give me a view of the depravity of my heart, of my own insufficiency, of the fulness of Christ, of the beauty, consistency, and harmony of gospel doctrines, especially regeneration, the necessity of faith in Christ, the influence of the Holy Spirit, and election ; and I hope and trust that I have in some degree tasted the trans- cendant beauties of religion, and seen that the Lord is good. Desirous to obey all the commands of Christ, and to comply with his institutions, I humbly present myself to join in full communion with this church, asking an inter- est in your addresses at the throne of grace for me, as the least of all saints, that, by divine assistance, I may exhibit to the world, and to my own conscience, a character, worthy of the honorable, the dignified name of Christian. Joseph Emerson. Holies, August 5, 1797. Such are the views with which he publicly took the vows of God upon himself, in a good profession, which he continued ever afterwards to witness before men. Had not this document been designed for a promiscuous assem- bly, we may well suppose it would have been more minute and specific in some points respecting his moral and reli- gious history. In one particular, I am able, from authentic information, to supply the defect, by mentioning the chief thing to which he alludes. The particular is that in which he speaks of his previous apprehension, 'that reli- gion would deprive him of amusements which he could not bear to relinquish.' Dancing was the amusement which he felt and plead that he could not then relinquish for the sobriety of christian life. This " vain recreation," as the church covenant denominated it, had been but too com- mon and too reputable among the youth of the first fami- lies in the place. He had practiced and enjoyed it much ; INFLUENCE OP DANCING. 35 and now urged the plea, with those who pressed him to the duty of repentance, that he needed the relaxation and exercise which were thus afforded. It was the charm which held his soul for a while in bondage. When once broken, and the captive free, his frank avowal, as seen above, exhibits clearly the light in which his quickened conscience regarded the practice. And so doubtless does every conscience regard it in the like circumstances. Plead for the innocence of this amusement as we may, it still remains an unquestionable fact, that it has a powerful tendency to keep the heart from God. Of course it is morally wrong, in the shape in which it is actually prac- ticed ; and is fraught with the most deadly influence, as respects the practice of vital godliness among the profes- sors of religion, and the salvation of such as are still impen- itent. The view which the church took of that prevalent practice, as expressed in the revision of their covenant, (1 believe about that period,) together with the great revivals which ensued, had a powerful influence in speedily ren- dering the amusement disreputable and obsolete in the best circles. The effects of their decided course in doing away this enchanting temptation, have doubtless been the occasion of gratitude in the hearts of many who have since grown up in ignorance of the art, and unincumbered with its impediment to the great object of our existence. Some, however, murmured, at least for a while. On the return of my brother to college, as appears from the following letters, he was brought low by sickness. I have heard him speak of one or two periods in his early life in which he was so reduced as to be unable to turn himself in bed, and his life was nearly despaired of: per- haps this was one. Our family, too, were at that time in deep affliction, from the inroads of mortal disease. TO MRS. SMITH. Cambridge, Sept. 2-1, 1797. Afflicted Ama, — Most cordially, my sister, would I let fall a tear of sympathy with you, with all my bereaved friends ; but tears are not mine ; my eyes have long been dry, and grief will not moisten them. Your wounded 36 LETTERS TO HIS SISTERS. bosom bleeds afresh. But a few days have deprived you of two of the dearest, the choicest blessings of life. Your child, your only child is not. Our brother, the boy of your tender, your affectionate nursing, whom you have so often warmed in your bosom, and lulled to sweet repose, has likewise taken his flight to that land whence no trav- eller returns. Without doubt, these melancholy events have pierced your soul with pangs more poignant than I can feel, or perhaps conceive. I can imagine you, sitting in solitude, your heart overflowing with sad reflection, calling to mind the many hours of anxiety spent in foster- ing your brother and your child, and the pleasing sensa- tions excited by a smile, or an articulate sound; and re- collecting the anticipation of a thousand joys to be derived from their future society and welfare. Such consoling visions have now vanished ; and I fear your grief is almost insupportable. Need I tell you where to apply for com- fort 1 Surely the God of mercy will pity the broken- hearted daughters of affliction, who trust in him. Religion offers balm and oil for every wound. Adversity is a prof- itable school to the wise ; for afflictions spring not from the dust, neither do troubles grow out of the ground. Dr. Young, notwithstanding all his lamentations, finally counted it among the greatest blessings of heaven, that his heart had bled. I hope you have already had cause to say, that it is good for you that you have been afflicted. " Our dying friends Are angels sent on errands full of love ; For us they languish, and for us they die : And shall they languish, shall they die in vain V My disorder has almost, entirely left me. I have plenty of appetite, begin to recover my flesh, am strong enough to step with ease from the floor into a chair, sit up almost the whole day, presume I could walk thirty rods, and think myself rapidly recovering. Expect to see Holies in about three weeks. To another sister, now Mrs. S. Chapin, he thus writes the next day. " What day. what hour, but knocks at human hearts, To wake the soul to sense of future scenes ?" O my sister, it is a great, a difficult thing, in all circum- stances, to feel as we ought. Resignation is a hard lesson DEATH OF A BROTHER. 37 to be learnt. Verily we have lost a brother. The beauty of our family is gone. No more will his prattle delight us. no more will that fair countenance gladden our hearts, We mourn ; we ought to mourn. Humanity demands, and nature cannot withhold a sigh. But we have reason to sing of mercy as well as judgment. While we mourn the loss of one brother, let us rejoice that the other, for many days equally dangerous, still survives. Have not you and I been brought almost to the brink of the grave? And who hath raised us to our present comfortable state ? Bless the Lord, O our souls ! These children died of dysentary, then prevalent ifl the neighborhood. The son of his doubly afflicted sister, was but a year or two old. The other deceased child, her brother Samuel, had also been to her as a son ; for from his birth, my mother saw not a well hour, and he had con- sequently been consigned to the special care of this sister. The other brother, W., who had been very sick, but was recovering, was a twin to the one who died. These facts will explain the peculiar language in the above letter. Shall I here be indulged in a brief reminiscence of that day, to me so sad, yet so instructive? Though myself but a child at that time of desolating disease, yet the scene lives in my memory as one of yesterday. I beheld these twin brothers, both sickening on the same bed with alarming disease. At an early stage, W. was regarded as in the greatest danger, and his life began to be despaired of. At that crisis, the yearnings of my heart were beyond description. I seem, even now, to see the very spot in the pleasant pasture, where I walked mournfully by my- self, as the sun was setting, and my spirit oppressed with the apprehension, that this brother, who now seemed quite the dearest to me, would die before another morning. My heart was continually exclaiming, " if one of them must die, O that it might be S. ! — he is not half so dear !" — And so indeed it came to pass. I had my childish pref- erence in the dire alternative. For within three days, the balance turned. W. became convalescent ; and S., feebly waving to and fro his emaciated hand, was heard, at in- tervals, uttering those shrill, hollow, dying moans, that seem still to pierce my soul. — The changed scene had changed my preference. "O that my dear S. now 4 33 RELIGIOUS STATE OF might live ; and let W., or let myself die in his stead." Such were my real feelings in that early trial of an un- taught heart. — Should some of ray readers derive a portion of the benefit which the recollection of that scene has afforded me, my object will be gained, in a digression so personal. I hope I have gratefully experienced its aid, in curing me forever of such baseless and extravagant pref- erences for departing good. It has also led me more highly to estimate continued blessings, by forestalling the view of their departure. We return to the subject of this memoir. The follow- ing letter is to his brother Smith, already named. It will be read with special interest by such as are desirous of knowing the religious history of Cambridge College at an important period in its modern progress. Cambridge, March 17, 1798. Respected Brother, — I returned to college this term with a determination to cast off the fear of a fellow worm, and to shew that I am not ashamed of our common cause. Upon such subjects, however, a degree of prudence is to be used. Nothing tends more to disgust, than an ostenta- tious parade of religion. But I am persuaded men are much more apt to neglect favorable opportunities for reli- gious conversation, than to introduce such topics unsea- sonably. Every friend to the cause of Immanuel, ought, with great assiduity, to strive to improve every opportunity of speaking well of his glorious Lord and Master. Re- ligion, pure, vital, undented religion, we have reason to fear, is growing more and more unfashionable. This ap- pears to be the triumphant opinion of many, the language of whose conduct is, " let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." They sometimes profess to believe the bible, and tell of the excellencies of Christianity ; make great professions of philanthropy, and pretend to rejoice at the great liberality of sentiment which appears so prevalent. Rather than harbor a thought, that the doctrines preached by Calvin and his followers can be possible, they would not only relinquish the everlasting basis of the christian hope, but even abandon themselves to all the horrors of atheism. Believe Ilopkinsianism ! Sooner than be guilty CAMBRIDGE COLLEGE. 39 of an absurdity so glaring, they would point to the grave, and exclaim, " the place of eternal rest ! " But, my beloved brother, these things ought not to move the friends to those doctrines which so often flowed from the lips of the Lamb of God, and from the lips of holy men who spake as they were moved. Were all the so- phistical arguments in the whole hemisphere of learned error, to be collected, and their essence extracted, it would never form a single truth. Let us then take the bible for the man of our counsel, search it with indefatigable perse- verance, and fervently pray to the Father of lights to pro- tect us from error, and smile with benignity on our at- tempts to know the truth. You must not expect to find in my letter the regularity of a Hopkinsian sermon. I write my thoughts as they rise. I was telling you, that I resolved not to be ashamed to confess even to the most hardened infidelity itself, that Jesus was, and is, and ever will continue to be, the Christ, etc. It gives me no small degree of pleasure to find, that some of my class profess their belief in the necessity of regeneration. With some of these, I have had considera- ble conversation, and some have been led to think, from some of my observations, that between me and a Hopkin- sian, the difference is small. Such an idea circulates among I know not how many. Some would rather see me an atheist ; others affect to pity my credulity ; some ridicule my superstition, while they think it no matter what a person believes, provided he conducts with a toler- able degree of propriety. My health is such that I study very little. Cease not to pray for your affectionate brother, J. Emerson. In colleges, and other communities, revolutions in re- ligious opinion are not the work of a day. No changes among men are so important in their results, both for this life and the future. The causes, then, and the progress of such changes, are of supreme interest to the philoso- pher, the christian, and the philanthropist. In this view, the above letter possesses a special interest, as already in- timated. It gives us a simple view of the religious feel- ings and antipathies then predominant within the walls of 40 ITS CAUSES AND EFFECTS. the college, at least among the undergraduates. This account, too, we have, not from an enemy to the institu- tion, who might be disposed to prophecy evil, and to ex- aggerate its indications, but from one of its own sons, then in its bosom, and who hoped better things, and was ear- nestly engaged to effect better things. It seems that then there existed that sickly sentimentality which is sometimes heard uttering the plaintive moan of " charity " in behalf of error, and even of infidelity, while at the same time it is full of asperity towards all who have any zeal for godli- ness. I know not a more ill-boding prognostic than this, to be found in any seminary or any community. It is not charity itself, (that holy love which Paul commends,) but is rather a cloak, but ill assumed, to hide the want of this cardinal grace. But though these indications of evil were thus early vis- ible among the students, now perhaps equally corrupted in habits by the vices of the neighboring metropolis ; it was not till some years after, that the college itself was com- pletely revolutionized in its officers and guardians. Time was requisite for the leaven to spread, and to infect the greater fountains of influence and collegiate control. Time was requisite for a somewhat sounder generation, then asleep in those seats of influence, to pass away, and their places to be filled by men whose religious feelings and principles were forming under the moral influences at that time predominant in this ancient seat of learning. A few words more may be requisite, however, in this brief sketch of one of the most important events that de- mand our notice in connection with the subject of this memoir. It is not to be supposed that the religious prin- ciples of those students who were imbibing a prejudice against Calvinism, at once became fixed and definite in their final shape, in opposition to the generally received doctrines of the gospel. All which the candid observer would remark on this stage of the progress, is the exis- tence of a great and undeniable influence, existing in the current of college feeling, to prejudice the forming mind against sound doctrine. The extent and power of this in- fluence, operating in connection with other causes, is now to be traced in well known events that have since ensued. Within the more immediate influence of that college, dis- cord has been sown in what had long been the most ITS CAUSES AND EFFECTS. 41 peaceful religious communities. Many churches have been rent in sunder : others have been perverted, or par- alyzed, as to christian life and effort. And large funds have been diverted from the intention of the donors, (whether righteously or not, I will not here stop to in- quire.) Vast, already, has been the amount of real suffer- ing in pious hearts, and of moral evils in the community, from these apparently small beginnings. When or where the evil will end, is left with Him who can say to its proud waves, hitherto shall ye come, and no fart fur. I have just said, that this has sprung from apparently small beginnings. But if we trace back the stream of moral causes, we shall perhaps find the torrent collecting from a much more expanded surface. For, whence came this corruption within the walls of college ? Surely the puritans did not infuse it. Nor are we to ascribe it all to the debauchery and the laxity in doctrines then prevalent in the metropolis, however great their influence. In ad- dition to these, I have time barely to refer to two great sources of corruption, which affected the country at large. The first was the immoral influence of our revolutionary war. The second, and by far the most threatening, was the French philosophy, coming as it did in quick succession to the first, and connected with it. This philosophy had taken early root, and was widely spread among the youth of our land. As their fathers had r whom I never saw. I could take up much time and pa- per in describing and characterizing my correspondents, with whom you are not acquainted. I could relate the intentions I have formed, and the plans I have laid, to visit my friends in Framingham, and probably offer a sat- isfactory reason for altering my mind. I could give you an account of the visit I have lately made to Newburyport, and faintly describe the emotions which 1 felt at viewing the grave of Eliza Whitman (Wharton) yesterday in Dan- vers. But leaving the relation of the things above mentioned for the present, and perhaps forever, I will converse with you a while respecting the contents of a letter, which a few hours ago I had the gratification to receive — which gratification, as I instantly knew the hand-writing, was not increased, even when I saw your name at the end of three long pages. As I cannot be very particular, a few brief observations must suffice for this time. Like yourself and many others, I once thought it much easier to reconcile our freedom with God's foreknowledge, than with his decrees. A more close examination of the matter has induced me to believe otherwise. I have not man's freedom. 53 time to express my ideas more fully on this subject, than they are expressed in my last letter. You suppose, that God, having capacitated man to act without an immediate exertion of divine power upon his mind, might know how man would conduct without deter- mining his conduct. Supposing your hypothesis true, or rather the first part of it, which supposes man capable of acting without divine influence, let us see if the difficulty is in any measure alleviated. You will probably grant, that, if man had been endowed with different powers and faculties, and placed in different circumstances, his con- duct also would have been different. God must know this, if it be a truth. And he must likewise know, that, if he endowed man with particular powers and faculties, and placed him in particular circumstances, man would con- duct in a particular manner. Otherwise, it is hardly con- ceivable, to speak with reverence, that man's conduct could be foreknown, even by the Deity. When, therefore, God determined to make man just such a being, and to place him in just such circumstances, as he did make, and place him ; did not God virtually, and to all intents and purposes, as it respects the subject under consideration, determine every event of man's life ? I know of but one way in which the force of this mode of reasoning can be evaded with any appearance of plausibility. It is this. Some may imagine, that God gave man a certain power, which they are pleased to style a sdf-determining power, which enables him to will, to act, etc., or rather, by which he wills, without motive, or contrary to motive, indepen- dently of every circumstance in which he may be situated, and independently of God himself. Please to consider, N., we are on metaphysical ground. Let us walk slowly and cautiously. This self-determining power, they say, is not deduced by argumentation, but felt by immediate con- sciousness. Now, N., be kind enough to turn your atten- tion inward, and read your own mind. Are you conscious, were you ever conscious, of any such power of self-deter- mination? If indeed you be, or ever have been, no rea- soning can convince you to the contrary. Intuition, or immediate consciousness is above reason, and mocks its efforts, when it opposes. I might pursue the notion of a self-determining power a few steps further, and inquire, whether in its exertions it is voluntary or involuntary, etc. 5* 54 DECREES AND FREEDOM, Such investigation might amuse you, if you have acquired a considerable relish for metaphysical discussions. But for want of time, as the subject under consideration does not require it, it must be postponed at least. Supposing, then, that we have such a self-determining power, which I am very far from believing, how can it effect the point we are considering ] The Deity must certainly know the nature of such a power, and also how man would use it; or, more properly, how that would use him, if he were en- dowed with it. When God therefore determined to endow man with such a power, he must necessarily determine all the known effects of the power. Where then is the ad- vantage of supposing its existence 1 But you do not deny the divine decrees, though you confess yourself ignorant how they can be reconciled with our freedom. Here, N., you cannot doubt my willingness to assist you. In such an attempt I might be unsuccess- ful. In former years, my mind has been much perplexed in considering and trying to reconcile " these two points." Had I time, however, I would attempt to afford you some assistance upon a point, considered by some the most in- tricate in metaphysics. I could tell you that some con- sider it improper to ask, how these points can be recon- ciled. We know that many things exist, though we can- not tell how they exist. I could refer you to yourself and ask, if you can form an idea how you exist ; how your soul exists : how your body exists ; how these two substances, apparently so different, are united ; how they mutually affect each other. I could desire you to consider with yourself, whether you can comprehend the growth of an animal, or the vegetation of a plant. I could ask you whether you can comprehend how the Deity can exist? or whether, for a moment, you can doubt his being ? I might then inquire, whether you cannot believe some things which you cannot comprehend? In this way, as well as by metaphysical discussion, it is possible, that I might, in some measure, alleviate the burden, which a consideration of these matters may sometimes throw upon your mind. But I must dismiss the subject, earnestly de- siring you to " search the scriptures," " to think on these things," and to think on them with attention, with humil- ity, with sincere and ardent desires to see, to feel, to love the truth, and to bring forth the fruits of righteousness in CII1R0GRAFHY, ETC. 55 a life of piety, of beneficence, of joy — of joy? — joy in this world ? Yes, my dear pupil, joy in this world in the ex- ercise of that religion which speaks peace and good will to men. I cannot describe to you my numerous avocations, but assure you, that for want of time to accomplish my de- signs, I am "pressed beyond measure." In five or six weeks, 1 expect to be more at leisure. A few more re- marks, therefore, upon your letter must suffice. I have in store for you some censure and some applause. With which shall I begin? With the censure? Well, then, prepare for a reprimand, and, if you please, repay me in the same coin. You cannot discharge the debt in a man- ner more acceptable. I shall be far from thinking such an attempt in you presumptuous. In reading your letter, I remarked, — what any person would obviously remark in reading most of my writing, — too great a degree of haste, and too litile attention to chirography. Whether 1 have in any degree reformed, in this particular, a comparison of this letter with my last, will enable you to judge. If I have, I hope you will "do likewise," "and much more abundantly." An elegant hand writing, though not "the one thing needful," is unquestionably a fine accomplish- ment. It is what I despair of ever acquiring; but, be as- sured, I shall never envy you the attainment. I might make similar observations to our friend M., and you may tell her, if you please. I am determined to form a habit of writing more slowly, and paying a more particular at- tention to the formation of every letter, than has hitherto been my practice. We should not totally disregard the " mint and cummin," though " the weightier matters of the law" claim our first and principal attention. Two or three erroneous spellings are noticeable, which perhaps are owing entirely to inattention. The contractions don't, can't, which you have used, are very rarely admissable, and never, but in compositions the most familiar or trilling. Though 1 have sometimes used them in letters, yet I am almost convinced that it is best to omit them entirely. With the sentiments of the two last pages of your letter, I very nearly concur. Perhaps more mature reflection may enable you to reply more copiously to some of the queries stated in my former letter. Subjects respecting education may often be introduced, and discussed in large 66 circles, without giving offence to any person. I think the people of are too fond of large parties. A large and mixed circle appears to me a place in which it is pecu- liarly difficult to spend our time profitably to ourselves, or in a manner acceptable to our final Judge. As conversa- tion is generally conducted in large parties, I think it tends more to pollute than to improve the mind. Think not that I am an enemy to social intercourse. Far from it. I could write a volume in its favor. But large parties are generally attended with very little advantage. As in such circles, fashion has laid an embargo upon every subject either serious or literary, what should we expect to find in them, but an alternation of silence and of frivolous con- versation ? And what else do we generally find ? I have not relinquished my design of writing a treatise, or at least an essay, upon the very important subject of education, principally for my own improvement and amusement. But I find much labor is necessary, before I can begin it. In order to preserve a tolerable degree of connection, proportion, and consistency between the parts, a general plan of the whole must be first formed. As it is one of my favorite subjects of contemplation, I have al- ready projected the outlines of a part of it. But in order to mature it sufficiently to begin the execution, much reading and much thought will be indispensable. It is necessary to know what others have written upon the subject, in order to determine whether what ap- pear to me improvements, are really such. Ten vol- umes, at least, I wish to read. Besides reading and thinking, something else is very desirable. This is expe- rience. Many modes of conducting the different parts of education, which in theory appear so promising, might not bear the test of experiment. Another year's practice in a school, might afford important light upon this matter. But my profession, the profession of my choice, is theology; and my theological fathers and brethren would probably advise me not to undertake again the office of a peda- gogue. But I feel more accountable to God, than to his ministers, for the manner of employing my time. Would health permit, I might possibly do as much good by preaching and keeping school at the same time, as by preaching only ; though the voice of the world would be, that I did it for the sake of filthy lucre. Without men- CHIROGRAPHY, ETC. 57 tioning the numerous arguments that have passed through my mind, for the measure and against it, I can tell you that I have more than once almost come to a resolution to undertake once more the arduous but agreeable task of literary instruction. At present, however, I feel quite un- decided. Unless I have an opportunity of a previous in- terview, perhaps I shall mention the subject in my next. In your next I expect a dissertation upon the utility of knowledge. You need not be afraid of tiring my patience by its length. Farewell, The resolution above expressed, ' to write more slowly, and to form every letter more accurately,' is one which he kept to admirable purpose. From about this period, his chirography becomes much more easy and elegant ; and what is perhaps rather a rare concomitant of such a change, so perfectly legible as to be read with almost the same ease as print. I may here add, that from this period, I scarcely find a single word omitted, or interlined, or misspelt, in the whole of his manuscripts. And yet, at least in later years, he used to write with great rapidity. Such accuracy, though in these comparatively minor mat- ters, is a great saving of time in the course of a life, even should it cost occasional discipline for weeks or months. But how he should so soon attain to such accuracy, as neither to omit a word, nor to insert a redundant one, is surprising. I remember, however, that from principle, he rigidly enforced on himself the rules he prescribed for oth- ers. His chirography soon became fixed, according to a system of his own, and was ever after almost perfectly uni- form. However great his hurry in writing, there was the same neatness and perfect legibility. This system he taught to his pupils in subsequent years; and it has been rare that one of them has failed of acquiring it in such perfection, that her chirography would not at once be re- cognized as that of his school. Legibility was the prime object he had in view: and with this were combined neat- ness, ease, and rapidity of execution, to the entire exclu- sion of needless ornament, as it tends only to obscure leg- ibility. In chirography, as in almost every thing else, he had a specific reason to assign for every movement. I need not remark on what is so obvious from the above extract, viz, the zeal with which he had already embarked 58 PASTORS SHOULD FIRST BE TEACHERS. in the great cause of education — a zeal which never flag- ged to the hour of his death. The remarks he here makes on the utility of combining the offices of preaching and literary instruction, remind me of a topic on which I have often heard him insist with much zeal ; I mean the importance to a pastor of his having once been a school teacher, for at least a short pe- riod. This he considered as desirable on many accounts. The pastor would better understand the art of access to the youthful minds of his flock, in the pulpit, in the Sab- bath school, in the bible class, and in parochial visits. He would also be much better able to discharge that im- portant portion of duty which is ordinarily devolved on a parish minister, in the examination of school teachers, and the visiting and superintendence of schools. For these purposes, he very properly judged that a few months spent in teaching, must be of great use to the young preacher, in fitting him for the business of his profession I know not the precise time at which he returned from Cambridge to the agreeable mansion of his former teach- er, where we find him at the date of the following epistle. Franklin, Feb. 1801. I begin with an intention of writing you a letter of con- siderable length. I have one favor to ask, which, I am confident, you will not deny me. That is, that you would not expect much regularity or connection in this letter. It will constitute the agreeable employment of my leisure moments for several days ; and 1 shall be necessitated to write with more rapidity than may be consistent with much attention to accuracy or elegance in either chirography or diction. You are pleased with the Botanic Garden, and, you need not be informed, that in this pleasure I most cor- dially rejoice with you. But my rejoicing is not entirely without alloy. I fear that my conduct toward you and some others has not been, in all respects, exactly right. Pause a moment, and see if you cannot conjecture in what respect. You express a grateful sense for the assistance which you suppose I have afforded you in cultivating your taste for' reading, and in kindling your desire for knowledge. And it is possible that my exertions may have contributed DARWIN. YOUNG. 59 to produce such effect. But there may be a taste for reading, there may be a most ardent thirst for knowledge, without religion. It is true I have not enjoyed so many opportunities, without sometimes mentioning to you the subject of religion, and attempting to vindicate its truth and importance. But I very much fear that in my verbal and epistolary communications with you, a disproportion- ate attention has been paid to those things which are not religion, to those things which do not imply religion ; and that the one thing needful has been criminally neglected. The question is not, whether my conduct has been worse than that of any others who have named the name of Christ, but whether I have not acted an inconsistent part; whether my life and conversation have not exhibited reli- gion as less important, less amiable, less worthy of our supreme attention, than the word of God has declared it. But to return to the subject. I can rejoice with you in your fondness of Darwin. But it is with trembling. Whoever can read the Botanic Garden, understanuingly and feelingly, is admitted to a most delicious feast, of which the world in general cannot taste, cannot dream, cannot conceive. But it is a " Garden tempting with for- bidden fruit." Whatever greatly engages the heart, which is not necessarily connected with religion, is in danger of perverting the attention from religious contemplations. This is not necessarily the case with Darwin's poetry ; but this may be the case. And unless it leads us to look through nature up to nature's God, and to admire and adore the Maker and Builder of all things, it will produce the grapes of Sodom and the clusters of Gomorrah. The Botanic Garden is one of my bosom companions, and I hope never to part with it while I live; but I cannot say that 1 hold the poetry of D., or any other, not of a religious nature, in so high estimation as formerly. You know my former opinion of Young. I read a por- tion of the Night Thoughts almost every week, and that with increasing admiration. I find new beauties in al- most every line. It is true, he is not without imperfec- tions ; neither is the sun without spots. Young's obscur- ity is, I apprehend, the principal reason that he has so few readers, even among the serious. This obscurity appears to be partly owing to this circumstance, that he 60 TRANSPOSITION OF POETRY. crowds so many ideas into so few lines. Persons are apt to read Young too fast, and by too large portions at once. Three or four hundred lines is quite enough to be read at a time, and this ought to employ the closest attention for an hour, or an hour and a half. I believe many persons, who think Young's poetry above the level of their under- standing, might read it with great satisfaction. And per- haps you may find it advantageous to read the Night Thoughts once through in this way. There is another way, which I think you may practice with great advantage, in order to ascertain the meaning of Young, or any other obscure writer. This is, to read a few lines, and then write down the ideas in your own words, and those the most simple and familiar in your power. In such an exercise, you will find other advanta- ges besides that of understanding your author. Without mentioning these, I shall make one or two observations upon what may be denominated transposition. In the first place, read over the piece you intend to transpose, in order to imbibe the general spirit of it. Then begin with the first sentence, and ascertain the meaning of every word and phrase, as exactly as possible. If it consist of mem- bers, see if they cannot be transposed to advantage. Af- ter deciding upon the member of the sentence with which to begin, think how it can be expressed in the most easy, familiar, and intelligible prose. You will sometimes find it necessary to use twice as many words as your author, in order to express the same ideas ; and you may now and then intersperse an idea of your own, when you can do it with perfect ease. In this manner you may proceed, till you have finished twenty or thirty lines, which will be enough for one exercise. You and your sister may find a mutual advantage from transposing the same piece separ- ately, and then comparing your productions. Figurative language may be retained or not, just as is most conven- ient ; but always endeavor to be consistent with yourself in this particular. To illustrate what I have said, I will attempt the trans- position of a few lines ; which, however, you must not consider as a model for your imitation. I have just opened to a passage which will answer my purpose. It is near the middle of the Relapse, (Night 5,) and begins, " Our funeral tears," etc. HOW TO READ WELL. 61 * Though tears are generally considered as an expres- sion of sorrow, yet they are extremely diverse, especially those shed at funerals, and flow from a variety of causes. Some are possessed of hearts so feeling, and sympathetic, that they cannot cease for a moment to weep with them that weep. Some whose emotions are less vigorous, re- quire more time to work themselves up into a weeping frame, and thus show their condolence by their tears. Some who in secret will not heave a single sigh at the woes of a brother, will weep in public lest the world should think them destitute of natural affections. [Like Moses' smitten rock, is a comparison I dislike.] Some weep in order to participate the praises of the dead, to show that they were the friends, to imply that they were the beloved of the wise and honorable. They dwell with enthusiasm on those qualities of which they suppose themselves pos- sessed in common with the deceased, and in this way have the impudence to commend themselves without a single blush.' — This will serve for a specimen. There is another exercise which I would recommend, and which I think you will find of great utility to yourself and others. Select some piece, with which you are well acquainted, such as Thompson's Lavinia, hymn.?, and the like ; and, in presence of your younger sisters, read, ex- plain — explain and read it, until they understand it as well as yourself. By explaining the words, by reading witli proper tones, emphasis, cadence, etc., with a little explanation of the most obscure parts, you may make even young children understand almost any thing which you clearly understand. This will be of vast advantage to them. It is perhaps the best way of leading them into a habit of seeking to understand what they read. And, by the way, I would just remark, that it appears almost impossible that children should not contract bad habits in reading so much, and understanding so little as is commonly the case. How is it possible that they should read naturally what they do not understand ? In the above mentioned exercise, great advantage will also accrue to yourself. The more you try to read intel- ligibly to a child, the better you will probably read. Scarcely any thing will have a greater tendency to induce you to read, and to form a habit of reading in the most easy, natural, familiar manner possible. Children are 6 62 LICENSED TO PREACH. now the best instructors I have in reading, or ever expect to have. Though I have said much in favor of Young, yet he is not my oracle. Even in his Night Thoughts, are many sentiments not coincident with my own. Learn therefore to separate the chaff from the wheat. I wish you to read the "Infidel Reclaimed" and inform me whether you think all the arguments conclusive. If I can give you any useful direction in your choice of books, be assured I shall do it with the greatest alacrity. Books are a very necessary means of knowledge. But a person may read all the books in the world without be- coming learned. Thinking, thinking makes the scholar. I have told you often, and would now once more put you in remembrance, that you may habitually bear it in mind, to examine critically what you read, and to judge for your- self. Is not your reason strong enough to begin to go alone ? Millions greatly injure their intellects, by care- lessly reading many books. It is much better to read, understand, and digest a few good books, than to run over whole libraries in a cursory way, as is the manner of some. Miss More's strictures on female education merit an atten- tive perusal, and I hope will happily and usefully engage your attention for many hours. This is a book of uncom- mon and deserved celebrity, and I have purchased it principally for the use of my female acquaintances. Please to read it with your sisters as soon as is convenient, and then let M. T. have it, or any other person who will take the trouble to read it. Not far from this time, he received a license to preach, and also an appointment as tutor at Cambridge. The letter from which I extract the following, is addressed to Miss G. Fletcher, a distant relative, I believe. Warner, July 23,1801. Though " man that is born of a woman, is of few days and full of trouble,'" yet, considered as an immortal being, he is by no means contemptible. If we have good evi- dence to believe, that there is a " world to come;" if it be true, that we are probationers for an endless state of existence beyond the grave ; then surely the work which God is now giving us to do, is solemn, interesting, and SEEKS SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 63 important, beyond conception. For an individual entirely insulated from his species, to prepare for eternity, must be a work of vast importance. Still more important is such a work in society, where a person's conduct has perpetual influence upon others. As social duties increase, this all- important work must rise in importance. Who are com- mitted to parents to be " trained up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord ? Immortals. Who are commit- ted to ministers, to be fed with the bread of life ? Im- mortals. Who are committed to ministers to be warned, reproved, rebuked? Immortals. Pause then for a mo- ment and reflect. What has your friend undertaken ? "To preach the everlasting gospel ;" to be " a savor of life unto life, or of death unto death." " Who is sufficient for these things ?" Will you not pray for me that my " faith fail not ;" that I disgrace not my high calling ? Perhaps you will think me wrong in accepting an offer so confined and arduous as that of a tutor. But 1 can assure you that upon mature deliberation I verily thought it consistent with my making the greatest possible progress in my pro- fession. Be assured/my great object is to be qualified for my sacred profession. In comparison with this, all other qualifications appear lighter than vanity. In this you can assist me. I trust our correspondence may subserve this great end ; and I hope, without proving an unprofitable encroachment upon your time. But how ? Perhaps in many ways of which you do not dream. Almost every kind of knowledge, and especially the knowledge of the human heart, but particularly the knowledge of my own heart, appears to me highly desirable, in discharging the duties of my profession. And experience has in some measure taught me, that this may be acquired by a judi- cious correspondence. It has been said that every person needs bitter enemies or very faithful friends to remind him of his failings. Now, my enemies do not take the trouble to remind me of my faults. And as for friends, alas! how has the sacred name been prostituted ! I trust, however, I have some who have fidelity enough to discharge the kind office. I will just mention a late instance. A few days aero a gentleman gave me to understand that many in this°town were not so well pleased with my preaching a? with Mr. M.'s, and told me the reasons. This was a greater evidence to me of the man's sincere friendship, 64 HIS APPOINTMENT than if he had commended my preaching three hours ; and surely I shall never think of him without emotions of gratitude and love. Among my correspondents, there is one, who, I verily believe, is faithful to inform me of what- ever she thinks conducive to my welfare or improvement. It is Miss H. Adams. May I not hope to find another in MissG. F. ? Perhaps you have not discovered the hun- dredth part of my failings. But it is highly probable you have discovered some of which I am ignorant. I trust you will not needlessly publish them to others ; but surely you cannot do me a kinder act, than to give me an oppor- tunity to reform. You know the great object of my life ; and you can easily avail yourself of the remarks of others in addition to your own opinion, in order to admonish me of my faults in preaching. You may hear remarks which you think unjust, or unreasonably severe. The knowl- edge of such remarks may be the most beneficial to me of any. Fear not to wound my feelings, and, if occasion re- quire, to " chide me in severest terms." If any thing that I know or think, can be equally advantageous to you, I will most gladly e?.ert myself that it may be at your ser- vice. He received his appointment as tutor while residing with Dr. Emmons. Some facts respecting this and other incidents of the same period, have been kindly forwarded to my aid, by his former pupil, Theron Metcalf, Esq. Dedham,lth Oct. 1833. Dear Sir, — I was highly gratified to find, some weeks since, that you were engaged in preparing a biographical notice of your late brother. I intended sooner to have given you the facts that I now propose to relate. While Mr. Emerson was pursuing his theological stud- ies with Dr. Emmons, W. E., son of the Rev. Doctor, and myself, were preparing for college. It became convenient for us, and was agreeable to our parents and your brother, that he should assume the direction of our studies. And I ascribe whatever proficiency 1 made in early life, ami whatever taste for classical literature I may now have, ami whatever acquaintance with Latin and Greek authors, pri- marily to his efforts and instruction. I doubt not my friend E. would say the same. AS TUTOR, 65 Under your brother's very special oversight, and at his earnest suggestion, young Emmons and myself went through a course of study far more extensive than was re- quired for admission to any college — and more extensive indeed than was then prescribed at the colleges in general. At the age of sixteen, we were undoubtedly better ground- ed in Latin and Greek, and acquainted with more Latin and Greek authors, than most graduates. Still we enter- ed R. I. college as freshmen. You will pardon this apparent boasting, when I assure you, that it proceeds entirely from my respectful gratitude to my very efficient and beloved instructor — of whom I can most truly say, (so far as classical acquirements are in question,) that he is the only man who ever taught me any thing. If I ever gained any thing further in that depart- ment of study, it was wholly by my own exertions. Both Emmons and myself studied with other preceptors, before and after your brother went to Cambridge as tutor. I wish to mention a fact somewhat characteristic of your brother, as you will readily perceive. While he was teaching young E. and myself, he went to Boston, and remained two or three days longer than he had told us he should be absent. On his return, he men- tioned to us, half confidentially, that President Willard met him on the steps of the State House, while he was in Boston, and told him he was (or might be — I forget which) appointed tutor — and desired him to accept or decline. Your brother requested two days, I think, to consider of it — and he told us this was the reason of his not returning to Franklin at the time he had intended. He also said he had refused the offer, before he left Boston, and spoke very decidedly of the matter, as inconsistent with all his plans, and not agreeable to his inclinations, even if he had no other definite views. He ended the conversation by enjoining entire silence, as it might seem like vanity in him to have mentioned the offer of a tutor's place at Cam- bridge. This was early in the afternoon, but before night he was on his way to Cambridge, to recal his refusal, and to accept the offer, and the change in his views seemed to us to be effected wholly by what I am about to relate. At any rate, we never knew or suspected any other cause for it. 6* 66 MOTIVES FOR ACCEPTING Emmons and myself had more exalted notions of a tu- tor's importance and pretensions, than any full grown man would 'probably entertain. We were intended for R. I. college, but had some pride, and some belief, which your brother had not a little contributed to strengthen, that Cambridge was a much more eligible and dignified semir nary. We therefore had indulged some lurking inclina- tion to go to Cambridge, though we had never expressed it to others. We simultaneously caught at the notion, that if Mr. Emerson should be tutor there, our parents might consent to our following him — and we beset him with our unasked advice, that he would retract his refusal of the office, and almost promised him we would go to " Cam- bridge college," if he should succeed in obtaining the place of tutor. And I have no doubt that his purpose was changed merely by what we said and predicted. Towards night, he told me if I would get his horse, and if Emmons would do some other small service for him, he would ride as far as Medfield that evening, and the next morning pro- ceed to Cambridge, and see it it was not too late for him to recant. And he accordingly did start, and reached C. the next forenoon, and informed President Willard of his change of inclination. He told us, on his return, that the President reflected on his "fickleness": — but finally, it was settled that he should take the place of tutor. All this was to be kept a secret, if he had not succeeded. The result was, that we lost your brother's tuition, and wholly failed to obtain our parents' consent to go to Cam- bridge, to our sad disappointment, and to the mortification and regret of your brother, who had our following him much at heart. In after years, however, he expressed his gratitude to God that we did not succeed in our wishes — saying that the temptations of the place, and the influ- ences exerted there, were enough to poison any young man ; and that he rather wondered that any escaped con- tamination, than that so many suffered it. While I studied under your brother's care, his studies, though ostensibly theological, were chiefly literary — and I believe Dr. E. was pretty severe on him for his "scholar- ship." 1 know he often rather intimated than declared his dissatisfaction at the wide range of your brother's "projects," as he used to term them. THE OFFICE. 67 I should like very much to see again, if it is in exist- ence, a sermon your brother wrote, while at Franklin, on lotteries. It purported to be an election sermon, address- ed to the Legislature, exhorting them to make all lotteries unlawful, and setting forth their immorality and danger in a much stronger light than was usually deemed accurate in those days. The text was from Prov. xvi. 33. I fear this communication will be rather irksome than pleasant to you. It is not drawn up, as I intended when I sat down. But as far as it goes, it is accurate, and I have a mournful pleasure in committing it, now for the first time, to paper. Respectfully your ob't. serv't. Theron Metcalf. This is the strongest instance I have known of a sud- den change in my brother's course of life ; and if we, like the good President, are disposed to regard it as bearing the aspect of fickleness, yet we shall readily admit that, 'Even his failing leaned to virtue's side.' Doubtless he felt, as he appears always to have done to- wards affectionate and successful pupils, an inexpressible delight in the welfare of the young men, whose minds he had been firing with the love of knowledge. Filled with such emotion, and seeing the opening prospect of chang- ing their destination for what he then regarded as greatly the better, and of having them about him for years to come, it is not very strange that the tutorial office should lose its forbidding aspect, and assume a new charm to his eye. The clear prospect of essential benefit to a single individual, always had a powerful effect on his mind. Hence I have frequently known him spend time and exhaust energies that he could but ill afford from more general calls of duty, in very animated conversation with seme lover of knowledge that might fall in his way ; — and that person perhaps a stranger whom he had scarcely seen before or could expect to see again. But while this was strikingly true of him, it is equally true that he seemed not very affable to strangers, unless they disclosed a desire and an aptness either to receive or to impart instruction ; and sometimes, though not designedly, he appeared to treat them with neglect or coldness. The truth is, he had neither the talent nor the inclination to that species of 68 DEPORTMENT AS TUTOR. " small talk," by which many render themselves so affable and agreeable in their transient intercourse. Bat to re* turn to his two pupils. Though sorely disappointed in his hope of having them at his college, he was afterwards Consoled, not merely in their escape from its temptations, above referred to, but in their continued and unrivalled success in the studies of their class, as it appeared at the end of their college course. One thing which I happen to know as peculiarly disa- greeable to him in the thought of being a tutor, was the extreme distance and reserve, so scrupulously maintained in those days between the officers and the students of the college. Perhaps on more mature reflection, it occurred to him, that it would be in some measure at his option, whether he should clothe himself with the same austere and troublesome dignity. Be this as it may, he certainly did not give himself this trouble, nor inflict this self-denial on his social feelings. The result was, if tradition be true, that he gained peculiarly the affections, without los- ing the respect of the students. He took care, however, to be complete master of the branches he taught ; and his very nature prompted him to teach with all his soul, and do what good he could. This was enough, without stand- ing for punctilios of etiquette; and his time passed pleas- antly and usefully away, in a station which might have become beyond measure irksome by a different course. By making himself at home, in that seat of ancient digni- ty, and all about him at home, it became a home to him. But while deeply engaged in science, it is pleasing to remark, from one pciiod to another, his manifest growth in devotion to the sacred cause to which he had consecrated his existence. Ilis direct appeals to those about him, on the subject of religion, were perhaps not very frequent, nor were they so in after life ; but they were certainly very affectionate and earnest, and always timely. I sub- join the following, as a specimen of his correspondence with his younger relatives. Cambridge, Nov. 7, 1 My dear Brother R. — I understand you are unwell; I hope however, you are not very sick. It is an uncom- mon thing for you to be sick. You should remember, that sudden deaths are more frequent among persons, who FAITHFUL WARNINGS. OU generally enjoy good health, than among persons who are weakly and often indisposed. And if you are now a little out of health, you have a good time to consider of these tilings. This opportunity, I hope, you will not let pass unimproved. I hope you will consider and realize, not only that human life is but a vapor, and the graves are ready for us, but also the vast importance of being pre- pared to meet your God ; and not only consider the im- portance of being prepared for so solemn a meeting, but also give yourself up to God in an everlasting covenant, and hold yourself in actual readiness for the coming of the Lord Jesus. Do you not sometimes think of these things? Has religion no charms ? Or does the word of God appear to you a fable — a small matter, unworthy to en- gage your attention ? Is the salvation by Jesus Christ a small salvation ? Is it unworthy of your contemplation; is it unworthy of your study ; is it unworthy of your love? My dear brother, the angels desire to look into these tilings; and how shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation? Do you begin to make excuses? Are you too young to be religious? Will it expose you to the ridicule and contempt of your mates ? Will it deprive you of earthly comforts ? Do you really doubt, whether Christ's yoke is easy, or his burden light? I entreat you not to think light- ly of these things; not to put far away the evil day ; not to flatter yourself with the expectation of long life. All I can do for you is to warn and to pray for you, whether you will hear or whether you will forbear. Do be kind enough to write immediately to your affectionate brother JosEnr, To one of his former pupils, he thus writes : Cambridge, Nov. 11, 1801. I have often had it in contemplation to address you by epistle, and solicit a correspondence. Notwithstanding the great enlargement and the increased importance of my sphere of action; notwithstanding the new acquaintances, that I have formed, and all the new scenes, that from day to day are opening to my delighted view ; still I have not forgotten my old friends. I still cherish the same emo- tions towards those, who appeared once so happy and re- spectful under my tuition, as when they were eagerly 70 FIXED HABITS EVEN listening to my instructions. I consider their time as val- uable, their improvement as important, their souls as pre- cious, as I did then. Though they may forget me, I trust they will always occupy a place in my memory and heart. I hope ever to feel willing to exert myself for their advan- tage. As circumstances forbid that I should often see them face to face, it is a great consolation, that I can hold converse with some of them through the medium of writ- ten communications. If you should conclude to grant my request, I hope you will be very particular in mentioning the books and subjects, that have lately engaged your attention, together with your opinion upon them. I shall be happy, if I can assist you by communicating my thoughts upon almost any subject you may desire. Framingham news is always acceptable. You cannot want matter to fill as long an epistle as you will have patience to write. But especially I should like to know your opinions, feelings, or difficul- ties upon religion. This should be the great concern of all. My present situation is perhaps, on the whole, the most agreeable that I ever enjoyed. Not to mention other cir- cumstances, it is peculiarly favorable to the acquisition of knowledge and of property. Though I can truly say, that money is not my great object, yet a library worth a thousand dollars, together with some other conveniences of a literary life, appear highly desirable, and worthy of considerable exertion to be procured, provided we can at the same time be doing good to the -world. From another letter, I extract the following : Ca?nbnd^e, Nov. 20, 1801, As we are endowed with reason, it becomes us to act as rational beings in all our conduct ; and if there be a best way in matters however trifling, invariably to adopt it. Without offering any arguments in support of my remark upon the formation of esses, I leave you to reason, conclude, and act for yourself. And here by the way I will just observe, that I have lately been struck with the importance of examining and adjusting many mat- ters which a few years ago scarcely ever came into my mind as worthy of notice. As man has been defined a IN SMALL TniNGS. 71 bundle of habits, it seems of great consequence that we should pay attention to the formation of our habits, es- pecially those which regulate some part of our conduct almost every day and every hour. Perhaps you are insen- sible, with how much more decency, and in how much better order things may be done in this way ; not to men- tion the saving of time, that might thus be effected. Upon the above principle, I always keep my handkerchief in my left pocket, hang my hat up on a particular nail, have a particular manner to lock or unlock, bar or unbar my door, etc. In a very short time such things become so habitual, that they are performed with very little thought, or interruption to the train of ideas, that may engage the mind. In this way it happens, that I am never put to the trouble and vexation of spending two or three minutes in looking for my hat, nor to unlock my door, when in haste to discharge some duty of my office. Perhaps you will smile at the mention of these things, and think me disposed "to be merry a little unseason- ably ;" but, be assured, I am in earnest, I am serious. There are three practical rules which should regulate all our actions. Every thing should be done at the best time; in the best manner; and with the greatest possible dis- patch that may be consistent with the two first rules. With regard to the best time, that is, with regard to punctuality, I could say much in its praise. Perhaps it is more highly important to our sex, than to yours. To your sex, however, it may be of more importance than you ever imagined. I leave and recommend it, as a subject, on which you may "pause and ponder" to great advantage. But how shall we proceed in order to do every thing in the best manner, with the greatest punctuality, and dis- patch ? In writing, after making one letter, shall we stop to consider the best manner of making the next? Shall we always stop to " think twice before we speak once?" Were this the case with mankind, there would be much less said, than there is now ; words would be heard at such a distance from each other, as to render the sense very difficult to be taken ; and perhaps there would be some persons, who would not speak more than once a day, if at all. In walking, shall we, after taking one step, pause and compare circumstances, and reason in order to ascer- tain the best manner of taking the next? What time would be requisite to make a garment, should you stop Tli FORMATION OF GOOD HABITS. at every stitch, and debate in your own mind upon the most proper and expeditious method of taking the next ? But these are distinct actions. Of such actions, or per- haps, strictly speaking, of those, which are much more minute and insignificant, the whole of our external con- duct is composed. So far as these actions are not per- formed in the best manner, so Air our external con- duct is imperfect. If we neglect all the parts, the whole is neglected. There is unquestionably some mode of tak- ing stitches which is better than some other mode ; and she must be the best seamstress who, other circumstan- ces being equal, takes stitches in the best manner. The same observation may apply to every manual employment. But how shall we perform these minute actions in the best manner, since it is absolutely impossible for us to reason concerning each of them distinctly 1 I answer, we must be philosophers. We must consult the faculties and capacities with which the God of nature has kindly endowed us. These as they relate to the point in view, are (Nov. Mtk, 11 l-'2 P.M.) the faculty of reasoning and the capacity of forming hab- its. We must therefore consult our reason, until by the help of a little experience, barely enough to try different ways, we ascertain the best modes of operating, and then practice these modes of operation until they become consolidated into the most inveterate habits. This, I humbly conceive, is the way to become a thinker. It will require the closest thought upon every subject, and thinking in time will become habitual. This is one of the best and rarest habits ever formed by females. The above mentioned is the way to become a practical philosopher, (much better than a mere theoretic,) a prac- tical christian, a benefactor to the world, an ornament to the human name. "Think on these things." I began this letter four days ago. Such are the duties of my station, that I am sometimes obliged to break off in the middle of letters, and even of sentences, to my dear- est friends. But it is much better to write to one's friends in this way, than not to write at all. Is it not ? I am tolerably punctual, notwithstanding. Saturday, I went to Beverly; Sunday, preached. Yesterday and to-day. I have been writing a long thanksgiving sermon, which I have just completed, James i. 17. I write just as my ideas DEPRAVITY DIFFIDENCE. 73 happen to arise. — Later than I commonly sit up. — Sleepy — Good night. Nov. 25. Have you any determinate idea of the meaning of the terms depravity, regeneration, grace ? Do you believe that we " must be born again," in order to see the king- dom of heaven. If you can get clear and just ideas of depravity, it will unlock the whole system of religion, as it respects the abovementioned subjects. The following is to Miss B. E. Cambridge, Nov. 30, 1801. The person, who cannot endure frankness, is not the correspondent, is not the friend for me. Why should pil- grims travel through the world together without mutual acquaintance? Though 1 may know some things which duty requires that I should not divulge, yet I appeal to the Searcher of hearts, whether I am not willing my soul should be known to my fellow mortals, (rather immortals.) But the coldness of reserve must chill every fibre of the feeling heart. Though I do not profess greater sensibility, than many others, yet I cannot endure reserve. With regard to diffidence, I know what it is. 1 have felt it ; I have felt severely. It is a most cruel companion. Envy itself is scarcely more tormenting. I could tell you its disadvantages. And what, you may think strange, 1 could mention its advantages. I have experienced them both. I will not now write a disquisition upon this sub- ject, but only remark, that diffidence is not, I know it is not, invincible. I would not discourage, yet I cannot forbear to remind you, that ' he that thinketh he standeth should take heed lest he fall.' Persons really religious will take delight in religion. But if you read the fifty eighth chapter of Isaiah, and the parable of the sower, not to mention other similar passages, you will be convinced, that persons may take a kind of satisfaction in meditating upon religion, who are not really religious. Many of these letters to his former pupils, are much occupied with friendly criticism on their epistles to him, and remarks adapted to the peculiar case of each indi- 7 74 MRS. STEELE. vidual. This was a great object of the correspondence. But however important in themselves, and however inter- esting these remarks might now be to such as are seeking improvement in the art of composition, we cannot make room for them here. To another, he thus writes. Cambridge, March 14, 1802. Perhaps you have given up the expectation, I will not say the -hope, of ever receiving another line from your old friend, who once rejoiced to think himself your instruc- tor; who has spent so many happy hours in attempting to unfold your faculties by leading your mind into the knowl- edge — into the love of literature and of religion. My pleasure in doing this was the greater, because I felt it was mutual. Indeed such delight have I found in teach- ing others, that I am now in doubt whether I have felt most satisfaction in acquiring knowledge myself, or in communicating it to eager minds.- And I trust through the divine blessing I have not always labored in vain — that I have not, in every instance, spent my strength for naught. Perhaps it is superfluous for me to assure you, that I always have addressed you with the feelings of an in- structor — of a friend — of a brother — of a fellow traveller to eternity. Whether I shall ever address any female with additional feelings and designs, perhaps no created being can form a rational conjecture. But I do take pleasure in writing to my friends. This morning I opened Belknap's collection of Psalms and Hymns, in order to read a little sacred poetry. As I have a great fondness for the writings of Mrs. Steele, I confined my reading principally to her hymns. I read one, and another, and another, almost every one appear- ing better than the preceding. When I had read about thirty, I shut the book with a kind of melancholy, tran- sporting admiration. Melancholy 1 — Yes, N. a melancholy transport. It seemed to be too great a luxury to enjoy alone. I most ardently wished for the presence of one or two sentimental females, with whom I might read, with whom I might admire the pious, the melting effusions of an angelic soul. In my heart I could not help exclaim- ing, " How happy must be the man, who can style him- MRS. STEELE. 75 self her husband ; if he have a particle of taste, an atom of devotion ! Alas ! it may be, that he is destitute of both. Such strange inconsistencies, such dreadful in- congruities, such heterogeneous beings are sometimes united by the bands of law. The contact, the mixture of congenial souls — of souls mutually attracting and at- tracted — is friendship — is the first ingredient of love. But when minds of different mould are forced, are fet- tered together, how strong, how dreadful the repulsion ! It may be, that this unrivalled poetess is condemned to drudge through this life with a man who is blind to the diamond of her intelligence, even when it shines with the greatest lustre — insensible to the flame of her devo- tion, though rising with the songs of angels and sister spirits to the throne of God. " What pity, that so delicate" a soul, The seat of so much piety and taste, Where virtues, more than human seem to dwell, Should for a moment, though on earth, be tied To a cold mass of apathy and vice ! Should be condemned to journey, hand in hand, Willi one who never dreampt of heavenly bliss; Nor felt, nor saw, nor thought a single charm In converse or with angels, or with God; Whose soul, incased within its narrow self, Ne'er strays beyond its bottle, or its meal. O what a loss of happiness on earth, If aught that's here below deserve the name, When hands are joined, but hearts cannot unite. To him, who sees a God in all he sees, Whose every nerve will vibrate at the touch Of beauty, offspring of the great Supreme, To him how dear, by him how highly prized The image of his God, a female soul Whose every fibre God himself has tuned To harmonize with his ! With her 'tis joy, Such joy as solitude can never yield, To sit, to smile, and silently to muse ; With her 'tis joy to read, converse, admire ; With her by moon light, or the smiling gems Of heaven, where Philomel or silence holds An unmolested reign, 'tis joy to walk To some small eminence that lifts its head Above the lake, the rill, the field, the grove, And view the beauties spread on every side, And feel the beauties that adorn her mind ! With her 'tis joy to weep, and to adore Is transport; never tasted by the world. 76 MRS. STEELE. But who can hear the music of her tongue. Her evening pean, or her morning vow, Without emotion ? Who that has one nerve Of flesh, one fibre not of adamant, But melts to hear her sing ? What then must be His joy, whose soul, allied to hers, can join The songstress, and augment the mutual joy ! Who then can guess the raptures he must feel Who in the songstress views th' accomplish'd wife - , The object of his heart, himself of hers ? His hopes, his fears, his wishes, and his prayers Are hers, and hers are his ; they mingling rise Through the great Savior to the Judge of all. April I. I will sketch to you, N., the history of this very im- perfect, inaccurate scrawl, which, had I time, I might transcribe and correct. I felt in a writing mood, seized my pen and addressed a few hasty lines to you, uncertain whether I should ever send them. When I had got about halfway down the third page, it came into my head to quote a few lines of Thompson, with such alterations as the subject required. This quotation, you perceive, ends with the fifth line. I had no thoughts of proceeding any farther when I began. But here concluding not to send the letter, I thought I would make one experiment at writing blank verse, as I had never attempted it before. I pro- ceeded, until I was tired, and threw it altogether into my table drawer, where it has remained undisturbed till to day. I send it, not that I think its intrinsic merit demands your attention, but as it may possibly afford you a few moments amusement. Again to Miss B. E. Cambridge. March 30, 1802. Yours of January 1G, is before me. Three months and a half! a long time for a letter from a female to remain unanswered. You have not seen, nor heard me preaching at Fra- mingham. You probably have not heard a syllable from me for nearly eight weeks. When I took a painful leave of your family, I did expect you would see my face again before now. Poor ignorant beings of a moment ! We know not what a day or a month will bring forth. The time of my preaching at F. seems farther distant, than it MISCELLANEOUS. 77 did, when I left you. But be assured, as soon as may be, I shall open my mouth, though not in parables, to a peo- ple with whom I have so frequently assembled to worship in the temple of God — to a people, among whom I num- ber some of my firmest, warmest, dearest friends. Should I attempt to make excuse for so long neglecting to write, I might say, that my college duties have been numerous and pressing — that I have been out of health — that since I left you, I have numbered some of the most unhappy hours, days and even weeks of my life. To-day how- ever, (April 1,) I am better, I am happy, notwithstand- ing the gloomy and frowning aspect of the weather. My spirits are so far from rising and falling with fair and foul weather, that I often feel best, when every body else is complaining of the weather. I feel best, Eliza, when I can resignedly and affectionately contemplate the glorious Author of my being. Here, here alone there is joy that is worthy of the name. In your shor*, short letter you have said something upon religion. I will just mention one of my sentiments, in which I differ from many. If I did not believe the bible, I should believe death to be an eternal sleep. What think you of that? Do express your ideas and feelings without reserve. You may write upon religion, upon books, upon literature, etc. But such need not be your only subjects. Nothing relating to the happiness of my friends in F. — of your father's family in particular, can fail of being interesting to me. Tell me how they do, what they do, what they say, etc. Let the pages of your letter be wings, by which I may fly to your fireside. Our opportunities of conversing face to face are rare. Do try to let me have the pleasure of seeming to converse with you, while I read your letters. Though I feel myself deficient in this respect, yet I wish you to do better. When you write to me, forget you were ever a member of my school. For a while, let the instruc- tor be left in the friend. Write to me as you would write to an equal friend — as you would to a brother or sister. Avoid studying your expressions too much while you are writing. They may be corrected afterwards, if neces- sary. You and your sisters are highly favored. Your father gives you time and opportunity to improve your minds, and takes peculiar satisfaction in your progress. He 7* 78 FEEBLE HEALTH. sees, he rejoices, that you are disposed to improve your privileges. Be not weary in well doing. Go on unto per- fection. Retired from the busy world, it is the duty of each to assist the rest. Enjoy with thanksgiving what the God of nature is putting into your possession. Re- joice in each other's society ; rejoice in each other's im- provement. If convenient, spend one, two, or three hours every day in reading, one to the rest. Farewell. The next is to another of the sisters composing this family circle. Cambridge, June 9, 1802. N. — You do me honor in considering my correspond- ence a privilege. If I have ever been instrumental of improving your mind, or contributing to your innocent and rational enjoyments, I desire to be thankful to Him^ who has put it in my power. I must caution you however against expecting much satisfaction or advantage from my future communications. My constitution is exceed- ingly feeble, and my health much impaired. What is to be my future portion in this life, I am ignorant. I am not very unhappy. It is matter of joy, that all things are under the direction of infinite wisdom and goodness. I hope I am prepared for any event. I have not those ties to the world, that I possibly might have by a few years continuance, and perhaps it is better for me to depart now. My mother is dead, and I should leave no con- nection more tender than a father, to cherish my memory. Think not, that I am delirious, though I thus write. I hope never to relax my exertions to do good, while I am continued in the world. I trust the contemplation of death will not tend to accelerate its progress, nor dimin- ish either my happiness or usefulness. Does it not be- come us, as rational, accountable, dying creatures, oc- casionally to lift the veil of time, and look into the other world ? Our fathers, where are they ; and the prophet?, do they live forever 1 I long to see my friends at F. I hope your next will not be shorter. Farewell. To his Father. Cambridge, Aug. IS, 1802. My last visit at Holies was uncommonly agreeable to myself, and, I trust, greatly contributed to confirm my TOUR TO GRANVILLE. 79 health. Since my return to Cambridge, I have been able to pursue my studies, and attend to college duties, with no small satisfaction. Last Sabbath I preached at Lynn, in the parish of Mr. Roby, whose age and infirmities seem to have terminated his ministerial labors. 1 have engaged to supply them three Sabbaths more ; the last of which will be in the vacation. Afterwards, it is my determin- ation to visit Providence, New-Haven, Conway, Granville, etc. I hope my friends at Holies will write to sister Hall, and send the letters to me at commencement time. I shall have time to stay but a few days at Granville ; and shall return by the way of Holies, and stay a night or two if possible. Mr. Hill brings good tidings. I began to fear that God was about to cease from his mighty and marvellous works among you. The friends of religion have reason to re- joice that, in so many places in our land, there is evidence that the Lord still remembereth his Zion. Your dutiful and affectionate son, Joseph Emerson. Again, to Miss N. E. Cambridge, Nov. 16, 1802. What shall I say to you, N. 1 Why, by want of some- thing more instructive and agreeable, I will say that I am sick ; yet not sick of living, not sick of my profession or office, not sick of my friends ; much less am I sick of re- ceiving and perusing your letters ; nor indeed am I very sick of any thing. I am still able to perform college duties with a considerable degree of satisfaction, though in some measure afflicted with a cold and cough. Nov. 22. — My indisposition increasing, compelled me to suspend the " delightful task," before I had completed a single page. I am far from being well at present. I was so unwell yesterday, that it is uncertain whether I should have attended public worship, unless I had been under obligations to preach ; but I was probably less in- jured by preaching than I should have been by merely hearing. I am gratified with your frankness upon religion. If I rightly understand your letter, you seem to entertain some hope that you are a child of God, in the highest sense of 80 TO MISS N. EATON. the phrase. I will not venture to encourage you in your hope ; neither will I damp your feelings by saying that I think your hope unfounded. You will, however, excuse, and, if you please, answer one query. If you entertain a prevailing hope that you belong to the invisible family of Christ on earth, what has hindered you from publicly naming his name, and uniting with his visible church ? From the many examples you have had of my long let- ters, you must suppose that it is with reluctance that I bid you farewell. Joseph Emerson. The next brief extract is from a communication to the same friend, delivered a week or two after it was written, by his own hand, (as will soon appear,) and in connection with an additional letter on the same subject. Cambridge, Dec. 8, 1802. Dear N. — This letter begins our correspondence on a new foundation; or closes it — perhaps forever. I address you in a new style, with new motives, and upon a new subject : yet, N , a subject to me in reality new. Here I think it best abruptly to stop, in respect to this portion of his communications, though sufficiently fraught with historic matter. Should any one be at a loss as to the general import and object of these letters, thus sup- pressed, his doubt will be removed by the following equally brief extract from the reply of Miss E. ***** " Had not these letters been presented by your own hand, T should nlmost have supposed them counter- feit. But I now believe these lines to be the traces of your pen, and must think them the language of your heart; for 1 have ever considered my faithful instructor to be as perfectly sincere as it is possible a mortal can be." ***** But enough. Whatever an idle curiosity might demand, here is not the place to gratify such a curiosity : nor do I, on the whole, think it the place to exhibit an example of such a correspondence, conducted on strictly christian principles, nil with the most pure, and rational, and.ele- vated views and aims. I shall, therefore, confine my ex- HIS PREACHING. 81 tracts from this correspondence, to the occasional notices it may contain of facts and feelings on other topics. Suf- fice it here to say, that this correspondence continued without interruption, and with an ardent and increasing attachment, till Miss Nancy Eaton, of Framingham, be- came his wife, as will be noted in its place. While acting as tutor, he also preached in different places in the vicinity of Cambridge. On one of these oc- casions, he writes as follows : Stoneham, Dec. 28, 1802. I am just returned from preaching to an audience, nu- merous for so small a town, and solemn for such a world of levity. My subject was, I pray thee have me excused ; and doctrine, sinners arc unwilling to be saved. This I attempted to confirm by considering, 1. what God has said upon the subject ; 2. the conduct of mankind in for- mer ages ; and 3. the conduct of sinners at the present day. This concluded the forenoon's sermon, in delivering which I felt uncommonly dull, and, I believe, spoke with little animation. This afternoon, as is frequently the case Sabbath afternoons, I have felt more vigorous, and preach- ed with more satisfaction, at least to myself. Yet I have reason to be deeply humbled, that I am no more moved by the solemn truths which I preach. My afternoon's ser- mon was nothing but recapitulation and improvement. One principal object was, to confirm and defend the doc- trine of election. Surely, if this doctrine be false, no flesh can be. saved. Part of my object in this extract, is to show the manner in which the young preachers of the same school, then generally constructed their discourses, preaching both parts of the day from the same text, with the discussion of its doctrine in the first sermon, and " the improvement " in the last — according to the manner of their teacher, Dr. E., whom they generally revered, at least as much as any mere man deserves. Lynn is one of the places where he preached for a num- ber of Sabbaths, and where he probably resided during the winter vacation. From that place, he writes as fo!» lows • 82 DEATH OF RELATIVES. Lynn, Jan. 7, 1803. This morning, about sunrise, " I woke, emerging from a sea of dreams Tumultuous, where my wrecked, desponding thought, From wave to wave of fancied misery, At random drove." " Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud." I have lately received the solemn intelligence that four of my relations are dead ! A grandmother, an uncle, and two cousins, one cousin instantaneously by a fall. They are gone, and I must transfer the affection I felt for them to heaven. My acquaintance was much greater with my grandmother than with any of the others. She was the nurse, the consoler, the instructress, and the joy of my tender years. How often and how eagerly have 1 listened to the anecdotes of wisdom and the lessons of piety that flowed from her tender, aged, I had almost said, more than maternal lips. A few months ago, I read her a sermon, with which, although she could not hear the whole, she appeared considerably gratified. That interview 1 expect- ed would prove, as it has proved, the last on earth. Dis- incumbered spirit, whither, ah ! whither was thy devious flight ? Was it not upward 1 Was not thy course the path of smiling angels? If thou art not in Abraham's bosom, what child of corruption can ever hope to rise ? At the close of the last year, I determined to devote more time to searching the scriptures. I have reason to blush that I have no more knowledge of the sacred oracles of truth ; and reason for still deeper abasement that I have practiced so little according to what I have known. Cease not to pray for me that my faith fail not. A little previous to this period, he commenced a journal of his reading, preaching, duties in the college, etc., which I find written in the style of letters, and designed for the inspection of at least one of his friends. From that journal I have made the last two extracts, and shall make more : though it is not my intention to extract much re- specting his religious feelings, from this source, as I very much doubt the accuracy of moral portraits derived from such sources, however honest may be the authors of such religious journals, and however profitable they may be to HIS JOURNAL. SO the writers. They are doubtless chiefly written in their best and their worst hours ; and thus leave the more even tenor of life comparatively unnoticed. This journal, with some intervals, embraces a period of about eight months. If he kept a journal at any other period, he probably destroyed it before his death. As it respects his religious feelings, he indeed says much less than is commonly found in such productions ; and in one place he remarks, that he had felt a great repugnance to committing them to writing. This is in accordance with his general back- wardness to speak of his religious experience in conversa- tion, though always ready to contribute his mental experi- ence to the stock of facts for inductive philosophy on men- tal science. It seems needless for me to remark on the successive developements of his mind and heart, as I suppose these are sufficiently manifest in the liberal extracts afforded from his own productions. It may, however, be proper to say, that ample evidence is afforded, from the record of his reading and studies, that he applied himself, during the few months of this record, with great diligence. For much of the time, he literally studied by the hour and the minute, having his watch before him, and recording his progress. He complains occasionally of " nervous affec- tions ;" and well he may ; for surely it is enough to make a well man nervous, to be in the habit of studying till mid- night ; much more, such an invalid as he, though he should often lie in bed till eight in the morning, in the winter season, as some poor compensation to nature for breaking nature's laws. As to studying by the hour, perhaps it was his custom through life ; for I remarked, even in his last year, when spending some time with me, that when he sat down to study, he always hung his watch before him, on a pin which he inserted in the wainscot. At this time, and subsequently, he cultivated vocal and instrumental music with ardor and considerable success. The flute and bass viol were his favorite instruments. No one, at all acquainted with my brother, can have failed to remark his love for the bible, and his familiarity with its contents, both historical and doctrinal. Indeed, to study and to teach the bible, seems to have been the commanding object of his life, from about the period of which I am now treating. If his biography is to be of any 84 TASSION FOR THE BIBLE. use, probably one of the most important items of benefit will be that of his example in this particular. On his dy- incr bed, he remarked, that there were a few points in his life which he regarded as particularly prominent ; and this was one of those points. It becomes, then, a question of special interest at this stage in his progress, How came he to acquire such a passion, (for it was nothing less than a passion,) for the study of the sacred pages? To say that he believed and most highly prizt d every word on those pages, is saying no more than what may be said of multitudes. I doubt, however, whether any large portion of even good men have been found steadily to place such an implicit confidence in the Divine Word for the decision of all questions within its scope. It is also' worthy of remark, that this implicit confidence appeared, if possi- ble, to increase with his progress in sacred knowledge. How many thousand questions, great and small, have I known him very expeditiously to decide by some scripture fact or precept, where other men might scarcely think of recurring to that grand source of arbitration, either for want of knowledge or of confidence in its decisions for such matters. But the question recurs, in nearly the same form, When and how did he become possessed of this spirit and this knowledge ? In answer to the question, I must say, that I meet with no special traces of either of these, before the resolution, mentioned above, as taken at the commence- ment of this year ; unless, indeed, his love for truth is to be regarded in this light. For myself, I think something is to be attributed to this native turn of mind, and its con- comitant estimate of solid grounds of evidence. Such a mind may well be expected to give an attentive ear to the word of God, when once practically convinced that God has indeed spoken to the children of men. Still, I am disposed to attribute very much to the resolution just speci- fied. Happy was the hour in which he made it, and blessed the new year on which he began the practice. Very gracious to him, and to all who have been swayed by his instructions, was the kind Providence that enabled him so strictly to adhere to this fundamental principle in the acquisition of all real knowledge in man's highest concerns. If I may now trust that the readers of this book will not be disposed to complain of large extracts on this subject, PLAN OF BIBLICAL STUDY. 85 such extracts shall be forthcoming. It was not a single resolution that he took, to be followed by no plan, and, of course, by no execution. We shall find enough, both of resolutions and plans ; and if brought to realize what such plans and resolutions led him to achieve, we may be prompted to the like attempts. Lynn, Jan. 20, 1803. What an amazing task has your friend undertaken ! Yet I am animated with the thought, that it will prove as -delightful as it is great. Yet its greatness is almost enough to overwhelm one whose memory is so feeble, whose constitution is so infirm. Is it not presumption for me to think of ever reading the bible through in the man- ner I have proposed ? For I have determined to read it in the following manner, viz. : — to take a small portion at a time, in general about a chapter, to read it over with great attention ; to set down in my common-place book, in its proper place, every text that appears to contain, to prove, or to corroborate any important doctrine ; to com- mit to memory the most interesting and important parts of scripture, verbatim, and to treasure up every historical or biographical fact, of any importance to be remembered ; to note down all the passages of whose meaning I may feel doubtful, and to consult Brown's Dictionary upon whatever I may hope for assistance ; to note down for fu- ture consideration, all the important queries that may arise ; to transcribe all the passages and expressions that may appear proper to be used in prayer ; to transcribe all the texts that may strike me as good subjects for sermons, and to write down the outlines of the plans, and any important ideas that may occur under the several texts ; and, finally, to write down a sketch of every important observation that may occur. Amid my various avocations, can I ever accomplish such a plan as this ? Yet, notwith- standing every obstacle that I have been able to think of, my courage is high ; I feel a kind of enthusiasm upon the subject. The plan is my own, as much as any such thing can be mine. By the divine blessing, I have formed it, without the assistance of any creature. I have spent many hours in thinking and in making arrangements upon the subject. I have found that I can study to much more advantage, and with greater pleasure, according to 8 86 FORMATION OF PLANS. plans of my own, than those of others. However arrogant my opinion may seem, yet it is my opinion, that I shall never apply to a Locke or to a Newton to concert plans of study for me. I have already suffered sufficiently from such servility. I have thought that no person can be a thorough and accomplished scholar, without forming plans to direct his own operations. I have thought that whoever would be great, whoever would be wise, whoever would be learned, must feel, in a certain degree, independent of creatures ; that, looking to God for assistance, he must, in a certain sense, build his hopes upon the powers and fac- ulties that the Almighty has graciously given him. Yet others may greatly assist him in forming his plans. He, however, must be the master workman. Then the edifice will be his own, though he use timber procured and even hewn by others. Upon all the materials, he must exercise his own judgment, and determine for himself whether he choose this or reject that. If he do not, his building, though composed of materials in their own nature excel- lent, will be a mixture of incongruities, a mere chaos. But to return to my subject. I have formed many plans for the acquisition of knowledge. I have found it a very pleasing and perhaps profitable employment. But of all my plans for this purpose, I consider the one I have lately formed for reading the bible, as by far the best, in almost ■every point of view. What constitutes the greatest excel- lency of this plan, is, that it is for an immediate study of the good word. However strange it may seem, I have never before had a plan, that deserved the name of apian, for reading the bible. And hence it has come to pass, with shame I confess it, that I am grossly ignorant of many parts of the holy volume. What ! a professed preacher of the gospel, and yet not familiarly acquainted with the grand commission which God has given to his ambassadors ! Hear it not, ye stars ! But I hope and trust that God will give me strength, and opportunity, and inclination, to dissipate some of these clouds of ignorance, these clouds of more than Egyptian — of mental darkness, darkness that is most severely felt. O thou Father of lights, thou author of every gift, may my understanding be opened to understand thy scriptures, may my memory be strengthened to retain the precious, precious things which are left on record for the instruction, the reproof, and edi- PLANS, ETC. 87 fication of thy sinful offspring ; and may my heart be opened, that I may respect and practice all thy commands. that I might be instrumental of making men to know thy gospel and to obey thy law, to the salvation of their souls ! I need to add no comment on the above. I will only say, that while the subject of this extract is of the deepest importance, the whole extract is very characteristic of my brother's mind through life, especially as regards the work of planning, which was indeed no small part of his whole work. He was always planning, and helping and teach- ing others to plan. System, and the best possible system, in things great and small, was the object of his unceasing aspirations. Had he lived to the age of an antediluvian, he would not have ceased to device schemes and facilities for usefulness. His ardor of mind, joined with originality of thought and power of invention, fitted him for the work, and gave him a delight in anticipating the good he hoped from such inventions, which few can appreciate, without the like experience. As it regards the religious condition of the college, I find the following remark, in his notice of a short tour in the vacation. In passing through Cambridge, he says, " I called upon Dr. Tappan, and conversed nearly an hour upon the religious state, or rather the irreligious state of our college." And had that same Dr. Tappan then also known the doctrines that were soon to be taught from the chair of his sacred professorship, how much sadder must have been such a conference. Under date of January 30, 1803, he says: — " I am now determined to make the holy word my great study, and to read neither newspapers, nor scarcely any thing else, till 1 shall have finished the sacred volume according to my plan. The task is very great. But God may give me health and industry to accomplish it. I have not done with the two first chapters of Genesis, for I have not quite committed them to memory. I hope to finish by com- mencement." It was thus that he laid aside every weight, and ad- dressed himself to the great work of learning the bible. It must not, however, be supposed, that he designed to 88 PLANS, ETC. commit the whole bible to memory, as is manifest from his plan before given. In the early part of February, he returned to the college. The following extract may show the sanctified philosophy that then ruled his heart. " I saw Mr. , a few min- utes, who is two or three years younger than myself. If you knew him, you might be justified at least in thinking of an " angel." 1 feel, and I know, and I rejoice, that he is my superior, greatly my superior, in almost every thing. Though I feel weak, compared with many of my acquaint- ances, I do not envy them. Surely the world, lying so deep in wickedness, seems to need more good and great men than we see." True enough, a dying world does need them : and this thought is the very balm of heaven to that gangrene of the soul, an envious disposition. He returned to his college duties with invigorated health and resolution, though still in such a state that his physi- cian recommended to him the experiment of omitting his breakfasts. The following he placed before himself as distinct objects of pursuit for the term on which he was entering : " Self-knowledge, Plans, Biography , Astronomy , Algebra, and the Bible. These six," he remarks, " I must bear in mind from day to day. Other things, and indeed some other studies, must have some attention." Some of these studies required his attention as instructor of the senior class in college. His conscience seemed always alive to the duties he owed to his pupils; nor could he think of excusing himself from the most faithful performance of these duties, even for the purpose of accomplishing his darling plan for the study of the bible. Let us hear him on these and kindred topics, in a passage under date of February 22, 1803. "Have you not, before this time, inquired within your- self, What has become of the plan for studying the scrip- tures? Though, for a while, 1 have neglected its execu- tion, I have by no means forgotten my plan. I have been encumbered with many things. I am convinced that it is not my duty to pursue it according to my first intention, viz. to the exclusion of almost every other study. I am placed at the university to instruct others, and am hand- somely rewarded. Can I think of receiving a reward for doing nothing 1 No ! I must devote most of my time to DIDACTICS. 89 the benefit of the students ; that is, in instructing them, or in preparing materials to instruct them, in the best manner. The branches that I teach, therefore, and not the bible, must be my great study. In order to render the pupils' progress the most pleasing and rapid, it is not enough that the instructor understand the exercises which he assigns. He must consult other books ; he must think ; he must dive into the subject ; he must compare. He must be able to raise questions upon the subject, which will lead to the application of general principles. He must be able to illustrate, and elucidate, and tell the ichys and the wherefores. This will render his exercises inter- esting and instructive to every mind that has the least taste for science. But this requires labor: though it is a labor that yields its own reward — a reward above the price of rubies." From this, my brother proceeds to speak of his reading Euler's Philosophical Letters, and also of the value of conversation on the branches he was teaching, as a pre- parative for the discharge of his duties. He then adds : " Though mathematics and philosophy claim my principal attention, yet I hope not to neglect the bible entirely. I hope and believe I shall devote a much greater proportion to the sacred study, than 1 have done for the two years past." Under date of February 26, 1S03, he remarks, in a manner sufficiently characteristic, — " About ten minutes ago, I conceived the intention of writing a book upon education, for the public, and hope to finish it within twenty-five or thirty years." Alas ! how little did this dear brother then think, that he had here specified the very period that was to terminate all his earthly labors. And how little did he think, that this book was to be writ- ten, not on paper, but, what is far better, on the living tablets of a thousand minds, committed to his forming hand in the work of education, and now spread through our community to teach it. It may here be recollected that he had before resolved to write a treatise on education, but not " a booh for the public." Early in March, he began to preach in Beverly, in the parish where he was afterwards settled. His first engage- ment was for six Weeks, at the end of which he was already pledged to go for a while to Windsor, Vt. Just 8* 90 PROJECTS, RESOLUTIONS, previous to this, he had been supplying a pulpit in Read- ing. The following is part of the notice he gives of a ride from Beverly to Cambridge, this month. — " 1 had a most delightful ride. The atmosphere never appeared more pure. For a considerable part of the way, I had a prospect of the sea, thickly interspersed with islands, and adorned with ships. More than once did I leave my horse, and climb the craggy rock, to enjoy the scene. But I shall not attempt to describe my emotions at viewing the mighty ocean, of which, in some directions, I had an un- interrupted prospect to the utmost of my ken." But there is no room in this memoir for extended descriptions of scenery. Suffice it to say, that while the rational and im- mortal soul was studied and admired by my brother, as the chief work, yet he was by no means blind to the other works of the divine hand. The earth, " the great and wide sea," the sublime wonders of astronomy, and the curious workmanship of the human frame, were themes on which he often dwelt with rapture. Here is the proper place for inserting what I find grouped together under the following date and designation. Cambridge, March 1, 1803. PROJECTS, RESOLUTIONS, AND EXPECTATIONS. Am I, then, the most unsteady of mortals ? How many " resolutions" have I formed, never to be executed ; how many " projects " have I concerted and relinquished ; how- many of my expectations have been cut off, in conse- quence of being lbunded upon vain imaginations! And shall [ add to my mountain of fruitless resolutions, aban- doned projects, and foolish expectations? Yes, 1 shall doubtless augment their enormous bulk. And shall I then continue to be a " wave driven about and tossed ?" Though I should be driven about by the storms of life, and the many winds of opinion, that are so often and so furiously striving together, I hope I shall ever press to- ward the great, the eternal center of my affections and hopes. But as long as I act like a rational being, J shall doubtless continue to form plans for improvement ; and, , as long as I continue to improve, I may deem it expedient to alter these plans, or to exchange them for better. If AND EXPECTATIONS. 91 any one exercise has tended to improve my mind above all others, perhaps it has been forming and improving plans. I trust it has not been in vain, that I have built so many castles in the air, to be blown away by the breath of experience. I cannot, therefore, think of laying aside a practice, at once so entertaining, so immediately benefi- cial, so promising of future advantage, as that of inquiring, and of concerting plans, in order to employ my talents more beneficially to the world, and to spend my time more ac- ceptably to my God. And not only would I form plans for the regulation of my own conduct, but with great def- erence, where there may be a prospect of doing good, I would propose them to others, especially to young persons, whose confidence I may possess. " All men are about to live," says Young ; " forever on the brink of being born." I have spent more than twenty- five years in the world : and much of this time has been taken up in trying, and trying, and trying, to study. Do not think me jesting; it is the real language of my heart. Sometimes I have thought, I had almost begun, or that I should soon begin, to study in earnest. Sometimes I have ventured to cherish the belief, that I had really made some progress in knowledge ; at others, 1 have almost given up in despair the thought of ever knowing any thing. Perhaps most of my acquaintances, except yourself, might think me disposed to trifle, and to be merry unseasonably, in making such declarations. I do not deny that I think myself possessed of something that the world calls knowl- edge : though by no means so much as many imagine. But I have had no education. I have been laboring to great disadvantage. Though I have read a considerable number and variety of books, and thought as much as most persons of my age, yet I hardly dare so much to flat- ter myself, as to imagine that my acquisitions deserve the name of science. Imagine to yourself a heap of stuff, consisting of timber partly hewn, and partly rough ; broken shingles, with here and there a whole one ; rusty, crooked, broken nails, with some a little better, etc. Should you call such a mass of matter, a house ? If I have any thing that looks like knowledge, it is nothing more than broken fragments of science. It is the prerogative of rational beings, to bring order out of confusion. But if the confusion be great, the most 92 PROJECTS, RESOLUTIONS, intense cogitation is necessary to bring forth order. Hence it is evident, that whoever has not had a good education, must apply himself closely to form a plan lor himself, and must form a good plan and pursue it; or he ought never to think of being a man of science. Impressed with sentiments like these, I have, within a few years, spent much time in planning. And 1 trust my exertions have not been fruitless. I have succeeded be- yond my expectations in forming and executing plans for reducing all my actions to the principles of christian phi- losophy ; in arranging my books, papers, furniture, etc. Much time has been saved in this way, and some perplex- ity has been avoided. But much still remains to be done. My things are not arranged to my mind. Many plans have I formed for studying. But none of them suits, ex- cepting one for reading the scriptures, which I hope to improve. But I must also read the book of nature. It is written by the same almighty finger, as the pure word of prophecy. And so difficult must it be to form a plan to read this to advantage, that the very thought of it seems almost enough to make one shrink back in despair. The success and the pleasure I have had in making plans, however, tend to raise my courage ; and I trust the many abortive plans I have formed, have made me in some de- gree an adept in the business. To concert, try, and reject schemes, must throw light upon the subject. Perhaps, indeed, none of my schemes will ultimately prove alto- gether abortive. From every plan I may collect some part that will prove useful in my great plan, should I succeed in forming one. I feel that it is a subject claiming my attention more and more. My design is to record my most important plans and resolutions, that I may use them in forming other plans, as occasion may require : that I may be better able to study the powers and progress of my own mind ; that I may mature the plans, as far as pos- sible, at the time. Writing has a tendency to make us think closely upon any subject ; and perhaps the best method of studying a subject, when we have sufficient materials to work with, is to sit down and write upon it. The formation of a plan to study nature to the greatest advantage, must be extremely arduous. I have only at- tempted to lay one or two of the corner stones. One is, to attend principally to the works of nature's most highly fa- EXPECTATIONS AND CHARACTERISTICS. 93 vored sons, as Homer, Shakespeare, Milton, Locke, New- ton, etc. Another is, to study with reference to the trea- tise on education, which I have determined to write. The plan that I have formed, in order to enable me to form a plan, is, to complete the reading of Stewart's Elements, to read Locke's Essay, and likewise his treatise on the con- duct of the understanding ; and also Newton's Principles of Natural Philosophy, which, a few days ago, I was hap- py to purchase translated into English. The last work I may not finish under a year or two. I can hardly think of it without trembling. But I intend to begin it as soon as I have spent a day or two in preparatory reading in Fenn's Physical World, and in the Encyclopedia, articles Newtonian Philosophy, Physics, Experimental Philosophy, and Dynamics. I have had thoughts of reading philoso- phy and metaphysics, each a day at a time. But it is un- certain how I shall like this method. It is likewise my intention to pay more attention to instructing the scholars and to observe their capacities and progress, with more attention than I have hitherto done. Within a few months, I hope to form a plan that shall enable me to study with four times as much advantage as I now study ; that is, with twice the regularity and twice the rapidity. March '2. — This you will call enthusiasm. So be it. I hope it is not a dangerous enthusiasm. Surely I can read and think to more advantage than I could last term. We see some men with much more information and under- standing than others. This is not so much owing to the difference of their mental powers, as to their different modes of application, and different degrees of persever- ance. If you think me possessed of superior powers of mind, you are certainly deceived. You will find few ex- amples of memories so weak as mine. My apprehension is by no means quick. If, in any instances, it may seem quick, it has arisen from attention to the subject, as a mechanic has a quick apprehension of every thing relating to his trade, and, in those things he is accustomed to make, can more readily discover a defect or a beauty, than the most eagle-eyed philosopher unacquainted with the business. Curiosity, the object of ten thousand curses among men, is the only mental property in which I would dare claim superiority. In the hand of God, this has been the instrument of arousing my attention, of stimulating my 94 PROJECTS, ETC. other faculties, of exciting my inquiries, of urging me on to exertions, sometimes, perhaps, beyond my strength. Yet I desire to bless God that, notwithstanding my appli- cation, and all that persons have said or thought about my endangering my health by hard study, my constitution appears to be growing better from year to year. In curi- osity, have originated all my plans. If I rise in knowledge and respectability, it will not, it cannot be from the strength of my faculties, but their judicious use and appli- cation. In this way I have already risen, and risen much too high, in the view of the world. I often think it im- possible for me long to possess the station of exc< Hence which my friends seem disposed to assign me. Yet I hope not to abuse their too great confidence in my attainments, though it may be impossible for me to avoid disappointing their expectations. Though I trust I am not unduly elated by the opinion of others, yet I determine to exert myself to deserve their esteem and affections. Do not misunderstand me. God forbid that I should bow the knee to the Baal of popularity. But the well-grounded approbation and applause of the wise and good, is surely desirable. A good name is better than precious ointment. If, by exerting myself to serve my God and his creatures ; if, by living the life of a christian philosopher, 1 can acquire a good name, a good name I am determined to have. If not, I will patiently and cheerfully wait till the great day of decision. March 3. — Design to sing with S , for mutual im- provement — to improve my own taste, and to acquire such a knowledge of music, as may render me useful in my pro- fession, as it relates to that part of devotion, and also to improve my voice for speaking ; also to assist my private devotions. Made a little book to be always kept with care. For keeping it with me, I have two reasons. 1. To take down whatever may be peculiarly worthy to be re- membered. 2. To review it whenever I may have leisure. From this plan, I have high expectations. It may enable me to save many important things from being forgotten ; and likewise to redeem many moments of time that other- wise might be worse than lost. It may likewise excite my attention, wherever I am, and in whatever I am doing, to inquire, " What important fact or circumstance can I here find worthy to be remembered ? What good fruit can CHIROGRAPIIY. 95 I reap here ?" Beside all the time redeemed, and all the knowledge gained, I expect the execution of this plan will tend greatly to improve the understanding, and to sharpen metaphysical acumen. This plan is not entirely new. I have thought of something like it before ; but have done scarcely any thing towards the execution. Resolved, as I have often resolved before, to be more attentive to my chirography. 1. To make every letter so that it may be known sep- arately. 2. To place my letters a little more uprightly. 3. To place them nearer together, that they may not take up so much room. 4. To make the principal lines, which are designed for straight lines, more nearly straight, and more nearly parallel. 5. To endeavor to write more evenly, that is, to make all the minor lines, such as those in ut, n, a, w, u 9 etc., of the same length ; all the middle lines, as t, of the same length ; and likewise the major lines, as Z, h, k, bj, y, etc., of the same length ; the double major, as f, of the same length ; and the composite, as p, of the same length ; to reduce them all to a geometrical ratio, or, in other words, to endeavor to ascertain the best geometrical ratio, and make them according to that ratio. 6. To press the pen with my fingers more lightly, and the pen more lightly upon the paper. 7. To practice making straight marks, parts of letters, whole letters separately and joined, and to make Roman characters, etc., after the best models, and according to the best of my own judgment. S. To practice flourishing, and the like. 9. To apply to Mr. J , and others, for information upon the subject. The execution of this plan, for only a few months, I think must increase my acquaintance with the principles of geometry, and, at the same time, greatly improve my hand writing. Though at first I may not be able to write nearly so fast, and though my writing may not be so good, yet, confident 1 am, that a few years perseverance in the execution of this plan, cannot fail, under the smiles of heaven, to make me a very good, and a very rapid writer. 96 RESOLUTIONS. March 17. — I have this week been reaping the reward of my folly ; therefore, 1. Resolved, to be in bed within five minutes of twelve, unless something extraordinary forbid. 2. Resolved, to eat no more melted butter within three months, and very little fat of any kind. 3. Resolved, to avoid riding in the dark as much as possible. 4. Resolved to be more methodical and industrious in study ; and for this purpose, to spend some time in the morning to lay out the business of the day ; to write down the decision in my journal, and then exert myself to per- form the task voluntarily imposed. 5. Resolved to go to Boston very rarely ; to visit very little ; to apply constantly to my studies, except when called away by imperious duty. 6. Resolved, to be more economical, not only of time but of money. I am in danger of poverty ; and though I would not be rich, yet I wish for such a measure of this world's goods as to preclude the necessity of labor or anxiety for my daily bread. 7. Resolved, to ascertain, as nearly as possible, my pro- perty ; and to keep an exact account of every expendi- ture exceeding five cents : and bring my curiosity for purchasing under the dominion of reason ; and not to buy any thing until I have coolly reflected and concluded that it is duty. To mention no other advantage of executing resolution seventh, it will be a good exercise in arithmetic, which I have too much neglected and in which I am apt to make mistakes ; and, I hope, it will not make me avaricious nor stingy. 8. Resolved, to pay all my debts, as soon as possible ; and to avoid, as far as may be, owing any man money. March 28. — Resolved, to spend an hour every day in reading the bible, and writing remarks, etc. — not, how- ever, according to the plan concerted about ten weeks ago. For though that is unquestionably a good plan, yet I have deemed it expedient to defer studying the scriptures upon that plan until I leave college. Seven hours in a week, I think, is as much time as I now ought to devote immedi- VARIATIONS IN FEELING. 97 ately to the sublime and sacred study. My privilege of books here is the principal reason of deferring the ecution of the above-mentioned scheme. 2. Resolved to pay attention to history more than I have don?. In scarcely any branch of knowledge am I so shamefully ignorant as in history. March -VJ. — Most solemnly resolved to take more heed to my ways and more cautiously to beware of beginnings and to shun the appearance ot evil. March 30. — Resolved, to write the biography of the principal men in scripture. To what extent he continued this little book of resolu- tions, I am unable to decide, as I find it only in fragments, and none beyond the date just specified. As to his desire of human approbation, if we take my brother's language in the simple and obvious sense in which he was always accustomed to speak", no one can deny the correctness of his principle, without denying the bible, and doing vio- lence to the dictates of the best regulated minds. At the same time, it is true, that similar language is sometimes used in justification of ambitious and ungodly motives: but it comes from men of a far different stamp. We can hardly expect those who regard the praise of men more than that of God, to call this unhallowed preference by its proper name. Perhaps I ought to draw more from his memoranda and from his letters, respecting his health and spirits, both of which varied in hirn, as in other mortals of delicate tex- ture in body and mind. The reader must here, however. be contented with barely a specimen of the extremes. April 8, 1803. — Morning as beautiful as perhaps any other since God commanded the light to spring out of darkness: and I perhaps nearly as healthy and happy as at any time since I first drew the breath of life. The gentle^zephyrs waft upon their wing. Fransr'nt with ten thousand ecstaeies, the spring. Surelv the sun looked ne'er so bright before ; Socfa \errlure smiled not in the days of yore. While all inanimate below the sky Are hymning anthems to the Lord on high, O may this heart in harmony reply. 9 98 WINDSOR. CALL TO BEVERLY. A letter, written a few days later, presents the other side of the picture. ■April 21, 1803.— The weather is chilly. The sun is sinking behind the clouds. My soul is sorrowful. I have been more unwell this afternoon than for several months before. It is with some difficulty that I can speak ; though I have found less difficulty in performing chapel duties than I had feared. My throat is a little sore. I hope sickness will not prevent my going to Windsor. Most of the time my existence this week has been but a few de- grees above vegetation. But God forbid that I should complain. I trust the sun of righteousness will soon dis- perse the clouds that shade my soul. During'the college vacation in May, he fulfilled his en- gagement at Windsor, Vt., where he preached on three Sabbaths to good acceptance. During this period, he made an excursion to Hanover, and visited Dartmouth college. In his letters, I have before me a sufficiently minute and glowing account of these journeys, and of his preaching, and his very agreeable residence at Windsor : but as I know of nothing very important connected with this portion of his history, I must not occupy that space with the record, which is needed for other matter. On his return to Cambridge, he thus writes to a friend, under date of June 10, 1803: I have determined to leave college immediately after next commencement. It is possible Beverly may be the field of my future labors in the ministry. From the third parish in that place, where I have lately been preaching, I have received a call, without a single dissenting voice among church or people. They expect an affirmative answer. Though I have not given them much encour- agement, it is probable I shall comply witli their wishes, unless duty should seem to call me to Windsor. I have received no request, however, except from a few individu- als, to return to Windsor, and it is uncertain whether I shall. In a few weeks, this point will probably be de- cided. I find frequent notices of his efforts to improve himself in music, both vocal and instrumental. The delight and MUSIC. INDEPENDENT THINKING. 99 edification he derived from this angelic art, led him often to urge his friends to attempt the like acquisition. The following is a specimen of his exhortations on this subject, in a letter about this time. "It is not many years since it was with great difficulty that I could take a sound, and did not certainly know whether I had the right sound or not. Though I cannot expect ever to perform well, yet, for all the gold of Ophir, I would not sell the small degree that I have attained in this heavenly art. I suppose some persons have told you that you could not learn to sing. Be not dis- couraged at that. Such stories were told me ; but I now rejoice, that I disbelieved them. If you succeed in learn- ing music, you may expect to reap other advantages be- side the raptures of devotion, and the gratification of your friends. 1 prize my knowledge of music, at least as highly as my knowledge of natural philosophy. " The following will show his views on the importance of independent thinking, and the means of attaining so desirable a habit. They may be useful to the young reader. " It is thinking, thinking intensely, that nerves the mind, that makes the scholar. Without close thinking, the reading and conversation of years, will only tend to damp and smother the flame of intelligence. And what is the best method to learn to think? Is it not frequently and carefully writing upen interesting and important subjects? From this method, experience assures me that I have de- rived considerable advantage. 1 believe you may do like- wise. The task 1 am about to recommend, you may at first find tedious. Practice, I hope, will render it pleas- ing. It may seem more difficult to you than it really is. We cannot certainly tell, before trying, what we are able to accomplish. Scarcely any thing has surprised me more than my own success in many instances, where I began with a tearfulness approaching despondency. Perhaps my lot has, in this respect, been peculiar. But in most things that I have attempted, success has greatly surpassed pre- vious expectation. It is this which gives me confidence in my own abilities, which I could by no means feel from the mere contemplation of my mind." 100 BAXTER. Here he subjoins no less than thirty-seven questions, mostly on topics contained in the bible, on which he re- quested his friend to write. Nothing was more common for him than to suggest such questions. Through the whole of his subsequent life, he was in the very frequent habit of proposing to himself and others, definite questions of thought on important subjects. So, too, when sitting in his study, nothing was more common than to see hirn lay aside his book, or his manuscript, and write some question for future thought, in a little book or loose piece of paper. Such scraps, filled with questions, were always on his table. Hence the facility he acquired in devising and proposing questions on the bible, etc., in the instruc- tion of his school, and in the construction of his catechet- ical works. Hence, too, the definiteness and precision of his knowledge and his views on a great range of topics, where most men, of equal powers, have only vague con- ceptions, or half-formed opinions. His reasons, also, for the opinions he thus formed, were always at hand. About this time, he purchased the works of Baxter, whom he ever continued to admire and to commend from the pulpit, as well as in private. Thus he expresses him* self on this acquisition : Cambridge, July 9, 1803. Did you ever hear of the great Richard Baxter ? This boast of English protestants, this ornament to humanity, this blessing to the christian church, was born 1615, and died 1G91. He wrote about one hundred and twenty books, and had about sixty written against him. A few months ago, I had the good fortune to purchase his " Practical Works," in four large folio volumes, for twelve dollars, and should not now be willing to sell them for double the money. I trust God has put these writings of his faithful servant into my hands with a design to make them instrumental of good to my soul, and to the souls of those over whom the Holy Ghost may make me an overseer. I read him with admiration, with instruction, and sensible devotion. In many respects, he seems just such a char- acter as I want for a model. It is not for me to think of being his imitator in learning ; but his piety, his candor, his zeal and labors for the good of souls, may perhaps in some measure be imitated even by me. I do not pretend^ INFLUENCE OF BAXTER ON 101 however, at present, to know much of his character — a character, which, as a man, a philosopher, and a christian, I feel myself bound to study by every means in my power. Cambridge, July 12, 1803. Yesterday I walked to Boston, preached at the alms- house, and walked to Cambridge in company with Mr. F., and found myself much less fatigued than I had reason to fear. Blessed be God, that I have such a degree of health and bodily firmness. For three days past, I think my health has been better than it has been before since last autumn. In the evening, I read about an hour, with much satisfaction, in Baxter's Reformed Pastor. I grow more and more delighted with reading the writings of this wonder of piety, intelligence, knowledge, and bodily in- firmities. His Reformed Pastor is addressed to ministers, setting forth and urging the duties of their high and holy calling. Much of it seems addressed to me in particular. And doubtless, God, from eternity, intended to admonish me of my duty by the writings of this godly man. O that God would give me ears to hear, and strength and dispo- sition to obey. The thought, that every admonition we receive, was in- tended by God from eternity, cannot fail deeply to impress every contemplative heart. It was in such ways that the subject of this Memoir was wont to improve the doctrine of the divine purposes — a very practical doctrine surely to those who have a heart to improve it. We are not to sup- pose he considered God as having designed this reproof for him any more than for every one to whom it should come with its appropriate application. One of the most important inquiries we can prosecute in the study of biography, respects the progress in holiness, and the means and occasions of that progress, in those from whose lives we are seeking instruction. Prompted by the truth of this remark, I must suffer my brother to speak still further respecting the intimate acquaintance he now began to cultivate with the writings of Baxter. I cannot resist the belief, that from about this period, he became much more zealously devoted to the cause of God ; nor do I doubt th poweerful effect of these writings on his heart as a christian, and on his whole style of preaching and 9* 102 HIS PIETY, PREACHING, effort as a gospel minister. Happy was the day when he purchased these works of the good old non-conformist. But let himself speak further on this point. Cambridge, July 13, 1803. My worthy N. — Blessed be God for the health I en- joy; and for the tranquillity I feel, notwithstanding the pe- culiarly solemn and interesting scenes before me. I trust my tranquillity is not stupid indifference. Though I have reason for deep humiliation, that I have not a more lively sense, and more enlarged views of what it is to be a faith- ful preacher of the everlasting gospel ; yet I can say, that my thoughts are almost wholly taken up in contemplating this subject. Of these things and my N., I can meditate at the same time ; and the idea of each seems to add so- lemnity, animation, and endearment, to that of the other, I have read " Baxter's Reformed Pastor," on purpose to enlarge my ideas, and to animate my feelings, respecting the duties and importance of the ministerial work. In this work, which I completed last evening, I have found much more than 1 expected, though I expected much. Scarcely ever did I read a book with more delight. It has taught me to think that there are very few in New- England, who deserve the name of christian pastors ; and that, even in the best of them, there is need, great need, pressing need of reformation. It has taught me to look back upon my past life with abhorrence. How many op- portunities have I neglected, when I might have done good ! How have T abused my talents, and murdered my precious time ! How idle and sluggish have I been since I publicly named the name of Christ, and even since, in a solemn and important sense, I entered the vineyard of the Lord ! How little have I exerted myself to prepare for the glorious work ! How cold have been my public (and, alas! my private) addresses to God! And in my sermons, how little have 1 told iny hearers about Christ ; and how unfeelingly has that little been uttered ! O, my God, let not these sins forever separate between me and thyself; and now enable me solemnly to make the resolu- tion, to awake from the death of my stupidity, and to begin to feel — begin to preach — begin to pray. I have also read Baxter's long sermon — his farewell ser- mon. The more I read of Baxter, the more I admire, the STUDIES, STYLE, ETC. 103 more I love him. I feel almost as high value for his works as I do for my Encyclopedia. Scarcely any money would tempt me to spend my life without these practical works. Though in all things I have come short, yet in attending to practical and devotional works, my deficiency has been the most gross and aggravated. I now hope, in some measure, to reform. Let those who like it, pursue the speculative sciences. Though 1 would not undervalue these, and though I hope hereafter to give a little attention to them ; yet, at present, the bible, my Baxter, devotional poetry, etc., are the books for me. This week, however, I shall not be able to read much more of any thing. I have now almost my whole afternoon's sermon to write, my answer to write, college duties to perform, to go to Boston to-morrow, to attend the singing-school, and on Saturday to Beverly. And this I hope to accomplish, if God continue to bless me with the vigor I now feel, unless I should be called off by some unexpected interruption. Perhaps the following document is written somewhat more in the style, and spirit, and prolixity of Baxter, than it would have been under other circumstances. It is his answer to the call he had received from Beverly. Though long, and, I think, not a model for imitation, yet I shall quote such portions of it as contain facts of interest re- specting himself and that infant society, or express his strong feelings on discharging so solemn a responsibility as that of deciding the question before him — a question, doubtless, on which were suspended the eternal interests of many souls. Cambridge, July 15, 1803. TO THE CHURCH AND PEOPLE OF THE THIRD CONGREGA- TIONAL SOCIETY IN REVERLY. Men, Brethren, and Friends, fellow travellers to the eternal world : You have invited me to become your " pastor and teacher ;" to take the oversight of your immortal interest ; to watch, to labor, to pray, for the good of your souls, and the souls of your little ones. But who has the qualifica- tions for an undertaking so important, so great, so difficult to be fulfilled ? Who is qualified to be an ambassador from the infinite God to his immortal rebels : to declare to 104 ANSWER TO them in his name the conditions of peace, the conditions of glory; to denounce his eternal vengeance, if they re- fuse, if they neglect his great salvation ? Who is qualified to take his saints by the hand, and lead them to heaven 1 To be commissioned, by the King of kings, with the offer of mercy and eternal life to one immortal soul, even the very least among mankind, v.ould be a solemn, an awful employment. To instruct a single saint — to reprove, to rebuke, to wain, to allure, to encourage, to train up for God, a single saint, must be a great and arduous work. If but a single individual of the human race had aposta- tized from God, and exposed himself to the flames of an eternal hell, would not the highest angel, would not Ga- briel himself, consider it a great work for him to be sent with a message of pardon and eternal life to such a rebel, and then, if penitent, to train him up for a glorious im- mortality 1 Would not the angel think that threescore years and ten might be profitably employed for such an end ? Who, then, among ail the creatures of God, is suf- ficient to preach the everlasting gospel to thousands ; and at the same time, to feed and to inspect, to guide and in- struct a whole church of christians ? My christian friends, you know something of my infirm- ities. From my earliest days I have been familiar with bodily indisposition, with sickness, with confinement. By the kind and wonderful providence of God, I have been kept alive. It was the fear of my friends, and has, more than once, been the expectation of myself, that before this time, 1 should have been numbered with the dead. Bod- ily infirmities have sometimes been one reason that I have refused to preach as a candidate for settling in the gospel ministry. But I have other infirmities, greater than these. O! wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from this body of sin, this load of ignorance, this weight of stu- pidity, this hardness of heart, this spiritual blindness, this insensibility to the worth and to the danger of immortal souls, this coldness to saints, this coldness to Christ, this ingratitude to God ? What then am I, that you should think of me for your minister, to go out and in before you, to set you a pattern of holy living, to be an example to you in word, in con- versation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, and in purity ; to visit and pray with you in sickness ; to rejoice in your joys, HIS CALL. 105 and wcop at your tears ; to comfort you in affliction, to speak to you the words of Jehovah, whether you will hear or forbear ; to lead in your public devotions ; to break for you the bread, and pour out for you the wine, of life ; to take the charge of your souls? Surely I had fainted, my soul would have been cast down and utterly dismayed, unless I had believed to see the goodness of God, to receive the protection of his arm, and enjoy his gracious assistance. And now can I forbear saying from the heart — Here, Lord, am I, do with me what seemeth thee good ? What then is the voice of Providence? The invitation to settle with you in the gospel ministry, has occupied a large proportion of my thoughts since I received it. It has been my meditation day and night. I have endeavored to consider the subject seriously and closely ; though I have reason with shame to confess, not according to its awfid importance. I have also asked counsel of christian friends, and endeavored to ask counsel of the Lord. I have considered the rise of this society; the harmony of your separation ; the smiles of Providence upon you in building and dedicating this very commodi- ous house of worship ; in short, the remarkable and speedy success of all your undertakings relating to this solemn matter. I have considered the liberality of your offers. I have considered this as an unequivocal expression of the affection, the cordiality, the uncommon unanimity, which you have professed ; and which, as many as have had op- portunity, have otherwise manifested toward me. From a consideration of these and a variety of other circumstances, I have drawn the conclusion, that if there be a place on earth where I can be useful, it is probably here. And I exceedingly rejoice in feeling so well per- suaded that God has called me to labor among you ; and that it is my duty to answer your request in the affirma- tive. Beloved, I need your prayers. I feel my imperfections; I feel my weaknesses. I feel that I am a child. You know something of the greatness and importance and dif- ficulty of my expected labors. You know where I must look for help ; and where you also should look, that I may beenabled and assisted to discharge, with fidelity and suc- cess, all the duties before me. You know, my christian 10G CHURCH IN BEVERLY. friends, who it is, that hath left a promise to his faithful ministers to be with them alway, even unto the end of the world. And when the world shall be on fire, when the heav- ens shall be rolling together as a scroll, and the elements melt with fervent heat, that we may be caught up to- gether with all the saints to meet the Lord in the air, and so be for ever with the Lord, is the prayer of your unworthy friend and servant in the Lord Jesus Christ. Joseph Emerson. This church is said to be the second, if not indeed the first, which was formed in this state in consequence of the recent defections from ancient doctrine. It was or- ganized, Nov. 9, 18C2, by a council consisting of Dr. Hopkins of Salem, and three other ministers. Instead of taking members from the old church to form the new one, four men of reputable piety, residing in the place, but, as it would seem from the church records, not yet connected with any church, were formed into a church by adopting a covenant and creed, etc. When thus formed, the way was prepared for such members of the old church as chose it, to ask a dismission and recom- mendation to the new one ; and many were found, from time to time, to avail themselves of the privilege. The history of this church and people, is deeply interesting in a variety of particulars , but we have no space for it here. Suffice it to say, that they have continued to increase in numbers and influence, down to the present time, not- withstanding the legislative impediments early thrown in their way and many other trials in later periods. Returning to my brother, let us see how his heart flew with fresh zeal to the bible, in view of his approaching charge of souls. Cambridge July 20, 1C03. Within nine weeks from this day, I expect to be set apart to the glorious work. O that I were qualified! Never before was I so sensible of my ignorance of the things of religion. My grossest ignorance is of the scrip- tures. I think a preacher should not only understand the scriptures, but also be able to repeat the most important and striking passages, doctrinal and practical. How great is my deficiency in both respects ? What can be STUDY OF THE BIBLE. 107 done? I have much to do. Very soon I expect to have the charge of souls. I have now to perform college du- ties, write sermons, preach, and attend to music. The sermon that 1 mentioned, should employ at least four weeks of intense application ; and it ought to be completed before ordination. But the bible, the bible, must be read. Is it not time for me to awake ? And I must awake. I have almost completed Exodus. I must complete Revelation before commencement. To-day and to-mor- row I will devote to the bible. O that nothing may divert me from a rigorous and persevering application to the precious pages. I cannot at this time read the bible so thoroughly as I should wish. At present, it appears better to read over the whole as well as I can, than to read a part only ; though with more attention. My pre- sent object is, to collect passages which define, inculcate, or enforce the duties of ministers and people toward each other. I must therefore, if possible, go through with the bible before I begin to write the above-mentioned sermon. I have likewise another object. I am so ignorant of the bible, that I sometimes find passages that appear quite new. Such passages I determine to transcribe and study, and endeavor to fix in my mind, that they may never ap- pear new again. The same method I recommend to you, if you are ever so unhappy as to find any thing in the bible that you do not recollect to have seen before. Surely, it must be highly dishonorable to a minister, and may obstruct his usefulness, if he were not able to tell whether any passage or expression that he might hear, were in the bible or not. And a minister's wife might find more satisfaction in being able to tell the place and connection and meaning of any passage that might be the topic of conversation, than in being silent, or confess- ing that she had forgotten there was such a text in the bible. I have not yet given up the idea of committing to memory all the most important parts of scripture. I in- tend to read the bible through two or three times before I read much in any other book, that the precious word may always be uppermost in my mind. Dear immortal, let us not forget to seek the Lord, that he would open our understandings to understand his holy word, and to work within us to will and to do of his own good plea- 108 SECRET PRAYER, ETC. sure, and honor us as instruments of actively promoting his glorious designs. J. Emerson. For some days at this period, he enjoyed uncommonly good health, religious comfort, fine spirits, and " ;i vigor of mind that he never before experienced ;" and as a very natural concomitant for him, he made rapid progress in study. Take the following as a favorable specimen of a day's work. It is addressed to the same person as was the above. Cambridge, July 21, 1803. Yesterday I did more than usual. Besides all 1 wrote to you, I attended government meeting nearly two hours, and singing school about as long ; received a short visit from Miss H. Adams's father who brought me a letter — a very short letter, and I returned one about as long ; read Watts's Divine Songs for children, a pamphlet of thirty- six pages with which I was considerably pleased, and read forty pages in my bible, containing a few chapters in Exodus, the whole of Leviticus, and a few in Num- bers. I cannot feel justified in withholding the following. August 2, 1803. Determined to spend more time in self-examination and secret devotion — to spend a season in my closet after breakfast, after dinner, and just before retiring to rest at night ; besides occasionally speaking to God for assistance in whatever I may be about to engage, and giving thanks to his name for his mercies received, and committing my- self to the care of the great Shepherd when I lay my head upon my pillow, and lifting up my soul in grateful acknowledgment to Him when I awake in the morning. How awfully have I neglected secret prayer ! It is as- tonishing that God should suffer such a cold, hard-heart- ed, ungrateful, rebellious wretch to live. What was Sodom's guilt to mine ? What a wonder of wonders is it, that God should sometimes grant me such enlargement and divine delight in leading the devotions of others, when I am so backward to pray to him in secret, and to ask him for that assistance without which I can do noth- DIARY. 109 ing. He rewards me openly, though I so very rarely, and so coldly, and so formally pray to him in secret. Great God, and shall I ever live At this poor dying rate 1 etc. Since I saw you, I have felt considerable reluctance to record the exercises of my mind. But blessed be God, this reluctance has almost ceased to trouble me. This morning I arose a little before the bell rung for prayers. What a hypocrite have I been in the chapel; and how few real petitions, confessions, or thanksgivings have there ascended from my heart to God ! How beauti- ful is the morning! How delightfully do the majestic elms and the aspiring poplars bow their heads, as if in adoration of their maker; and how does all nature around them join in anthems of praise. O my soul, thou canst offer him a rational praise. Wilt thou, canst thou re- main discordant? Will not the stones cry out and the sweet songsters of the grove rise up in judgment and con- demn thee ? O my God, I will praise thee in my closet, I will praise thee as I journey, I will praise thee with my heart's delight, in company of friends will I praise thee, in the congregration will I bow before my God and sing praises to the Most High. Praise him all ye lands ; praise him all ye people ; praise him all ye angels ; praise him all creation. Bless the Lord, O ray soul. August 3, 1803. Yesterday I derived more satisfaction in secret devotion than perhaps any other day of my life. In reading the bible, I found great delight in praying at the end of every chapter ; and was surprised to find myself, each time, furnished with so good a subject from the chapter I had read, as my reading was in Chronicles. What a deep and exhaustless fountain is the bible ! The historical parts of the Old Testament, are full of instruction. The evening I spent at Mr. B.'s ; and I fear not very profitably ; for when I returned to my room after ten, I could not pray, I had not maintained a praying spirit. Cambridge, Aug. 19, 1303. My stated devotions and reading the scriptures become more and more my pleasure. I do not now consider it 10 110 DIARY. my duty to spend the whole day in reading the good word and prayer ; but I do feel it to be my duty to devote con- siderable time to this delightful employment. When one season is past, I seem to long for the arrival of another. I have now determined to read eighteen instead of fif- teen pages a day in the bible. At this rate, I shall read the bible four times in little less than a year. My thoughts this morning, have been engaged considerably upon lecturing youth from the assembly's catechism — upon preaching systematically — and church conferences, I am determined, by the divine permission and assistance, to read the bible four times according to my present plan, then diminishing the daily portion by one half, to read it to form a common-place book — and then to spend about the same time in reading the bible and making short com- ments upon each chapter: and also, within, perhaps, three or four years, having read as many systems of divinity as possible, and well adjusted a plan in my own head, and purchased those books not now in my possession which I may wish to read or consult — to begin my systematic preaching. Is it not foolish and vain for me to form plans like these. O ! my heavenly Father, whether I should be able to execute any of these plans or not, may I at all times devote my every talent to thy service and be instru- mental of doing much good in the world. But how can one so ignorant expect to be an instrument in the instruc- tion of others? O Father of lights! enlighten my mind and strengthen my understanding. O God, thou canst do great things by feeble means. Thou canst accomplish thy glorious purposes, thou canst perform thy wondrous works by such a rebel, by such a worm as I. 12 7'. [i. e. 7 minutes past 1"2.] Unstable as water; fickle as the changeful breeze ! What nonsense for me to form so great plans, when I do not execute those that are small and easy. It was my intention to have begun my sermon this morning to preach at Beverly the Sabbath after next. I have not even written my text. What else have I done? why nothing ; almost nothing. It seems as though the evil spirit kept me from beginning my sermon. This is not the first time. It has been so with almost every sermon I have written. It was my intention to finish my sermon this week. But now it is impossible. The day is more than half spent. Government business DIARY. Ill calls my attention this afternoon, and other business in the evening. Even if I were disposed, it is now too late to think of doing any thing at sermonizing to-day. Well, to-morrow ! to-morrow ! How shall I dare calculate upon to-morrow, when I have been so stupidly lazy to-day ! O ! my soul ! is this thy diligence, is this thy zeal for the Lord of hosts ? O my God ! quicken me to do my duty. From the above, it seems manifest, that he was now making a rapid advance in pious feeling as well as in knowledge. His recent devotedness to the bible and to Baxter, was doubtless one great cause of this improve- ment : another was the solemn charge he was about to assume. The secular studies of a college course, have seldom been found congenial to piety. President Ed- wards and many others have especially complained of the paralysing influence of a tutor's life. The kind of intercourse between college tutors and their pupils, so reserved, so official, so destitute of heart, is probably often found more pernicious than the nature of their studies. Both of these causes doubtless had their effect on my brother's mind, though probably less than on many others in like circumstances. He diminished in a degree this unnatural distance between him and the com- munity of mortals by whom he was surrounded, and thus found more scope for religious sympathy ; he pur- sued science as a guide to the knowledge of God's works ; and he was also engaged, for a portion of the time, in preaching. Still, even the near prospect of a change to the happiest occupation this side of heaven, the occu- pation of a christian pastor, fired his soul with an ardor unknown before, while it also filled him with humility and self-distrust. At the termination of the academic year, he resigned his office in the college ; and the solemnities of his ordi- nation at Beverly took place the ensuing month, viz. Sept. 21, 1803. CHAPTER IV. VIEWS OF HIS CHARACTER AS DEVELOPED AT THIS PERIOD. Communications from Dr. Charming — President Chopin Judge Story — Judge White — and Dr. Emmons. I shall here present the reader with some valuable com- munications, for which I trust he will unite with me in grateful acknowledgments to their kind and respected authors. Desirous of minute and authentic information on several parts of my brother's life, which did not corne so immediately under my own notice, I addressed letters of inquiry to a number of his acquaintances, respecting those portions in which they were conversant with him. I take it for granted, that they will not complain of me for mak- ing such use of their communications, whether by extracts or summaries, as may seem best to comport with my pres- ent plan. Of those which I shall here present, the first is from Rev. Dr. Channing, who was a classmate with him at college. Bosto?i, Noo. 7, 1833. Dear Sir, — Your brother's life was so uniform, at col- lege, that nothing, which can be called an event, remains in my memory. His habits were so studious, that he mixed little with the class. I had not much intercourse with him. He devoted himself to the severer studies. His conduct was irreproachable, and his manners so in- offensive, that, whilst he fell into none of the more com- mon excesses of that time, he met no opposition from those who yielded to them. I was with him afterwards, a short time, in the government of the college. He sue- DR. CHANN1NG. DK. CIIAPIN. 113 ceeded in securing the good will of the students. It seemed to me, that your brother's character became more interesting after he left college. His affections, if they were not untblded more freely, at least showed themselves more. I was not led, by my early acquaintance, to expect from him that ardor with which he afterwards devoted himself to noble objects. — It will gratify me to see your memoir of him. You are happy in having had such a brother, and the office of recording his worth must be a consolation for his loss. Very truly yours, Wm. E. Channing. The next is from our friend and family connexion, Rev. Dr. Chapin, President of the Columbian College at Washington. I shall here insert only that part of his communication which relates to the present period, re- serving the remainder for its appropriate place. College Hill, (D. C.J Oct. 18, 1833. Very Dear Brother, — I know nothing of special moment respecting brother Joseph, while he was a student in Cambridge, as he graduated, I believe, in 1798, and I entered two years after, in 1800. He was appointed tutor of mathematics, geography, and natural philosophy, in 1801. At that time, Harvard University was professedly orthodox. The faculty* of government and instruction then consisted of President Willard, Dr. Tappan, Dr. Pearson, Prof. Webber, Tutors Hedge, White, Farrar, and Clapp, and Sidney Willard, Librarian. The unita- rian controversy had indeed commenced, but it was con- fined to a narrow circle, and had not begun to excite any general agitation among the churches. So far as religious controversy was concerned, it was a time of tranquillity within the walls of the college. But though the institu- tion was nominally sound in the faith, yet the vigor of its early piety was quite extinct, and the college, consecrated by our puritan fathers with so much fervor to Christ and his church, had ceased to exert a powerful influence in the cause of troth and holiness. The fact that the college then wore the Calvin istic dress, and that the Socinian controversy was then just beginning, may be the reason why your brother's religious life was not then more prom- 10* 114 LETTER FROM inent. I cannot recollect any distinguished part which he took in the cause of religion. But a student at that col- lege, where the distance between him and the government was so stately, is but a poor judge respecting the piety and zeal of any of its members. Yoa will not, therefore, be much influenced by what 1 say respecting his life while a teacher in that seminary. But though I do not recollect any leading part which he took in the religious concerns of the college, yet I well remember the general opinion among the students was, that he was a young man of more than ordinary piety. Your brother, while tutor, began to display those pecu- liar gifts, which since have so strongly marked his char- acter. He was then an enthusiast on the subject of edu- cation. He possessed in an eminent degree the talent to awaken and rightly guide youthful curiosity in the pursuit of knowledge. He always was perfect master of the reci- tation, and was very ingenious in expedients to illustrate and impress it upon the mind of the class. By his unwea- ried and successful efforts to advance them in their stud- ies, he secured their respect and affection. The reader is next presented with a letter from Hon. Judge Story. Cambridge, Nov. 23, 1833. Your brother, the late Rev. Joseph Emerson, was my classmate, and as such, could not but be known to me. But in truth, I had a good deal of acquaintance with him during our collegiate course, and possessed his friendship, as I believe, in a high degree. Our pursuits and interests were in many respects similar; and kindred feelings soon give rise in youth to kindred interchanges of thoughts. Both of us loved poetry; both of us loved mathematics ; both of us loved metaphysics ; and both of us were dili- gent students; and for one year we lived on the same floor of one of the college houses. But, passing from these general remarks, let me tell you, as well as I can, what were the outlines of his character, when I chiefly knew him. 1 believe I retained his friendship until his death ; but our pursuits were so diverse, that we rarely met after we left college. What I shall say, then, chiefly belongs to the recollections of our college life. JUDGE STORY. 115 One of the first things that struck me on making his acquaintance, was his seriousness, his enthusiasm, his sin- cerity, and his love of literature. He was very diligent in all his studies ; prompt, regular, and exact in all his du- ties ; and, in purity of life and conduct, surpassed by none. He gradually rose to high distinction in his class, enjoying the reputation of successful scholarship, and clear and forcible judgment. His favorite studies were mathematics and metaphysics. In the former he was not excelled by any of his classmates ; and, unless my memory misleads me, he and I were the only persons in the class who had mathematical parts assigned, at the college exhibitions, in addition to our other honors upon the like occa- sions. But his mind was chiefly devoted to metaphysics, connecting itself, as it naturally did, with ethics; and he took the greatest delight in friendly argumentation upon the leading topics in Locke's Essay on the Human Under- standing, which was then one of our class books. It was somewhat singular, that he should unite with such ab- stract studies a great enthusiasm for poetry. He would read aloud to me many exquisite passages from Pope, and comment upon them with a clearness and delicacy, which showed his soul to be attuned to harmony of the highest order. I am not certain, but I believe he occasionally wrote poetical effusions ; though his modesty was such, that he seldom allowed his friends to read them. In his manners, he was unobtrusive and shy, rarely seeking to open his heart, except to those who sought it. But those who enjoyed the privileges of intimacy with him, knew him to be ardent and pure, possessing social affections and religious principles of the most elevated nature. When we were graduated, he had a forensic assigned to him, which was then esteemed among the highest of our aca- demical exercises. I think, even at that period, there was occasionally a melancholy about him, which he sought to subdue by se- vere study or lively conversation. But I can truly say of him, in the language of one of his favorite poets, even then, " That all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven." Without detaining you with farther details, — for his college course was one uninterrupted course of blameless 116 LETTER FROM virtue, — I may add, that he impressed me with a high sense of the value of his character, his attainments, and his talents. I treasured up his friendship, while living, as a source of pride and pleasure, and his death was deeply felt by me as a public as well as a private calamity. 1 am, with great respect, Your obliged servant, Joseph Story. The following is from Hon. Judge "White, of Salem, Mass. Salem, Nov. 7, 1833, Dear Sir, — I am very glad to learn that you are pre- paring a memoir of your late lamented brother, whose active virtues and elevated principles of conduct, through life, will render any just memoir of him a valuable gift to the public, as well as a precious memorial to his friends. I wish it were in my power to recall to memory more facts than I find I can, which would throw light on his history and character, during that portion of life about which you particularly inquire. I knew him as an under- graduate at Cambridge, being but one year before him in college, and I well recollect that he held a high rank in his class as a scholar, and that he was universally regard- ed as a young man of a pure and amiable mind and character. I knew him again more intimately, as a tutor at the same place, to the best of my recollection, about two years. In the mean time, he had studied divinity, 1 think, with the celebrated Dr. Emmons, and had deeply imbibed his peculiar sentiments in theology ; in which, as I could not sympathize with him, there was not, of course, that kind of intimacy in our acquaintance, which such a sympathy might have produced. This may ac- count to you, in some measure, for my being unable to communicate such particular information and character- istic anecdotes as you would naturally expect from one associated with him in office, as I was at that period. I would not, however, be understood as implying that there was any want of cordiality in our general intercourse, in consequence of the difference of opinion between us on religious subjects. This was so far from being the case, that, perhaps, this very difference led me to a still higher JUDGE WHITE. 117 estimate of his character, as it served to develope some traits of excellence, which might otherwise have remained concealed from me. No one more truly appreciated free- dom of thought, inquiry, and discussion, than he did; and the privilege which he so highly prized himself, he was willing to allow in the fullest extent, to others. He was liberal in the best sense of the word, and always so kind and considerate in conversing upon controverted points, that he was never known to indulge himself in that warmth of expression and manner, which is so apt to take place in the course of such discussions, even among friends, and which, sometimes, leaves impressions alike unfavorable to truth and good feeling. 1 can recol- lect nothing of this nature in all my intercourse with him, which had the slightest tendency to lessen the regard which I felt for him, or the pleasure which I took in his conversation. He was uniformly as candid and just towards others, as he was constant and faithful to his own convictions of truth and duty. I do not believe that a single ill feeling was ever produced among his associates or pupils at Cambridge, by any thing which he was Led to say or do in consequence of his peculiar doctrines, how- ever widely they might differ from him in their view, or however decidedly he might manifest his own. His re- ligious sentiments were evidently the result of deep and conscientious inquiry, and his whole conduct and deport- ment appeared to be guided by rules and principles, in- finitely above those of any earthly tribunal, or worldly consideration. By his associates who well understood his character and worth, he could not fail to be listened to and treated with respect, whatever peculiarities might at any time mark his opinions or manner. Without the least affectation of singularity, he was in some respects singular, as well as truly original ; but all his peculiarities leaned to virtue's side, and were so blended with his natural benevolence, gentleness of disposition, and child- like simplicity, that none but tender and respectful feel- ings could be indulged towards him. Hence any little eccentricities, which in others might attract the ridicule of college boys, in him would pass unheeded, or excite only a smile of respectful sympathy. He was, I believe, at all times, while a tutor at Cambridge, a favorite with his pupils. 118 LETTER FROM But I am losing sight of the particular object of your inquiry, the manner in which he discharged his duties as a tutor in the University. Soon after he entered upon these duties, if not before, he commenced preaching. I recollect accompanying him at Charlestown, in the latter part of the year 1801, when he delivered an evening lec- ture from the words of Micah, " Ye have taken away my Gods, and what have I more ?" This must have been one of his earliest discourses from the pulpit, and I clearly remember the favorable impression it made upon me of his powers as a preacher. It was at that period customary for tutors who were candidates for the minis- try, to preach occasionally in neighboring churches. Your brother, if I mistake not, was engaged in this way most of the Sabbaths while he was a tutor ; which of course took him from all care of the students on such days, and might have been one reason why he was gen- erally less disposed to take an active part in respect to governing the students, than he was in the duties of in- struction ; though these were doubtless far more con- genial with his feelings and habits, than the cares of gov- ernment. Yet he was not wanting in a disposition to concur in all measures of government and discipline which he deemed proper. The department of instruc- tion, which he conducted as tutor, was that of the mathe- matics and natural philosophy ; for his attainments in which, he was then distinguished. Being familiar with the branches of science, which he was required to teach, and feeling a deep interest in the improvement of his pu- pils, he made himself at all times accessible to them, and took manifest pleasure in freely and fully imparting infor- mation in answer to their inquiries. At the recitations and exercises of the several classes, the same qualities were conspicuous, and gave him great advantage as a teacher. His affability, frankness, and unaffected sym- pathy with all studious inquirers, inspired affectionate confidence and secured the most respectful attention to his instructions. Having also a happy fluency and an animated manner in communicating his thoughts, and being remarkably clear and satisfactory in his views and illustrations, I need not add that he was a very popular as well as useful instructor. JUDGE WHITE. 119 Such are my impressions of his reputation as a teacher at that time. Some of those who were his pupils might doubtless give you more distinct information on the sub- ject. 1 had no means of personal observation, except from his manner at the public examinations of the stu- dents ; which fully accorded with what I learned through others. His ardent zeal in the cause of education and human improvement, seems to have distinguished him through life. I had, however, but very rarely an oppor- tunity of witnessing it after he removed from Cambridge. I attended his ordination at Beverly, and occasionally visited him afterwards. Of one visit which I made him soon after his first marriage, I have a distinct recollec- tion, as it left an impression on my mind of his peculiar views respecting female education, probably from his conversation at the time, as well as from finding Mrs. Emerson engaged with him in some of the higher intel- lectual studies, apparently as a pupil. His room had all the appearance of a college study, with the Encyclopedia and other ponderous volumes arranged on the floor around him. At that time, he seemed to think that the profound- est branches of science and philosophy were adapted to exercise and discipline the female mind, and might be comprised with advantage in a course of female studies. I am inclined to believe that his views underwent some change, from his subsequent experience and observa- tion. At a later period, I was much gratified to hear re- marks from him on this subject, which appeared to me to indicate the most enlarged and just views of the char- acter and duties of the female sex, and of the education and studies appropriate to them. I hope you will be able, from his correspondence and other sources, to collect and preserve the valuable results of his observation and re- flection on the subject of education, and especially the education of females, upon which he bestowed so much thought and labor, and from his long experience as an instructor, was so competent a judge. With the sincerest wishes for the success of your pre- sent undertaking and all your useful labors, I remain Yours, respectfully, D. A. White. 120 LETTER FROM The remaining communication is a letter from his highly respected teacher in divinity, Rev. Dr. Emmons, who still survives in great vigor and activity, though at the advanced age of about four score and ten years. He was present at the ordination of my brother in Beverly, and preached the sermon on that occasion. Franklin, October 14, 1833. Rev. and Dear Sir, — I thank you for your very kind and affectionate letter, and I should be pleased if I could give you any information or assistance in preparing for publication a Memoir of your dear deceased brother , who, since my first and intimate acquaintance with him, has ever stood high in my affection and esteem. He came to Franklin in the year 1799, and resided with me, at different periods, for about two years, until he was licensed to preach the gospel. I highly esteemed him for his amiable qualities and genuine piety. I attended his ordination at Beverly, and at the request of the Moderator, while under examination, I freely and frankly gave my testimony in favor of his moral and religious character. Though he often wrote to me after his settle- ment in the ministry, yet I find no letter of his in my hands, except one, which I herewith send you. 1 feel it to be an agreeable and melancholy duty which I owe to God and to the friends of God, as well as to you and to your dear departed brother, to state what I know and what it is proper for me to relate, respecting that worthy and faithful minister of Christ. Mr. Emerson, like other young gentlemen with whom T have been acquainted while preparing for the ministry, not only conducted with propriety and agreeably to his chris- tian profession, but exhibited some peculiar traits of char- acter, which qualified him for great and extensive useful- ness, through the whole course of his life. He possessed a strong, clear, retentive, discriminating mind. He was capable of rising to eminence in any branch of learning to which he turned his particular attention. He had a taste for reading, and especially for reading the scrip- tures. He was as good a biblical as classical scholar. He studied the deep things of God, and acquired very clear and consistent views of the peculiar, and fundamental DR. EMMONS. 121 doctrines and duties of Christianity. He chose the work of the ministry, not for the sake of ease, or popularity, or filthy lucre ; but for the sake of employing all his time and talents to the best advantage, in promoting the spir- itual and eternal interests of mankind. So long as his health allowed him to pursue his chosen work, he uni- formly sustained the character of an able and faithful minister of the gospel. And after his feeble health con- strained him a second time to relinquish his pastoral re- lation to a particular church, he turned his whole atten- tion to a business for which he was eminently qualified, and in which he was extensively useful. In a word, I verily believe, that a just and fair delineation of the tal- ents, usefulness, and exemplary piety of Mr. Emerson, may have a happy tendency to promote the cause of truth and the millennian prosperity of Zion. With my best wishes for your personal and public use- fulness, I am, Dear Sir, most affectionately yours, Nathaniel Emmons. It would be superfluous for me to comment on the facts and traits of character above given with so much kind- ness, candor, and discrimination, and by authorities so distinguished. Had these communications been an echo to each other of the same facts and sentiments, it would have been an act of ostentation to present them all ; but distinctive and peculiar as the reader perceives each one of them to be, I could not feel myself justified in with- holding what I have inserted. 11 CHAPTER V. FROM HIS SETTLEMENT TO THE DEATH OF HIS FIRST WIFE. Ordination — Marriage — Death of his wife — His feel- ings on that occasion. It has already been stated, that my brother received the ministerial charge of the third congregational church and society in Beverly, Sept. 21, 1803. As the occasion was new in our annals, the ordaining council was large and uncommonly respectable. The sermon, preached by Dr. Emmons, was published. That day, to my brother, was solemn beyond descrip- tion ; and probably but few, even of those who have re- ceived the like charge, are able fully to enter into the depths of his emotions. As illustrative of this point, I will here mention the fact, that he spent the day in fasting in- stead of feasting. For this he had indeed very peculiar reasons, in addition to primitive example. It may not be improper to dwell, for a moment, on these reasons, though we cannot go into them minutely. The church and society were just formed, and were now, under his guidance, about to encounter the peculiar trials incident to their infant state, — trials both within and without. Their circumstances were also, at that time, peculiar, though such circumstances are now common, as so many churches have since come out from the midst of others with which they could no longer be satisfied to continue. The responsibility was as great as the course to be pursued was novel. But this was not all which conspired to fill his mind with peculiar solemnity, and perhaps with apprehension. I find, from his letters of prior date, that not a little un- TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 123 easiness had been manifested to him, from an influential source, respecting some arrangements, which it is needless here to mention. The case was such as to require him to act with promptness and decision, and, at the same time, under a deep responsibility in regard to the character of the ministry, and the prospects of that church and people. Probably few were acquainted with this occasion which he then had for fasting and prayer. His conduct, in connection with all the complicated and trying cir- cumstances, was a striking illustration of the mingled firmness and meekness of his character. His gentleness was such as to lead some men perhaps to presume that he might be swayed to their purposes : but he was, in fact, one of the very last men to be drawn or driven from the posi- tion of conscious propriety and duty. Such, I doubt not, he was found by any and all who may ever have made the trial. Like the patriarch whose name he bore, he acted from principle, not from passion, nor from selfishness. In vain do you address the passions of such men, and espe- cially their supposed timidity, until you first gain their moral judgment. In what I have said above, partly for the purpose of guarding against the imputation of eccentricity, for not indulging in the customary festivities on such an occa- sion, I do not intend to exculpate him on all occasions. Where is the man, of any originality, whose conduct does not sometimes wear such an aspect? He was himself well aware of this infirmity, and requested his friends to assist him in guarding against it. But while I admit the trait, as far as truth will warrant, I am anxious that his character should not suffer, as is so often the fact in such cases, beyond the boundaries of truth. Few men can give more or better reasons for their daily conduct, than he could give for a large share of those actions which seemed rather strange in their first aspect ; and he rarely failed to convince his intimate friends of the perfect pro- priety and wisdom of his conduct. And yet there were cases in which he failed decidedly, even in his own judg- ment, when reviewing the transactions after the lapse of months or years. There are, indeed, some vain spirits, who seek to be singular. It is the cheapest, if not the only way, for them to attract attention. Not so with mod- est men of independent thought. The amount of the 124 MARRIAGE, ETC. matter in question, as it respects such men, seems to be, that they do not desire but dread the appearance of singu- larity ; still, as they look with an eye of originality on courses of conduct, as well as on other things, they see variations from the beaten track, which other men would never see. And while some of these courses are wise, and may prove of much use to the community as well as to themselves, others are not improvements, and are therefore branded as eccentricities. Some, too, which are real and great improvements, are at first regarded as impracticable follies, because but imperfectly compre- hended in their reasons or their mode of execution. Such, for a long time, has been the fact with other improve- ments besides that master movement and glory of our age, the temperance reformation. If then a man will give the world one real improvement out of a score of harmless eccentricities, let us accept it gratefully, just as we do one good poem out of a much larger percentage of failures. Shortly after his settlement, he was married to Miss Nancy Eaton, of Framingham, whose name has before been mentioned, and to whom, as a former pupil and a friend, were addressed many of the letters from which the previous extracts have been taken. His earthly bliss seemed now complete. No man was better fitted than himself, to enjoy the endearments of a people whom he chose, and a wife whom he so tenderly loved. Now, there opened before him an ample avenue to effort and to use- fulness. Now, there were around him those whom he loved and respected, in the ministry, in the church, in the social circle. He had books in plenty at his command. He was as highly respected as he could imagine his mer- its to warrant. And he soon found himself preaching to good purpose, the gospel of that Savior whom he loved more than all. He was also free from the cares of a fam- ily, while blessed with the presence of his wife as a fellow boarder, a pupil, and a help-meet to his studies and the discharge of the high duties he had so lately assumed. It was too good for mortals long to enjoy. So thought he repeatedly before, in prospect of the blessing, and doubt- less now amid the fruition. And so it proved, as we shall but too soon see. In the mean time, let us listen to a let- TO MISS B. EATON. 125 ter of his to his new sister, but old friend and pupil, Miss Betsey Eaton. Beverly, March 23, 1804. Early this morning, we determined to devote some part of the day to the animating employment of writing to our dear kindred at Framingham. They are the subject of some of our most endearing meditations and devoutest wish- es, when we converse, when we read, and when we pray. When for a while we had been thinking and talking of these things, how very agreeably surprising did we find it, to open and read a letter from our much loved sister. The serious strain, that runs through the whole letter, and the account which our sister has given of her reading, etc., are peculiarly pleasing. Dear sister, go on and prosper. Seek the Lord while he may be found : call upon him while he is near. Knock, and it shall be opened. Search the scriptures daily ; and let nothing prevent the incense of your morning and evening devotions, from ascending up before the throne of your heavenly Father, through a glo- rious and merciful Mediator. Are you a real christian 1 Start not at the solemn question ; — so solemn, so impor- tant, that I must repeat it — Are you a real christian ? Perhaps you reply, " I know not ; I would give the world to know." Would you know ? Search your own heart, search deeply and prayerfully ; and diligently compare yourself with that holy book which shall be opened at the great day. Edwards on Affections may assist you in the solemn examination. But remember to bring this and every other merely human composition to the " law and to the testimony " which God has given. At best, it can be but chafT, unless it agree with the oracles of truth. And here I must affectionately warn you to take heed that you build not upon the sand of your own works, or vain imag- inations, instead of building upon the sure, immoveable foundation, the eternal Rock of ages. We have a great desire to see you, as well as all our kindred at Framingham. In about two months, we ex- pect to remove from Mr. Dike's to keep house by our 5 - selves. Then, and even before then, we should be ex- ceedingly glad of your company. With regard to a school in this place, we have not made much inquiry, and we kave scarcely given so much as a hint to any person, that 11* 1*26 DEATH OF HIS WIFE. we have any expectation of your keeping. We think it adviseable, that you should first spend a few weeks in the place, and form some acquaintance with the people and situation of the place. But whether you ever take a school in this place or not, we wish very much to see you here, as soon as possible. We wish, by all means, that you may be here when we move into our men hired house, as we shall then peculiarly need your friendly assistance. With the following letter before me, addressed to Mr. Eaton and his family, I have no heart to fill up the inter- val between the dates with any statements of my own. Beverly, June lb, 1804. My dear Friends, — Mrs. Emerson is yet living. How much longer she has to stay, is not for us to determine. Perhaps a few more hours may carry her to the arms of her Redeemer in glory. The Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice. Shall we, can we feel, the least unwillingness that the dear object of our tender affection should be delivered from this body of death, and wafted to the abodes of un- changing joy ? I desire to bless God for the wonderful support which 1 trust Betsey and I have hitherto enjoyed. May you be favored with the same, and much more abun- dantly. Nancy appears considerably rational, entirely resigned, desiring to depart. O, I beseech you, my dear friends, that you let not sorrow overwhelm your hearts. May we all say from the heart, It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good. May this affliction work for us an exceeding weight of glory. Let us weep and mourn for ourselves, for our own sins, and prepare to follow our departing child — sister — wife, where we trust she is going, to the world of glorified spirits. If any of you should come with an expectation of at- tending you need not make the least prepara- tion for garments of mourning. Your happy — yes, my friends — your happy son, brother, friend, J. Emerson. The changing in the solemn scene, will be sufficiently indicated by the following letter to Miss IT. Adams, the intimate friend and correspondent of himself and his de- parting wife. LETTER TO MISS H. ADAMS. 127 Beverly, June 1G, 1804. Sublime in death the lovely ruin lies. The mortal part of my Nancy is in the chamber above my head. Earth and her too happy husband were unworthy to retain her longer. That she has finished her course with joy, we have the most pleasing evidence. Since my endearing connection with her, I have, with joy unspeakable, wit- nessed a clear and uniform attachment to the cause of God, and entire resignation to his will, under every trying circumstance. To as high a degree as one creature can be another's, I feel, and I have uniformly felt, that she was completely mine, and I was most blest. Gay title to the kancst misery, shall I call it ? Perhaps so it may prove. I have not thus found it. God only can tell what is to be the issue. I desire to be thankful for the wonderful sup- port I have experienced. To-day every thing appears un- commonly pleasant and delightful. The sun never shone so bright, and nature never appeared so beautiful. To- day I think my happiness has exceeded every thing that I have ever before experienced. — The bell is now tolling for the funeral of my departed Nancy. — Never before was a knell so pleasing.* Perhaps she whom I so much delight- ed to think and call my Nancy, can hear the sound so animating to her bereaved husband. Must it not be inexpressibly delightful ! Perhaps, even now, her heav- enly Father is granting her the satisfaction to rejoice with her dearest earthly friend. She has made the employ- ment habitual. You have known more about our connection, perhaps, than any other mortal. Can it be, that such a friendship, such a love, should prove eternal ? What think you? Can she now look with satisfaction on a connection so intimate, so mutually endearing? Can she now look with satisfac- tion on him whom she once delighted to call her husband? That we should be married before we had accommo- dations for jiving in a family state, the world in general might condemn. But I need not tell you, my sister, that for some years past, I have been striving to rise above the world ; and though some of my conduct may have ren- dered me ridiculous in the eyes of some, and a fool in the * Sec an honorable reference to these facts, in the Memoir of Dr. Payson, p. 19, where he speaks of my brother, though not byname, as " an old tutor of his, and a very pious man, who had lately lost a much lo\ed wife." 128 LETTER TO MISS H. ADAMS. eyes of others, yet herein do I rejoice, yea and I will rejoice, and only lament that I have not felt, and acted, and risen, still more above the world. I wished to have her here in a situation of leisure, that I might have oppor- tunity to assist in cultivating and expanding that angelic mind. This is a reason which people in general can by no means comprehend or conceive. What greatness of mind did she not manifest in consenting to this, to come and dwell among strangers. She has taught me, (dear instructress!) or rather she has rivetted my former opin- ion, that personal beauty and amiable weakness are not the only objects of love ; that there may be such a thing as rational love for a female; that such a love is not blind ; that familiarity does not necessarily produce contempt. With a soul like hers, it creates admiration. Familiarity with a contemptible object, may indeed produce contempt. June 21. — Though it is a circumstance unspeakably consoling and animating, for which I feel bound to give thanks as long as I have my being, that there is hope in the death of my departed Nancy, yet I trust my resigna- tion and consolation have a firmer foundation than the thought that she is happy. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, and blessed be the name of the Lord. I feel as though I had lost nothing, and had nothing to lose. Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be found on the vine ; the labor of the olive shall fail, and the field shall yield no meat ; yet will I rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. I hope your contemplated visit will not be postponed, though you cannot see the face of my dear Nancy any more on earth. I am situated in a very amiable family, whose kindness to me no language can express. They appear very desirous of an acquaintance with you. I expect shortly to take a long journey for my health. After my return, I hope you will soon have opportunity to sympathize (I do not say condole) with your brother, Joseph Emerson. Copies of this letter were soon taken, and read with avidity by different classes of persons. Many were eleva- ted in pious views and feelings, while to some it was a * pearl " which they could not appreciate. But w hat must have been the moral sensibilities of that heart, which SUPPORT IN BEREAVEMENT. 129 could coldly or unkindly criticise an effusion like this, and poured forth under circumstances so overwhelming and transporting ! It was not thus, that the seraphic, heaven- taught spirit of Payson regarded the unearthly consola- tions of his "old tutor." A single hint, however, in the passage of his Memoir just referred to, will show us how he regarded the men who could severely criticise the above letter. But to return to my brother. We may properly and per- haps profitably inquire — How could a heart so feeling, so devoted to its tenderest earthly object, thus endure such a loss, and even rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory 1 It was God that sustained him. It was that " faith which is the substance of things hoped for and the evi- dence of things not seen," that enabled him to endure as seeing him who is invisible — and her, too, who had become invisible, and was entering into glory. The Divine Com- forter was with him in the plenitude of covenant grace. That he thus regarded the supporting hand of God, is evinced by the following extract of a letter, of Sept. 5, to myself and younger brother. I have lately been called to pass through scenes pecu- liarly trying, of which it is impossible for you to form any adequate idea. In these scenes, I have experienced the mercy, the faithfulness, and tho consolations of God, in a wonderful manner. Alas! my dear brothers, how misera- ble must I have been, if I had not had an almighty friend in heaven — a friend upon whom I could freely cast the burden of my soul — a burden too heavy for a created arm to sustain. And now, my brothers, cannot you praise the Lord for his wonderful works, and for his goodness to the children of men ? How many thousands have found him a very present help in times of trouble 1 What is every thing the world can afford, without an interest in the favor of God? I intreat you, disregard not these things, but write im- mediately to your affectionate brother, Joseph Emerson. Religion with him had become a habit, as well as an active principle, and was at hand on all occasions to sus- tain and bless, as well as to guide and command. We may say, too, that the true children of God are more sure 130 SUPPORT IN BEREAVEMENT. to summon religion to their aid on great than on small oc- casions, and that it is adequate to the severest trials. And still further, I may remark, in explanation of his remark- able support, that he appears to me, from even an early stage of their special intimacy, to have had a sort of pre- sentiment, (I believe not a superstitious one,) that the blessing of her society was too great to be long enjoyed by him on earth. Shall I be blamed for exhibiting some ev- idence for my opinion ? It will at least be an item in his faithful history. Under date of May 25, 1803, he says : " Last night I had the satisfaction to dream of sitting, of walking, of conversing, with one upon whom my soul de- lighteth to meditate — not one to whom my " imagination cannot add a charm," but whom I must delight to contem- plate as the brightest intelligence, as the most modest and ingenuous, as the most tender and affectionate, as the most sincere and constant of all my female acquaintances, — as more my own congenial, as more a " sister spirit," than any other being in the universe. Yet it was attend- ed by a kind of anxiety, and an indescribable gloom, that in some degree marred my happiness." He once told me, that though he did not regard his dreams as prophetic, yet they often excited trains of thought, which he felt it as much his duty to improve, as those of his waking hours. Doubtless he so improved this, and recorded it simply for that purpose. Had he not been the very opposite of a vis- ionary, I might not have decided to preserve such a notice. — Again, August 20, 1803 — " And is her health even better than before ? And have I lived to enjoy a moment like this ! Abba, Father — who, and what am I, that I should enjoy such favors ! O, preserve, preserve, preserve my treasure. Yet not my will, if contrary to thine. If it should please thee to try me, and, as it were, to rend me from myself, may I say, Amen, and kiss the rod." — Once more: " Sept. 9, 1803 — How soon, how suddenly, may we be separated ! O, let us constantly exercise ourselves to be prepared either to die, or to survive." — And thus, happy spirit, was she prepared so " suddenly" to die, and he " to survive." and both of them in the possession of that "peace which passeth all understanding." — Thrice bless- ed for him that writes, and they that read, if we, in the approaching hour of " dread extremity," shall have at- tained to some " understanding of this peace." CHAPTER VL FROM THE DEATH OF HIS FIRST WIFE TO THE TIME OF HIS SECOND MARRIAGE. Letters to relatives — Historical notices of his wife — His tender remembrance of her — His morning school — Other plans of usefulness. I know not whether this should be denominated a chapter of joys, or of sorrows. It is, in truth, a chapter of both; and those in no ordinary degree. But they are of such a nature, and so commingled, as strikingly to exhibit the mourning Christian, in distinction from those who mourn as having no hope. I proceed with extracts from letters to the bereaved relatives. The first was probably written on the day after the burial, to the younger brother and sister of Mrs. E. Beverly, June 17, 1804. My dear Brother and Sister, — Your sister, your friend, your instructress, has left this world of trouble and entered her everlasting habitation. You, perhaps, are now exceedingly sorrowful ; and it may be that you are sor- rowing most of all because you will see her face on earth no more. But you must not sorrow most for this. Why can you wish to call her down from the mansions of un- utterable joy? why can you wish that soul which was all tenderness, all sympathy, all activity, all resignation, all love, to be longer imprisoned in a house of clay ? We trust she has made a most happy exchange. A fit com- panion for angels and glorified saints, she no longer con- tinues to bless the world with her smiles, her actions, her conversation. But though dead, she yet speaketh to you, to me, to all her surviving friends. O do not refuse to hear 132 LETTERS TO HIS the voice of your dear, dear departed sister, whose soul has wept in secret for you. Can you not seem to hear her from her grave speaking unto you; "Be ye also ready? I have led the way. Prepare, O prepare to follow. Weep not for me, but for yourselves. Do not sorrow that you shall see my face no more on earth, but rather weep and mourn for your sins, lest you should not see my face in heaven. Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth. Your affectionate brother, Joseph Emerson. More than two months later, he thus writes to the pa- rents of his deceased wife. Beverly, Aug. 29, 1804. My dear Parents, — The departure of my Nancy has greatly endeared to me all her friends and connexions. Indeed she does not seem to be wholly gone, while those remain who were so dear to her, and to whom she was so dear. I trust Cod has not afflicted me in vain. I think I can say, the greater part of the time, It is good for me that I have been afflicted. I seem to experience the benefit of it, almost every day. It is in my heart to make you a visit. But I am about a great and delightful work. I must work the works of him that sent me while it is day. I trust the Sun of righteousness is shining upon my beloved flock and people. I should greatly re- joice if it could be consistent for you and your whole family to witness and participate our joys. My health seems to be perfectly restored, and I am enabled to la- bor with increasing satisfaction. A letter from any of the family will add great satis- faction to the sincere friend of their souls. Joseph Emerson. The folio win or is to his brother in law, now Rev. Wil- liam Eaton, Beverly, Sept. 12, 1804. My dear Brother, — God has called us to put on the garments of mourning. Our friend sleepeth. From you he has taken a tender, a dearly beloved sister. From me he has taken a congenial sister ; yea, more than a sister, more than a parent, more than a child, more than FELLOW MOURNERS. 133 all surviving earthly friends, more dear to my soul than the breath of life. Our loss, how unspeakable. You know something of her excellences — enough to admire — enough to love. But you saw them at a distance ; you saw them, or rather some of them, with but a brother's eye. Alas! my brother, who but her husband could have any ade- quate conception of the treasures of intelligence that dig- nified her soul ; of the glowing constellation of virtues that shone with increasing lustre in her heart "Snatch'd e're thy prime! and In thy bridal year, And when kind fortune vvilli thy husband smiled." Alas, my brother, we shall never behold her equal on this side heaven. — Shall I, too, weep ? Where then is fortitude 1 Jesus wept. Greater, no doubt, is my cause. These eyes, dry for so many years, have at length become familiar with tears. And there is sometimes, in weeping, a joy above all earthly dignities. Yet I must acknowl- edge that sometimes I feel not only solitary, but dejected and unhappy. But I desire to be thankful that such sea- sons have not been frequent, nor of long continuance. Dear Brother, the voice of God is loud to us and to all our dear connexions. Ours is not a common loss. If it is so painful to be separated from our sister a few days, how distressing the thought of being separated for ever ! TO MISS H. ADAMS. Beverly. Nov. 14, 1G04. My dear and ever honored Sister, — Though my Nancy is taken from my arms, she is not taken from my heart. I still continue to converse with her ; sometimes in the most delightful manner, and sometimes in tears and sighs, that cannot be uttered. The generality of my friends seem to have forgotten that I ever had such a connexion. When she is mentioned to me, it is often with coldness more distressing than utter silence upon the endearing subject. ■ But I still have the letters that passed between us. What a treasure! what a solace! though sometimes, alas ! but a dear aggravation of my sorrows. They never speak coldly. " Heaven first taught letters for some wretches aid, Some tvidow'd husband or some captive maid ; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, Warm to the soul and faithful to its fires." 12 134 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF I have lately formed the design of undertaking the melancholy, animating task of writing some account of my departed wife, and particularly my connexion with her, which I consider as remarkable in its beginning, progress, and termination. This account is designed to contain most of the writings that have ever passed be- tween us, together with several other letters relating to the subject. Perhaps you may marvel that, in the midst, of so many solemn and pressing avocations, I should undertake this account, especially when I assure you, that it is designed almost wholly for my own perusal and benefit. A few of my dear friends who are " feelingly alive" to every thing relating to my late most happy connexion, may have a dis- position and opportunity to peruse this history of my joys and sorrows. I have many motives for this undertaking. I could fill sheets in stating my reasons at large. But the greatest reason of all, is a hope that, by the blessing of God, it may have a favorable influence upon my heart — a heart that has lately become most abominably stupid and most shamefully hard. I am sometimes ready to sink with grief for my bereavement. Why cannot I grieve as heartily for my sins? Be astonished, O ye heavens, at this ! Dear Sister, pray without ceasing for your back- sliding brother. Joseph Emerson. Here, I cannot but think that my afflicted brother in some measure mistook the religious state of his mind. After such extreme and protracted excitement, is it not more natural to suppose, that his heart had lost the pow- er of acute feeling on all subjects, than that it had be- come thus " hard and stupid" ? Probably most of the readers of this memoir, will be glad to see at least a few extracts from the above-men- tioned account of his wife. I shall feel myself the more warranted in gratifying such a wish, as these extracts will further illustrate both his character and hers, and will also cast light on some of his views of education at that time. It will be seen, that he commenced this account some time previous to the date of his letter to Miss A^i ims. " Skolches of the life of Mrs. Nancy Emerson, who died at loverly, June 15, 1804, aged 25 years and 18 days." HIS FIRST WIFE. 135 " I am not ignorant that the excellences of departed friends, seen through the mist of increasing affliction, may be as much magnified, as their imperfections are ob- scured. By no means would I claim exemption from the deluding influence of a heart whose wounds, for almost five weeks, have been growing deeper and fresher from day to day. All I can promise, is, to guard, as much as possible, against the force of affection, and to confine myself principally to stating facts, instead of uttering en- comiums upon the dear departed "wife of my youth." " The first time 1 recollect to have seen her, was nearly six years ago, at her father's house in Framingham. I was not much struck with her appearance, at that inter- view, one way or the other. The most that I recollect, was a kind of diffident, downcast look which I cannot describe to those who were not acquainted with her, and need not to those who were.' 1 * " A few days after the first short interview, she became my pupil at the academy, and a member of the same family with myself. The first thing in her which attracted my more particular notice, not to say admiration, was the attention which she gave, whenever I addressed the school in general, or her class in particular; especially when I attempted to explain the rudiments of English grammar or astronomy. I soon formed the opinion, that she was possessed of a very superior understanding, and a memory above the common level. If any difficulty arose in her mind, upon any subject, it was sufficient to inform her once how it might be solved. The answers which she gave to the questions I proposed to her upon the branches she was pursuing, often surprised and de- lighted me. In short, such was the progress she made, * " My much respected father-in-law, Mr. Ebenezer Eaton, lives in a very retired situation, in the north part of Framingham, at the end of a small road, about four miles from the meeting house. On the south of his house, is a wood at the distance of a few rods ; on the east, a pasture whose hills rise above the house. But this situation, however solitary, however dreary it may appear to some, lias many charms for me; and it had charms for me when I bebeld it with the eyes of a stranger. Ten thousand dear as- sociations have only brightened and multiplied its charms. This family have found much time for cultivating their minds. Amid domestic, toil- some avocations, very few are willing to pay the price of knowledge, that they have paid." " In this sequestered spot, my Nancy was early taught to wield the needle, the shuttle, and every kitchen implement." 136 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF in the short space of three months, in reading, writing, penmaking, composition, rhetoric, English grammar, and the rudiments of astronomy, that I did not hesitate to pronounce her the biightest scholar I ever had in Fra- mingham, and the best acquainted with grammar of all my female acquaintances." "But though 1 could thus admire her progress, and the powers of her understanding and memory, I was very far from feeling any particular attachment to her person. Mere understanding and memory are by no means the object of a tender attachment. And except in these two particulars, I do not know that she appeared to me su- perior or even equal to many other females of my ac- quaintance. It is therefore probable, that at that time, I could judge correctly of her merit compared with the rest of my pupils." " When she left the academy, I did not cease to in- struct her. To assist in expanding and storing with knowledge such a mind as hers,, was more than its own reward ; and I am still left to doubt whether the instruc- tor or instructed derived most satisfaction. I have had the honor and satisfaction to instruct many, but such eager attention to my instructions, I never witnessed in another. A little before I left Framingham, I com- menced a friendly correspondence with her ; which was continued with little interruption until it was changed into a correspondence of a more endearing name. In my letters, I endeavored to direct and assist her in her studies ; and to hold up to her view the importance of mental improvement and the superior importance of religion. I was much gratified to find every letter she wrote, in almost every respect, clearly superior to the preceding. She did not, however, appear so fond of ex- pressing her feelings upon religion, as I desired, and for years I was ignorant that she had ever entertained a hope that she was a child of God. I mention this to my own shame. For had I been faithful, she no doubt would have told me something of what had been her hopes and of what were her fears. All the time she could gain from domestic employments in the winter, and keeping school in the summer, (except a little taken up in visiting,) was devoted to study. This amounted, perhaps, to a quarter part of her time." HIS FIRST WIFE. 137 " At length, from her letters, I thought 1 could collect some evidence, that she was a real christian. Then I had the first serious thought of addressing her upon a new and peculiarly interesting subject. My first com- munication upon this subject, was in Dec. 1802. After that, her time was principally devoted to study. About the middle of Jan. 1803, I carried her a bible and Eu- clid's elements of geometry. These I warmly recom- mended to her daily and close attention, as the most pro- fitable books for her, within my knowledge. Euclid is a book not often recommended to females by their lovers. It has sometimes been considered as one of the dryest studies at college. But she did not find it dry nor diffi- cult, except, perhaps, the fifth book. And the whole difficulty in this, appeared to arise from the demonstra- tions being algebraical instead of geometrical ; as she had paid no attention to algebra. In a few weeks, with- out more than two or three hours instruction upon the subject, she acquired a more thorough and familiar knowl- edge of the first six books of Euclid, than almost any other person of my acquaintance, under advantages great- ly superior. A few days after she began this study, she thus wrote. " I begin to be considerably interested in the study of E. It is very pleasing to see the connexion of one proposition with another." It was her opinion, and it is mine, that the study of Euclid conduced more than almost any other, to the improvement of her mind. Several other branches of study were also pursued, which it is not necessary to mention. "It was our united wish that she might, to as high a degree as possible, become " a help" to her husband. Accordingly, in the beginning of May, 1803, she went to Salem, where she continued about four months in the family of the Rev. Mr. Worcester. There, for a variety of reasons, she was much pleased with her situation. When she had been there a few days, she observes, in a letter; " Tuesday I had the honor to be introduced to a large company of ladies. How strange, and yet how pleasant, to find their almost only topic of conversation, was religion!" The numerous religious meetings of one kind and another, which she there attended, were, I trust, improved to her growth in grace and in knowledge. Her progress was no less pleasing than astonishing to her 12* 138 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF nearest friend. What renders her improvement still more astonishing, while at Salem, is the consideration, that a considerable part of the time, there, she was much af- flicted with the head-ache, and by no means in firm health." " In October, we were married, and shortly after she made a profession of religion. In order to pursue our plan of improving her mind as much as possible, it was thought much better to spend a few months in another family, than to live in a family by ourselves. But alas! such were her increasing infirmities, that our pleasing expectations were not fully realized. And yet I must say, that her progress nearly equalled my expectations, though it came far short of hers. Notwithstanding her infirmities, which in about four months rendered her al- most incapable of the least study, her improvements were by no means small. Besides devoting much attention to religious subjects, she acquired some knowledge of alge- bra, and proceeded nearly as far in the study of natural philosophy, as is customary for young gentlemen to pro- ceed at our University. It was matter of mutual regret that I had time to afford her so little assistance in this noble and interesting study. But yet it was pleasing to observe what progress she could make with, little instruc- tion, when she was scarcely able to hold up her head." " The above facts may enable the reader to form some opinion of her understanding. Indeed she was just such a companion, just such a helper as I had ardently desired. With great mutual satisfaction, we could converse upon every subject with which I had any acquaintance, except the learned languages. I believe our sentiments exactly corresponded upon every subject but one ; and that was expensive furniture , and in this respect her sentiments were more like mine than I have usually found among her sex, or indeed among my own." "The strength of her intellectual faculties and her unusual attainments in knowledge, though highly prized by her husband, were greatly surpassed in value by the qualities of her heart. The qualities of her heart, I do verily believe, no language can fully describe. But even if my pen were equal to the task, I must forbear. I must tell what she did, rather than attempt to describe what she was. I will just remark, however, that I do HIS FIKST WIFE. 139 not know that she ever had a personal enemy ; or an evil word spoken about her. I believe she had a considerable number of sincere friends. Perhaps few persons of her age, have more. These, I trust, will have at least one friend, as long as her surviving husband draws the breath of life." " She said she always esteemed it a privilege and har> piness to unite with me in devotion by ourselves. This was begun several months before our marriage, and our daily practice after. Alas ! that it was not begun sooner, and practised more ! It should have commenced, Dec. 1S02. But the fault was principally mine. I ought to have proposed it. No doubt it would have received her cordial approbation. At the conclusion of these devo- tional exercises, I almost always found her in a flood of tears. Indeed to see her in tears was a sight very fa- miliar. They were tears of joy and gratitude to God. 1 can recollect but a single instance of seeing in her eyes a tear of grief. And that fell, not from the pains she en- dured ; not from her peculiarly trying infirmities ; not from the fear of pain ; not from the fear of death ; but she wept lest she should be instrumental of scandal to religion by the imputation of a fault which she had not committed." Further facts of deep interest, respecting the first wife of my brother, may be seen in the memoir of his second wife, (p. 84, and sq. of the first ed.) That strangers may see the estimate which other persons besides my brother placed on her worth, I take the liberty to transfer from that work the following brief extract from a letter by Miss H. Adams to a friend, dated June 27, 1804, in which she says : — " I never felt so strong an affection for any other person upon so short an acquaintance. Her image is in- delibly fixed in my mind. I never again expect to find such a happy union of strength of intellect, mental culti- vation, sincerity of heart, exquisite sensibility, true femi- nine delicacy, and unassuming modesty." Alas, that such loveliness, and all the hopes it had in- spired of usefulness on earth, should have left us in a day ! Fven so, Father, must we still exclaim, for so it seemed good in thy sight- It has been supposed by some, that her premature exit was hastened, if not caused, by her intense mental appli- 140 VIEWS OF cation. I know not what was the opinion of her bereaved husband on this point ; but I perceive, by several of his letters previous to their marriage, that his fears were greatly excited, when her health began to fail ; and that he cautioned and entreated her, in the strongest terms, to relax her studies. Still she knew full well the pleasure which her acquisitions afforded him ; and she prized them also as the means of usefulness, and fed on them as the luxury of an immortal spirit. It is not strange, then, if such cautions were as powerless in her case, as they have so often proved to the less enthusiastic mind of man. A change of studies would have promised more. After such a course of application to scientific pursuits, mere reading, of some useful kind, might have diverted while it occupied the mind, and have restored instead of crushing the con- stitution. At a subsequent period, as stated in the memoir of his second wife, my brother was led to a considerable change in his views respecting female education. While he still considered females as adequate as the stronger sex, to master the severer studies, such as mathematics and nat- ural philosophy, he embraced the opinion that a different course is better adapted to fit them for usefulness in their appropriate sphere. I know not, however, that the dan- ger of destroying their health, was any part of the general reason for this change in his system. He also came to the belief, that mathematical studies occupy quite too large a space in the customary course of a liberal educa- tion for men. The same was likewise true in respect to his opinion of the learned languages. In a word, he was led to believe, that the mind may be even more advan- tageously disciplined, while it is, at the same time, acquir- ing knowledge of a more practical nature. But we may have occasion to advert to this topic in the sequel. I return to the course of events, which the reader will doubtless prefer still to trace in the delineations of his own pen. The following, to his sister Rebecca Eaton, contains part of an animating exhortation to press forward in the field of knowledge. Beverly, Nov. 13, 130k My dear Sister, — Forgetting the things that are be- hind, then, press forward. " The wide, the unbounded FEMALE EDUCATION, ETC. 141 prospect lies before you." As you advance, the shad- ows, clouds, and darkness, that now may rest upon it, that now may frown with a dismal aspect, and, at times, almost shoot discouragement through your soul, will rap- idly disappear. Every flying cloud, every retreating shadow, will leave you a brighter, more animating pros- pect. And, if you be indeed upon the Rock of ages, your prospect will brighten and brighten to all eternity. Rise, then, O rise above this contemptible world. But do not rise alone, unless cruel necessity compel you. Leave not our dear younger sisters to grope their way in the dark valley of ignorance. Seize them by the hand, and lead them, I had almost said, drag them up the steep and nar- row, unfrequented path, with yourself. It is possible that N. T. and N. F. may be persuaded to bear you company. If you please, you may show them this letter, or read them a part of it; and tell them that my heart's desire and prayer to God for them, and for all the young people in F. is, that they may rise above trifles — to the heaven of heavens. The writings of my departed wife are a treasure that gold could not buy. Why did I neglect to take copies of the letters she wrote to our family while at Salem and Beverly 1 1 trust those to whom they were addressed will be kind enough to transcribe and send them as soon as possible. Every thing I ever wrote to my other self, is greatly endeared by her death. How much her death has endeared her surviving friends, I cannot express. Joseph Emerson. He wrote many letters to my father, which have been lost. The following is among the few that have come to my hand. Bererlij, i\ or. 21,1304. MY EVER HONORED AND DEAR FATHER, As I have much to do, and but little strength, I hope you will not be grieved at the shortness of my letter. Though I am con- siderably better than I was a few months ago, yet I am not well, by many degrees. Though I have reason to bless God for the wonderful support he has afforded me, yet sometimes I feel almost ready to sink under the increasing weight of my sorrows. I can generally sleep quietly, how- ever ; and while this continues to be the case, I suppose. 142 GRIEF EDUCATION, ETC. my grief will not prove greatly injurious to my health. I am almost discouraged in using means for the recovery of my health. If, however, I could go upon a mission two or three months, I think it would prove advantageous; but the winter weather would probably be too severe for my feeble frame. Indeed a journey now might be more injurious than beneficial. If W. should go to college, I should wish by all means to have the tutoring of him a few months first. Not to mention fifty other deficiencies, not a quarter part, when they enter college, can read tolerably ; nor half, when they leave college. Many things, of the greatest importance, are neglected at academies, and at college too. Univer- sity degrees, without, an education, I do despise more and more. But I forbear, for I sometimes grow warm upon this subject. Scarcely any money would induce me to take a person into my chamber ; but my brother I would consent to have for my chum. For this I have a greater reason, re- lating to him, than I have yet mentioned. If he comes, I will tell him what it is. You may easily conjecture. It is very probable I shall continue at Mr. Dike's as long as I live. My situation here is peculiarly commodious for study. I shall never want a subject for interesting meditation, as long as I remember my Nancy's virtues. Her writings are a precious treasure ; and not only hers to me, but mine to her, are unspeakably interesting to her bereaved husband. Indeed, I find a satisfaction, though it is often a melancholy pleasure, in reading what I wrote about her. I. would gladly preserve every line I ever wrote upon the endearing subject. I have therefore to request that my Holies friends would lend me the letters 1 have written upon the subject, long enough for me to take copies of them ; or if any of my brothers or sisters are enough at leisure to take copies and send me, I should receive the favor with gratitude. I should be very glad to see the sermon of brother Smith, Rev. 22: 12.* Love to my mother, grandmother, brothers, and sisters, and to my dear little nieces and nephews. Your son, Joseph Emerson. * Preached at the funeral of his wife. DANCING. 143 The reader may recollect some notice of my brother's fondness for dancing, at an early period, and what a temp- tation it was to him to postpone the calls of religion. His subsequent views of that vain amusement, may be gath- ered from the following extract. Beverly, Jan. 4,1805. My dear Sister, — Though I am pressed, I had al- most said, pressed above measure by numerous and im- portant duties, still I can no longer postpone the delightful employment of writing to a sister, who, 1 doubt not, is also a friend. A new year is begun. O that it may be a new year indeed, a blessed new year to you, to me, to our friends, to the people of F. Poor, stupid people ! Alas ! what will become of them? Will they then, as it were, " Sport round the shroud, and dance into the iomb V P. F., too; she among the children of dissipation ! I conversed with her upon the soul-ensnaring subject. She appeared solemn. I dared to hope that she had for- saken the ball-room forever, and was about to turn her influence against the midnight revel. She was among the dear youth whom I once addressed as pupils. Bright intelligence, ah ! whither is thy resolution fled ? Wilt thou sell thyself to Satan for less than a toy ? Surely Satan has come down with great wrath. O that his time may be short. And I trust his time will be short. The poor dancers will find their time of dancing short. When they are summoned into the eternal world, when they are call- ed hence to meet their Judge, something else must engage their attention besides dancing. How will they then re- flect upon the time when hand in hand they led each in the dance, when hand in hand they led each other to de- struction. I know we read, (Ec. 3:4,) of a time to dance. But only consider this passage in its connection, and you will see that it no more proves dancing to be right, than other passages prove war, killing, hatred, and every purpose under the sun, to be right. Neither can any argument be drawn from the example of David or others, as their dancing was essentially different from that of the present day, unless, perhaps, the dancing of the Israelites 144 CLOSE QUESTIONS, ETC. about the golden calf, may bear some resemblance to the modern practice. If I wished to lead as many as possible blindfold to destruction, I would preach up dancing. But, notwithstanding this melancholy intelligence, still R.'s letter was an animating cordial to my soul. O how my heart panted to be with you at your conferences ! — to see the young people collecting together to hear eternal truth ! The information respecting W. was news indeed. Why has he not come to Beverly to tell us what he hoped God had done for his soul ? May I not expect shortly to see him and yourself? Let no trifles prevent, I entreat you. And now let me inquire, how is it with you ? Do you entertain any hope that you have passed from death to life 1 Do you love the friends of Jesus 1 And do you love the Lord Jesus himself with a sincere affection, a supreme affection, an undivided love ? Do you see and feel your own unworthiness, your desert of wrath, and exposedness to hell ? Do you see the fulness, the sufficiency, the beauty, the loveliness, there is in Jesus ? Are you willing to take him for your Redeemer, your Prophet, Priest, and King, your Intercessor and Advocate, your Lord, and Master, and Judge, your all in all ? If you are not, then surely you are ignorant of his worth, you have not tasted his charms ; you have not seen his beauty. Dear sister, take heed lest Satan or your own heart deceive you. It is not a small change to be born again. It is not a small matter to be a christian indeed. It is an easy thing to say, " I love Christ." But it is a great thing to say, with real sin- cerity, " My Redeemer is mine, and I am his." Jan. 14, 1804. — The religious prospect here is agreea- ble and animating. Were it otherwise, you might expect shortly to see me. Eleven were added to our church, the last communion. Happy times — happy times, indeed ! When they came to present themselves before the Lord in public, they spread along the aisle like a cloud. How an- imating to see clouds of sinners flying to Christ ! — B. was one of the happy company, as I suppose her letter informs you. The bible! the bible! — read the bible, S., night and day. I have lately read it with more pleasure than I ever did before. I have read scarcely any thing else since 1 saw you. The precious, precious word, seems more and MEMENTOS OF HIS WIFE. 145 more precious. I want to tell you many things about this dear and important subject. But I must forbear. And yet I must tell you one word. Study the geography of Canaan and the adjacent countries, even if you neglect that of your own country. If you would study astronomy, let me entreat you to turn your attention to the rising, the radiance, the beauties, and the glories of the " Bright and Morning Star." From your affectionate brother, Miss Sukey Eaton. Joseph Emerson. The revivals, which commenced with the present cen- tury, had not then become so extensive, nor, in many places, so powerful, as at the present day. He rejoiced to see c a cloud of eleven.' Happy for us, if gratitude in- creases in proportion to the numbers we now occasionally see. He continued to feel his bereavement ; but I can find room for only a small portion more of what he wrote on the affecting theme. Thus he touches on the subject, May 24, 1805. " Thursday morning, I visited the noble beech, now sacred to the memory of my departed Nancy. I found it more affecting than I had ever found it before. Surely time can never wipe away the traces of tender affec- tion engraven on my heart towards the wife of my bosom, and the companion of my soul." On being informed of a child, who bore the name of Nancy Emerson, he says — " This intelligence kindled emotions I cannot express. I would gladly have kissed a child of so dear a name." He enclosed a piece of gold to her mother, with the direction — " Should she who bears the name of my dear departed wife, live to be ten years old, you are requested to lay out the enclosed to purchase a bible for her use." The reader has perhaps lately noticed the suggestion of my brother, about spending a month or two on a mission. The following will show what kind of mission he had in view, and what were his feelings on the subject. The ex- tract is from a letter written just after he had attended the meeting of the Massachusetts Missionary Society, and is dated May 29, 1805. " Missionary affairs appear to be flourishing. Contribu- tions have been more liberal than in any preceding year. 13 146 MISSIONARY SPIRIT. May the Lord send us prosperity. How fervently do I desire to preach the gospel to the perishing poor, and to feed the hungry lambs in our back settlements. For this, I could cheerfully leave my dear people, and be absent from them for weeks, months, years, — till death. But perhaps I can do more good here than any where else." Where, since the gospel was first preached unto the Gentiles, has the soul of true devotion been found, that could fail to kindle at the thought of the missionary work, whether at home or abroad ? Men may indeed long for this work, and enter it in person, or carry it on by proxy, who yet have no true zeal for God. Native pity, a ro- mantic disposition, a love of daring enterprise, possibly a love of fame, each or all combined, may induce some to enter the work who are strangers to the etherial flame of love to dying souls. But where is the man, the woman, the child, in whose bosom this pure flame is brightly glow- ing, that would not leap to be a missionary ? And yet, the well balanced mind will readily obey the dictates of duty to stay at home, if that appears the appropriate sphere of its usefulness. And beyond a question, the individual who shows a truly missionary spirit at home, uncheered by the gaze and the acclamations of Christendom, affords much the most unequivocal evidence of piety. At home or abroad, this is the spirit that all should cherish : and the spirit without which none can expect to be eminently useful or happy. Before closing this chapter, it may be proper to remark on one method pursued, about this time, by my brother, for the three-fold purpose of religious devotion, of teaching his young people to read the bible with propriety, and of imparting religious instruction. To accomplish this ob- ject, he met such as chose, and spent about an hour with them in the morning. According to the best of my recol- lection, (for I was then passing a few months with him,) between thirty and forty usually attended these morning readings. Most of them were females, a few of whom had families. Some, like myself, were boys. These meetings were partly occupied in singing and prayer ; but mostly in reading a short portion of scripture which had before been designated for the purpose of thorough study in re- gard to the sense, pauses, emphasis, every thing which MORNING SCHOOL. 14? might conduce to its proper and forcible enunciation in reading. The easiest passages, such as the first chapter of John, were selected ; for even these were found suffi- ciently hard for the best of us. Each individual, in turn, was called on to read a verse. My brother would then read the same. The individual would then be requested to read it again. Explanation ensued, with reasons for the emphasis, cadences, etc. Then perhaps the reader would be requested to repeat the phrases of the passage after him, in just the same tones, etc., and finally to read the whole, with as much improvement on his model as possible. And whenever any thing approaching to such improvement, was discerned, it was sure to be noticed with at least sufficient commendation. Sometimes, many min- utes were spent on a single verse ; but always with deep interest. It was an extremely delicate task to conduct this public drilling, in such a manner as to show those, who might before think themselves good readers, that they had yet to learn some of the first principles of good read- ing. But this he generally succeeded in doing, in such a manner as but little to mortify, and not at all to discour- age, his voluntary pupil. To retain the ground already gained, the lessons of preceding mornings were frequently read over at the beginning or the close of the exercise. Attention never flagged ; and it was not easy to say, which was most pleased, the teacher or the taught. It was de- lightful to see how much more meaning there was in a simple passage, than we had before imagined ; and equally delightful, to learn how to express that meaning. The exercise was as much adapted to teach us to think, as to read. Indeed, there can be no good reading, without thinking, without nice discrimination, both as to what the author would mean, and what he would not mean. It would be difficult to designate, by any single phrase, the peculiar nature of the lessons or lectures of this " morning school," as he called it. They contained in- struction in music, theology, rhetoric, logic, metaphysics, and the art of imitating tones. No one, who did not well understand these branches, could have given such lec- tures. About one hour was usually occupied at a time. I should have said, in its proper place, that sometimes the same verse was put round to several, or to the whole, to read in succession. The utmost freedom in asking ques- 148 PAROCHIAL INSTRUCTION. tions, was encouraged. I greatly doubt whether an equal amount of important instruction, has ever been conveyed to my mind, by any single individual, in an equal number of hours. It is, however, to be understood, that I was then young and untaught ; — but is it not equally to be consid- ered, that every minister has among his charge a large number in the same condition. If they are sufficiently congregated in dense neighborhoods, and the minister have the time and the requisite tact for such an exercise, he will find it extremely interesting and useful. I might also mention his exertions in aid of the very able leaders in their sacred music, to improve this branch of divine worship in his parish. I might also dwell on his efforts in collecting, arranging, enlarging, and rendering highly useful, the public religious library of his people, which himself took the charge of for many years, if not during his whole ministry among them. I might dwell on the methods he pursued for exciting, and sustaining, and directing a taste for reading, such as his frequent recom- mendation, in his preaching and in private, not only of reading in general, but of particular books to be read, with the specific objects for which he would have them read. But it is quite time to close this chapter. CHAPTER VII FROM IIIS SECOND MARRIAGE TO THE LAST SICKNESS OF HIS WIFE. 1805—1808. His marriage — Notices of her previous life — Her intima- cy with his frst wife — Character — Directions to a col- lege student — Pastoral labors — Extempore preaching. It was about the middle of the summer of 1805, that he became united in a second marriage, to Miss Eleanor Read, with whom his first wife became acquainted while residing in Salem. The mutual esteem and affection ex- isting between these sister spirits, doubtless led the way to this second connexion. Had it not been for such attach- ment, and for some of the peculiar circumstances growing out of it, probably he would not again so soon have be- come connected in this relation. The whole will best be explained by the following extract from a letter to Miss Adams, a warm and intimate friend to each of them. " You know something of what I lost in my Nancy, endeared to my soul by every tie — too bright for earth — too excellent for me. For months, the wound grew deeper and deeper — and no created bosom on which I might lean, whose sympathy might solace my affliction. The world seemed to have forgotten the glowing energies and height- ened virtues of my Nancy. God pointed my view to her dear friend — the only guest invited to our nuptials — the very image of her own soul. I paused, I pondered, I prayed, I took advice, and addressed my Eleanor. " She seemed, and still seems, an angel of consolation, sent to pour the oil of sympathetic tenderness into my bleeding bosom, and mitigate my woes. Not by charm- ing the ten thousand endearments of my Nancy into ob- 13* 150 NOTICES OF HIS livion. God forbid that I should ever forget her, or recol- lect with indifference her numberless, nameless smiles, virtues, graces, and sympathies, that once delighted, as- tonished, enraptured, her lover — her husband. With my Eleanor I converse freely, frequently, and most endear- ingly, about my Nancy. We are both equally fond of the melancholy, most animating subject. I have not the least doubt that she loves me the better for my former connex- ion with her friend ; and I can truly say that the more I loved my N. the more 1 can love my E., and the more I love my E. the more I can love the memory of my N. " Perhaps I am teaching you a new lesson ; a lesson hard indeed for the world to understand ; and which per- haps you can hardly conceive. Novels and speculations upon love, may be erroneous. Perhaps nothing but expe- rience can bring a person to realize the truth of what I feel. Perhaps he only who has reciprocated love with an N. and an E., can fully realize the truth of my assertion. I did not expect that others would view the subject in the same light with myself. But I confess I was disappointed and not a little distressed, to find that they viewed it en- tirely different." 'The light in which some others viewed it differently from himself,' I suppose had respect simply to the time which had elapsed after the death of his former wife. Nor was this time very uncommonly short, being, in fact, more than a year. But whether it be deemed uncommonly long or not, I presume most of the readers, like his inti- mates at the time, will be fully satisfied with such a state- ment as the above. It will not be needful to say much here, respecting his second wife, as a Memoir of her was published soon af- ter her death, a portion of which has since been very widely and profitably circulated in the shape of a tract. She was born at Northbridge, Dec. 19, 1777; was natur- ally of a slender constitution, inclining to consumption ; was often very sick, and afllicted with extreme pain, and occasionally brought so low that her life was despaired of. In childhood, she was exceedingly fond of reading. At the age of fourteen, she commenced her delightful em- ployment of school-teaching, which she pursued in differ- ent places, and with some intermissions, till her marriage. SECOND WIFE. 151 Her success in teaching, was far beyond most of her co- temporaries of either sex. While residing in Bennington, Vt. in the early part of the year 1804, she was hopefully brought to repentance. The long and thrilling " account of her religious exer- cises" at that time, is contained in the tract just men- tioned. Soon after this change, she came to Salem, in hope that the salt water would benefit her health. There, in the family of Dr. Worcester, was she first introduced to her predecessor. I subjoin a small portion of her ac- count of their first interview, found in her journal and published in her memoir. ?' After the company had withdrawn, the amiable Miss Eaton invited me to retire to rest, lest the fatigue of the day should prove too much for my debilitated state of health. 1 accepted her kind invitation; nor shall I ever forget her gentle affability and tender concern for me, till I lose all relish for the sweets of social intercourse, and become insensible to the endearments of refined friend- ship. Delightful moments ! I shall ever remember them among the happiest of my life. I then fondly consider- ed them the commencement of a permanent friendship, founded, not on the slender basis of female loquacity, but on the eternal rock, Christ Jesus." " Though my first impressions from her appearance were rather pleasing than otherwise, yet 1 considered her at a great remove from what 1 afterwards found her. Destitute of that dazzling beauty, which some may boast, she possessed a countenance peculiarly interesting, ac- companied with an indescribable something in her whole demeanor, which induced me to wish for further acquaint- ance." " The night presented a happy opportunity to gratify this desire. Weak as 1 was, 1 felt too strong a desire to explore my new found treasure, to indulge a moment in drowsy forgetfulness. Totally unacquainted with her family, employment, and place of nativity, it was suf- ficient for me, that she understood the sweet language of Canaan, which 1 had so recently began to lisp. I had therefore a high relish for her instructive conversation ; and was almost ready to wish, that the night could be pro- tracted to the aive, though my own opinion may differ from his, as it does iu 310 ON THE STUDY the present case, in some particulars. — The pamphlet to which lie alludes, I suppose to be one on the course of study in Amherst College. \Y ether sjield, Jan. 24, 1827. My dear Brother, — For yourself and for your good brother H. you will accept my thanks for the pamphlet I have recently received from his hand. I have found it all exceedingly interesting, and most of its parts highly gratifying. It manifests an ardor, decision, and faithful- ness in the cause of education, which I cannot but admire, especially in those whom I so much respect and love. " Though shadows, clouds, and darkness are still upon it, we have reason for the most lively and devout thanks- giving, that the shadows are fleeing away, the clouds dis- persing, the darkness retiring, and the prospects bright- ening." I am highly pleased that you and your learned asso- ciates are proclaiming to the world, that you do not con- sider an extensive acquaintance with the learned lan- guages, an essi ntial part of a thorough and useful educa- tion — that with a very limited knowledge of these, young gentlemen may be deserving of college honors and high literary consideration. Surely the necromancy of the dead languages, that has so long darkened and disgraced the high places of science and literature, is losing its charm. Thousands besides myself rejoice in the ap- proaching fall of the Roman and Grecian tyrants, who for ages have held their dark and gloomy reign in colleges and halls. The day of their deposition we hail as a jubi- lee to christian literature. We may rejoice in their ex- pulsion, even though their immediate successors should be more atrocious murderers of time than they. The reign of such successors must be short. Soon He will come whose right it is to reign ; and then Holiness to the Lord will be inscribed upon every study and upon every book ; and none will sigh for the filth or the wild jumble of Horace, or the useless narrative of Xenophon. I need not, indeed I cannot express to you how much I am gratified with the prospect of your instructing your pupils in the wonders that God has wrought for us and for our fathers, both in this country and in that from which they fled. OF LANGUAGES. 311 More cheering still is the proposed " department, de- voted to the science and art of teaching." I confidently hope and believe, that the benefit of this will be much every way. It will tend to correct, to improve, to elevate, and, 1 trust, to sanctify, not only your college but all col- leges — and indeed, the whole world. In these things I rejoice and must ever rejoice. But, agreeably to your anticipation, your proposed im- provements do not quite correspond with my wishes ; nor indeed, with my hopes. And I am not without my fears that some of your proposed alterations, will be found the reverse of improvement. I refer particularly to the French and Spanish languages. That some of our citizens should be well acquainted with one or both of these, there can be no question. But who? Would they on the whole, be of any substantial util- ity to me ? — to you ? — to your associates — to our ministers, physicians, or attorneys, to our farmers, mechanics, or merchants? None, absolutely none ; except, perhaps, to one merchant in a hundred. To most of us, I do believe, they would be worse than nought — a mere negative quan- tity. At least, I am confident this would be the case with myself. I should be attending to them and reflect- ing upon them, when otherwise I might be much better employed. They would be injurious to mental improve- ment, as the diversity of my pursuits is already too great. They would conduce to mental imbecility by still more distracting a mind already too much distracted. They would leave still less the little (alas! too little) time that I can now devote to studying the bible. Though they might be occasionally useful, they would, no doubt, pro- duce an excess of evil, perhaps ten fold. To my beloved and much respected pastor, I believe, they would be more injurious than to myself; simply because his influ- ence is greater and more important than mine. Nor do I believe they would, on the whole, be useful to a single pastor in New England ; and the same remark may, un- questionably, apply to almost all our citizens. Who then among us are called to study French and Spanish ? I answer, those who have a rational prospect of settling where they cannot converse with their neighbors in any other language ; and perhaps in the whole country, forty or fifty more for particular objects. I am certainly desir- 312 ON THE STUDY ous of affording all possible aid to our young sister re- publics in the south. We are called to rejoice in their emancipation and tremble for their danger, and pray that they may be saved from destruction. I am perfectly will- ing that a few hundred of our best young men should study Spanish and exert their utmost efforts to rescue and raise these important plants of liberty. But probably, not the thirtieth part of your pupils will think seriously of such achievements, while under your care. But even if it were decided that every one of them should become South American patriots, legislators, teachers, or mission- aries, I should very much doubt the expediency of attend- ing to the Spanish language within your walls. They might probably employ their time quite as profitably under your care, in studying our history, our political institutions, our religion, the philosophy of mind, the science of teach- ing, etc. I see not, then, that the study of Spanish is likely to be on the whole desirable for any of your pupils, upon any supposition. It might doubtless be learned as well, and in much less time, after closing their collegiate course. To twenty-nine in thirty, the time spent in study- ing it would be entirely lost. Shall twenty-nine incon- siderate youths be encouraged to pay such an enormous tax for the benefit — no ! not for the real benefit of a single individual ? Nor am I more favorably disposed to the study of French. I know well the arguments that are often urged in favor of learning this language. Again and again, I have endeavored to weigh them in the bal- ance of the sanctuary, and always found them wanting. Confident 1 am, if you admit these strangers as members of your college, you will soon feel constrained to expel them. And now, it has again become a serious and painful question with me, What shall I do with my son ? I have never regretted his becoming a member of your literary family. With the views and feelings which I delight to cherish towards your institution, how can I think of re- moving him 1 And yet, how can I consent to his wasting a great part of his time, quarter after quarter, upon French and Spanish? How can I think of paying money for that which will not be likely to profit? paying money for encumbering his memory with literary baggage, not worth the room it must occupy? Scarcely ever was I reduced THE LANGUAGES. 313 to a dilemma so trying and painful. I know you would delight to relieve me if possible. What can I consistent- ly do ? If I take my son from Amherst, where can I send him ? to Hartford ? — to Middletown 1 — to Cambridge ? — to Bangor? — to Waterville? — to an institution in Mass. yet in embryo? And what shall I do with my other sons? Must I renounce the thought of giving them an education ? Cannot your new course receive some further modification, so as in some measure to meet my views and the views of perhaps half of your more serious pat- rons? If there must be a certain amount of attention to foreign language, what if you should substitute a thorough review of the Greek Testament and the study of the Sep- tuagint for French and Spanish? Other important altera- tions I should exceedingly desire, but this would be so far satisfactory that I should not think of removing my son. Most respectfully, yours, J. Emerson. P. S. Perhaps it is my duty to state, that your obser- vation respecting the popularity of the learned languages, has been exceedingly different from mine. It has been one of my principal subjects of my inquiry for about twenty years; and for several years, I have scarcely found a per- son capable of judging, who was not decidedly opposed to the usual college course in relation to Latin and Greek. J. E. It is not to be understood, that my brother would ex- clude the learned languages from our colleges. He would have all educated persons, both male and female, to know something of Latin, if possible. But he would not have them learn it from heathen writers to much extent, if at all, except in the few cases of very accomplished classi- cal scholars, who should become such for specific purposes. In these respects, his views were doubtless much changed from what they were while in college or engaged in fitting young men for college. The extensive course he gave the two young men who were with him at Dr. Emmons's, will readily occur to the reader. — Instead of excluding Greek, he would have at least all who are to be minis- ters, study it much more extensively than is the general fact; but indifferent authors. — But we shall hear more from him on this subject, under date of Dec. 30, 1830. 27 314 DEATH OF As it respects French and Spanish, no explanations are needed. — He regarded it as miserable folly indeed, for young ladies to waste their time on these languages. Wethersfield, April 4, 1827. My dear Brother W. — My health has been very feeble the winter past. I have been confined to the house almost the whole of the time. I hope the warm weather will prove favorable ; but dare not natter myself, that I shall survive many winters more. May we make it our great business to prepare to enjoy each other's society in a better world, where the inhabitants shall not say, " I am sick." TO DEA. H. ON THE DEATH OF MRS. JUDSON. Wethersfield, April 22, 1827. Beloved Parents, — We received the solemn tidings yesterday. Our dear, dear Ann has completed her pil- grimage, ceased from her wanderings, and gone to her long home. Though removed far from us, and withdrawn from earth, she is not removed from our affections. She still lives in our hearts. More fondly than ever, does re- collection cherish her smiling image. Though she may be removed " ten thousand leagues beyond the sun," does she not seem actually nearer, than when she was the other side of the world 1 She is as near us now, as she would have been, had she died in our fond embraces — as near to us, as she would have been, had we actually seen her borne upward in a chariot of fire. How consoling, how animating to follow her with an eye of faith — to behold her attended by radiant seraphs, now approaching the pearly gate, now walking the golden street, now approach- ing the glorious Immanuel, and now seated amid admiring and shouting millions, at the foot of the Lamb. And now she raises her celestial voice, tuned by almighty grace to the music of heaven, in perfect harmony with the holy choir, Unto him that loved us and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father ; to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. Dear sainted spirit ! how glo- rious, how amazing is thy change ! how different is thi6 from the discord of earth — from the sighs and groans of MRS. JUDSON. 315 the prisoner, and the clanking of his chains. Happy soul ! after so many toils, so many difficulties, so many perils, so many journeyings, so many fears, so many distresses, so many pangs, how sweet is thy rest, how enrapturing is thy repose ! The days of thy mourning are forever ended. Thy heavenly day has commenced ; a day that no night shall succeed, no cloud shall dim, no storm disturb ; a day, far above the power of mortal imagination to conceive ; a day, that shall continue to brighten and blaze forth with new radiance, long as the Sun of Righteousness shall continue to shine, or immortality endure. But ah ! the mourning, solitary husband ! What heart but bleeds at his loss. Alas, my Brother, bereaved of such a friend, such a helper, such a dearer self, how dim, dark, and unlovely to your eye is earth, and wealth and fame and every thing but holiness and Christ and heaven. Beloved Father and Mother, your cup of grief, though deep and large, is not unmingled. At this very moment, dark, mysterious and trying as it is, you have perhaps even more cause to sing of mercy than of judgment. To be the parents of such a child — to be permitted to give back to the Redeemer a daughter so bright, so improved, so loving, so beloved, so spiritually engaged, so useful, and now, as we trust, exalted to such a height in glory — what earthly honor can be compared to this ? For the sake of sucli a daughter — for the sake of what she has done, and what by the influence of her past example and writings and prayers, she will yet do, you might well be will- ing to endure all the evils of this evil world, that you have yet felt, and all that are before you. Thrice happy Parents ! while more than twice ten thousand mourners are mingling their cordial sympathies and prayers with yours, their hearts can hardly fail to call you blessed. Perhaps no American female was ever more highly hon- ored with christian affection and christian esteem, than sister Judson. Her undissembling mourners are not con- fined to one religious denomination, nor two ; nor are they confined to any country or nation. They are to be found in the four quarters of the earth, in the islands of the seas, and on the mighty deep. O that the mantle of your youngest daughter, may rest upon each of your other chil- dren and upon your grand children. 316 DIDACTICS. TO JMISS GRANT. Wethersfidd, May 27, 1827. My health was so very low last winter, that I almost despaired of life. I have therefore done nothing more to my " Useful Penman." This is the reason, that I have not offered it for sale in Boston. I rejoice exceedingly in the noble experiment you are trying. I have no doubt, that it will be of great utility, not only to those who may be favored with your personal tuition, but to thousands more, whom you will never see in the flesh. " Attempt great things, and do great things." I am extremely dissatisfied with almost every thing I read upon education. " Unfold the faculties, unfold the facul- ties, unfold the faculties" is the universal and incessant cry. Though I certainly consider this as an object of vast importance, aud though it is possible that I may say and do as much to improve the mind, as some of our brother teachers, yet God forbid, that I should consider this as the sole or chief duty, which we owe our pupils. To aid them in forming the most useful habits, to store their minds with the treasures of knowledge, to train them up in the way they should go, to lead them to Jesus, and guide them to heaven, is certainly more important than mere cultivation of intellect. I believe, however, it is the way to cultivate the intellect in the best manner. But, you know, it is not generally so considered. In due time the wise shall understand. We have over eighty pupils — generally speaking, very promising ; and I cannot but hope, we are making some improvements in the art of teaching — especially in teach- ing the bible. When this art of teaching, of which my brother so fre- quently speaks, shall itself be regularly taught in colleges and other seminaries, there will be still greater need than at present, of a few concise terms, of frequent application in speaking of this department. The chief one is a name for the art itself, which, I may venture to say, will be di- dactics, instead of the uncouth and obnoxious term, pedagogics. We shall also need to use the adjective di- dactic, in a new application, as I have once ventured to PUBLICATIONS, ETC. 317 do in this work. Now, should these needful terms speedily come into use, who can tell but they would hasten the improvement of the science itself. Let us, then, use these terms, as we may have occasion, paying our fine, in the mean time, to the critics, till they shall see fit to refund it, with interest, for the good thus done. TO THE SAME. Wethers field, June 28, 1827. Most sincerely can I condole with you and your friends, under your present indisposition. I cannot but think that my lameness has been instrumental of prolonging my days. It may be that yours is designed for the same end. 1 am exceedingly desirous that you should live to complete your present plan, and publish the result. Were I young and vigorous, I should undoubtedly adopt the monitorial system in a much greater degree than I am now able to do. TO THE SAME. Wethersjeld, Jan. 5, 1828. I have a heart to feel for you most deeply, and, I hope, to pray for you ; but, alas, I have no head to advise you. I must leave you to your covenant God, to the counsel of your friends, and to that wisdom which is profitable to di- rect. It may, perhaps, be sufficient to suggest to your mind one consolation and two directions, all three divine. " Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness' sake." " Fear not; only believe." Let me beg of you to attend to your feeble health. I trust the Lord has more work for you to do ; but whether at Derry, or elsewhere, is of little importance. I am writing and printing Questions to Goodrich's His- tory of the United States, of which I send you what are printed. I expect to prefix eight pages, containing title page, directions, etc. The whole work will probably make nearly one hundred pages, and I hope will be fin- ished by May. You will perceive that I wish to add an important sup- plement to the early part of our history, and, impossible, to infuse into the tender mind, something of the spirit of pu- ritanism. In the religious enterprise of our pilgrim fath- 27* 318 GRAMMAR, ETC ers, I rejoice, and trust I shall continue to rejoice more and more. Do let me know the state of your health. Mine, I hope, is considerably improved, though I am almost wholly con- fined to the house. I can study about seven or eight hours a day, with great satisfaction. Whelpley's Compend and the Questions are soon to be stereotyped. I wish to make all possible corrections. I need not attempt to tell you how grateful I shall feel for any hints upon the subject. TO THE SAME. Wether sfield, Jan. 21, 1828. I feel by no means decided with regard to the place where duty calls you to labor. I am free to say , however, that if you could unite with Miss H. and Miss L. in one school, where two hundred young ladies could be well accommcH dated with board and lecture rooms, without the danger of having their attention interrupted by the other sex, your seminary would unquestionably be more useful than any other institution for females in this country ; and, I trust, more popular. In case of such a coalition, too, I should hope each of you would find time to instruct the fraternity, or rather sisterhood of teachers, from the press. From each of your pens, I believe, a debt is due to the public, which, if not discharged, may be a distressing load upon the conscience in the hour of death. One book, that I wish one of you to write, is a grammar — a grammar di- vested of fine-spun, conjectural theories and false defini- tions — a grammar based wholly upon facts, and conducive to utility. I have been more troubled upon this subject of late than ever before. I know of no printed definition of a verb, that appears to have even the semblance of correct- ness. No verb signifies to do, or to be, or to suffer, but an infinitive ; and many an infinitive signifies neither of these. Action, passion, and existence, may be signified as clearly by nouns, adjectives, and adverbs, as by verbs. Cardeli's definition or assertion, that every verb expresses an action terminating upon an object, and Sherman's, that every verb asserts something, bring forcibly to my mind a favor- ite expression, that 1 have repeatedly heard from an old POETIC READER, ETC. 319 cra^zy man, ' infinitely ridiculous.' Home Tooke's dish of " particles," so finely served up by W , is scarcely more savory. In relation to such provision, I must be an incurable dyspeptic. This morning I wrote the following definition : " A verb is a word that asserts, inquires, commands, entreats, supposes, or conjoins ; and is generally varied to indicate number, person, mode, and time." I meant it to exclude the infinitive mode, which I would either consider a parti- ciple, or a distinct part of speech. I am by no means sat- isfied, however, with my own definition ; though I think it much better than has yet been printed. Will you attempt to mend it, or make another I WethersMd, March 16, 1828. I send you a copy of my Poetic Reader, which, I think, contains almost all that is excellent in the Traveller, De- serted Village, Task, Seasons, and perhaps five times as much more of other productions, equally excellent. If there is an indifferent piece in the whole, I should be glad to have it mentioned. I hope you will find it consistent to use it in your instructions. The best grammar for you and me, is undoubtedly Murray's ; for most others, probably Ingersoll's. The theories of Webster, (Home Tooke,) Cardell, and Sher- man, I consider wild, wilder, wildest. I have examined them closely. The object of my brother's work, above mentioned, will be shown by the title page : " The Poetic Reader, con- taining selections from the most approved authors, design- ed for Exercises in Reading, Singing, Parsing, Herme- neutics, Rhetoric, and Punctuation ; to which are prefixed Directions for Reading." The introduction and direc- tions for reading, were not finished, and the whole work finally published, till 18:32. It contains about one hun- dred pages, with double columns, and was the result of great labor and much reflection. It was designed partic- ularly for such schools as the one he was teaching, but will be found useful for more private study and practice in the art of reading. In the course of this year, (probably in the early part of it,) he published his " Letter to a Class of Youncr La- 320 LETTER ON THE HIST. OF U. S. dies, upon the study of the History of the United States.' 1 The occasion of this publication, will be seen from the following request by his pupils, the previous autumn. I insert the request entire, partly for the purpose of showing the spirit of patriotism which pervaded his scholars, and which it was no small part of his object to infuse into every heart. "Beloved and Respected Sir; — The young ladies of the Senior Class, feeling that in a few days, they shall be deprived of your instructions, and desirous of pursuing still farther tiie course commenced in your seminary, respect- fully request your advice relative to a choice of such books, as are most calculated to facilitate their design. "Realizing, in some degree, the blessings they enjoy as citizens of this highly favored land, and deeply inter- ested in the relation of events which, by the blessing of God, procured its independence, they make their request with particular reference to the history of their own country. "In the choice of books which claim their first atten- tion, are most conducive to their improvement, and would constitute a profitable selection for a young lady's library, they feel that your advice is highly desirable and will be of lasting advantage to them when they have finished their pupilage. •' They beg leave, at this time, to express their grateful acknowledgments to you for the kind instructions they have received while members of your seminary. " Be pleased, Sir, to accept their best wishes for the prosperity of your institution, and for your happiness here and hereafter. Respectfully and affectionately yours, M — B — in behalf of the class." Wethcrsfisld, Oct. 20, 1827. In answer to this request, he "devoted three months of vigorous application." The work, though consisting of only 30 pages, embodies much historical information, in connection with criticisms and directions, in respect to most if not all of the historical works on our country, which are of importance to a young person either to pos- sess or to read. He has also contrived to throw an inter- est into these pages, which will ensure the perusal by all who begin to read them. Few men would have had the BIRTH AND DEATH OP A CHILD. 321 patience to bestow a whole winter's work on so small a number of pages. Half the time would doubtless have produced twice the number. Among my brother's papers, I find the sketch of an address which he was now requested to deliver on the fourth of July in this year. Our puritan ancestors, was the theme ; — and truly it was the right one for him. On this theme, his soul was always on fire. It was with a quenchless, and enlightened, and religious patriotism, that he was continually inculcating, in public, in his school, and in private, the study of the history of those most won- derful men ; — men whom we should gratefully revere, un- der God, as having done more for the salvation of civil and religious liberty, and for the ultimate salvation of the world, than any other uninspired men that have ever lived. TO MISS GRANT. Wethersfield, July 10, 1828. My health has on the whole been better the preceding year than for several before ; and I have been enabled to pursue my business with more pleasure, and I hope with some improvements. Our pupils the past quarter have been about 90. We have a daughter, now, in the fifth day of her age, small, plump, and promising. Her mother wonders how it has come to pass, that she should be so " pretty." But possibly the maternal crystalline humor may have a greater power to magnify beauty than any thing else. O that she may be adorned with a beauty, infinitely surpassing per- sonal comeliness. " Beauty and youth ; in vain to these we trust; For youth and beauty shall be laid in dust." Perhaps my brother little thought, when quoting the above couplet, that its presage was so sadly applicable ; for this lovely " beauty" was indeed soon "laid in dust." The following extracts will again bring up the subject of masonry. Wethersjidd, July 28, 1828. My dear Brother R. — Within a few days, I have been occupied in writing a letter to the members of the Consociation of Genesee, N. Y. They have denounced 322 MASONRY. me as a mason. I have felt constrained in duty to at- tempt my defence, and to deal with them as offending brethren for condemning me without a trial and without a crime. My brother does not here mean, that the consociation had pointed their " resolves" at him as an individual. A few paragraphs from the first part of his letter, will place the matter in its true light. " Reverend and Beloved, — Possibly I have had the honor of a personal acquaintance with some one of your number. If so, that brother must be deeply grieved, to learn, that I am a mason. Such brother will not wonder, and surely none of you will wonder, that I should be much grieved and distressed by your resolves, which late- ly appeared in the Boston Recorder ; especially the first. It is in the following words : " Resolved, That the Consociation will neither license, ordain, or instal, those who sustain any connection with the institution of masonry, or who will not disapprove and renounce it; nor will we give letters of recommendation in favor of such persons to preach in any of the churches of our connection." " Dear Brethren, by this resolve, I consider myself as excluded from your pulpits, and cut off from your min- isterial fellowship ; and I should rejoice to learn, that I might be admitted to participate at the holy table under your ministration. I would willingly make a great effort, to mingle in your feasts of charity. I should hope, that such a measure might conduce to heal the incipient breach, which now threatens to be more wide and dread- ful, than any that has yet desolated the fields of our Zion. Could I be admitted to the privilege, without first renouncing the masonic fraternity'? "Dear Brethren, it struck me like thunder from an unclouded sky. Excommunication for my secret sins, without a moment's warning, would have been scarcely more surprising." This letter of twenty printed pages, he did not publish. "A few copies," as he remarks in a note, "are printed, to save the labor of transcription. It is by no means publish- MASONRY. 323 ed, and is merely a private letter. For special reasons, it is confided to a few individuals to whom it is not ad- dressed." It was, however, soon after published by some of the masons into whose hands it came ; and probably it was his expectation when writing it, that it would be published at some time. The following letter will show more fully his views and feelings in undertaking this thankless office. TO DR. EMMONS. Wethersjield, Ct. Aug. 2, 1828. Most honored Friend and Father, — Scarcely any house or study is so familiar or so dear to my heart, as yours. They are intimately associated with my most valued improvements — with my happiest jhours. I fear I shall no more enjoy with you, " the feast of reason and the flow of soul," except in memory, which still loves to linger there. But though I cannot visit you, I must still look to you for advice and counsel, with the same filial confidence as thirty years ago. By the printed letter, which I confide to your faithful care, you will perceive, that I have felt myself called upon to defend my character against the attack of a number of my beloved and much respected brethren, and solemnly to deal with them for their unrighteous denunciation. You will, perhaps, be astonished, that such a poor, timid spirit, should dare to do this. But I felt, that necessity was laid upon me ; and I did not dare to hold my peace. Perhaps you will think I have misjudged in writing, or in writing thus. If so, please to inform me. This is one of the points upon which I wish to consult you. If your reproof should smite me, I trust it will be received as a kindness, and may prove an excellent oil. What is there in my letter, that appears exceptionable? — especially what false assumptions; what unfounded conclusions? Will they relent ? Will they retract ? What if they should not? Can I consistently drop the subject? Should I not thus suffer sin upon my brethren, and injury upon myself? Must I again write to them, as with the blood of my wounded heart ? If 1 should write again without success, what then must I do? Could I then drop it? Or must I tell it to their churches, or to their presbytery, or synod ? Or shall I publish it to the world ? O for 324 MASONRY. wisdom to direct ! O for grace from above ! O for the advice of an affectionate father ! It is a favor that I have asked of but one other ; and that is Dr. Miller of Princeton, on account of his standing in the presbyterian church and his connection with masonry. Love to your family. Most respectfully and gratefully yours, Joseph Emerson. Wethcrsfidd, Aug. 10, 1823. My very dear Brother R. — I am comforted to find that you can tolerate my letter on masonry, and more than comforted that you can " think that it will, on the whole, do good." You do not seem to have fully appre- ciated my reasons and motives for writing this letter. I was about to state them, but this must be deferred till we meet. Accordingly, when we met, he did more fully explain to me the reasons for writing this " Letter to the Mem- bers of the Genesee Consociation." He wished to vindi- cate his character from the charge of moral guilt, and un- fitness for the ministry, which that consociation, in their published resolves, had implied against all " who sustain any connexion with masonry." He wished especially to leave on record such a vindication of his motives and con- duct, that his posterity would not be ashamed to own him. He wished also to mitigate the rising suspicions against other brethren in the ministry and in the churches, who, like himself, had taken only three degrees in masonry, and who were not prepared publicly to confess or to re- cant. He felt that there was a spirit of violence and un- christian denunciation, which he was called upon to re- buke. This particular, he would doubtless have laid less deeply to heart, could he then have believed in the great depreciation in the import of the English epithets of vitu- peration, in certain regions of hot controversy. He was reminded of this, at the time ; but to little purpose. Honest and simple-hearted man as he was, he still took the coin at par ; — and it had well-nigh ruined him ; for no subject probably ever so much distressed him, or so deeply preyed upon his health. The reply of the conso- ciation finally showed him, as had been predicted, that they meant, after all, no terrible anathema against such MASONRY. 325 men as he, and that they should still be glad to welcome him to their communion and their pulpits. But not hav- ing been in the region of special agitation on this and some other subjects, he was not before prepared to make the requisite allowance for such excitement. But I proceed to a further object of this Letter, which is in a measure obvious on its pages. lie wished to smooth the passage of masonry to both an honorable and a speedy grave. This lie expressly declared to me ; and deeply regretted that any should understand the general style of apology in which his Letter was written, as implying that he would now plead for the continuance of the institution. And in the Letter itself, he says to the consociation, among other things, that perhaps his agreement with them on the subject of masonry, might be nearly as great as on that of religion, where, as he had already stated, he sup- posed their views to be similar to his. Probably few men more deeply regretted its continuance, or felt more con- fident that it would soon exist only in history. Hence he wished the last page of that history, to be such as to ex- culpate the innocent from moral guilt. As a specimen of talent and of touching eloquence, this little pamphlet is perhaps equal to any thing he ever print- ed. Would, that the effort and feeling, and the perma- nent sacrifice of health that it cost him, had been reserved for some of his greater objects of pursuit ! Still the work was fitted to do good, in checking the spirit of indiscriminate anathema among christian breth- ren, at a time of thrilling excitement in some parts of our country, and on what had become a practical and fearful subject for many churches. And, I may add, that it is even possible, after all, that at the judgment day, he will be found to have accomplished more good, by this wasting and devout effort, than he could have done in any other way ; — and thus, in this unexpected manner, God may be found to have essentially answered his prayers and his ardent hopes of usefulness in first becoming a mason. This is the most pleasing view we can take of the whole transaction ; and here I desire to leave it, contenting my- self with a statement of the facts, without wishing to enter the lists of controversy on either side. We now turn to a different topic. 28 DEATH OF A CHILD. TO MR. AND MRS. HASSELTINE. Wethersfield, Sept. 4, 1828. Beloved Parents, — At the sight of my letter, your heart may be ready to ask, " Is it well with the child?" 1 trust, " it is well." She is indeed taken from us ; but I hope, she is taken away from the evil to come — that our gracious Savior has taken her to himself. This morning at half after seven, her little spirit was emancipated. For several weeks, she had been sick and pining. Yes- terday we were encouraged to hope, that she was better, and fondly anticipated her recovery. This morning, I was called, between four and five, to witness the solemn scene of her departure. Dear little one, how gently, and how sweetly did she seem to " languish into life." Sev- eral times, indeed, she had considerable struggles with the last enemy. But at length, she fell asleep so gently, as to leave it doubtful for some time, whether she was sleeping or waking. Sweet babe ! She has finished her course, when it was scarcely begun. We shall go to her ; but she will not return to us. To-morrow we expect to commit her to her little silent bed. May grace prepare us to follow. The health of Mrs. Emerson, considering all her care and toil and anxiety and watching, is quite as good as we could reasonably expect; and perhaps better. She is, however, very feeble. My lameness has con- siderably increased. In other respects, I am nearly as well as usual. It is not a little trying for us both to be so much indisposed. But we desire to rejoice, that though we are weak, our Immanuel is strong, and that his strength is made perfect in weakness. O for faith to glory in in- firmities — that the strength of Christ may rest upon us — that when we are weak, then we may be strong. It is not to be inferred from the above, that my brother would be " wise above what is written," in respect to the future state of infants. In the case of those at least whose parents humbly devote them to God in prayer, he could say, as he does here, " I trust it is well." It was the custom of my brother, frequently if not uni- versally, to open and to close each term in his seminary, svith an appropriate address, in which some important MASONRY, ETC. 327 topic was discussed with care and interest. Nothing but want of room, prevents the insertion of several of these addresses in the present work. It is possible that they may yet appear in print, in some shape. One of them may be seen in two of the numbers of the Connecticut Observer, for Sept. 1828. TO MISS GRANT, NOW AT IPSWICH. Wetkersfield, Jan. 23, 1329. I rejoice in your better health, and brighter prospect of usefulness ; and desire to be submissive, though my own prospect is different. My health is feeble and my diseases appear to be advancing without the least prospect of a remedy. I hope I have not lived altogether in vain to others, however it may prove with regard to myself. My prospect into eternity is dark; alas! much darker than it should be. The fault is all my own. I am making all possible haste, though proceeding very slowly, with my his- torical questions. What I do I must try to do well, how- ever little it may be, as I shall not be permitted to come back from the other world to improve it. Our winter school is more numerous and respecta- ble than ever before, consisting of forty-five. Though Mrs. E.'s labors are so very great, she chooses to excuse me from the business of literary instruction, that I may be wholly devoted to the questions. The subject of our his- tory seems more and more vast, amazing, and glorious. TO HIS DAUGHTER, THEN AT BOONV1LLE, N. Y. Wrthersfield, May 18,1829. The Genesee Antimasons have sent me a reply of forty three pages, 8 vo., which you may have seen. They say, I have misapprehended their meaning, that they are will- ing to invite me into their pulpits, etc. This is very well, very kind, very comforting. This is, perhaps, one reason that I feel better. My disciplinary labor with them is at an end. Their reply is, in general, sufficiently severe, and perhaps a little more so. Whether I shall add a re- joinder, I know not. In itself, as a stimulating exercise, just hard enough, and just easy enough, it would be de- 328 FANATICISM, ETC. lightful ; but whether I am called to devote the time in this way, is another question. Wether -afield, Sept. 9,1829. My dear Daughter, — Let me entreat you to beware of enthusiasm, some seeds of which, it may be, that you inherit from both your parents. Is it not possible, that the spiritual deadness in your region, so deplorable and so deplored, is but the recoil of the enormous actions of Mr. , and his coadjutors? Do ask your excellent minis- ter what he would say to such a query. Sept. 26. — You are ' sorry I do not like Mr. any better.' I hope, my daughter, it is my heart's desire and prayer to God, that I may approve the things that are ex- cellent. — I think it may be lawful for a woman to pray wherever it may be lawful for her to speak ; but often in- expedient, improper, and criminal. — I am afraid, very much afraid, of ism. Not that I am opposed to zeal, and faithful dealing, and great plainness of speech. Alas, for the coldness and deadness of almost every body. But I fear that Mr. 's zeal, at least much of it, is not ac- cording to knowledge, and worse than coldness. I was credibly informed, by an ear-witness, that Mr. ad- dressed an individual, in the midst of a sermon, in the fol- lowing words : " You will be in hell in two hours. You are there now." It is but a miserable apology to say, This is his way, and we must overlook it. Such a way is certainly the way of folly, or the way of madness. Such a way, I certainly could not tolerate in my minister. The Misses B., two of our pupils from Scotland, united with our church last Sabbath. I trust these amiable strangers were sent hither to repent and give glory to God. Wethersfield, Oct. 20, 1829. My dear Son L., — If you have sufficiency of cash, you may purchase the Christian Father's Present, and re- ceive it as a present from me. I shall expect you to read it with prayerful attention, and freely express your opinion of the merits and demerits of its various parts, by writing a review of each chapter, as you proceed, for my inspec- tion. For various reasons, the writing of reviews is one of the most profitable exercises in which you can engage. This exercise gives you very great latitude. Besides crit- VISITS MASSACHUSETTS. 329 icisms upon the author, you may add remarks, just accord- ing as your ideas may flow. It may be well to make a book of two or three sheets for your manuscript, which, I hope, you will complete in the course of the winter. The review of each chapter, I wish you to write in the form of a letter to me. You may be more or less copious upon each, just as you feel, from twenty lines to two hundred. I hope you will find the exercise no less pleasant than profitable. I wish you to pray particularly for your parents, and brothers, and sisters, once a week at least, Sabbath eve ning ; and we will endeavor to remember you. At this period, my brother visited his friends in Massa- chusetts, and spent some time in giving popular lectures on history, with the aid of a large historical chart, of his own construction, and on a plan wholly original. This chart was the resujt of much thought and labor ; and though he had long been forming it, he still found it in- complete, and was striving to perfect it. The following extracts will sufficiently indicate his employment and suc- cess while absent. Beverhj, Oct. 29, 1829. My dearest Companion, — The paper which I send will show you what I am doing. I have just returned from my fourth lecture. It was delightful to meet more than one hundred patrons in the Town Hall, and to see them appear so very attentive, to the end of the lecture. To be able to do a little business, and, as I trust, a little good, and, at the same time, to find my health gradually improving, seems like life from the dead. Charlestown, (Ms.) Nov. 5, 1829. 7 .My dearest Companion, — My solicitude respecting my lectures, is much greater than I could wish, and I fear may prove seriously injurious. On the one hand, my project appears continually rising in importance. I feel as 'though 1 had found the lever of Archimedes, by which, with the health common to man, I could move and elevate the world. And I receive as much encouragement, as I dared to expect. But the obstacles appear greater and greater, and sometimes quite insurmountable. And yet I 28* 330 LECTURES ON HISTORY. am very far from being sad. I have too much of the " noble infirmity," to despond. Charlestown, Dec. 1, 1829. My dear Daughter, — The Recorder has doubtless told you my present business. It would not, perhaps, be altogether incorrect to say, that my lectures are "in the full tide of successful experiment." But though it is full tide, it is neither a golden tide, nor a spring tide ; and how soon it may be neap tide, and ebb tide, and no tide, I do not trouble myself with conjecturing. " Sufficient unto the day." I cannot but hope that my health is a little improved. The distance of a mile is now a comfortable and invigora- ting walk for me ; and I attend my lectures in the evening without much apparent injury. This, however, would undoubtedly be injurious, if it were not for the protection of a wadded wrapper that I have lately purchased. This is my body-guard, my life-guard. Enclosed in this, I can rush along through the stiff breeze, and scarcely feel the cold. Charlestown, Dec. 19, 1829. My dear Wife, — My heart is full of gladness, mixed, as I trust, with some degree of gratitude. My lectures here are brought to a close — a very pleasant close, and now I feel a confidence in the vast utility of my plan, and an encouragement to proceed, that I did not dare to an- ticipate. Almost the only tinge of melancholy, with which my mind is sometimes discolored, is occasioned by the fear, that my dearest friend is unhappy, borne down with toil, and overwhelmed with care. But I hope soon to be with you. It became convenient for me to be with my brother during a part of this period at Charlestown, and I at- tended a number of his lectures. Most of his hearers were in early life, and some of them quite young. I was astonished and delighted to witness the interest with which he invested his judicious selection of facts. Every eye was fixed and every heart awake. The youngest could understand, and the most mature were instructed, at least by his remarks if not in the historic facts. He made frequent and admirable use of his charts, and of a PREACHES ON POPERY. 331 number of large maps, which were all suspended in full view. Probably but few others could succeed so well as himself with this apparatus of his own devising. It may not be improper to state that while here, my brother preached by far the ablest sermon I ever heard from his lips. It was on popery as predicted by Daniel and John, and since developed at Rome and throughout the papal world. The subject was one he had long and profoundly studied, and deeply felt. And now, as he walked the streets of this memorable town, and gazed with veneration on the " awful mount," where our fathers first bled for sacred freedom, and then cast his eye on the neighboring height and beheld the newly risen popish convent, with its seductive school of political and re- ligious death, " his spirit was stirred within him." All his patriotism, all his piety, all his reverence for the past and his hopes and fears for the future, conspired to brace and fire his soul to an effort that would not have dis- graced a puritan of other days. It was on Sabbath eve- ning, Dec. 20, and just at the eve of the anniversary of the Pilgrims' landing at Plymouth. Notice had been given among different denominations, of his intention to com- ply with their general wish, and preach on the topic which was then exciting so much interest. The large house of Dr. Fay, was crowded. His notes being very brief, he spoke mostly extempore; and amid the lucid demonstrations of his argument, gave bold scope to the intensity of his feelings. The impression was strong and abiding, on friend, and foe, and sceptic in the sacred cause. — Though repeatedly urged to write and publish this long discourse, I regret to say, that he never found lei- sure and strength to do it. I have no where met with so clear and striking an exhibition and the perfect same- ness of popery as delineated in prophecy and in history. The very sorceress of Rome was seen before us, riding on her "scarlet-colored beast, full of names of blasphe- my." I shall here venture to give the outline of this discourse, as found among his papers. It will show what kind of notes he was accustomed to use in his extempore ser- mons ; and may also suggest important trains of thought, especially to those who were accustomed to his manner of filling out such sketches. 332 SERMON ON Requested to speak upon Mystical Babylon — humbly attempt — with fear and trembling. Rev. IT : 5. Mystery, Babylon the great. — : 1 — 5. May be discouraged from looking at the subject, be- cause it is mysterious — Mark 4 : 11 — Unto you it is given to know mysteries — 1 Cor. 15: 51, Behold I show — Spiritual Babylon a mystery — may be known — Was known to John, 17 : 7. But not without attention and study To unlock this mystery, God has provided two keys — more precious than gold — The first was presented to Ne- buchadnezzar — and explained by Daniel — The other to Daniel and explained to him by one of the celestials — 7 : 16. If we can gain possession of these keys and learn to use them, certain 1 am, that we can unlock the dark mysteries of the spiritual Babylon — we can drive back the dreadful bolt — we can open the tremendous iron door — we can look in and behold — darkness visible — more dark and dreadful than Milton's Pandemonium. And then he who dares (and surely every soldier of the cross will dare) — may take the lamp of God and enter. He in- stantly finds himself in the chambers of imagery. As he proceeds from chamber to chamber, he is struck with greater and greater abominations, till he is ready to sink, overwhelmed with amazement — till he feels, in some meas- ure, as John felt in viewing the mother of harlots. When I saw her, says he, I wondered with great admiration. But, my friends, it is not my object to address you in mere assertion upon this awful subject. Let us then go to the holy prophet, and take the keys from his heaven-directed hand. If I do not mistake, they will be found more powerful, than the keys of the kingdom, as wielded by the pretended successors of the holy apostle Peter. Dan. 2 : 31—- 45. [Read through and then briefly comment.] The first key prepares the way for the second. Dan. 7 : 1—27. With these two keys, bright and glowing with the radi- ance of heaven, let us go to the Revelation, and see if we can unlock the mystery of Babylon the great. Blessed is he that readeth. Rev. 17 : 1 — 7. Now if we can ascertain who the beast was, we can POPERY. 333 hardly fail in determining who the rider was. The mys- tery of the beast, the keys of Daniel will certainly unlock. At least, they will open the covering spread over the beast, and show us the monster, though they may not enable us to count every spot, or to take the dimensions of every claw. Let us then apply them to Rev. 13 : 1 — 7. I remark then, 1. It must be the power that exercised the whole power of the Roman beast. This must be Popery. 2. Mystical Babylon was the same as the second beast. Rev. 13 : 11—18 Popery. 3. Mystical Babylon sat upon seven mountains. Rev. 17 : 9. It is well known that Rome was built upon seven mounts, the Palatine, Capetoline, Aventine, etc. 4. Mystical Babylon was the most tremendous persecut- ing power that ever existed. Rev. 17:6, and 18 : 24. Must be Popery 50,000,000. Let it not be said that Popery has changed in this re- spect. Nor let it be said that Protestants are in this respect like the Papists. They are not They never were If some of them have tinged the tip of their fingers never drunk Edward Reformed REFLECTION. We should separate ourselves from Popery as far as pos- sible. — 18 : 4 — I — 4. Their sins have reached to heaven Most tremendous judgments are coming upon them. Rev. 18 : 4—11. I do believe it is a mistake for us to enter their houses of worship, or in any way bid them God speed. Let us do nothing to encourage their institutions. They are certainly treasuring up wrath. Let us not even look toward a nunnery, except with emotions of horror. A nunnery in Charlestown ! — the most dreadful sight that these eyes have ever looked upon. A nunnery in Charlestown ! — It is the flag of Babylon on the very altar of the first great burnt offering in the cause of our freedom. 834 PUBLICATIONS, ETC. A nunnery in Charlestown ! — Is it not enough to waken the ashes of the seraphic Shepherd from their slumbers ? — to cause the stones to cry out ; especially those that watch at the grave of Howard ? Is it not enough to call Winthrop from heaven, with his flaming sword — I mean the sword of the Spirit — the only one that ever ought to be employed against nunneries. My dear brethren and fellow-citizens, if any of you Let the Samsons of our liberty they are many and they are mighty — they are many ten thousands — they are able to bid defiance to a world in arms, if they a^re not en- chanted by the great sorceress of the nations. Let our Samsons beware how they recline their drowsy heads in the lap of Delilah, the great mother of harlots. The keen razor will work most deceitfully. Before they dream of their danger, their seven locks are gone. Our strength our liberties our republic reli- gion God save us from such perdition. TO MISS GRANT. Wethersfield, Dec. 25, 1829. My Questions, etc. to G.'s History of the United States, are soon to be stereotyped. I expect soon to complete my Poetic Reader and Use- ful Penman. Have you any thing to suggest upon these? My estimation of my Chart and my new method of studying and teaching history, is still rising. If you will bear with me a little in my folly, I will say, that I have probably never gained more useful information or mental improvement in an equal time, than during the last seven weeks. I am amazed with the greatness and the invigor- ating, exalting influence of historical studies and instruc- tions, as aided by this simple apparatus. The number of lectures, however, to those who know little of history, should probably be from thirty to forty. I am still ardent- ly, and I hope, devoutly engaged in searching for improve- ments upon what I am induced to consider my best lite- rary project. I fear I shall never have the pleasure to lecture your pupils, whom I regard somewhat as my grand children. I returned two days ago, in comfortable health. Found Mrs. E. with a school of nearly fifty, a winter's school FALSE HOPE. 335 more numerous and more promising than we have had before. lVethersfieldj April 15, 1830. My dear Brother W. — After being absent a fort- night, on a visit to New Haven and New York, where I had special business, 1 hasten to answer your letter of the 26th ult. It was like good news from a far country ; and yet it would have been far better, had it spoken of you as rejoicing in hope of the glory of God. And yet your no-hopc may prove infinitely better, than the hope of the hypocrite. I rejoice, that you have not given up all care for religion. Far be it from me, to accuse you of insin- cerity. But is it not possible, that your fond heart may have deceived yourself, and induced you to overlook a skulking hope in some of the dark chambers of imagery? Could you but know for certainty — could you but realize, that you are now in the gall of bitterness and bond of ini- quity, would you not instantly cry out in bitter anguish, O wretched man that I am ! which way shall I rly infinite wrath and infinite despair 1 A false hope is perhaps the most dangerous of all feelings and exercises, that can pos- sibly possess the mind of an impenitent. I consider it little short of ruin itself — little short of a spiritual death- warrant — a warrant for eternal execution. As a skilful soldier, then, be doubly guarded at this point of double danger. Perhaps most persons, who go to destruction after such opportunities and light and exercises as you have had, are ruined by a false hope. You are also in danger of taking refuge under your " moral inability :" which, strictly speaking, I consider no inability. I regret that the phrase was ever invented. I believe it has done ten times more harm than good. Wethersfidd, June 12, 1830. My dear Daughter N., — I am pleased that you ex- press yourself with so much freedom upon the most mo- mentous and interesting of all subjects. Reserve upon this topic is unquestionably among the abominations of N. E. christians. I would much rather you should have some chaff among your wheat, than that you should be a mere bunch of wood, hay, stubble, — a polished block of marble, a shining iceberg. Perhaps it may be best for us to leave the trial of Mr. 's character and works, to the judgment 336 DELICATE CONSCIENCE, ETC. of the great day, where his friends and his enemies, his accusers and defenders, his admirers and contemners, his flatterers and abusers, his worshippers and mockers, must all meet him ; and no doubt, all will find him different from what they may now anticipate. When I was at — my eyes longed to see him ; my ears itched to hear him ; and I hope I felt a higher motive to attend upon his min- istration ; but when I was informed by credible witnesses that his manner was exceedingly irreverent, I feared I should be much more shocked than edified. — "i will be sanctified in them that come nigh me" came with over- whelming energy to my conscience, and I did not dare at- tend. Possibly, however, my conscience might be misin- formed ; and if I have another opportunity, 1 may judge differently. The question has arisen in my mind, Were Christ and Paul and Baxter and Edwards and Whitefield opposed and disapproved by such excellent characters as oppose Mr. 1 I do not wish you to answer the ques- tion ; but I should like exceedingly to hear what he would say to it. TO MISS G. Wetkersfield, June 19, 1830. You know already, much better than I can tell you, how much I wish you to live. Yes, my sister, I am willing your transit to heaven should be delayed for fifty years longer. Then, I trust, you can go and announce to your "sister spirits," and perhaps to your waiting brother, how you shall have seen and felt the latter-day-glory, (not the millennium, the latter-day-glory,) beginning, rising, ad- vancing, rejoicing, like the sun in his strength, while the remaining children of darkness, discomfited and scattered, shall be overwhelmed with terror, and satan, perchance, in horrid conclave with his peers, shall be consulting how he shall rally his forces for the final onset. This latter- day-glory, which shall be so terrible to Sabbath-breakers, covenant-breakers, man-stealers, scoffers, etc., may you not only witness and enjoy, but do much to bring on and advance. In this view I can rejoice — I can doubly re- joice in your great and rising prosperity — rejoice exceed- ingly that you should increase, though I should decrease MISCELLANEOUS. 337 and sink into oblivion, and hide in the grave, which seems to have been so long waiting for me. But I still live and totter along on the very brink of eternity. But probably there is no enemy to grace more dangerous, no, not even satan himself, than popularity. As a means of usefulness it may be desirable; but on all other ac- counts, it is perhaps to be deprecated. May the Lord sus- tain you. Primary truths, I consider such as are knowable by us, but incapable of proof. I should need to fill about two pages to justify this definition. Both of tho?e you men- tion, appear imperfect. Do write me fifty questions upon metaphysics. I shall delight to think of them, at least. I have lectured my pupils three or four hours upon conversation. It is hardly needful to tell you, that the subject seems continually rising in importance — wide as the world — vast as eternity — interesting as the millennium — momentous as heaven. O what reason had Paul to thank God that he could speak with tongues — that he could speak to all of Jesus and salvation. At this period, my brother was " elected to the office of counsellor, in the Institute of Instruction," at Boston; the meetings of which body he was careful to attend, when practicable, and ever ready to do all in his power to aid their laudable object, which indeed had long been a great object of his life. While on a visit to this region, and with good reason fearing that his complicated maladies might soon end his days, his very kind friend, Dr. Whiting of Haverhill, inves- tigated his case with much care, and invented a prescrip- tion which proved of much value in his difficult case. We shall find a subsequent reference to this remedy, under the name of albi, a name which my brother gave it in honor of the inventor. We shall soon rind him again fleeing to the South. Perhaps it ought, before this, to have been mentioned, that his complaints were connected with an inveterate dyspepsy ; and perhaps most of them owing to this prolific maladv. 29 338 PRESERVATION. Wether sfield, Sept. 18, 1830. My dear Parents and Sisters, — By the good hand of our God upon me, I arrived the day before yesterday, some days sooner than I had dared to hope. I have es- pecially to acknowledge his care in protecting myself and those around me from material injury, when the stage was overturned. This catastrophe occurred in Stafford, three days ago. There was no considerable injury to any per- son. There were eight passengers. CHAPTER XVIII HIS THIRD VISIT AT THE SOUTH, 1830 1831. State, of his health — Pay son — Arrival in Charleston — His situation there — Retrospection on his Jirst mar- riage, etc. — On college studies — Hebrew — Hermcneu- tics — Very feeble — Sends for his son — Better — Lec- tures on history — Returns — Letter from Miss R. Eaton. We are now to accompany my brother on another southern tour for his health. New York, Oct. 18, 1830. My dearest Companion*, — In great mercy, my life has been preserved, and, as I hope, my health a little im- proved. Journeying in the stage was manifestly benefi- cial, and by steam-boat, not apparently injurious. I should feel much encouraged with regard to my health, if it were not, that I am taking so much medicine — nine doses a day. Is not this enough to make a well man sick? And yet it does seem to have made a sick man better. I say seem; what the reality is, may be better known a year hence. New York, Oct. 18, 1830. My dear Daughter, — My heart has been aching for you for weeks. I have known full well the bitterness of lingering out tedious days in long succession, in painful and continually disappointed hope of letters from far dis- tant friends. You will find it but a melancholy consolation to know, that we have indeed been sick or indisposed. My health seems to have been declining since April. I did less than usual during the first term, and have not heard a single recitation, nor delivered a single lecture, during the second. Within a few weeks I have been tak- ing abundance of medicine. My daily allowance pre- 340 PAYSON, ETC. scribed by Dr. W. is three doses of columbo, three of soda, two of a composition of myrrh, sal seratus, aloes, and cin- namon, and one of gum goachc, as it is vulgarly called. This course seems to have had a favorable effect thus far. The myrrh, etc., has enabled me to eat beef and oysters pretty copiously, with very little injury ; and the go-ache seems to have had a wonderful effect in causing my aches to go from me. I am, therefore, disposed to use the vul- gar name. The scientific name is gum guaiacum. It is the gum of lignum vitas. — Dear daughter, pray for your dying parent, who has recently had much more intimate and realizing intercourse with eternity, than ever before. Have you read Payson's Memoir ? What a man ! What a christian ! What a minister ! This book, I trust, has done me good, if any thing ever did. O that myriads of copies were circulated through our land. If you do not own it already, let me beg of you to procure it as soon as may be, and read it, and lend it, as much as possible. Do tell me somewhat particularly how you like it. You know, I never taught you to fear cherishing and giving an opinion contrary to your father's. What parts do you like best? What parts do you dislike? Though not called to do the work of Payson, you do need his ardor, his humility, his self-crucifixion, his devotedness to God. I have some doubt, whether our country has witnessed his equal since the blessed Edwards ascended to glory. His volume of sermons is probably the best in our language. O for a thousand Paysons! And yet ten thousand Paysons could never convert nor edify a single soul, without the Almighty Spirit. And yet ten thousand Paysons would certainly so labor and pray, that the Spirit would take possession of every heart on earth in a very few years. Mv dear sister- child, pray, plead, wrestle, agonize that your brothers may be such, and more. If I had ten sons, I should rejoice exceedingly to have them all good ministers. But a wick- ed minister is the curse of all curses. I am now fleeing for life and health — attempting to make my escape from the rigors of a N. E. winter — to take refuge in that dear hospitable city, Charleston, S. C. I expect to sail from this city (N. Y.) in three or four days. Notwithstanding my neglect, which I cannot wholly justify, may 1 not hope that you will write immediately, that your letter may meet me at Charleston. If your eyes I M.RCISE CRITICISM, ETC. 341 are unequal to the task, employ the hand of a friend. I will gladly give twenty-five cents for ten lines with your signature at the bottom. A ir York, Oct. 22, 1330. My deab Son L. — What reason have you to be thank- ful for bodily strength. My son, take heed, that you never despise, nor seem to despise, ''perfections, that are placed in bones and nerves." It is true, these are not heaven, nor spiritual life, nor intellectual riches ; but they may have an important connection with all these. I am now convinced, that moderate exercise is much better than entire rest immediately after eating — that I should exer- cise most vigorously about two hours after a meal. But a good rule for me, may be a bad one for you. Try, and judge for yourself, and learn to vary, as circumstances may vary. But I hardly need to tell you, that it is ten thousand times better — infinitely belter, to be a babe in Christ, with all my infirmities of body and ten times more, than to be a giant in iniquity, with the strength of Sam- son. Let me entreat you to pray daily for your father's health, especially for the health of his soul. It is very doubtful whether we shall ever have another opportunity to unite in conversing and praying together in the present world. Be it our daily prayer, our unceasing effort, that we may enjoy a sweeter communion, a nobler worship above. You cannot easily imagine, how much I am gratified, that you are so much interested and pleased with Payson's Memoir. Do tell me if you find any thing exceptionable in this excellent book, or the wonderful man of whom it treats. I am tar enough from wishing you to be a carping, captious critic ; but I do wish that you may be enabled easily, clearly and decidedly to distinguish between the precious and the vile — to take the good and cast the bad away. If there is any thing bad in con- nection with what is most excellent, we are in the great- est danger of receiving it Prove all things; hold fast that which is good. Payson's Sermons, too, are a treas- ure ; perhaps the bei' nature considered as after. Sometimes, after the sinner is brought to this point, he returns again to his sins, and is not then regenerated. The spirit of God never operate- directly upon the heart of the sinner, but only upon the truth or upon the motive, so as to give it an overpowering efficacy. 406 METAPHYSICS AND HEAVEN. Crocker and Brewster have informed me, that they are willing to publish my outline as far as I have com- pleted it, namely through the O. T. They wish you to come to Boston, to spend perhaps three or four weeks in advising with them and correcting the proofs. Can you think of going ? Possibly it may seem strange to some, that my brother should come down as it were from the visions of heaven, to speak again with interest on topics of metaphysical divinity. Not so, however, to those more acquainted with the genius of his character, and the cast of his pious feelings. And we should fail to give a just view of these feelings, were we to omit such a trait. The truth is, that metaphysics, and especially metaphysical divinity, however regarded or treated of by some, was never a matter of dry or unfeeling speculation with him. He could treat of it in the next sentence after speaking of the millennium, or missions, or heaven; and that in a kindred strain of language and feeling; — and all, for the very good reason, that in his mind, the relation between these things was no very obscure or remote one. What- ever is true in christian theory, he expected to find more clear and glorious in that heaven where he hoped to meet Solomon, and Paul, and Augustine, and Calvin, and Edwards : — and whatever is false, he would gladly bear his dying testimony to banish from a darkened and sinful world : And all this, with much good will towards those from whom he differed — and deeply sensible, too, that himself might be much in the wrong. ' Nothing pertnining to man, did he consider foreign to himself,' whether in life or death. In a word, his most exalted pious feelings were as rational, sober, practical, as they were ardent : — no heat without light ; no light without heat. Nor did he regard the act of dying as so very different from living, that he must now break off all thoughts and all converse on the more common topics of life. Heaven and earth had been too familiar in his contemplations, to call for any abrupt or affrighted sund- ering, as death drew near. The rainbow of hope had too long held them in sacred and delightful association. SINKING TO THE GRAVE. 407 But we must attend him onward as he sinks toward the grave ; or rather as lie rises toward the better world. And it must now be without his pen to mark the way. The following is from Rev. Dr. Hawes of Hartford. Hartford, April 19/A, 1833. My dear Brother, — I visited your brother yesterday, and found him very low. He sent for me with a view of having some conversation with me ; but was able to say but very little. I think he can continue but a short time. Indeed I should not be surprised to hear of his death at any hour. I found him in a very desirable frame of mind — dying as we should expect one of his habits of mind and heart would die. As Dr. Tenney is in feeble health, I have been requested to perform the funeral service, whenever the sad hour shall come. I write to request you to send me such facts and statements re- specting your brother, as you think proper. My ac- quaintance with him is limited. I know almost nothing of his early history. He wished me not to say much about him. He said, there were four or five topics con- nected with his life, which might be insisted on with profit, and desired that for the benefit of others, I would enlarge upon tbem, and say little in the way of eulogy. This is right ; and I bless God with all my heart for this new triumph of his grace in your beloved brother. In great haste, yours in the best of bonds. J. Hawes. I am well aware that an undue stress may be laid on the last words of the dying. My brother, too, was sensi- ble of the same, and introduced the topic, of his own ac- cord, when I last saw him. He hoped that none would do this in his case. Still, the desire to know the manner in which our friends die, is so natural, so strong, and so innocent, that I eannot feel justified in withholding the following memoranda. Part of them were transmitted to me at the time, by Mrs. E. who was then on a visit to him and other friends in Connecticut. Wetkersfitld, April 25 1833. My dear ITi'snANn, — I arrived here this afternoon, and find Irother a little ie\i\ed, though he does not look 40S LAST CONVERSATIONS. much like your own brother Joseph. I have been here more than an hour, and all he has yet been able to say to me is, that he is very glad to see me again, this side of heaven. He held me awhile by the hand, and then, with a cheerful air, showed me his emaciated hand and arm. He wished to dictate a message to you, but finds himself too feeble. April 26, 1833. Brother lies quiet and tranquil, as if asleep, most of the time, and only rouses himself up to express his wants. His last effort was dictating an answer to a piece in the Recorder on the danger of precocity. This piece he feared would do much evil ; and he made an effort in reply, which N — thinks materially injured him. As we began to read, before prayer, this morning, the 60th chapter of Isaiah, he requested that the reader should sit facing him, that he might hear distinctly. — When I went to him, he said, " tell Brother, that I have attended to Boston's Fourfold State, and found the account of heaven, in the latter part, extremely animat- ing and exhilarating. The fourth part is a most admir- able thing." Evening. I have just been to brother's bed-side, and he said, 'I think I can converse a little.' 1 inquired, Have you much pain 1 'A good deal of distress all about me, but not much severe pain.' Do you not have a hap- py state of mind 1 « Very comfortable, but not many raptures; some' You can say with the Psalmist, In the multitude of my thoughts within me, thy comforts delight my soul ? * There are a great many more than I sup- posed.' Comforts resulting from the promises and provi- dence of God? 'From innumerable sources.' The chapter that was read this morning, is precious. » I do not recollect it.' Arise, shine, etc. " I have thought of that chapter a great deal, and read it more than any other, for thirty years. The latter part is the best.' I the Lord will hasten it in its time ? ■ Yes. — I have had views of the plan of salvation, that I suppose a person would not have that had not studied into it. It is great and glorious. Its greatness in every part, and as a whole, is astonishing. A person values a mass of gold in proportion to its amount. He must examine it, in LAST CONVERSATIONS. 409 order to see how great the quantity is. I have recently had such views of this plan, as I never had before. It is amazing.' After a pause, he said, ' For three or four years, and particularly of late, I have thought much of the heavenly states. I have never seen this subject discussed in books ; but it appears glorious to me. The first is that which departed saints now enjoy ; the second is the heaven of the judgment day ; and the third is after the judgment ; which will be as much more glorious than the present enjoyment of the saints in heaven, as this exceeds the millennium.' I said it may be necessary to wait till all the souls, to whom our influence shall extend, are con- verted to God, to know how to assign our reward ; and this cannot be made manifest until the end of the world. He replied, ' I suppose it is so. But a thousand indi- viduals may have been instrumental in converting one soul, and the influence of that soul may extend to a thousand more.' Your mind, I suppose, is much occupied with the plan and promises of God. 'Yes; especially the promises.' And prayer ? * I have sweet communion with God. But I do not think I have such a spirit of secret prayer, as many have.' I suppose Christ in connexion with the plan of salvation, appears glori- ous. ■ Yes, in connexion. All is glorious and perfect and harmonious. I am naturally fond of system ; and now the perfect union and symmetry and harmony, which I behold in every part of the work of redemption, great- ly delight me ; — the union of the sacred Three, and all the other parts of the stupendous whole. Most christians do not think of this symmetry so much as they ought. Some see one bright spot, and some another. The sev- eral parts of the New Jerusalem are all bright; its gates of pearl, r - of gold, and the Lamb for the light Thereof. But all united, they are exceedingly glorious. The glories of systematic divinity, have been constantly rising in my mind. Some think systematic divinity a mere speculation. To me, it is glorious reality. The glories of poetry, also, and music, and communion, have equally risen in my view. Some regard systematic di- vinity as an iceberg. The glories of Andover will rise much higher ? for its attention to systematic divinity.' 35 410 LAST CONVERSATIONS. Saturday morning, April 27. Brother is very feeble this morning. As I was taking leave for Colebrook, he said, ' I hope we shall be better when we meet again.' The following memoranda are communicated by his daughter N. who was by him most of the time after her return from Ipswich. May 6. — Monday evening. Do you have clear views of heaven ? "I think I have very clear. I long to be gone." Then you feel better than you did yesterday. 11 Yes. I want you all to go with me." Is there any thing you want to say to A. and E. if you should not see them again 1 "I can't talk. They must be ministers and missionaries." May 7. Tuesday evening. Do you enjoy the light of God's countenance ? "I feel happy. There is a glory I can't try to express." I did not know but God would take you to himself last night. It may be that he is sparing you to do or say something more for him. " I shall not say much. I can't talk : you must not urge me. [Right.] You have no idea of the prostration." You feel now as though you could not, but God may give you strength. " You can't have my last end as you wish. It will be as God chooses." To depart and be with Christ, is far better. He opened his eyes. " What, said he ?" The apostle said, having a desire to depart. Do you like to have me repeat the promises 1 " They are as familiar as A, B, C. I have no more doubt of them than I have that you love me. It is a reality and heav- en is mine. It is a reality." I felt last night that I could not mourn for you — that I should feel more like rejoicing. " I should like to close my eyes in death and sink in glory ; but I should rather live. I want to do something for the millennium. It is deepest in my heart." One evening when the bell was ringing for meeting, he said to me, " I was just thinking I should like to be in the pulpit. It is better to be there than in heaven." The next is communicated by the " friend" who kind- ly came to visit him. HIS DEATH. 411 Friday evening before his death, May 10, a friend from a distance called to see him. He had said but little for some days. His spirits seemed to be much raised. His friend said, I am very happy to find that God is as good as his word, and that you enjoy such rich consolations. He replied, with great animation, " More than that, more than that. I can never describe the consolations I have here experienced on this bed. Far more exceeding and eternal, ever increasing weight of glo- ry. I shall talk with you about it in heaven. Never did 1 have such a desire to live as I now have." A friend present added, " nor I presume such a desire to die." 11 No. I never understood Paul's strait before." On Sabbath morning, he was able to converse for some time. The dying words of Hooker were read to him, — " Though I have loved thee in my youth, and served thee in my age, yet if thou Lord shouldest mark iniqui- ty, who could stand," etc. He seemed to be delighted with the sentiments, and said, "It is precious." A friend observed, that Melancthon wished to die that he might understand the mystical union in the character of Jesus Christ. He replied, " I know nothing in the bible that warrants us to expect we shall understand that great mystery, even in heaven." Mrs. E. again writes : JVcthersfield, May 16, 1833. After an absence of a little more than a fortnight, I again find myself in this consecrated study of our dear, but now departed brother. After I left him, he con- tinued gradually to grow weaker. There was no sensi- ble alteration in him at any one time, until Monday afternoon, when he appeared more distressed, especially in his limbs, but not at all about the chest. He was then, for the only time, during his sickness, a little inco- herent in his remarks. This was his last painful strug- gle. At evening, he appeared free from pain, and slept quietly as ran infant. About twelve o'clock, after several ineffectual attempts to wake him, one of the watchers called Nancy. She arose, and after trying in vain to awake him, called her mother, who came im- mediately. He did not breathe after she came ; but 412 RKFLKCTIO.VS. gasped, and was gone so gently, that they hardly knev when. There was no clammy sweat ; the flesh felt warm and natural ; and even now he seems not like the dead, but rather as ' one that hath fallen asleep.' Yet he is so exceedingly emaciated, that only his hair, his fore- head, and his eyebrows retain their former appearance. I heard from him, while at Norfolk, last Saturday. One who had seen him, said, he was just able to whisper, 11 Peace ; — more than peace." Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace. I should have seen him again alive, had not an unexpect- ed delay prevented my coming on Monday. How solitary is now this house, and especially this study, where I am writing. This apartment, as you know, was so peculiarly his home, that when returning from abroad, never did he feel himself at home, till here seated by his table, in his own simple chair. His re- mains have just been carried from this chamber, prepar- atory to the last, sad solemnities. I stood here this morn- ing, and surveyed those lifeless remains. I looked on his precious volumes, and the various conveniencies of his invention, all arranged by his own hand in the fittest manner to facilitate his studies — his precious bible, Scott, dictionaries, etc., being placed within reach at his table — his maps, charts, and book-shelves, lining the walls — all that seemed needful to the immortal mind. As I thus pensively beheld the scene, the thought came to me powerfully ; " This choice scaffolding is now of no further use to the structure it has aided in rearing. The immortal spirit lias received its last finishing touch on earth, and is gone to the world of perfection." Nev- er before, on the departure of a friend, had I so lively a feeling, that the freed spirit is now ranging in ecstacy, among unutterable glories, and has nothing to do with these scenes which so much engage our attention and affect our hearts. The funeral is to be attended to-morrow. Dr. Hawes is to preach, as Dr. Tenney is too feeble. CHAPTER XXI. VIEWS OF HIS CHARACTER. Communications from Lieut. Gov. Armstrong — Dr. Cho- pin — Dr. Hawcs — Miss Lyon — Miss Grant — and Dr. Tcnney. — Remarks. This closing chapter will be chiefly occupied with communications from a number of my brother's intimate friends. They will afford a more complete exhibition of his character, as developed in the different relations of life. In my selection from a larger number that have been forwarded, I have had chiefly in view, to guard against repetition. For the same reason I have omitted some passages in the pieces here presented. Still it has not been found practicable entirely to avoid the repeti- tion of some facts and remarks, without either omitting others which are new and important, or so marring the composition as to do injustice to the writer. I might have embodied the substance of these commu- nications in my own language ; but it has appeared to me an act of stricter justice to my kind correspondents, and also fraught with greater interest and profit to the reader, to insert the original compositions; and thus preserve the authenticity, and the air of freshness which such compositions alone can convey. The first is from His Honor, Lieut. Gov. Armstrong, with whom, while in active business, my brother was chiefly concerned in respect to the publication of his own works, and those of some other men which he deemed of special utility to the christian public. 35* 414 FROM LIEUT. GOV. ARMSTRONG. Boston, Sept. 15, 1833. My Dear Sir, — I became acquainted with your brother Joseph, about the year 1810 ; and to the day of his death, I cherished for him the respect and love due to a sincerely good man. Our acquaintance commenc- ed with the publication of the Evangelical Primer ; a work which, scattered by thousands over the land, will convey to many yet to come upon the earth, an idea of the useful application of his peculiar talent in the incul- cation of divine truth upon tender minds. Mr. Emerson seemed to comprehend well what was intended by the Savior's command to Peter, " Feed my lambs." As long as his connexion with the church in Beverly continued, I had the opportunity of frequent interviews. His counsel and advice, I have sought and received. In the year 1815, I began an edition of Scott's Bible, on a new plan I had devised, omitting the marginal refer- ences. In this enterprize, notwithstanding many and persevering efforts on my part, I received little aid, until the first volume was published. But among the very few who encouraged the work in its earliest stages, was your brother. From him, I received advice, and much substantial aid in promoting its sale. Indeed, if the cir- culation of Scott's Bible is a good work, a useful labor, then may Mr. Emerson be entitled to the praise of having done much good work, much useful labor; for no one person, not a professed agent for the sale of this work, has disposed of so many copies directly ; besides the many copies for which his recommendation has created a demand in and out of New England. At one time, we had the pleasure to entertain him, for several weeks, at our house. His conversation was always improving ; his knowledge of men and of things, was not small, and this knowledge was imparted freely ; but never have I heard him speak a word of reproach of any one. I do not indeed claim for him, what he would, I doubt not, be the last to claim for himself, a freedom from the frailties of our nature ; but a more humble, prayerful, devout, consistent, useful, christian, I have not known nor do I expect to know. Of Mr. Emerson's judgment in respect to books, I have often availed myself, with great advantage. It was a judgment on which I much relied. His good sound com- mon sense, freedom from prejudice, and disinterestedness, FROM LIEUT. GOV. ARMSTRONG. 415 united with fidelity and love, made him a counsellor to me, in the way of business, that I highly valued. He was a man eminently of good devices ; scarcely have I known him make me a visit, even though it were short, in which he did not propose some plan to increase the number of readers of the Bible, or students of the other works of God ; some plan to render simple that which is abstruse, or attractive and alluring that which is good. Indeed from the effect of his preaching, his books, his conversation, and his life, I have considered him as one of the ' wise who shall shine for ever as the brightness of the firmament, having turned many to righteousness.' I had the happiness of considering him among my friends on earth; and contemplating the past and the future, 1 would say, Farewell, farewell, but not forever. Yours truly and affectionately, Samuel T. Armstrong. I shall next present the latter part of a letter from Pres. Chapin. The first part has already been given, at the close of my brother's college life. In two things, your brother did more, perhaps, than any one man in New England — in awakening an inter- est in the biblical instruction of children and youth of both sexes, and in the literary education of young fe- males. His scriptural catechism was published more than twenty years ago, and was among the first, if not the very first, of the numerous similar publications which have appeared. My impression is that it has spread more widely, and has done more good, than any other little work of the same kind, of modern date. The opening of his school in Byefield, may be con- sidered as an era in the history of female education. His labors there, at Saugus, and at Wethersfield, have given an impulse to this all-important interest, which will continue to be felt in future generations. The life of a scholar of distinguished talents and at- tainments, to entirety and successfully devoted to the religious and literary education of children and young females, ought to be set out in bold relief. Who can estimate the good which maj result from his labors in future ages, and distant regions. While the lives of 416 FROM DR. HAWES. such men are, in this world, greatly underrated, they will in the future, receive their full meed of honor and blessedness. While Ceasar and Bonaparte shall search in vain for their laurels, such persons as Hannah More, Robert Raikes* and Joseph Emerson, will wear their crowns of unfading glory. Dear Brother, yours in the joyous hopes of the kingdom of Christ, S. Chapin. The following is a small part of the sketch of my brother's character, as drawn by Rev. Dr. Hawes, in the funeral sermon. Mr. Emerson was a plain man, but the leading quali- ties of his character were of the most substantial and useful kind. He had a clear, vigorous, active mind ; highly cultivated by assiduous study, and richly furnish- ed with a fund of useful knowledge on a great variety of subjects. He was a great lover of truth, fond of inves- tigation, and took great pleasure in conversing on sub- jects which called forth thought, suggested useful trains of reflection, and promised to lead to useful results. He had an ardor of mind which seemed never to decline and which impelled him to engage with great earnest- ness and interest in whatever he attempted to accom- plish. He was never idle, — always busy — aiming con- tinually at improvement and utility. As a teacher, he was devoted with great and untiring ardor to his employ- ment. Kind and affectionate in his disposition, and manifestly intent upon doing good to all with whom he had intercourse, he rarely failed to secure and retain the affection and respect of his pupils and to rouse their minds to a diligent improvement of their time and talents. He was original and novel in his method of teaching ; possessing in a high degree the happy talent of adapting his instructions to the capacities of his pupils ; peculiarly familiar and practical. Especially should it be said that he was a christian, religious teach- er. He regarded his pupils as immortal and accountable beings ; and his great aim was to educate them for God and eternity. The results were eminently happy. While few teachers have been more successful in elicit- ing the talents and improving the minds of their pupils, TRAITS AS A TEACHER. 417 be was repeatedly blessed by revivals of religion in his Seminary ; and many will look back from the distant ages of eternity to the instructions which he imparted to them from the bible, as the means which God blessed to the salvation of their souls. No trait in the character of Mr. Emerson was more striking than open hearted honesty. He had more of the character commended by our Savior in Nathaniel, than any person I ever knew. He was an Israelite in- deed in whom there was no guile. His life, his preach- ing, his prayers, his conversation, were simplicity and sincerity. He knew not how to dissemble, nor to wear a mask. He was what he appeared to be ; his face, his words, his whole conduct and conversation laid bare his heart ; and such was his unbending integrity and up- rightness that all who had but the slightest acquaintance with him, felt that he was a man that could be trusted. I am sorry that the highly respected writer of the fol- lowing, has not allowed me to prefix her name. In describing the characteristics of your brother as a teacher, I remark, that one of his most prominent traits, was the deep interest he took in the work ; and the al- most enthusiastic ardor, with which he prosecuted the business of instruction. When he assembled the young around him, for the communication of knowledge, he appeared to regard the bearing which his instructions might have on all their future course, through endless ages ; and to feel, that he should probably leave impres- sions upon their minds, which death itself could not efface. Acting under the impressions of such feelings, no recitation was allowed to pass without its religious ap- plication. If the history of the rise and fall of nations, was the theme, and we were deeply interested in searching out the many causes which led to the establishment or des- truction of empires and kingdoms, we were led from ap- parent agencies, to contemplate with an eye of faith an unseen hand directing the machinery of the universe, and accomplishing God's will 'in the armies of heaven and among the inhabitants of earth ; exalting the de- based, and bringing the haughtiness of the proud low, 418 TRAITS AS A TEACHER. because they believed not in God and trusted not in his salvation.' If the history of the church was the chosen subject and her trials and persecutions were matter of astonish- ment and wonder, difficult to be understood by minds which discerned not the necessity of the purifying ordeal prepared by God for his chosen, we were assured, if God so loved the world as to give his only and beloved Son a ransom for it, not a sorrow too much for their eternal felicity, would be permitted to trouble their peace, not one unnecessary grief disturb their breasts. If chemistry and natural philosophy were the engross- ing topics, we were led " from nature up to nature's God," and taught to adore that goodness which was controlling the complicated operations of the world and keeping in subjection the elements of destruction, con- tained within its bosom ; directing their operations with reference to the comfort and security of man. Were the starry heavens and wonders of astronomy spread out to our admiring gaze, we were told, that " the heavens were the work of his fingers," and that the power and goodness of that God, which caused the morning stars to sing together at creation, forgot not, in the glories which surrounded him, the humblest work of his hands. Not one of all his numerous pupils, but felt that their beloved teacher was acting and teaching for eternity. The bible, with him, was the only standard of moral action ; and every case of right and wrong, was judged by that unerring rule. The sacred volume was present- ed to us with strong attractions ; and we were directed in the study of its pages, by one who for years, had made it the " man of his counsel." Every sentence contained matter of interest, and events and characters with which we thought ourselves familiar, appeared clothed with the novelty and interest of relations listened to for the first time. Utility was the leading object in every branch of study ; and each received a place of importance in the arrangement of his course, in proportion to its practical influence. A portion of every day was allotted to a biblical exercise ; and many can testify to its happy in- fluence in interesting them in the word of God, and fixing TRAITS AS A TEACHER. 419 their determination to become better acquainted with its saving truths. As might be expected, such instructions were signally blessed of God, and many delight to ac- knowledge their revered and beloved instructer as the instrument, in God's hand, of turning their feet into the way of life and peace. He regarded his school as one great family, of which, for the time, he was constituted head ; and with parental anxiety, he labored for their temporal and eternal interests. His study was the place where, with child-like confi- dence, his pupils repaired for instruction and advice, in hours of exemption from all other tasks. Here the awakened sinner was pointed to the " Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world ;" and there many, who were going forth from the teacher and com- panions they loved, to mingle in the busy scenes of ac- tive life, sought his counsel in the direction of their future course, and his prayers for a blessing on their future labors. Many who were privileged with instructions in his family, will remember with what untiring zeal he labored for their improvement. Systematic in all his arrangements, practically wise in the disposal of leisure hours, patient and unwearied in the prosecution of any desirable object, he failed not to enforce, by example, what he inculcated by precept. The government of his school, was administered with affection and mildness, but yet with decision. Possess- ing the love and confidence of his pupils, to an uncom- mon degree, those whose delinquencies subjected them to his reproof, were conscious that a benevolent regard to their interest, urged him to the performance of a most unwelcome duty ; and they received his rebukes, as thev were given, with a spirit of kindness, and were more pained by the grief they occasioned their teacher, than by the infliction of any penalty their fault might have incurred. The writer of this, was a member of his Seminary in the year — ; and with many then associated with her, will long remember, and ever delight to dwell on the instructions she there received. The many, who in different periods have been connected with his institu- tion, and received instruction from his lips, uniformly testify to the unwearied devotion of himself to his duties 4'20 FROM MISS LYON. and the almost unbounded influence which his opinions exerted over minds which had once felt their power — an influence which his consistency of character, his con- formity in life to the principles he professed, alone could procure. Those who were preparing to communicate instruction to others were objects of peculiar interest, and to the special improvement of such, he devoted many hours which his feeble health required for re- pose. Some, thus furnished for usefulness, have de- voted themselves to the business of instruction ; and acting" on the same benevolent and christian principle, are striving to diffuse and perpetuate an influence, the value of which will be known only in eternity. FROM MISS LYON. On his Estimate and Treatment of Females. Ipsicich, Jlpril 12, 1834. Rev. and Dear Sir, — In compliance with your re- quest, I will endeavor to note a few things on one subject, in respect to your departed brother. I shall include sentiments which I have heard him express, and impres- sions which I have received either when I was a member of his school, some twelve or fifteen years ago, or in my interviews with him since that period. In his views of the female character, and in his treatment of females, there was so rare a combination of excel- lence, that I have been led to inquire, whether this did not constitute an important part of his powerful influ- ence over the minds, the hearts, the conduct, and the future lives of his pupils. His salutary influence seem- ed eminently like that influence, which is received from a careful study of those parts of the bible, from which so much important and practical instruction, on the pe- culiar station and duties of females, can be derived. His practical views on this subject might be divided into two classes. These t^t some minds have appeared opposite and incompatible; but to his, they appeared beautifully to harmonize, each supporting each, like faith and works. On the one hand, his regard for females was unusually high. This was true in relation to their intellectual FROM MISS I. VON. 421 powers, as was evident from his general manner of treat- ing his pupils, and his other female friends. If a lady advanced an opinion, to which he could not assent, he did not hesitate to object, because it was the opinion of a lady ; for he appeared to believe, that she had a mind capable of weighing an argument, and of seeing an ob- jection. He would address her as if he expected, that she would modestly, but independently, adhere to that which she believed to be the truth, till convinced by ar- gument, and that she would gratefully receive the cor- rection of an error. The tendency of the course he pursued, was to in- spire ladies with a modest confidence, not only in their own individual powers, but also in the native abilities of the sex ; and to give them those just views of their real worth, which are so suited to lead them to dislike and avoid all mean pretensions to knowledge, genius, and greatness ; and which are suited to do away the assump- tion that females were never designed to be literary or scientific, and that they cannot be without injury to themselves and others. He would regard the jewel of learning, " in a woman without discretion," just as Sol- omon regards that of beauty; and was equally desirous to re- press a disgusting vanity, and to inspire a proper confi- dence. Accordingly, he treated ladies and gentlemen es- sentially in the same manner, without any needless dis- tinction. In mixed company, I never knew him con- verse in a profitable and interesting manner, and on some practical subject, with a circle of gentlemen, on one hand; and when turning his attention to a circle of ladies, on the other, descend to needless common place inquiries, and trifling remarks. In his general intercourse with his christian friends, he seemed to regard neither male nor female, but all as one in Christ Jesus. In conversation with him, ladies gen- erally had a feeling of being regarded like equals as well as friends. There was no needless gallantry — no apparent consciousness of stooping — or of condescension. His sincere and unfeigned regard for the sex, was told far less by words than by his cordial, familiar, and ur- affected manner. It has been said by one, whom all consent to place among the first of literary ladies, and who, after a long life of elevated usefulness, has just 36 422 FROM MISS LYON. been called away to reap her everlasting reward, that ladies may know in what estimation they are held by gentlemen, by the conversation addressed to them. If this is true of individual ladies, is it not also true, that the whole sex may know in what estimation they are held, by the conversation addressed to them. If the views of him, whom so many delight to remember, were more universally adopted, and his example followed by educated gentlemen, the younger as well as the elder, would it not be suited to lead literary and scientific ladies, to become more like this worthy and highly val- ued woman, whose sentiment has just been quoted. And is it too much to hope, that our country might now and then raise up a Hannah More, untarnished orna- ments to our sex, who should be no less distinguished among us, for their freedom from a disgusting egotism, than for their sound and extensive learning. — Thus much for one class of his views. On the other hand, his views of the subordinate station of the female sex, were no less clear ; and were just as frankly avowed. In this, the bible was his guide. I be- lieve his opinion was, that the mind of the female in its native characteristics, differs somewhat from that of the male — that in some things, which are not so necessary to enable her to fulfil her varied and extensive duties, her strength of intellect is not equal to that of the other sex ; but that in other things, no less noble, and equally important for the good of the world, she even excels. The station of females, he viewed, as designed by Providence to be subordinate and dependent, to a de- gree far exceeding the difference in their native talents. This difference in their station, no less than the differ- ence in their intellectual powers, he regarded as dictated by infinite wisdom and goodness — not for the elevation of the one, or the depression of the other, but for the promotion of the greatest good of the whole. His mode of treating these topics, was suited to lead ladies to fill the station assigned them by Providence, and to perform their appropriate and varied duties, with dignity and grace — with modesty and ingenuousness, with cheerful- ness and contentment. His views of the obedience due from the wife to the husband, were as clear as those we find in the bible. While he considered it the universal duty of the wifr to FROM MISS LYON. 423 obey, restricted only by the laws of God, he did not con- sider it the duty of the husband, in any ordinary case, to command. Still the marks of infinite wisdom may be discovered, in that comparative safety which is secured to family peace and order, by vesting, for cases of great emergency and unnatural contention, the supreme au- thority in one rather than in two. If in families, so wonderfully fitted in their very organization to be the abode of happiness and love, there may be here and there found an instance of strange alienation and dis- cord, how many more such scenes should we witness, if the bible had clothed each part of the united head, with equal authority to rule. Thus all glorying is void, and all servile dependence excluded, while each unites with each, in conforming, and in being conformed to the de- lightful harmony and beautiful unity of the divine gov- ernment. The obedience, which he would inculcate, would be so genuine and unaffected, as scarcely if ever to be recognized as such, by either party, the whole being clothed in the beautiful robe of mutual respect and es- teem. If according to his opinion, females are called to sus- tain a greater variety of cares, if they have occasion, in their ordinary pursuits, to excel in a greater number of objects ; if they need to understand, not only one pro- fession, but as it were several professions ; and if in kindness, they have been fitted for those cares by the native flexibility of their souls, made more flexible by their subordinate and dependent condition, would they not become more fitted, under his cultivating hand ? Any lady, and the cases are not rare, who has occasion to excel in guiding her numerous household — in being the active head of all her various departments of domes- tic labor, irt presiding in the parlor, and at the table, without display or diffidence — in rendering her house the delightful abode of hospitality, as well as of domes- tic happiness — in becoming a skilful teacher for her own children, and for others, who may be gathered into the sabbath school, or bible class — and in being the main spring of many a benevolent association — and besides all, who will find it desirable to be intelligent on most subjects of practical interest, and it may be too, to be literary without vanity, and scientific without ostenta- 424 MUTUAL ATTACHMENT tion — any lady, who has occasion for all this, will have great reason for gratitude, that she ever enjoyed the privilege of sitting under the instruction of my dearly beloved, and highly revered teacher. While I fully believe, that this subject should not be approached at all in conversation or in writing, without an important reason, I also as fully believe, that it is a subject, on which our youth should be fully and plainly instructed. Thus believing, I most cheerfully submit this short and imperfect sketch to your disposal. I can only say, that I would rather this communication should be rendered useless, by a more full and lucid delineation, drawn from other sources. But should you deem any part of it, suited to aid some, among the many hundreds of mothers who are anticipating so much satisfaction as well as profit from the fruits of your present work, and who must sustain the principal responsibility of instruct- ing their daughters on many important topics, I should be gratified to have it used for such an end. Yours respectfully, Mary Lyon. The following is from a letter addressed to Miss Grant. Another extract from the same discriminating pen, will be found in Miss G.'s communication. My dear Friend, — I am happy to write to you on the subject you have suggested. The recollection of the past is usually interesting, and peculiarly so, when con- nected with the contemplation of a character of so much intellectual worth and moral excellence as was Mr. Emerson's. Though my connexion with his school was comparatively short, and my acquaintance with his character limited, yet I trust the savor of his instruc- tions will long remain, and extensively influence my opinions and conduct. His school in consisted of about eighty pupils of different ages and characters, from the intellectual and sedate young lady of twenty-live, to the gay and thought- less miss of ten or twelve. From the difference in our characters, and the dissimilarity in our aims and mo- tives, little union of feeling might have been anticipated ; but on one subject, we all agreed. This was, respectful AMONG HIS PUPILS. 425 affection for our teacher. Well do I remember the in- terest his approach excited in every heart, and the de- light that Mould beam from the downcast eye and kindle the blushing cheek at any special instance of his notice. The epithet of father, which was often applied to him by the pupils, in familiar intercourse with each other, well expressed our sentiments towards him. In conse- quence of our regard to him, our love for our companions increased. Viewing him as a common parent, we learn- ed to consider each other as sisters. And this feeling did not cease with our connexion with the school. The mutual attachment of Mr. Emerson's pupils after leaving the Seminary, has become almost proverbial. nor is this confined to those individuals, who were mem- bers of his school at the same time. I believe it is sel- dom that two young ladies meet who have enjoyed the benefit of his instructions, who, if aware of the fact, do not immediately feel interested in each other.* Mr. Emerson's method of teaching, is well known. His instructions were rich in moral and intellectual treasures. His remarks were uttered with perfect sim- plicity, but with an animation that commanded interest and secured attention. While they afforded a mental feast to the more intelligent of his pupils, they were so plain as to be profitable to the most ignorant. You well know, that I regard my residence in S. as forming an important era in my intellectual existence. I there acquired new ideas of what constituted excel- lence of character. Elsewhere I had read and studied for my own gratification. I had sought knowledge for the delight 1 derived from its acquisition. Here I was taught that knowledge was desirable principally as a moans of usefulness to others, and that literary selfish- ness was as sinful as any other selfishness. * This community of feeling has often attracted my notice ; nor have I ever seen it so strong between the pupils of any other school, or even of any college. I am at a loss to account fully for its intensity, though it would he easy to specify some additional causes to the one alluded to bv the author of this letter. ' They were all led to drink into one and the same spirit f and to feel that they had a great work before them in life, and that they were to aid each other in this work of light and beneficence ; and sel- fishness, and petty aims, and vanity, were to be laid aside. This laid the foundation for a new and kindred feeling of an exalted and permanent character. 30* 4*26 FROM MISS GRANT. FROM MISS GRANT. Ipsicich, April, 1834. Rev. and dear Sir, — Your note requesting me to communicate something respecting your brother, that might aid you in preparing his Memoir, was duly re- ceived. Having been his pupil six months, and resided in his family more than two years, either as pupil or assistant teacher, and having kept up an acquaintance with him as with an elder brother, from the spring of 1820 till his death, I have had an opportunity of know- ing his character more thoroughly than perhaps almost any other person, except his own family connexions. My full conviction, that many faithful laborers in the cause of education, would become much more useful through an acquaintance with some of his distinguishing traits, leads me to communicate to you the following ob- servations, which I submit to your disposal. His uncommon skill in exciting those around him to think, was one of his peculiar excellencies as an educa- tor. This was not so much owing to the force of his mental action, as to the quickness and clearness of his perceptions, and to his peculiar delight in witnessing the mental operations of others, and in eliciting truth by the mutual action and reaction of his own and other minds. He was equally careful to theorize on his practice, and to practice his theories ; and the ivhy and wherefore, with which he often interrogated his pupils, could not fail of arresting their attention. The boundary of his own knowledge, he was able most clearly to define, and the causes of uncertainty as to what lay beyond that limit, he always understood. Regarding his own attainments as the result of patient, persevering effort, he felt that high mental cultivation, and abilities for extensive use- fulness, might be acquired by those of only respectable talents, if they were willing to pay the -price. He believ- ed that a mind well disciplined, and stored with useful and systematic knowledge, and able to use it when called for, together with discretion and a singleness of purpose to do right, promised more good to the human race, than first-rate talents, unaccompanied by such moral power. Having accomplished so much in self- education, he knew how to point out to others his well- FROM MISS GRANT. 427 trodden path. He would indicate what the course and progress of his own mind had been, by proposing such questions as at once seemed capable of solution ; and yet actually required much thought to solve. When it was necessary, he would give a clue to the solution of a difficulty ; but ordinarily the mind he was guiding, must distinctly see and weigh the arguments on opposite sides, and decide for itself, before it could discover how the case stood in his own. In discussion, he almost uni- formly adopted the Socratic method. His skill in stat- ing questions, was surely of no ordinary character, as the more and the less learned would unitedly testify. His patience with persons unskilled in reasoning, and his uniform kindness and cheerfulness of manner, over- came the timidity of almost every active intellect. Bar- renness of mind never seemed to be the result of his physical infirmities. On the contrary, when his bodily powers were the most prostrated, he seemed to approach nearer and nearer to our ideal of a pure spirit ; and whether he was comparatively weak or strong, he would furnish by the present actings of his own mind, abun- dant materials of thought, to all with whom he conversed. It was his uniform practice, to refer his every action to the principle of moral right. This principle, he consid- ered much more extensive in its application, than is gen- erally conceded by professing christians. For every thing he did, he was able to state a reason that was sat- isfactory, at least to himself. His diet,* exercise, intel- lectual employments, and the course to be pursued in his school, and indeed every practical question was brought to the same test. Whatever he decided, all things con- sidered, it was best he should do, that he continued to do, till he saw reason for altering his decision. This was strikingly apparent in his care of his health. In forming his plans for usefulness, he always considered what he could sustain without injury. It was with him an established principle, that it was his duty to prolong * To a friend he once remarked to the following effect Every thing like luxury in food is sinful. When making calls on ladies of piety, I have sometimes been distressed, to hear them speak of living for the glory ol God, when spreading a very sumptuous table — just as if the fdoiy of God had nothing to do with these extravagances. Indeed, he regarded luxury as a double sin, a waste of food, and a waste of health. 428 FROM MISS GRANT. his usefulness in this world, as many years as possible. And that it would be wrong for him, either by neglect- ing attention to diet and exercise, or by making efforts on any occasion beyond his strength, to injure, even temporarily, the only instrument with which his mind could act on earth. When he had decided, that every time he stepped out of the door, he needed his overshoes, or gaiters, or both, he never went without them. The hours he had appropriated to exercise, were never under any circumstances, for a single day, spent in physical inaction.* He not only uniformly rejected whatever food, he had decided to be injurious to him, but his cocoa or shells, or whatever he deemed necessary for his food or drink, was always taken, whether at home or abroad. As his diet for several years consisted gen- erally, either of bread and milk, or bread and butter, what solid food he wanted, could be supplied at any table ; and the inconvenience and unpleasantness of car- rying his shells with him, and having them prepared, wherever he took his morning or evening repast, he considered as nothing, compared with the loss of that precious time, which he had consecrated to the service of God.f From that fearful lion, " What will people say 1" which leads so many to violate conscience, he was so guarded by the shield of faith, that its attacks never caused him either a trembling or a deviating step. When informed, that some of his acquaintances thought he would have more strength, if he should take more nourishing food, or that they considered him notional in regard to his diet, he would say, " I understand my own case better than any one else can" — " I am not account- able to other people's consciences, but to my own," — " I am not to be swerved from the performance of what I believe to be duty, by what people say," — " I am under obligation to pursue such a course, as will enable me to accomplish the greatest amount of good." Often also, * This sometimes led him to such neglect of company as to create in my own breast, painful feelings. Though I could not coincide with him in all his conclusions, yet I could see the view which he took of the case, and understood I'.he reasons of his conduct. t He was no less careful as to the quantity of his food. More than thirty years ago he adopted the practice of eating but one kind at a meal ; and this as he then said, to prevent his eating too much. — Ed. FROM MISS GRANT. 429 when journeying for his health, he felt constrained to deny himself the gratification of calling on his friends, even when he passed very near them ; hecause the ex- citement, which he must necessarily experience in meet- ing them, Mould he more than he could sustain, and at the same time receive benefit from his journey. Had he taken no more care of himself than even conscien- tious invalids generally do, he would have been lost to the world, and probably laid in his grave, at least ten years sooner. How much, then, do mankind owe to his peculiar watchfulness and singular fidelity in relation to every thing that could affect his physical system.* It was not enough in his view, for a rational being to be positively useful. He held it to be both his duty, and his privilege, to do good to the extent of his capacity. To fall short of this, he considered morally wrong. Under circumstances suited to produce painful emotion, instead of allowing the propensities of human nature to operate and consume his time, he trained himself to consider what it was duty to do in the case ; to discharge that faithfully ; and then to apply himself, with undivided attention, to useful occupation. The requirement, Love thy neighbor as thyself, he felt to be full of meaning. The principle of obedience to this precept, led him to peculiar faithfulness in adminis- tering reproof This Mas generally accomplished by di- recting the attention of the person, whose fault he wished * To a superficial eye, it might seem as if my brother was very fond of life. But in truth, I have scarcely known the man that cared so lit- tle for life merely /or the sake of living; while I have never found one with whom the preservation of life, was so much a matter of conscience. The following, from the memoranda of his daughter, will further illustrate this position. To those who had not known and could not realize the great and long continued infirmities of my father, the various methods he had adopted and the efforts he had made for the recovery of his health, his pertinacious adherence to his peculiar habits, might appear like obsti- nacy. But it arose from a solemn conviction of duty and a persuasion that having so long studied his own constitution, he was* better acquainted with it, than any one else. Hence his extreme reluctance, in his last sickness, to try experiments which the experience of twenty years, had led him to be- lieve might be injurious. A week or two beforehis death, when I inquir- ed of him, if he had not better take a certain medicine, he said, in a very so- lemn manner, '" my conscience is most deeply exercised upon that subject. I am going to the judgment and must judge for myself." And it was only after prayerful deliberation and requesting the prayers of others that he consented to throw himself upon the care of his physicians, and leave the event with God. 430 FROM MISS GRANT. to correct, to the exercise of an opposite virtue. Where he observed, for instance, apparent impatience of con- tradiction, he would take a favorable opportunity to re- mark, " I think your manner in conversation might per- haps be improved by cultivating a spirit of meekness." This would be said in so easy and unstudied a manner, with so much kindness and benevolent interest, as to make it impossible for a teachable disposition, to resist its influence. Instead of leading his friends to make efforts to correct the outward appearance, even where the fault seemed to be only in manner, he always turned their attention inward, and led them to seek to purify the source. He gratefully received hints concerning himself, from his intimate friends, not excepting his infe- riors ; and in all his faithfulness of reproof to others, the golden rule was ever his rule of action. Even very trying truths respecting peculiar traits of character or personal habits, he would communicate in such a way, that though all was understood and felt, yet the individ- ual would hardly be able to tell at what particular time in the course of the conversation, the desired impression was received. From the example of Paul in his epistles, and of our Savior in his letters to the seven churches of Asia, he learned to mingle more or less of commenda- tion with his reproofs. This was of a kind suited to lead his friends justly to appreciate excellence, and to dis- criminate between good and evil, to desire the one and avoid the other, and by no means to produce self-com- placency. In this way, he greatly aided those under his influence, in gaining a just estimate of themselves, and continually stimulated them to aim at high attain- ments. I would further remark on his signal success, in lead- ing every conscientious pupil to feci her individual respon- sibility to serve her generation according to the will of God. This seemed to be effected by leading the pupil to see things more nearly as they are, — to gain clearer ideas of the principles of the human mind, a more just sense of the end for which it was created, a more ration- al and practical understanding of the moral law, and a perception of its adaptation to the condition and charac- ter of man — and by an exemplification, in his own spirit and conduct, of that moral excellence which he FROM MISS GRANT. 431 inculcated. The way being thus prepared, the exhortation from him, " Never spend six months of your life in any way, without first considering whether you can benefit the world as much by the plan proposed, as by any other," has been applied with such force, as to produce an effect for years. His self-possession under circum- stances fitted to produce irritation, convinced those around him, that he could endure as well as act. They felt that he would do exactly what he thought was right, and this caused his instructions to come home with ten- fold power. This happy influence was not felt merely while his pupils were members of his seminary, but the principles then adopted or developed, remained abiding and operative wherever their lot was cast. The following extract of a letter from an intelligent mother, who was once a member of his seminary, is a happy specimen of the sentiments and experience of many of his pupils, whose active, unostentatious useful- ness is the best comment on the moral tendency of his instructions and example. " Among other ways of doing good, Mr. Emerson did not fail often to refer to one peculiarly adapted to the situation and habits of females — that of influencing and educating children. His re- marks on this subject, were frequent ; his directions for being useful to our little brothers and sisters, minute; and his illustrations, practical. As I had neither a little brother nor sister to labor for, I sometimes used to think him unnecessarily prolix on this subject ; but since I have been a mother, I have realized the value of these instructions. While gazing on the infant in my arms, or attending to the prattler at my side, I have felt reason to thank God for having been Mr. E.'s pupil. To him I am indebted for an increased sense of the responsibility of the maternal relation ; and from his opinions and sentiments, have I derived most of the principles which have actuated me in the management of my children. Very often docs his maxim, 'Never teach a child what you will afterwards wish him to forget,' come to mv mind with restraining power, and the experience of sev- eral years has but increased mj conviction of its salutary influence. 1 think I may say as an almost uniform fact, that my success with my children, has been proportioned to the fidelity with which I have adhered to Mr. E.'s di- rections and principles. Those books which have been 432 FROM MISS GRANT. most useful to me, and most profitable to my children, have seemed but exemplifications of what fell from his lips, years ago." His familiar acquaintance with the history and char' acter of bible saints, and his clear conception of invisible realities j had no small effect on his usefulness. The original talents, the natural disposition and the general attainments, as well as whatever was peculiar in the religious character of the patriarchs, statesmen, warriors, and prophets, delineated in holy writ, appeared to be as clearly understood by him, as were those of his own asso- ciates. Such particular circumstances or traits, as that of Abraham's being an intelligent traveller, and a polished gentleman ; and Isaac, a quiet, well-disposed, domestic man, with only ordinary talents, were often noticed in his conversation and instruction. He was satisfied that heaven is a locality, because it contains the bodies of Enoch, Elijah and Christ ; and he would speak of these bodies, and of the spirits of the righteous dead, as being in heaven, just as he would speak of a friend's being in a neighboring State. The communion of glorified saints with each other and with Christ, seemed to him as much a reality as the intercourse of the members of his own family ; and his views in respect to the transforming influence, on the redeemed, of seeing Jesus as he is, gave him a live- ly sense of the importance of contemplating the same character, in order to promote personal sanctification on earth. It was his custom to speak of intellectual and holy pursuits in heaven, as a continuation of the same on earth, and of going thither, as a change of state, but not of character. Such expressions frequently falling from his lips, as, " I never expect to understand this fully before I get to heaven ; " " we shall know more about this science if we ever reach heaven ; " " probably Abra- ham, with all his faith, had low views of this subject on earth, compared with what he has now," led those around him to feel, that heavenly things were to him as real as earthly. Even the skeptical would imperceptibly imbibe the same view, and begin to feel that their exist- ence after death, is as certain as their existence now. His habit of viewing and exhibiting the subject in this calm and unimpassioned manner, till the judgment was wholly enlisted, was, in its effects on the christian, most FROM DR. TENNEY. 433 Lasting and salutary, and the means of bringing many who were Impenitent, to the exercise of saving faith. The death of this good man, appeared to his extensive circle of friends, only as a transition from his place of sojourning here, to a permanent residence on high; and his arrival there, with what is to follow it, as the con- summation of all his desires in regard to himself. Al- most or quite every individual whom I have heard speak of his death, instead of using a common expression, has remarked something to this effect; " Mr. Emerson has finally none home; he now mingles with those ancient saints lie so much admired and loved on earth." If the anticipation of associating with Abraham, Isaac, and Ja- cob, was to him so delightful, what must the reality he ? " "No other person's death ever seemed to me so much like a passage from one country to another, as does his." " Instead of thinking of him as being dead, I always think of him as being' in heaven." With high regard, and sincere esteem, yours, Z. P. Grant. FROM DR. TENNEY. IVdhersfield, January A, 1834. Rev. and Dear Sir, — Since you requested me to express my views respecting your lamented brother, such has been my own indisposition, pointing me to my own exit as not distant, that I have not been able, neither am I now able, to do justice to the deceased. But such was my acquaintance with him and sueh my respect for his character, that I cannot be silent. Although we were born nearly in the same neighbor- hood, and were not very distant in age, our acquaintance did not become intimate, until the spring of his third year in college. Then in our native place, our minds were almost at the same time impressed with the great truths of religion — a circumstance which led to an inti- macy of friendship, which was terminated only by lug death. His religious anxiety was marked by great hon- esty in his inquiries after truth and duty, and by a most conscientious and entire surrendery of himself to the gospel of Jesus Christ and to the service of God. In our subsequent interviews, which were only occa- 37 434 FROM DR. TENNEY. sional, until he removed to this place, great frankness, untiring ardor in duty and the character of an Israelite indeed in whom is no guile, very uniformly appeared in him. The character he developed here, was in perfect keeping with what I had previously known and expected of him ; except as my renewed acquaintance became more and more intimate, I saw in him more and more to love and respect. In his dispositions, he was naturally so frank and hon- est, that he was ready, possibly too ready, to believe all others like himself. Duplicity and deceitfulness, flatery and flaterers, he could not endure. Pacific, compassion- ate and kind in his feelings, he never once, in all my in- tercourse with him, appeared in the least out of temper. He indeed complained of nervous weakness and irrita- bility ; but this was known only to himself and not to others. So common is it for those long employed in teaching the young, to become impatient and irritable, that his freedom from this, as testified by his pupils and acquaintance, was an attainment as excellent as it is rare.* Uninterruptedly did he, in every way, aim at improve- ment. This was a leading trait in his character, and was fitted to make him original and interesting as an in- structor of youth and a preacher of the gospel. He had and ever manifested a hallowed, profound defference for the bible. He was mighty in the scriptures, and was decided in his belief, that they ought to be a classic, not only in female seminaries but also in all literary institutions. His piety was deeply in-wrought and was apparent in his whole conversation and life. Your brother was more remarkable for no one thing than for doing whatever he did with all his might. In study, in conversation, in teaching, in prayer, and in preaching he brought all his power into action, and his whole soul was absorbed. This was the secret together with his simplicity and perspicuity, of his popularity and great success as a teacher, and of his peculiar power in rousing and bringing into vigorous action, all the ener- * Here, too, he put in requisition a sanctified philosophy. " If at any time," said he once to a friend, " I find an emotion of displeasure rising in my heart, I put on a smile, and that destroys the feeling. If any one else is disposed to try this method he can." FROM DR. TENNEY. 435 gies of his pupils. This was the secret of his commend- ing himself in the pulpit to the consciences of all his hearers, who always felt themselves moved and instructed by his discourses. This was the secret of his feeble health and of his early death. His mind was too active and too much employed, to preserve health, or secure Length of days. His has been a life of uncommon usefulness. Omitting all other particulars, I here allude only to the good he did in this place, and as the teacher and principal of his Seminary. Permit me just to say, as a tribute of per- sonal gratitude and respect, that to myself he was of great service as a friend, a brother, a wise counsellor and a frequent assistant in the devotions and ministra- tions of the sanctuary and at the table of Christ. The instruction he imparted to a multitude of our youth, co-operated perfectly in its influence with the high de- sign of the ministry. In the introduction and establish- ment of female seminaries in New England, he was very much a pioneer. Such celebrity did he secure to his institution for its system, accuracy, thoroughness, and christian character, that far and wide he spread be- fore the public mind the importance of female education. His may properly be called a parent institution. For several of his pupils and many others followed his ex ample in establishing schools of a high order for young ladies. His usefulness in this respect, has surpassed that of any other teacher of females within the last hall century.* Besides this, the instruction he actually communicated to many, many hundreds of minds, and the success with which he taught them /ioir to think, how to read, how to learn and how to feel and act, constitute an untold amount of good. By liim a vast number were prepared for ele- vated stations in domestic life, and many to become the companions of ministers and missionaries i<> the heathen. Repeatedly was lus seminary visited by the gracious in- fluences of the Spirit, under which not a lew were sealed * The views of my brother's influence on female education, as ex- pressed here and elsewhere, an* not t<> be understood as derogating from tii>' nserul labors of bis COtemporaries or his predecessors. Woodbridge, Herrick, and others had labored to good purpose in parts of the same wide field. 436 FROM DR. TENNEY. to the day of redemption. Tims he has spread exten- sively a healthful, redeeming influence in the church and in the world — an influence which lives and acts while he sleeps — an influence which is no small item in that great amount of influence, which is, under God, to renovate the world. Already does it clearly appear, that wise was that providence, in the failure of his health, which drove him from the ministry to the em- ployment of a teacher of the young. It was rational to expect, that such a man would have a calm and peaceful death. His was indeed of this character. Persuaded, months before his exit, that the time of his departure drew near, he set his house in order and prepared for the last. Uniformly was he composed. Uniformly did he abound in counsel, ad- monition, and conversation fitted to his dying condition. In much that he said, his heart was full, his language strong, and his very countenance expressive. He said to myself, " I have always in my life had fears of death and a dread of the grave, but both are now gone." To the remark, God renders your passage to the grave pleas- ant, he replied, "I fear too pleasant, there is nothing but pleasantness in it." To two brethren in the minis- try, he said ; " the ministry never appeared to me be- fore so important and glorious. Be faithful, brethren, in your great work. I trust I am going upward ; in a little while, one of you will be called upward ; and the other, not long after. The reward is glorious." To the inquiry, How do you feel to-day, Sir 1 he replied, " I feel as though I had been in heaven for two days." When told he had been enabled to do much for Christ, he an- swered, " That is too strong; compared with those who have done nothing, I have done a good deal." He spoke with rapture of the certainty and glory of the millennium and rejoiced in view of the advance of Christ's kingdom, since he came upon the stage. In a word, the Rev. Joseph Emerson was iu life a rare in- stance of one, who in the view of observers, did no evil, and GREAT GOOD WITH ALL 1IIS MIGHT. 1 1 is end WUS full of heaven and immortality. Though dead, lie \ el speak- eth. Mis name, in our region, is as precious ointment poured forth. Thus, Rev. and dear Sir, I have very imperfectly sug-- CAUSES OP HIS EFFICIENCY. 4^7 gested a few things respecting your lamented brother, while, from my own declining health, I am obliged en- tirely to omit many of his excellencies as a man and an instructer, as a christian and a preacher of the Gospel. The whole is at your entire disposal, with my sincere prayer that your memoirs of your brother may be as useful as was kis life. With affectionate respects, Your brother in the Gospel, Caleb J. Tenney. How is it that my brother, invalid as he always was, came to accomplish so much ? The elements to the true answer, have in part been given in different passages of his life. It may here be added, that perhaps one reason is to be found in the very fact that he ivas an invalid. This led him to feel more deeply the importance of im- proving the strength he had. Often regarding death as very near, and never as at a great distance, he was made to live in view of an opening eternity, and to look on all around him as beings whom he should shortly meet in the other world. This feeling could not, indeed, increase his physical powers ; but no more could it fail to call forth the powers he had, and to give point and energy and double solemnity to all his efforts. It may also be true, that some diseases, or rather the particular location of a malady that would otherwise press as a leaden weight on the whole system, may have rather a happy effect on the clearness and vigor of the mental powers, especially when such location is in the extremities, and is not productive of much pain. Another cause of his efficiency, is to be found in the useful direction of his energies. He always had some important object to accomplish. Indeed his plans of practical usefulness, were rather too many than too few. To a person who was once lamenting, that he had no prominent object to call forth his powers, my brother replied; "So far am I from being troubled with that evil, that I should be glad to employ ten journeymen on the important objects I wish to accomplish." And not only had he important business always on hand, but he was always engaged in it, at home and abroad, by night 37* 438 CAUSES OF and by day. On the wakeful pillow, and in other por- tions of time which most persons spend in revery, his thoughts were employed to good purpose — perhaps in prayer, in self-examination, in fixing his acquisitions of knowledge more perfectly in his memory, or in devising- something useful. And the care he took to preserve his good thoughts, is also deserving of special notice in this connexion. Milton was not more careful to treasure up a poetic idea that might come to him at midnight, nor is the miser more prompt to pocket the guinea he finds in the street, than was my brother to seize any bright thought or project that chanced to flit before his mind, however deeply engaged in other things. And this he would do about as quick as the miser would put the gold in his pocket, by writing some catch-word to the thought, on a scrap of paper, or in a blank book.* Nor would he spend his time in idle rending, any more than in idle revery. Novels he utterly abjured ; and in periodical literature, he indulged but little, and that, with great care in the selection, and principally with reference to religion and the advancement of Christ's kingdom. Had it not been for his adherence to a judicious system cf effort, in these and some other respects before noticed, he could have accomplished but a small part of what it was his privilege and his delight to devise and to effect. The same gracious Providence which protected his frail life, also gave him this practical wisdom. And the same Di- vine Spirit which called his soul into the kingdom of light, inspired him with that celestial fervor which was the prime fountain of all his christian usefulness. To that Spirit and that Providence, will it be his eternal delight to ascribe the glory of all he effected while on earth, and all the good which may yet result from his labors. One word more on the great subject of the millenni- um, is requisite to a proper view of the special causes of his usefulness. Had it not been for the vivid faith and glowing interest he felt in this grand renovation, his * This was a bond volume, of 150 pages, which he had by him in his study, and carried with him in his journeys ; and lie has left it nearly rilled with thoughts, projects, and divers memoranda. HIS EFFICIENCY. 430 life had been far less happy and far less useful. This interest was early inspired in his bosom ; and its fervors increased to his dying hour. And the whole effect was of the most practical kind that can be imagined ; while, at the same time, it led hiin, (unlike the chiliasts of old, and some of later date,) to no fanciful schemes for pro- moting this glorious change. " This subject," says his daughter, in her memoranda of his last days, "from an early stage in his religious course, was a solace in every affliction, and seemed to irradiate every science, every duty, and every place. To promote the glory of Christ in hastening this day, was the ruling passion of his soul, and whatever study or pursuit did not seem adapted to this end, was thrown aside as worse than useless. I have sometimes marvelled, that his mind should be so deeply interested upon a subject to which christians in general pay so little attention. On expressing my surprise to him, at one time, he said, I was amazingly interested when I was about ten years old, in hearing Mr. Spauld- ing talk of the grand millennium ; and I have always been interested in it ; and it is one of the most astonishing things in the world, that christians should think so little about it. It seems as if their eyes were holdcn." Before his eye, the millennium stood as the bright vision of a glorious reality; and every event around him, and every act of his own, was viewed in its relation to this consummation. The man of the world is not more steadily bent on the accumulation of fortune, nor the patriot on the deliverance of his suffering country, than was he on contributing his aid, however feeble, to this deliverance of a world from satan's bondage. For the very purpose of inspiring such views and feelings as these — and such a life as this — were the rich promises given, which crowd the word of God ; which fired the hearts of ancient seers; and which will soon fire the hearts of a more blessed generation than has yet existed. When all good men shall thus feel and thus live, the millennium will very soon be. Amen Even so, come, Loud Jesus. APPENDIX. The following account of our ancestors, was drawn up by my brother, on his dying bed, as already stated in the body of this work. It is placed at ihe end of the volume, not through any want of respect to a revered ancestry, but from the apprehension, that the extent of these notices might detain rs too long from the parti ular subject of the foregoing work. Had my brother lived to execute his own [dan, this account would very properly have retained the place he h:id assigned it. Two classes of readers may find a special interest in the narra- tives here subjoined. The first are the numerous descendants of the persons here noticed; the second class are those who delight in the antiquities of our country, and such as are fond of genealogical investigations. For the sake of these classes, if for no others, the facts are deemed worthy of a record in this place. According to my brother's arrangement, they were to constitute a separate and preliminary chapter, which he thus began. MY ANCESTORS. "A son honoreth his father." This duty is to me peculiarly de- lightful It is but giving honor to whom honor is due. Most gladly would 1 reflect back, upon all my known an much honor as they have conferred upon me. I have reason to believe, that they were all honored in their day, and some reason t" hope, that they are all now rejoicing together in h< »me of them were highly distinguished, and are peculiarly deserving of ever- lasting remembrance. O that I were worthy of such an an i it from such characters, should surely be regarded as a sub- stantial privilege — a real blessing. For though we must stand or fall in a great measure according to our own personal conduct, and be judged wholly according to our deeds, in the world to come, yet doubtless the influence of excellent parents and ancestors, is among the most hopeful means of forming us to virtue. They may be considered as a kind of monitors and guardians, to point our way and uri_ r '' lis onward in the course of good I s. we may hope, it' we do not most obstinately and wickedly refuse the boon, that they have laid up a store of prayers and covenant engage- ments, which will descend in blessings upon our heads. (See Gen. xvii, 7 ) Notwithstanding my many and great imperfections, there is no doubt they would have been much greater still, had all these 442 PETER BULKLEY. ancestors been opposite characters. As for me and my house, may God give us grace to walk worthy of our fathers. Bulklcy and Fiskc. Two of my ancestors were distinguished above the rest. These were Peter Bulkley and John Fiske. They were both delivered from the furnace of England, and brought to this western wilderness, nearly at the same time. They were both wealthy, and benefactors to others; both distinguished ministers of the gospel; founders of churches; fathers of Massachusetts; gen- uine puritans, and among the most distinguished of that illus- trious band. They were among my elder and more remote an- cestors, being both great-grandfathers to my grandfather Emerson of Holies. Peter Bulkley, the elder of the two pilgrims, was born in Eng- land, 1583, being four years older than Winthrop. Alter receiving a college education, he was twenty-one years a minister in England. At the age of fifty-two, he came to this country. The next year, 163G, he formed the church in Concord, being the twelfth in Mas- sachusetts, and was soon regularly established as their minister. In the year ]637, in connection with Mr. Hooker, he was modera- tor of the synod of Cambridge, occasioned by the errors of Ann Hutchinson. He was distinguished as a scholar, an author, and a preacher; and perhaps still more, for his ardor and gifts in prayer. Respecting this, tradition has left us an anecdote that is worthy of permanent record. When Concord had arrived at some degree of consideration, it attracted the notice of a neighboring tribe of In- dians, who panted for its goods and thirsted for the blood of its inhabitants. Having conspired its destruction, they held a council upon the best time and means of attacking Concord. Several ani- mating speeches were made in favor of the enterprise. At length an old chief arose, and said to this effect: "Brothers, your plan is not good; you cannot take Concord; the great spirit will not suffer it. Don't you know, Bulkley is there, the man of the big pray! You can never take Concord." This frustrated their plot and de- livered Concord. This deliverance was no doubt in answer to the good man's prayers, though at that time he probably knew nothing of those machinations. He died in 1659, aged 76. His daughter was married to Joseph Emerson, minister of Men- don. They were the parents of Peter Emerson of Reading, who was the father of Daniel Emerson, minister of Holies, who was the father of Daniel Emerson, my immediate father. Or, to state the whole line more briefly. Peter Bulkley, Elizabeth Bulkley, after- wards Elizabeth Emerson, Peter Emerson, Rev. Daniel Emerson, Dea. Daniel Emerson, Joseph Emerson.* [See Allen's Biographi- * The genealogy of the Bulkley's is traced for a period of about six hundred years; but concerning most of the line, perhaps little if any tiling is now known, except their names, which stand in the following order; — Robert Bulkley; Wil- liam; Robert; Peter; Hugh; who died in 1450; Humphrey; William; Thomas; Rev. Edward, D. D.; and Rev. Peter, B. D., the same that is mentioned in the text above, and who came to this country. According to this list, my brother belonged to the fifteenth generation from Robert Bulkley. Some materials are here afforded to aid the inquisitive in determining the length of a generation of common men, with somewhat greater accuracy than from the data generally employed by chronologists, viz. the reigns of princes. The lives of princes are often shoiter than they would probably have been in the sober and peaceful walks of common life. Some die by the sword; more, by the dagger GENEALOGICAL COMPUTATIONS. 443 cal Dictionary and Mather's Magnalia, in which will be found many other interesting particulars.] John Fuke, related to me in the same degree with Peter Bulk- ley, was threat-grandfather to my grandfather Rev. Daniel Emer- son. His daughter, Elizabeth Fiske, was the first wife of Esq. Brown of Reading. Their daughter, Anna Brown, was the wife of Peter Emerson, and they were the parents of my grandfather, as already mentioned. Mr. Fiske was born in England in 1001, where he was publicly educated, and became a minister of the gospel. Greatly distin- guished for piety, and persecuted for righteousness' sake, he fled to this country in 1087. Coming in the same ship with John Allen, afterwards minister of Dedham, they were accustomed to preach and by poison; ami more still, by sensual indulgence. We may, then, well sup- pose, that if accurate genealogical tables of men in common life, had been kept as extensively aa those of long Huts of princes, they would have shown a result in favor of ordinary life, in respect to longevity. And some allowance has in fact sometimes been made, on conjectural grounds of this nature. On these principles, a generation has been commonly computed at thirty years. Let us now glance at the facts presented in the above pedigree, and see how the result agrees with the computation from royal life. The first date which we find in this li-t, is at the death of Hugh, the fifth in the series, which occurred in 14.">0. From him to Rev. Peter-Bulkley, who died 1659, we have five generations; and, as will be seen by computation, nearly 42 years to a generation. For the subsequent five generations that remain, viz. from the death of Rev. Peter B., 1659, to the death of my brother, 1833, we have 17 I years; which gives nearly 35 years to a generation. By this it would seem, that life has grown shorter, in these generations, by seven years. It is, however, possible that, in this period, the line was continued more in the older sons of their respi ctive families, than it was in the former period. This would increase the number of successions in a given period. And as to at least two of the five, they certainly were among the oldest sous, my father being a first son, and my brother a second. It is obvious, too, that early marriages must affect the computation. These are probably more frequent in this country, where the last five generations base lived, than in England, where the means of supporting a family, are not so easily acquired. Thus, for instance, it has happened, from one or both of these causes, that we have only five successions from Joseph E. of Mendon, through the line of my grandfather, while there are six successions through that of my grandmother E. who was a descendent from the same Joseph. This met. by tin! way, affords a presumption that five successions in this period, (the number I am u < i 1 1 u . ;> is not too great for the ordinary tact in this country, however it may be in Europe. It is, however, the prevalent doctrine, that lon- gevity has increased instead of being diminished, in this^time. But be this as it may, let us now take the whole series of the ten generations) whose dates we here have, and we shall find the average to be considerably longer than the period commonly assigned to a generation. The whole period is 383 which affords 38 years to a generation, instead of only 30, the common pe- riod now assigned. — lu ancient days, Herodotus allowed three generations to a century, or about :•;;! years to each generation; while Dionysius of Halicarnassus, reckoned but generation. Should curiosity mow prompt the inquiry. When was Robert B., our first named ancestor, probably born? the question may be answered by computing backward, from 1450, for the first five generations of which we have »« dat< . It will proba- bly be ri_'ht, in this computation, to assume at least as long a period to each suc- cession, as we find in the .-.-mind live generations; for the comparative few who arrive at adult age in a rude state of society, are supposed generally to live longer than those in a more refined state — a principle continued by the facts ju-t consid- ered respecting the comparative longevity of the second and third portions. Assumini' IS . I the ratio, it will cany us back to the year J-J40, for the date of the di ath of Robert's lather. Allowing him, then, to have been seven years old, at the death of bis father, we have the year 1233, for the nativity of Robert B. I may add, that at this period, family name? had just begun to be common, the earliest trace even among the nobility of Germany, being in 1 162. He may there- fore have been the first of the name. [Sec Enc. Americana, Art. Genealogy.] 444 J. F1SKE J. EMERSON S. MOODY. two sermons a day, during the voyage, greatly to the edification and comfort of their seafaring brethren. One of the passengers, bein. His means of early education, though inconsiderable, were faithfully improved. In point of naturaltalent, he was quite respectable. In the course of his life, when sometimes asked vhrrc lie had his education, he was accustomed to reply, at the plough; and farmer was a name in which he always gloried. A great multiplicity of other pursuits, however, prevented his making those improvements in agriculture, that he earnestly desired. He early engaged in the employment of teaching, by which his own education was considerably improved. He was of the common stature, rather inclining to corpulency, and his countenance and aspect exhibited a happy union of pleas- antness and dignity. Sufficiently decided in character and con- duct, lie was rarely known to speak an unpleasant word. Probably to very few can that sacred passage be more justly applied, "O Daniel, a man greatly beloved!" At the age of twenty-two, he married Miss A ma Fletcher of Dunstable, Ms. Nearly at the same time, he made a public pro- fession of religion. About the year 1778, he was appointed a deacon in the church at Holies, the duties of which office he con- tinued to discharge, to good acceptance, to the day of his death. Probably very few men in the common walks of life, have ac- complished so much business, with so much integrity and correct- ness, and so much to the satisfaction of all concerned. Through a great part of his life, he discharged the various and responsible duties of Deacon, Justice of the Peace, and repre- sentative of the town or the county in the legislature of New Hampshire. His disposition was eminently pacific; and his civil office afforded him frequent opportunities for persuading men "to leave off con- tention before it was meddled with." Rarely if ever could he be DEA. DANIEL EMERSON. 449 induced to issue a writ or a warrant, when a spirit of litigation ap- peared in the applicant. In this way, he did much to check that baleful spirit in the community. During the revolutionary war, he twice had the command of a company of volunteers, for short periods of service; once at Ticonderoga, in J 77( J, and once on Rhode Island, in 177S. In the latter company, were six captains, all except himself then volun- tarily serving in subordinate capacities; — a circumstance which strongly marks the patriotic enthusiasm of the times. Though he often spoke of the trying scenes of the revolution, with greatardor, yet he always lamented the corrupting influence of the army, and the baleful effects of war in general. His private and domestic duties were numerous and pressing. He had a family and a large farm to superintend. He was also much engaged in traffic; and, for many years, kept a small store. In addition to all these cares, he cared much for the poor, and did much to relieve them, not so much indeed by direct donation as by "shewing mercy and lending;" assisting them in paying their debts; encouraging them in their business; and furnishing them with useful employment. How often has he made the widow's heart to sing for joy. Having much commercial intercourse with the poor, and hundreds of them being among his debtois, he had it often in his power to oppress them, but surely no person was ever at so great a remove from the disposition. He rarely if ever resort- ed to the civil law to compel the payment of a debt. Perhaps this lenity was excessive. It doubtless occasioned many losses. Possi- bly, in some cases, it might encourage iniquity. One man was heard to say, 'I owe such and such debts, that 1 must try to pay; but my debt to 'squire Emerson, I never intend to pay.' But not- withstanding these losses, 'he was blessed in his basket and in his store' — had bread enough and to spare, which, from time to time, he had the satisfaction to cast upon the waters. Though not rich, he had enough to supply all his necessities, while he lived; and at his death, enough to leave to his surviving kindred. It was the blessing of God upon his honest and honorable enterprizes, and his uncommon industry and economy. So signal and affecting to himself were these temporal blessings, that he was sometimes dis- tressed with the apprehension, lest he should finally be found among those who have their portion in this world. But what effect upon his happiness had his pressure of busi- ness — his multiplicity of perplexing cares? and what effect upon his religion.' Upon his happiness the effect seems to have been by no means so unfavorable as we might suppose. Feeling that both body and mind were formed for activity, he delighted to act, "nor blunder- int' ;t new order of nun, when first rising in the christian community; especially if such men are essentially right in their views, as well as ardent in their zeal. Such has always been tin- (act, and such we may export it always will be, lor its foundation seems deeply laid in human nature. It i> delightful to participate in the lofty hopes tint lie the breasts of such men We revere their devout heroism, ami readily yield them tlin grateful tribute of our hearts. This tribute may be just; but it is certainly liable to become extravagant. JOSEPH AND ELIZABETH FLETCHER. 453 markably correct. How exceedingly would she have rejoiced, could she have had the literary opportunities that most of our young females now enjoy. Her conversation was one of the greatest advantages of my childhood. A more kind and tender mother, no child ever need to desire. O that my conduct to her had been in any good degree correspondent. From my earliest recollection, she was an invalid to an extreme degree, being scarce- ly able to superintend her domestic concerns. Rarely did 1 ever know her do so much, in the way of manual labor, as to sweep a room. Though always feeble, she had enjoyed more health in her earlier days, and was very dexterous with the needle. We hope she was a sincere christian, though by no means forward in chris- tian conversation; and as for christian enterprise for the world at large, she probably never heard of any such thing. She could name no particular day nor year, in which she supposed her heart was renewed, which tended exceedingly to cloud her prospect into the future world. Her conscience was tender and scrupulous to a degree that is rarely witnessed. She seemed wonderfully comfort- ed and delighted, when her two daughters were hopefully brought to embrace the Savior, in the year 17!)3. Her sensibility and delicacy of feeling, were extreme. Her sym- pathy was so acute, that she could not bear to inflict or to witness pain. She had a passion for the cultivation of flowers. "When in very feeble health, her nervous system was much impaired, and trivial circumstances would give her trouble or fill her with appre- hension. Once, (a circumstance perhaps known to but few even of our family.) she gave the following indication of mental de- rangement. When she had long been too feeble for the least ex- posure, my father found her, one morning about the break of day, walking in the pasture and much wet with dew. She very pleas- antly observed, that she had been taking a walk; and readily re- turned to her room. Nothing was ever said to her oh the subject; and no evil ensued from the exposure, as is probably the common fact with persons under the exciting influence of derangement. After she had languished several years, she fell asleep, as we trust, in Jesus, November 22, 1795, aged 4!». Joseph ami Elizabeth Fletcher. These were the parents of my mother. They were born in Westford, about the year 1712. Her parental name was Underwood. Being united in marriage, they removed to Dunstable, where they were among the first settlers. Though my personal acquaintance with them, was inconsiderable, on account of my youth, particularly with my grandfather, who died when I was about ten years old, I have reason to believe they were among the best pillars of the church and society in that place — that they were highly respected, beloved, and honored, as citizens, neighbors, friends, and christians. My grandfather was deacon of that church; and probably few men, in that day, dis- charged the duties of that office more faithfully. He lived to ac- quire a large property in land, and reared a numerous and respect- able family, but was able to do scarcely any thing for their literary education. All his children, nine in number, were alive at his death ; in 1784; and 1 believe followed him to the grave, eight of them with their companions. 454 JOSEPH AND ELIZABETH FLETCHER. My grandmother survived her husband about eighteen years, and gave me considerable opportunity to become acquainted with her intellectual, social, and christian character. She was one of the most interesting companions with whom I ever conversed. In the days of my childhood, it seemed as though I could sit forever and hear her tell stories about bears, deers, foxes, Indians, etc., relating to the early history of Dunstable, and to the history of our fore- fathers. Her kindness and tenderness towards me, were wonder- ful; and my affection was correspondent. Scarcely ever did I eat, with such a relish, apples, cakes, etc., as those which were conferred upon my childhood by her dear, trembling hand. A few years before her death, she stated to me, that though she had been exceedingly desirous to dream of her husband, ever since his death, yet she never enjoyed that satisfaction but once. Though such facts are not uncommon, yet who can account for them upon the common principles of the association and suggestion of ideas? The final cause is not so recondite. God seems to have made this arrangement, in his most mysterious providence, to pre- vent delirium. Should we be intensely thinking of our dear de- parted friends, by night and by day, year after year, it must be more than we could bear, and the balance of the mind must be lost. Other facts might be adduced respecting our ancestors, but per- haps too much space has already been occupied in this manner. Let it, however, be remembered, that this account was prepared, (not for the world at large, much less for the fastidious critic,) but to gratify the laudable curiosity and benefit the hearts of a numer- ous circle of family connections, and for such other friends as may feel a special interest in the early history of this section of our country, and of the churches so early planted here. It was not conceived in the heart of my brother, on his dying bed, by a spirit of egotism, nor dictated to gratify family pride. The hour was too solemn; — and in the hope of doing good, his soul soon rose above even the fear of such a charge. Possessing some means of information which my brother had not at hand, 1 have here and there taken the liberty to add a fact or to modify a statement, without stopping, in each instance, to trouble the reader with a notice of my separate responsibility for such statements. The notes also are added by me. The same liberty, however, I have not taken with the productions inserted in the body of the foregoing work, where I have endeavored always to indicate to the reader those portions for which I was alone respon- sible, however short.