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 https://archive.org/details/tributetomemoryoOOphel 
 

JOHN D. TOY, PRINTER, 
 BALTIMORE. 
 
U 7371p 
 
 This “Tribute” will be sent to friends in answer to letters of 
 condolence and sympathy from the gifted and the good, which, 
 though they may have remained unanswered, were gratefully re¬ 
 ceived, and failed not to produce their salutary effects. 
 
 I would ask that this little volume may be laid aside among sacred 
 relics of departed friends, such as we screen from careless eyes, and 
 the profane touch of indifference. It is the offering of “a broken 
 spirit” upon the altar of maternal love. 
 
 I have made extracts from a few letters of clergymen who have 
 had ample opportunities of knowing the religious character of my 
 daughter. 
 
 In the name of myself and family, of my beloved sister, Mrs. 
 Emma Willard, who mourns as a mother our common loss, and 
 in the name of her family who have so deeply shared in our grief, 
 this Tribute is sent to friends at home, and friends abroad—many 
 of them we shall meet no more on earth, but we trust through the 
 salvation of the Blessed Redeemer for a re-union with them and 
 our departed friends in those mansions in our Father’s house, which 
 He who ascended into Heaven went to prepare for us. 
 
 ALMIRA LINCOLN PHELPS. 
 
 Patapsco Institute, 
 
 Nov. 21, 1855. 
 
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 This “tribute to the memory” of one dearly 
 loved and tenderly cherished, is printed for private 
 circulation among her friends, and the friends of 
 her family. It is possible that at a future period, 
 a memoir may he prepared from the extensive 
 correspondence and unpublished notes of travel by 
 her, whose character, though not fully delineated 
 in this memorial, is shown to have been a bright 
 illustration of the beauty of early piety, and of 
 talents and accomplishments consecrated to religion. 
 
 Circumstantial accounts of the rail-road disaster 
 which occurred near Burlington, New Jersey, on 
 the 29th of August, 1855, have been so extensively 
 given by the public press, and are so generally 
 known, that it is unnecessary to enter into the 
 distressing details. Mrs. Lincoln Phelps, with 
 
 
 * 
 
 
I her two daughters Jane P. Lincoln, and Myra L. 1 
 | Phelps, and her son Charles E. Phelps, left Phila- 
 | delphia on the fatal morning of the 29th, with 
 | pleasant anticipations of a happy meeting with 
 f expectant friends, with whom they had arranged 
 | to travel as might be thought most agreeable, 
 
 I intending, after a northern tour, to stop at Troy on 
 | a visit to Mrs. Emma Willard. 
 
 Before leaving the Girard House, in Philadel- 
 
 | | phia, where they had passed the night, Mrs. Phelps 
 in looking into the chamber which her daughters 
 had occupied, remarked upon its being a pleasant 
 room. Jane said, “it was near this room that I 
 passed the night on my return to Maryland, after 
 the scenes on hoard the Empire.* I was very ner¬ 
 vous and could not sleep, and was tempted to ask 
 the chamber-maid to stay in the room with me 
 during the night.” 
 
 “Oh blindness to the Future, kindly given;’* 
 
 Jane and her friends thought not that her last 
 night on earth had passed. She had according to 
 her practice, whether at home or abroad, privately 
 read God’s Holy Word, and committed herself to 
 Him before she slept; and on the morning of the 
 fatal day, she renewed her devotions, kneeling 
 I for the last time on earth in prayer to her 
 God and Saviour. With Him we must leave 
 
 See the Obituary notice from Troy, at page 43. 
 
 
5 
 
 her, trusting that she will be ready to welcome 
 us to heavenly mansions, when we shall be sum¬ 
 moned to depart. 
 
 Burlington —with this name are blended mingled 
 thoughts of horror and suffering, kindness and 
 sympathy! 
 
 Among those whom humanity drew to the scene 
 of distress was Thomas Milnor, Esq. In a letter to 
 Mrs. Phelps, who had requested him to state the 
 reasons which induced him to ask for the removal 
 of the remains of her beloved daughter to his 
 house, Judge Milnor writes, “I was in search of 
 the body of Mrs. Prescott, widow of the Rev. Mr. 
 Prescott, formerly of our city, when my attention 
 was called to that of your daughter, over which 
 stood her poor heart-stricken brother. It is suffi¬ 
 cient for me to say that the form of an only sister, 
 deceased, came vividly to my mind, and that I 
 have too an only daughter. The sweet, serene and 
 placid expression of your dear child struck me 
 with a desire to remove her remains to a more 
 retired, quiet spot. Mr. Phelps had hardly given 
 consent, before willing hearts and hands volun¬ 
 teered their assistance. The remains were kept in 
 a private apartment in my house, and none were 
 allowed to enter except our own family and 
 several ladies who knew her personally, among 
 whom were some of her former associates at school, 
 who came immediately upon the intelligence reach- 
 
G 
 
 ing tliem, to take the last look of one in death, 
 who was so universally loved in life. 
 
 Mrs. Milnor alone would have the melancholy 
 satisfaction of remaining with the body at night, 
 and the other sad but necessary offices were mostly 
 attended to by members of my immediate family.’’ 
 
 Charles Phelps, himself saved, as by a miracu¬ 
 lous interposition of Providence, had by great 
 efforts, with some assistance, rescued his mother, 
 his sister Myra, and a female servant of the family 
 from the wreck of cars, and human limbs and 
 bodies, under which they were crushed, and which 
 were strewn around,—he had then taken in his 
 arms the lifeless body of his beloved sister, Jane, 
 and with his attention distracted between the 
 dead, and the bruised and maimed, he had sought, 
 as best he could, to guard the precious remains 
 of the former, and provide assistance for the latter. 
 
 When Bishop Doane came to the chamber where 
 were the living members of the family, and urged 
 their removal to his house, Mrs. Phelps said: “no, 
 Bishop, my daughter Jane is here, and as I fear, 
 dangerously injured, I must stay where she is.” 
 Mrs. P. was then told that Jane had been taken, 
 at Judge Milnor’s request, to his house, and the 
 dreadful truth began to be understood by her—but 
 amidst her own bodily sufferings, her anxiety for 
 others of her family, and the effects upon her mind 
 of the horrors of the scene she had passed through, 
 
7 
 
 slie could not realize that her precious daughter 
 was indeed no longer among the living! 
 
 As the cars were passing Burlington, a few min¬ 
 utes before the disaster, Jane who sat directly 
 behind her mother, next the outside of the car, 
 (Mrs. Phelps was reading at the time), said: 
 “Mamma we have come to Burlington, here is the 
 Bishop’s church.” About that time, in her usual 
 attentive and quiet way, she arranged the folds 
 of her mother’s shawl;—soon came the rapid run¬ 
 ning hack of the cars—Jane said in an earnest 
 tone: “how fast they are going hack!” in an 
 instant there was the jarring of the cars thrown 
 off the track—the crash, the wreck, the groans of 
 the suffering and dying. No sound was heard 
 from Jane, and it is supposed she suffered hut 
 momentarily when the “silver cord was loosened, 
 and the golden howl was broken.” 
 
 On Monday, September 3d, the remains were 
 conveyed to Baltimore, accompanied by near and 
 dear relatives, and friends of the family, who on 
 the intelligence of the calamity had repaired to 
 Burlington to mourn with them, a loss so great, so 
 overwhelming.* 
 
 Arrangements for funeral services having been 
 previously made, Grace Church in Baltimore, was 
 
 •Among these, were the brother-in-law and sister of Jane, Mr. and 
 Mr3. D. W. O’Brien of Philadelphia, and her Aunt Mrs. Willard, 
 with her son and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. John H. Willard, of Troy. 
 
filled with the friends and acquaintances of the 
 deceased, long before the procession of mourners 
 with the remains arrived from the cars. 
 
 At the burial at Green-Mount Cemetery, loving 
 friends strewed the coffin with flowers which she 
 had so much loved. The soul had returned to God 
 who gave it, and the body lovely as it was to sight, 
 even on that sixth day after death, must he com¬ 
 mitted to the earth—“dust to dust.” 
 
 At the hour appointed for the funeral services 
 in Baltimore, Bishop Doane came to the chamber 
 of the suffering, sorrowing mother, whose bodily 
 injuries still detained her in Burlington—here were 
 gathered around her bed a few Christian friends, 
 and with great solemnity and feeling the Bishop 
 read a portion of the “burial service,” “prayers 
 for the afflicted,” “thanksgiving for deliverance 
 from danger,” and administered the Holy Commu¬ 
 nion. This Sacrament the mother had received 
 shortly before, in the Chapel of Patapsco Institute, 
 with that daughter by her side—now, a celestial 
 spirit. Holy Christian Communion! how comfort¬ 
 ing to the faithful believer who trusts in that sacra¬ 
 ment to be again with the departed ones; whose 
 thoughts are by faith raised above earth to Heaven. 
 
 Although no space was given for farewell on 
 that fatal day, the mother had the year before 
 written to her daughter when leaving for Europe, 
 her parting blessing, and, as it might have been, 
 
9 
 
 f 
 
 her last farewell. This was written the day before 
 Jane left home to join her Aunt, Mrs. Willard in 
 New York, from whence they were to sail for Liver¬ 
 pool, and was sent in a letter to Mrs. W., to he 
 j handed to Jane on their first Sunday on the ocean. 
 
 In my Room, June 21, 1854, 
 
 4 o’clock, P. M. 
 
 \ My Daughter: 
 
 I sit here thinking of your going away, 
 | and that when you read this you will he on the 
 | ocean. I do not feel that I can say much to you 
 \ about your going —it is hard for me to realize that 
 | you will be gone —but this must be; and I must feel 
 ! very anxious about your safety on the great deep. 
 
 | You will become accustomed to the sight of the 
 illimitable waters around you, and your good ship 
 will seem an ark of safety,—the Lord grant it may 
 be so! 
 
 I have just written a short letter to your Aunt 
 
 I W., it has been a solemn act, for it does seem to 
 me a serious thing to go out upon the ocean;— 
 “we know not what a day may bring forth/’ 
 
 I wish to say to you, my dear, my eldest born 
 child, that you have been a good daughter, and 
 deserve a mother’s richest blessings. You have 
 been to me as the representative of your father,— 
 and often when I have looked at you or heard 
 you sing, I have thought “does his spirit watch 
 over his daughter?’’ 
 
 2 
 
10 
 
 I have felt that you sympathized with me more 
 fully than any other one, and that when my time 
 should come to “lie down in the dust” you would 
 he chief mourner,—not hut my other children 
 love me perhaps as well as you do, hut there are 
 many causes for the peculiar tie between us: you 
 have heen long my friend and companion. 
 
 It is well you should make this tour for many 
 reasons, and we must not sadly look upon our 
 parting as a last one,—it may he indeed, so far as 
 this life is concerned—if so the survivor should 
 rejoice in hope, for we shall meet again. 
 
 * * * * * * * ;$ 
 
 I shall not know where or how you are when 
 you read this, hut I hope it may he with a serene 
 Heaven above, and quiet surface beneath, moving 
 over the waste of waters with as much velocity as 
 may he consistent with safety. Your first Sabbath 
 on the ocean!—and you will receive a letter from 
 your mother. How solemn if well conducted, 
 must he religious services on hoard ship! 
 
 ******** 
 What a little I have said when my heart is so 
 full;—it seems as difficult to write as I have found 
 it to speak my farewell thoughts. 
 
 ******** 
 When I gave you up to go, it was after silent 
 and prayerful communion. The romance of the 
 undertaking is absorbed in thoughts of the reality. 
 
11 
 
 I am solemn and inclined to be silent. I must 
 part with you, leaving my full heart unburthened. 
 I cannot touch upon the events of life, and try my 
 feelings by dwelling on the past, or by looking 
 into the future. “The Lord reigneth, let the earth 
 rejoice/' may this be our consolation in all places, 
 and under all circumstances. 
 
 My dear child, I will attempt to write no more; 
 it does not relieve me—I can tell you nothing you 
 do not know. It is an artifice to deceive myself 
 with the idea of writing you a letter. You must 
 be some days without hearing news of us, and we 
 must be anxious about you for still more long 
 days. 
 
 I need not say, be attentive to your dear Aunt; 
 this I know you will be, and God will bless and 
 reward you for all the good you do. 
 
 ******** 
 
 I do not remind you of your religious duties; I 
 trust you have a more faithful monitor within your 
 own breast than I am, or have been to you. 
 
 God bless you my dear child, now, and forever. 
 
 Your Mother. 
 
 This “Farewell” was, as Jane afterwards said 
 to her mother, kept by her and read daily, until 
 mother and daughter were re-united in Liverpool.* 
 
 * Jane after their arrival in England had urged her mother’s follow¬ 
 ing them, dwelling on the safety of the ocean steamers, and the fact that 
 
12 
 
 I From the Rt. Rev. Wm. R. Whittingham, Bishop of Maryland. 
 
 East Hampton, L. I. Sept. 6th , 1855. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Phelps: 
 
 I learned, last night, the particulars of your 
 great calamity, of which only broken and contra¬ 
 dictory accounts had previously filled us with 
 alarm and sorrow. 
 
 I learned too with heartfelt thankfulness to God, 
 that His good Spirit had already filled you with 
 the only consolations which can avail under a heart¬ 
 rending stroke like that which in His inscrutable 
 wisdom and love He has suffered to fall upon you; 
 and that in child-like faith you had been enabled 
 to cast yourself wholly on the all-sufficing love of 
 your Redeemer, accepting His will as yours, and 
 humbly adopting the language of His inspiration, 
 
 from them no lives of passengers had ever been lost. Mrs. Phelps had 
 engaged passage in the unfortunate “Arctic,” which was to have sailed 
 on the 19th of August, but was superseded by the Atlantic, in which, 
 on the 19th of August, 1854, she sailed with her son Charles E. Phelps 
 and youngest daughter Myra L. Phelps, leaving her second daughter, 
 Mrs. Emma Willard O’Brien, in her place as Principal of the Patapsco 
 Institute. 
 
 After a passage of ten days, the family landed in Liverpool, where 
 were Mrs. Willard and Miss Lincoln anxiously awaiting their arrival 
 at the Adelphi Hotel. Seated in their elegant private parlor, parta¬ 
 king of their first meal together in Europe, it was well that no human 
 prescience brought before them the horrors of the Burlington calamity, 
 of that day and hour of the next year. 
 
“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; 
 blessed be the name of the Lord!” 
 
 You have, indeed, every comfort in the recollec¬ 
 tion of the character of the child who has been so 
 long lent to you in this world, and now summoned 
 to go before you to the abodes of eternal rest with 
 so little of the painful struggle of mortal dissolu¬ 
 tion; a single pang has transferred her from a 
 state of doubts, and anxieties, and fears, and 
 dangers, to the blessedness of assured repose, 
 where there are no more tears, and no more trials. 
 It is but as a day that parts you now. May its 
 short' span be for you one unbroken anticipation 
 of the speedy and blissful re-union in Christ, your 
 risen and reigning Saviour, who hath triumphed 
 over death and hell, to make his people con¬ 
 querors too. 
 
 What a mercy too to temper your affliction, that 
 Almira should have been spared to you! and that 
 both she and you should have escaped from the 
 dreadful wreck! How doubly dear to each other 
 you will be henceforth, after having together been 
 brought through such fearful peril, and sustained 
 in one and the same minute, such deliverance and 
 such bereavement! 
 
 ******** 
 
 Be assured, dear Madam of my sympathy, with 
 earnest prayers that our heavenly Father's blessing 
 may turn your present affliction, which is but for 
 
14 
 
 a season, into the instrument and pledge of an 
 exceeding and eternal weight of glory. 
 
 Faithfully and affectionately your sorrowing 
 friend, 
 
 W. B. Whittingham. 
 
 Extracts From a Letter of Rev. Hugh S. Harrison. 
 
 St. John’s Parsonage, Howard Co., Md. 
 
 October 12, 1855. 
 
 My Dear Mrs. Phelps, 
 
 The clergy who assisted me in performing the 
 last sad rites over your lamented daughter, were 
 the Kev. Mr. Yan Bokkelen, the Bev. Mr. Hutch¬ 
 eson, and the Bev. Mr. Brainard. The crowd of 
 loving friends who lingered around her hier, 
 showed how deeply she was mourned. 
 
 Most sincerely do I sympathize in your sorrow, 
 most truly too in the joy which must ever he 
 mingled with it, in the remembrance of such a 
 child. 
 
 Her quiet unobtrusive piety is best described in 
 saying that she seemed to live as, “remembering 
 always that baptism doth represent unto us our 
 profession, which is to follow the example of our 
 Saviour Christ, and to he made like unto Him.” 
 It is now your blessed privilege to think of her as 
 “a member of Christ, a child of God, and an 
 inheritor of the Kingdom of Heaven.” 
 
15 
 
 From Rev. Seneca G. Bragg, now of Georgia, who had been 
 intimately acquainted with Jane from her childhood. 
 
 Georgia Episcopal Institute, 
 
 Macon, Ga., Oct. 18, 1855. 
 
 My Dear Afflicted Friend: 
 
 My first topic must be the calamity which 
 fell so unexpectedly upon you and your beloved 
 daughter Jane, near Burlington, N. J. 
 
 How sad, how awfully mysterious! What event 
 could more fully illustrate the words in our burial 
 service, “In the midst of life, we are in death/ ’ 
 alas, that men should feel so secure as to forget 
 the dangers which surround them at every step of 
 their earthly pilgrimage! and yet, what cause for 
 thankfulness we have as Christians, that we may 
 always find a safe refuge under the wings of In¬ 
 finite Love! 
 
 Long had your precious daughter trusted in 
 the name and merits of our Redeemer; and we 
 needed no dying testimony of the truth and power 
 of her Christian faith. Often had she read the 
 inspired message addressed by the Head of the 
 Church to all his members, “Behold I come quick¬ 
 ly. ” In her heart the response may have gone 
 up acceptably before the throne of Divine Grace, 
 “even so, come Lord Jesus!” To Him she had 
 committed all her interests, for time, and for eter- 
 
 
 BxxsssKasiaa 
 
16 
 
 nity. It was not necessary that she should utter § 
 the words of resignation, “Into thy hands I com¬ 
 mend my Spirit.” 
 
 Her gracious Lord was “more marred” than any 1 
 human being, and He has clothed her with immor- | 
 tal beauty. The bereaved mother may weep in i 
 remembrance of such a loss. Other and admir- | 
 ing friends may mourn as they speak of so bright 9 
 and holy an example, as the departed one pre- j 
 sented in her daily life. Let the assurance of | 
 your daughter’s eternal blessedness he a comfort | 
 and support, while you linger amidst the remaining 1 
 trials and sufferings appointed for you on earth. | 
 Another of your dearest treasures has been trans- | 
 ferred to the “Paradise of God,”—another light j 
 sheds down upon your pathway a sacred influence, 
 to encourage and animate you until called to your 1 
 glorious “recompense of reward.” 
 
 When you can do so, let me ask of you some 
 account of the remarkable calamity by which you \ 
 have been bereaved, and subjected to severe personal j 
 suffering. My sympathy and prayers are with 1 
 and for you. 
 
 May the abundant grace of our Lord ever cheer | 
 and sustain you in life, and death,—and render I 
 you meet for an inheritance among the glorified in l 
 Heaven. 
 
 Truly and affectionately your friend and brother 
 in Christian bonds, Seneca G. Bragg. 
 
From Rev. Dr. C. M. Butler. 
 
 Cincinnati, Sept. 10th , 1855. 
 
 My Dear Mrs. Phelps: 
 
 When a terrible blow falls upon a dear Christian 
 friend, like that under which you are now suffering 
 a bewildered agony of heart, one is divided between 
 the impulse to hasten and express his sympathy, 
 and the consciousness of how little human sympa¬ 
 thy can do for a loss so terrible and irreparable as 
 yours. Your daughter’s character was so lovely, 
 so cultivated, so harmonious, so religious; she and 
 you were so much to each other, your lives had 
 flowed so beautifully and peacefully together, that 
 the void created by her sudden exit must he indeed 
 most painful. And then imagination must often 
 fill up that void with the last horrible and revolt¬ 
 ing scene of agony and blood, in the midst of which 
 she passed from you, and in which your own life 
 was in such fearful peril. May the blessed Spirit 
 whose dearest name is Comforter, be with you, my 
 dear friend, in this calamity. No ministration less 
 than His can heal your bleeding heart-wounds. 
 Doubtless in Heaven you shall see, what you now 
 know by faith, that it was well, for He doeth all 
 things well. The sympathizing Saviour will not 
 reprove your grief, if it be coupled with submission. 
 Thank Glod that he gave you for so many years, 
 one who has been to you the source of so much 
 
 
 
18 
 
 happiness. Think much of that perfect world, 
 where evil cannot come, and friends cannot he 
 taken away. Do not let grief paralyze your ener¬ 
 gies. You have had a great and honorable mission 
 in life—its duties still are on you. It will he better 
 for health of mind and body, and for peace of 
 spirit, that you patiently again turn to your high 
 duties. You shall again have God’s own peace— 
 if you may not again anticipate joy. Be assured 
 that deep sympathy and affection are felt for you, 
 and that prayers have ascended for you from us, 
 and from multitudes of friends. 
 
 Although this dispensation as it comes from God 
 must be merciful and just, yet as it comes from 
 man, it deserves the indignation of an outraged 
 community. I feel that I have given my testimony 
 on this subject by having preached at Washington, 
 a sermon on the culpable recklessness of human 
 life in the United States. I hope you will send out 
 a bereaved mother’s protest and appeal on this sub¬ 
 ject. It will be heard. It will thrill many hearts. 
 I trust it may quicken many hands to energetic 
 action. There should be a protective League 
 formed in the large cities, of men who shall agitate 
 on this subject, publish all rail-road wrongs, expose 
 all violations of charter, influence legislatures to 
 pass no rail-road bills, but under stern regulations, 
 and shame Courts of Justice into due punishment 
 of these wholesale, lawless, remorseless murderers. 
 
19 
 
 My whole soul rises up in indignation when I think 
 of dear friends thus crushed under the wheels of 
 this relentless Juggernaut of monopoly and power. 
 
 From Rev. Wm. H. Clarke, for many yean Chaplain of the 
 Patapsco Institute. 
 
 Locust Grove, Pittsburg , Sept. 1 6//i, 1855. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 When the news of the dreadful accident on 
 the rail-road near Burlington, reached me, and 
 when I saw the first imperfect account, I felt a 
 thrill of terror, lest the real truth might he, what 
 it afterwards proved, that your eldest, accom¬ 
 plished, excellent daughter Jane had heen sud¬ 
 denly snatched away from the society of those who 
 cherished her so lovingly, and with whose daily 
 life her own had so long heen intimately blended. 
 
 And when the whole terrible truth was known, 
 and I found that you too and Myra had heen in the 
 fated train, and injured, I need not tell how deeply 
 I felt. 
 
 The event was so sudden, so overpowering in its 
 consequences, so utterly above and beyond the 
 usual c Changes and chances of this mortal life,” 
 that it seemed to leave no room for consolation.— 
 It seemed as if you must all he crushed in spirit 
 under it, never again to recover your wonted feel¬ 
 ings, and engage anew in your wonted avocations. 
 
20 
 
 Soon however I realized that He who had per¬ 
 mitted the blow to fall, is the God of all comfort, 
 and that of His merciful compassion He would find 
 means to heal, or bless to the mourners, the results 
 of a sorrow even so piercing and deep as your own. 
 
 Human words can minister little comfort in such 
 cases; human sympathy even when kindest and 
 purest, falls far short of what it would accomplish, 
 and I have often felt, that in great, crushing trials, 
 we can only leave the tried alone with God, com¬ 
 mending them to His kind care in humble confi¬ 
 dence and love. And yet even those who know 
 best how to comfort others, and who turn most 
 readily to our Father above, in their hours of sad¬ 
 ness and suffering, are not beyond the influence of 
 the sympathy of friends, poor though it be. It is 
 with this feeling that I now write for my wife and 
 myself, not to comfort, but to tell how we mourn 
 with you, how we would comfort you, if we knew 
 how it could be done, how we trust and know that 
 you are, and will be more and more consoled, 
 through the ever-working love of Him who hath 
 borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. 
 
 Of your dear departed daughter, I might say 
 much,—of her beautiful Christian character, and 
 her strange fitness to adorn this world or the next. 
 But it seems to me almost wrong to speak of one so 
 ~ lenly taken to stand in the Divine Presence, 
 thought of her death fills me with awe and 
 
21 
 
 solemnity, as if I had been called to witness the 
 tortures and agony of some holy martyr. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 From Rev. G. C. V. Eastman, late Chaplain o/Patapsco Institute. 
 
 Brattleboro’, Yt. Sept. 3d, 1855. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Phelps: 
 
 You must not imagine that we have heard 
 without the deepest sympathy and sorrow, of your 
 great affliction, and your own injuries. Our hearts 
 have hied, and our prayers have been offered 
 without ceasing since we heard of the sufferings 
 of our friends, that your faith may he strong, and 
 bring to your lacerated hearts the consolations 
 which can alone sweeten such a cup of bitterness. 
 
 In the character of Jane, the grace of God, and 
 the hand of maternal culture had mingled all, 
 which could render her an invaluable treasure. 
 Yet the sweet memory of what she was, hallowing 
 every spot with which she was associated, will be 
 to you, will be to her dear brother and sisters, an 
 angel of consolation. 
 
 This child was a precious trust, you nursed her 
 for Heaven, and He for whom you strove to educate 
 her, and make her worthy, has removed her to His 
 immediate presence. She is not lost,—merely 
 transferred to another scene. You have less 
 treasure on earth, only because you have more in 
 
Heaven. Few mothers have so much to regret if 
 the worth of a departed daughter be the measure 
 of regret,—very few have less, if her adaptation to 
 Heavenly joys be the reason for acquiescence in her 
 removal. 
 
 But I can only express sympathy, I cannot 
 instruct you in the lessons, or in the duties of 
 affliction. You have had vastly more experience 
 than I in the stern lessons of bereavement, and in 
 the merciful supports, which, under the sufferings 
 of the heart, the compassionate Bedeemer dispenses 
 to those who trust in His mercy. 
 
 ******** 
 
 May God bless, support and keep you, and 
 restore you to perfect health is my sincere prayer. 
 
Extracts from a Letter of Rev. James Moore, 
 formerly Professor at the Patapsco Institute , and 
 Rector of St. Peter’s Church , Ellicott’s Mills. 
 
 Princess Anne, Md. Sept. 12th, 1855. 
 
 We have all ever cherished a lively affection and 
 sincere Christian regard for Miss Lincoln. Often 
 have I referred to her as affording a beautiful 
 illustration of all that is essential to constitute a 
 Christian lady; her sweet unassuming, hut dignified 
 manners, her gentle condescension, her mild and 
 sweet-tempered conversation, and her uniformly 
 devout manner at church, in the worship of God. 
 Never was it more truly fulfilled, that “death 
 loves a shining mark.” 
 
 At this moment I imagine I can see her, as in 
 her kindness of heart, and with the disposition to 
 gratify others, which were such prominent traits, 
 in her character, she seated herself at her harp, 
 and so skillfully touched its chords. Oh it is a 
 precious thought, in which we may safely indulge, 
 that her pure and disembodied spirit, hears its part 
 in the infinite enjoyments of Paradise,—that she 
 now strikes a nobler harp, the strains of which fall 
 upon more worthy ears. Is it not a high honor? 
 Is it not a marked distinction which has been thus 
 suddenly conferred upon you, to he the parent of 
 one made like unto the Angels of God? 
 
Extracts from a Sermon of Rev. J. T. Hutcheson, 
 Chaplain of the Patapsco Institute , preached in the 
 Chapel of the Institute , Sept . 30£7i, 1855. 
 
 And Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken 
 away from her. Luke 10, 42. 
 
 I need not mention the circumstances that called 
 forth the words of the text, for there are none 
 I here unacquainted with them. The good part 
 which Mary had chosen, was, evidently, the inef¬ 
 fably precious portion of the Christian. She had 
 determined to live a life of devotion to her Saviour 
 in order to secure an interest in his Kingdom. 
 
 In the following discourse I shall not dwell upon 
 the nature and excellency of Mary’s choice, hut I 
 shall show that the text is particularly applicable 
 to one, who, whilst she sojourned on earth, was, 
 like Mary, a true disciple of Jesus, and who, with 
 Mary, now sits at Jesus’ feet in his eternal kingdom 
 of glory and love. To some of this congregation, 
 j she was very near and dear, by others, esteemed 
 f and loved. She was one of us. Here did she 
 | often unite in those inspiring and solemn prayers 
 | through which the soul loves to commune with 
 God. Here did she often humbly sit and listen to 
 I the gracious words of her divine Redeemer. Here 
 did she often feel his presence, and, kneeling by 
 the side of the loved ones on earth, feast on the 
 
EEEBaSES 
 
 25 
 
 sacred emblems of his love. Here, leading in 
 sacred strains, resounded her rich and thrilling 
 voice, and from the organ were drawn forth, with 
 skilful hands, harmonies sweet and moving, 
 lifting the thoughts from things seen and temporal 
 to things unseen and eternal. But, the beloved is 
 not. That Saviour whose footsteps she followed 
 hath taken her. She has been transferred from 
 the Church militant to the Church triumphant; 
 from the discipleship of earth, to the discipleship 
 of Heaven; from the communion of Saints imper¬ 
 fect, to the glorious and blissful communion of the 
 c general assembly Church of the first born.” 
 Therefore, whilst we think of her to-day, let us 
 think of her as among the sainted dead, who on 
 earth chose “that good part, which shall not be 
 taken away/’ 
 
 With her it was never the privilege of him who 
 addresses you to become, personally, acquainted. 
 It was only a few months before the dreadful 
 disaster, which, in the twinkling of an eye, re¬ 
 moved her from this world, that he accepted the 
 office whose peculiar duties he this day begins to 
 discharge. Little did he then think that in his 
 very first address to his'flock, it might be his duty 
 to hold forth for their imitation the Christian exam¬ 
 ple of one, not of the living, but of the dead, who 
 by her beautifully consistent and harmonious 
 character, exerted a most happy influence on the 
 
 4 
 
26 
 
 inmates of this Institution. But God’s thoughts 
 are not as our thoughts; neither are His ways as 
 our ways. In the prime of life, in the enjoyment 
 of perfect health, when loving friends hoped and 
 believed that she would long continue on earth, 
 a blessing to others, He called her hence, to remind 
 us that u in the midst of life we are in death,” and 
 that here we have no abiding place, nor continuing 
 city. 
 
 But, though I was never personally acquainted 
 with her, yet a sense of duty prompts me to speak 
 this morning of the excellencies of her character 
 as described by others, in order that I may have an 
 opportunity, not only to remind the bereaved of 
 the sweetest source of heavenly consolation, hut to 
 exhort you, my young hearers, to follow her bright 
 example. 
 
 My information has been derived not only from 
 the general expression of the community, but 
 from letters of condolence, sent to the bereaved 
 family, from East and West, North and South, 
 and from friends in foreign lands—many of them 
 from Clergymen of high standing and great influ¬ 
 ence in the Church. All of the many friends and 
 acquaintances who have expressed their sympathy, 
 either verbally or through epistle, have united in 
 the one sentiment, that she who on earth sought 
 to fulfil her mission has been taken to her home; 
 she who was an ornament to Christ’s Church be- 
 
sasccsa^"; 
 
 21 
 
 low, lias gone to be an ornament to his Church 
 above. 
 
 I propose to make no formal eulogy. The 
 modesty of the departed would forbid any, as well 
 as the sense of imperfection common to our fallen 
 nature. But I shall endeavor so to express my 
 imperfect knowledge of her lovely character, that 
 her Saviour may be glorified, her friends comforted, 
 and all of us excited to greater diligence in the 
 Christian’s life. 
 
 To speak of her many excellencies is indeed to 
 speak of the glory of her Redeemer. Was she not 
 “his workmanship created unto good works?” 
 Was it not his grace that even in early childhood 
 won her heart to himself? And was it not the 
 constant supply of that same grace that made her 
 steadfast and immovable in her heavenward way? 
 Yes! She was a bright and shining light, but her 
 light was the reflection of his own. She lived as 
 he lived, because he lived in her. United to him 
 as a branch to the vine, as a member to the body, 
 from his inexhaustible fullness she was constantly 
 fed with that spiritual food which enabled her to 
 grow daily in the likeness of himself. He set his 
 love on her, and with his power he transferred her 
 from the bondage of nature to the liberty of God’s 
 children. He clothed her with moral loveliness. 
 He made her beautiful in holiness. In her, there¬ 
 fore he was glorified. 
 
28 
 
 At wliat time she first became the subject of 
 religious impressions is known to Him, only, who 
 searcheth the heart. But though no one can spe¬ 
 cify the hour, the day, or the year, yet it is certain 
 that it was in very early youth she obeyed the wise 
 man’s direction: ^Remember now thy Creator in 
 the days of thy youth.” Before the commence¬ 
 ment of the great struggle of life, she stayed her 
 choice on her Saviour, and determined to live a life 
 of humble walking with God. Thus early bound 
 by love’s golden cords to her Maker’s throne, her 
 path was u as a shining light, that shineth more 
 and more unto the perfect day.” The divine life 
 implanted grew with the growth of the natural— 
 ever manifesting itself in the issues of the heart, 
 and giving character to the whole exterior conduct. 
 Ever trusting in the merits of her Saviour, ever 
 striving to be more like him in her aims, desires 
 and affections, she abounded more and more in 
 every thing lovely and of good report. To her 
 duties became privileges. Religion was the life, 
 the law, the ever-actuating principle of her being. 
 Always imbued with the Spirit of Jesus, she was 
 not the subject of religious excitement. There was 
 a beautiful calmness, steadiness and order in her 
 piety. A transparent simplicity and a strict con¬ 
 scientiousness in all her actions, were among the 
 most conspicuous, as well as the most lovely features 
 of her character. Though retiring, and almost dif- 
 
BBamaaBEH r 
 
 29 
 
 fident in manners, she was firm and decided in 
 maintaining what she believed was the right and 
 the truth, and was ever ready to take an active 
 part in whatever she thought calculated to promote 
 the glory of her Saviour and the welfare of her 
 fellow-creatures. 
 
 It is not for me, on this occasion, to speak in full 
 of her literary acquisitions and her accomplish¬ 
 ments. They were, indeed, many and various. 
 Her intellectual powers, naturally of a superior 
 order, were most carefully trained and developed. 
 She had drawn plentifully from the treasures of 
 both science and literature. She was versed in 
 several languages, both ancient and modern; she 
 was well acquainted with the facts and teachings 
 of history, and of Philosophy and Mathematical 
 science. And not only was she familiar with those 
 fields of knowledge, the investigation of which was 
 once regarded as man’s peculiar prerogative, hut 
 her attainments in elegant accomplishments were 
 surpassed by few. She excelled in both the science 
 and art of music. Her soul breathed in the har¬ 
 monious strains of the piano, harp, and organ, 
 with which she mingled the tones of a voice not 
 soon forgotten by those who had once heard it. 
 ***** 
 
 Though pensive and reflecting in disposition, 
 she was cheerful, and enjoyed the innocent plea¬ 
 sures of life. Whilst she strove to make others 
 
liappy, she was herself so. And could she have 
 been otherwise? Had she not at her command 
 every source of real enjoyment which can he pos¬ 
 sessed on earth? The pleasures of the intellect 
 were hers. The pleasures of the imagination were 
 hers. The pleasures of social intercourse were 
 hers. The pleasures arising from the mutual out¬ 
 pouring of pure domestic affection were hers. But 
 especially, and what are far more precious, far 
 more desirable, the pleasures of a pure heart, of an 
 approving conscience, of frequent and intimate 
 communion with God, of a consciousness of living 
 for His glory and the welfare of others, and of a 
 true Christian hope. Was she not then particu¬ 
 larly blessed? Was not her portion even in this 
 vale of tears inestimably precious—even heaven 
 begun below. Yea; it was happiness, pure, satis¬ 
 fying and abiding,—happiness such as the unsanc¬ 
 tified soul knows not, and cannot understand. 
 
 How much good she did during her life is known 
 only to God, her rewarder. That she did much, 
 who can deny? Many who have gone forth from 
 this institution prepared for the warfare of life, 
 have felt the power of her influence, and are now 
 manifesting it by following her example. In them 
 therefore, she, though dead, yet speaketh. Her 
 earthly light has been extinguished, hut it shall he 
 ever seen and remembered in the light of others 
 
31 
 
 whom she was instrumental in bringing out of 
 darkness into Christ’s marvellous light. 
 
 * * * * sK 
 
 She was taken away in the zenith of her useful¬ 
 ness, because there was prepared for her a more 
 honorable place in the kingdom of her Saviour. 
 The servant who was faithful over a few things, 
 the Great Master has seen fit to make ruler over 
 many things. Though ushered, without a mo¬ 
 ment’s warning, into the presence of her God, none 
 who knew her, and who believe the teachings of 
 the Bible, can entertain a doubt that she was pre¬ 
 pared to meet Him. Sudden, indeed, was the 
 coming of her Lord, hut He found her waiting, 
 with her lamp trimmed, and her light burning. 
 True, we have committed her body to the keeping 
 of the grave, “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust 
 to dust; looking for the general resurrection in the 
 last day, and the life of the world to come, through 
 our Lord Jesus Christ;” but faith, the eye through 
 which the soul sees into the unseen and eternal, 
 now beholds her pure and happy spirit among the 
 white robed, rejoicing in the presence of her God, 
 chanting in angel choirs those praises that cease 
 not night or day. Now, blessing, and honor, and 
 glory, are hers. Now, the dark glass having been 
 removed, she sees face to face. Now she who was 
 wise shines as the brightness of the firmament; 
 and she who aided in turning many unto righteous- 
 
mszzsmazmm as 
 
 32 
 
 J 
 
 I ness shall continue to shine as the stars, for ever 
 I and ever. 
 
 >i< ?K, * * 
 
 Many of you here, to-clay, have known her. 
 Many of you have loved her. To many of you 
 has she gently and kindly spoken of that happy 
 world to which she has been taken. Here, her 
 sweet smile you shall see no more. Here, her 
 pleasant voice you shall hear no more. But 
 I though now far away in realms of endless bliss, 
 I she has not ceased to care for you, she has not 
 I ceased to love you; hut she calls to you through 
 ! that bright example which she has left behind, 
 j saying “come up hither.” And will you not now 
 j heed her invitation? Will you not endeavor by 
 living as she did, to go up to her? * * * 
 
 Oh! if whilst she continued a member of this 
 household, you disregarded her mild admonitions 
 and her kind entreaties, let the thought that she 
 has been forever taken away, now incline you so to 
 bring those admonitions and entreaties home to 
 your hearts and consciences as to influence you 
 constantly to prepare to meet her. How begin to 
 follow her as she followed her Saviour Like her, 
 even now in the days of your youth, choose that 
 good part, which, when once attained, can never 
 be taken away. Like her, even now before you 
 become absorbed by the realities of life, yield 
 your hearts to Christ, set your affections on 
 
33 
 
 heavenly things, and determine to live, not for 
 time, but for eternity; not for self, but for God. 
 And then you also will have the approbation of 
 your Maker; you also will be a blessing to others; 
 and you also will be happy in this world, and 
 unspeakably happy in the next. The smile of 
 God’s reconciled countenance will rest on you; the 
 Saviour will love you; the Spirit will guide; and 
 whilst you will enjoy the good things of this life, 
 you will be always prepared for the life to come. 
 
 Bereaved friends—what shall I say to you! no 
 one can estimate your loss, and for it nothing mere 
 earthly can compensate. But can you repine at 
 the wise dispensation of God in removing her 
 hence? Can you wish that she had not been 
 taken? And would you, if you could, call her 
 back? No; for your great loss is her inestimable 
 gain. You have indeed cause to mourn; but you 
 have also ever at hand a source of consolation 
 ineffably precious. Your sorrowing hearts can 
 also be hearts of rejoicing; your tears can be tears 
 of thanksgiving; for you have the most blessed 
 assurance that she whom you love, and who was 
 so suddenly snatched away from you, is now in the 
 immediate presence of that Saviour who loved her, 
 who died for her, and who sanctified her. She 
 belonged to him. She was his by redemption; his 
 by adoption; and now she shall be his forever. 
 He gave her to you for a season. That season 
 
34 | 
 
 was ended, and his own, therefore, he took to he 
 where he is, to behold his glory and delight in his 
 love. But though he has taken her, you have not 
 lost her. She has been removed from you hut for 
 a very short time. No ties have been sundered. 
 You love her as much now as you ever did; and 
 you will still love her till you are again united 
 together, never more to part. She has hut gone to 
 her Father’s house of many mansions. There she 
 thinks of you; there she still loves you; and there 
 she is ready to welcome you when your journey of 
 life shall end. Kemember those words which she 
 so often sang, and let them he for your comfort: 
 
 “Cease, my soul, O cease to mourn. 
 
 Press onward to the prize; 
 
 Soon thy Saviour will return. 
 
 To take thee to the skies: 
 
 There is everlasting peace. 
 
 Rest, enduring rest in heaven; 
 
 There will sorrow ever cease. 
 
 And crowns of joy be given.’* 
 
35 
 
 An Abstract of the conclusion of a Sermon preached 
 in St. Peter's Church , EllicotVs Mills , Sunday , 
 September 9, 1855, by Rev. L. Van Bokkelen, 
 Rector. The discourse was upon the text , U I 
 have a message from God unto thee." 
 
 What, my hearers, can apply the words of the 
 text more directly, or with more power to our 
 hearts, than the event which has so sorely afflicted 
 the beloved members of a family in our vicinity. 
 
 A few days since they left their happy home 
 with bright anticipations—now they mourn for one 
 who by an event as cruel as it was reckless, has 
 been separated from them forever. I need not ask 
 your sympathy and prayers for the bereaved sur¬ 
 vivors, I know they have been given, and from 
 many a family altar the petition for mercy has 
 ascended to God, who doth not willingly afflict or 
 grieve his children. We as a congregation are 
 closely linked to those who are suffering, not only 
 as members of the same household of faith, but as 
 the recipients of their kindness, and abundant 
 liberality in helping us to make this Church what 
 it is, the house of God—free from all claim of man. 
 As your Pastor, I share with you the emotion of 
 gratitude, and fain would return the debt as our 
 friends would most wish it should be returned, by 
 the fervent prayer that it may please God to defend 
 and provide comfort for the fatherless children, the 
 
36 
 
 widows, and the many who by this late mysterious 
 dispensation are “desolate and oppressed.” 
 
 But I have another duty to perform—sweet, yet 
 mournful to the soul. Sweet, because it is to record 
 deeds of disinterested love for Christ’s heritage, 
 His Church,—mournful, because I speak of one 
 whose willing heart, and ready hand will no 
 longer he with us on earth to devise and perform. 
 We all remember the earnest piety and devoted 
 zeal of Miss Lincoln. 
 
 From the day I took the active charge of this 
 Church up to the last time it was my privilege to 
 see her, she was our same firm unchanging friend. 
 How sincerely did she rejoice when she knew our 
 Sanctuary would be freed from debt, and become 
 the temple of the living God—And when I pro¬ 
 posed a Fair for the purpose of completing and 
 adorning this sanctuary, no one labored more 
 faithfully or effectually than she. Though prepar¬ 
 ing for a voyage to Europe, she did not slacken her 
 diligence, and when on the Fourth of July, 1854, 
 I saw the result of her efforts—I could but 
 exclaim ££ many daughters have done virtuously, 
 but thou excellest them all.” For the complete 
 success of that effort, we gratefully acknowledge 
 our indebtedness to our departed friend. This was 
 only one of many acts proving her love for the 
 Church, and we are only one of many congrega¬ 
 tions who have to acknowledge the value of such a 
 
37 
 
 friend. Well do I remember her interest in the 
 services of the sanctuary, and readiness to conse¬ 
 crate her talents and accomplishments to the glory 
 of God. Of her exquisite taste and skill in church 
 music we have had ample evidence. It was the 
 last Sunday of the last year, when, having ap¬ 
 pointed a special service, I came and found a full 
 church but no arrangement for singing. She knew 
 how much the beauty of our service is increased by 
 chants, and psalms, and hymns; but she had come 
 here not expecting to take any leading part, as she 
 was accustomed to do in their own Chapel at the 
 Patapsco Institute. I saw her sitting in a pew in 
 the body of the Church. We read the first “Glo¬ 
 ria,” but when I read, “here endeth the first 
 lesson,” the organ took up the strain, and her 
 voice lead the chant, “It is a good thing to give 
 thanks unto the Lord/’ and through that service 
 so interesting to the large assembly, almost un¬ 
 aided, she sung the praises of God. Thus was 
 she always ready to do her part in'God’s service on 
 earth, and now she sings the song of the Lamb 
 before the throne, among the redeemed out of every 
 land and nation. These were not extraordinary 
 incidents; they mark the general tenor of her life. 
 I might speak of her talents, her accomplishments, 
 her amiability, her benevolence—but to whom 
 among you were these not known, or who ever 
 spoke otherwise than kindly of Miss Lincoln? Yet 
 

 38 
 
 she is gone. Her talents, lier usefulness, her 
 piety, her accomplishments, could not shield her. 
 The arrow of death pierced through them all. 
 The message came to her and she could not delay. 
 The message! what message, “Friend come up 
 higher,” She has left friends in sorrow, to join 
 friends in glory. Having given a good example 
 and departed this life in faith, she now awaits the 
 day when the brightness of Paradise will yield to 
 the brighter effulgence of Heaven. 
 
 Extracts from a Letter of Mrs. E. Willard, to 
 Mrs. T. B. Bigelow of Cambridgeport , Mass, 
 dated , Troy, October 17, 1855. 
 
 ******** 
 
 We did not wait till “Heath had set his seal” to 
 appreciate, and to show our appreciation of dear 
 Jane’s worth. You would, I think, be surprised 
 at the very great degree of feeling and admiration 
 for her, by which I am told her death is here met. 
 I have just parted from Mr. F. who says he thinks 
 he never knew a person so universally command¬ 
 ing the entire esteem of the community; or of a 
 sudden removal as causing so universal a shock. 
 Yet although she deserved this high estimation, 
 such was her modest appreciation of herself, that 
 she was ever far from being sensible of possessing 
 it. Her good qualities, like the genial air, were 
 gentle, unobtrusive and constant; and it was only 
 
39 
 
 by their being withdrawn that society became sen¬ 
 sible of their inestimable value. But for those, 
 and they were numerous, to whom she was truly 
 known, and who while they were warmed by her 
 mental loveliness, sent back its reflection to cheer 
 her own heart while her day of life lasted—in¬ 
 stead of bestowing their praises (for which indeed I 
 thank the givers) like flowers to deck her grave— 
 for those I feel now an added regard, a new tie 
 of friendship. 
 
 Extracts from a letter of Mrs. E. Willard, to her 
 niece , Mrs. Emma Willard O’Brien, dated Troy, 
 Oct. 23, 1855. 
 
 ^ 
 
 I have this morning for the first time, found 
 courage to read that precious last letter*—last— 
 last writing traced by her precious hand;—that 
 hand so skillful, was the outward instrument of an 
 inner soul fraught with beauty and harmony. 
 Think what that hand has done, and what it was 
 capable of doing. Often while she was with me, 
 have I thought of the worth of that right hand, 
 and what she would lose, if aught should deprive 
 her of its use,—little thinking that we should be 
 deprived of it,—and her. But the beautiful charac- 
 
 *A letter written by Jane to her aunt, Mrs. Willard, from the Girard 
 House in Philadelphia, the night preceding the fatal disaster, to inform 
 her that the party were on their way to New York, where they hoped 
 she would meet them. 
 
40 
 
 ters which it traced were hut imitations of the 
 archetypes in her beautiful mind—the pure, the 
 highly intelligent—the loving thoughts conveyed, 
 were the mind itself. The exquisite music which 
 with such wonderful facility that hand made audi¬ 
 ble, whether with stringed instruments, the sweet 
 harp and guitar, or with the many-keyed organ 
 and piano—that music existed in her harmo¬ 
 nious soul; and the hand was hut the living, as 
 the instruments were the dead servants which 
 obeying her will, we heard, entranced. That hand 
 shall decay, and the matter which composes it pass 
 into various new compounds of material things, 
 hut not one particle of it shall he wasted. That 
 more precious soul cannot he decomposed. It is 
 one and indivisible; and Christ has bought it—He 
 whom she loved to confess, and whom her gifted 
 hand and voice best loved to praise. 
 
 ***** 
 
41 
 
 Before concluding this “Tribute to the Memory 
 of Jane P. Lincoln/* we will insert a letter of her 
 own to a bereaved mother, in which “though dead 
 she yet speaketh” to the hearts of her own sorrow¬ 
 ing parent and friends. 
 
 Letter of Miss Lincoln to Mrs. Lucie G-arner, 
 ividow of the late Capt. Garner, U. S. Army. 
 
 Troy , April Wi, 1852. 
 
 My Dear Mrs. Garner: 
 
 In a letter mamma wrote me a few days 
 since, I received the intelligence of the calm and 
 peaceful manner in which your beloved daughter 
 has been mercifully removed from this world of sin 
 and suffering to the companionship of happy 
 spirits. For who that knew of her pure and holy 
 life can doubt that she is now realizing the truth 
 of those blessed promises in which she trusted so 
 implicitly? She had lived just long enough to feel 
 her solemn responsibilities as an immortal being, 
 and in the days of health and of strength, she had 
 given her warm, unsullied affections to her 
 Saviour. 
 
 For her then we cannot weep. In the beautiful 
 season of youth, before the storms of worldly sor¬ 
 row had swept over her—like a young and tender 
 plant she is transplanted to a more genial clime, 
 and in the garden of Paradise you will find her 
 blooming with expanded and perfected nature. 
 
42 
 
 “ 
 
 When God calls from us those we love most 
 dearly, it is grateful to our feelings to know that 
 others participate with us in our griefs, and I 
 desire at this time to express to you my most sin¬ 
 cere and heart-felt sympathy; for you have so long 
 been a member of our household that we share in 
 whatever of joy or sorrow may be yours. And you 
 are bound to us by holy ties, for we remember 
 how in the dark hour of our affliction you were 
 unwearied in your devotion at the bed of the 
 dying*—and constant to your sad watch, even to 
 the last trying moment, when the struggling spirit 
 escaped from its earthly prison-house. 
 
 Mamma wrote me of the very interesting dis¬ 
 course preached by Mr. Clarkef last Sunday,—and 
 may the pious life and the Christian death of your 
 sainted daughter, be blessed to her youthful com¬ 
 panions, and to each one of us, so that when we 
 shall be summoned hence, we may—like her— 
 gently fall asleep on earth, to wake in Heaven. 
 
 With my kindest love to mamma, most truly 
 and affectionately yours, 
 
 Jane P. Lincoln. 
 
 * Allusion is here made to the death of the Hon. John Phelps, her 
 kind and loving step-father, for whom she mourned with a daughter’s 
 affection. 
 
 t Then Chaplain of the Patapsco Institute. 
 
43 
 
 From the Troy (N. Y.) Whig. 
 
 0 B I T U A E Y . 
 
 Among the victims who met a sudden death in 
 the terrible accident that occurred at Burlington, 
 1ST. J., on the 29th of August last, was Miss Jane 
 Porter Lincoln, daughter of Mrs. Lincoln Phelps, 
 now of Maryland.* 
 
 In the recollections of many among us, Miss 
 Lincoln was associated with those early memories 
 which cling closest about the heart, and whose 
 severed links, as they drop, one by one, around us, 
 seem like lost gems from our most valued treasures. 
 As she came forward in life, we watched the devel¬ 
 opment of those traits which finally constituted a 
 character firm in the right, energetic in action, as 
 well as amiable and kind in all the social relations. 
 That harmony in which she so much delighted 
 seemed to pervade her whole being. 
 
 In her personal friendships she was ardent, sin¬ 
 cere and unchanging. But her distinguishing 
 characteristic—that which will at once present 
 itself to all who knew her, was the retiring mo¬ 
 desty and diffidence, the unassuming and unobtru¬ 
 sive simplicity of heart and manner, which led her, 
 though fitted by education and accomplishments 
 
 * Her father, Simeon Lincoln, of Connecticut, a man of genius and 
 highly cultivated taste, died in her early childhood. Mrs. Lincoln 
 with her two daughters, Jane and Emma, came to Troy, where she 
 remained associated with her sister, Mrs. Emma Willard, in the Troy 
 Seminary, until her marriage to Mr. Phelps, of Vermont. 
 
44 
 
 1 
 
 for a conspicuous and dazzling prominence, to pre- | 
 fer the quiet circle of congenial minds, and gentle 
 sympathies. In her loss, we feel as though life’s 
 pathway had been robbed of one of its sweetest 
 flowers—as though the beams of a cheering, placid 
 star had been withdrawn from us forever. 
 
 But our own sorrow, deep and poignant as it 
 may be, shrinks into nothing when we think of 
 those kindred hearts made desolate, crushed and 
 bleeding by this sudden and overwhelming calam¬ 
 ity. That revered and beloved Aunt, whose doting 
 fondness could scarcely be exceeded by a mother’s 
 love, to whom she had so long been as “the light 
 of her dwelling;” the companion of her retire¬ 
 ment, the pride of her social life—that stricken 
 Mother, from whose very side she was torn, in all 1 
 the vigor of health, and glow of filial affections— 
 those sisters and that brother, to whom she had 
 been as a spirit of love and kindness; prompting 
 them to all that was good, and generous, and | 
 noble—to these, how poor are all our sympathies; 1 
 how empty all human consolations. While we I 
 mingle our tears with theirs, we can only say, help 1 
 Lord, for the strength of man faileth! 
 
 Miss L. had travelled much, and had had many 
 narrow escapes from danger. When journeying 
 with her Aunt, Mrs. Willard, in Ohio, a few years 
 since, the stage in which they were, was over¬ 
 turned, and Mrs. W. taken up insensible, and 
 
45 
 
 ! 
 
 severely injured. A year or two later, slie was on 
 board the steamboat Empire, when that vessel was 
 sunk in the Hudson river, and so many lives were 
 lost. Little more than a twelvemonth since she 
 accompanied her Aunt in a European tour, and on 
 their voyage out, the ship took fire, and they were 
 in great peril. On their return, they were pre¬ 
 vented by circumstances* from taking passage in 
 the “Arctic,” while some of their fellow-travellers 
 embarked in that ill-fated vessel, and went down 
 amid its darkness and woe. But the fatal moment 
 had at length come; and buoyant with glad hopes 
 and bright anticipations, the family group rushed 
 on, as it were, to meet the fell destroyer. There 
 was a shock—a crash—and with scarcely a mo¬ 
 ment’s mental or physical suffering;, without a 
 blow to mar her frame; without even a shade of 
 alarm or anxiety upon her countenance, she passed 
 into eternity. 
 
 From her childhood, Miss Lincoln had been 
 seriously inclined, and early became a communi¬ 
 cant in St. John’s Church of this city; but from 
 the time of the accident to the Empire, before 
 alluded to, she had seemed to be more deeply im¬ 
 pressed with the necessity of a constant preparation 
 
 * The consent of Mrs. Phelps to comply with the urgent request of 
 her sister and daughter, to join them in Europe in company with her son 
 and youngest daughter, induced Mrs. W. to remain longer abroad, and 
 thus prevented her return and that of her niece in the ill-fated Arctic. 
 
46 
 
 for that summons which cometh “when we think 
 not.” The awful solemnity of that hour, the view 
 which she then had of the eternal world; standing 
 as she did, in the very gates of death, with her 
 fellow beings perishing around her; as well as 
 gratitude for her own preservation from a watery 
 grave, induced with her the firm resolve thence¬ 
 forth to live less for earth, and more for Heaven. 
 In her piety, as in her life, she was not ostenta¬ 
 tious; hut many a young heart will remember 
 her kind teachings and gentle efforts, to win it 
 from its waywardness, and lead it to the Saviour. 
 
 From her long connection with the Female Sem¬ 
 inary in this place,* as well as from mingling 
 much in the society of our larger cities, she had 
 formed an extensive acquaintance almost through¬ 
 out the Union. To her many friends, North and 
 South, the news of her melancholy fate has come 
 with startling sorrow. But no—we will not think 
 with sadness of one whose sojourn here was marked 
 by so much purity, and happiness, and love. The 
 bright, the good, the beautiful around us shall he 
 to us, Hear Friend, remembrances of thee. The 
 shrinking violet, when the mild breath of Spring 
 opens its petals, and scatters its fragrance, shall 
 bring to us memories of thy unpretending worth. 
 
 * Jane graduated at the Troy Seminary at the age of eighteen; her 
 valedictory address was translated into French by Madam Belloc, and 
 published in “La Ruche.’* 
 
The music of birds and brooks will waken in our 
 hearts echoes of thy notes of melody and song; and 
 when we gaze into the clear blue sky at evening 
 hour, we shall seem to hear thy harp, now tuned 
 to loftier, holier strains, amid the winged choir 
 around the throne of everlasting light. 
 
 Extracts from an Address of Mrs. Lincoln Phelps j 
 to the Pupils of the Patapsco Institute , read to 
 them by the Presiding Teacher , Miss Wood, 
 October 26, 1855. 
 
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 The last time of my addressing the pupils in the 
 place where you are now assembled, was at the 
 public commencement, July 18, 1855, closing the 
 school year. Many of you were present on that 
 occasion. You remember who it was that stood by 
 me, in all the freshness of health, and dignity of 
 conscious rectitude and virtue ;—who it was that 
 handed me each Diploma, whispering the name 
 appended that I might call the young lady forward 
 to present her testimonial. You remember who it 
 was that joined in the singing of the “Parting 
 Hymn;” and her thrilling solo, 
 
 “Guard us while shadows lie 
 Far o’er life’s journey spread, 
 
 Thou that hast looked on death 
 Aid us when death is near. 9 * 
 
 How little thought we then, that to her, death 
 was so near !—that in a few short weeks she would 
 
 
48 
 
 be with us no more!—that so soon her place on 
 earth should be left vacant. Yes, in some respects, 
 it is vacant, and it must be vacant. Where can 
 we find combined in one person all her accomplish¬ 
 ments, virtues and pietyf Favoring circumstances 
 had given her early advantages for education. On 
 the death of her father, Simeon Lincoln, of Connec¬ 
 ticut, she was taken at the age of six years, with 
 her younger sister Emma, to the Troy Seminary, 
 where she remained a pupil until she graduated, at 
 the age of eighteen. For eight years, or while I 
 remained connected with that Institution, I super¬ 
 intended her course of studies, and the develop¬ 
 ment of her mind and character. After a change 
 in my domestic relations I went to reside in Ver¬ 
 mont; (where for many years was my beautiful 
 home among the romantic scenery of the Green 
 and White Mountains, in the valley of the Connec¬ 
 ticut River) Jane spent her vacations with me 
 there, and highly enjoyed domestic life amidst 
 rural scenes. 
 
 Let me in imagination carry you to a large and 
 pleasant mansion, surrounded by graceful trees 
 and shrubbery. Here were happy young girls, 
 sisters and step-sisters, loving each other, and all 
 united in efforts to make her happy, who sought to 
 be alike a mother to all. Lucy Phelps, one of 
 Jane’s step-sisters, then about sixteen years old, 
 was a remarkable girl—her mind was matured far 
 
49 
 
 above her years;—slie had become a professor of 
 religion, having ratified her baptismal vows in 
 Confirmation, and in the reception of the Holy 
 Communion. Lucy was gifted with genius and 
 great strength of mind. It was her chief desire to 
 improve herself in every way; to do right, and to 
 be useful to others. She was playful and amusing, 
 and possessed great powers of conversation. 
 
 From Guilford (where we lived at the period to 
 which I now refer,) to the neighboring town of 
 Brattleborough, the distance is about three miles. 
 The girls thought little of walking there, for shop- 
 ing or visits. About half way is a water-fall, 
 not less picturesque than many in Europe, which 
 are celebrated among travellers. The interesting 
 scenery about this fall, often tempted the girls 
 to linger in their walks. 
 
 “Here,” said Jane to me, as we last visited that 
 region together, and passed the water-fall, “did 
 Lucy and I sit one summer day, when she, by her 
 beautiful narrative of a story she had been reading, 
 riveted for hours, my attention.” 
 
 Lucy’s grave was made in her eighteenth sum¬ 
 mer, she died happy in the hope of a resurrection 
 to life eternal. 
 
 Hext in age to Lucy, of her father’s children, 
 were Elizabeth and Ann, very different in character, 
 but full of life, joyousness, humor and intelligence; 
 they became humble followers of the Kedeemer, 
 
50 
 
 and He took them, in early life, to Himself— 
 they had both married, but no ties of affection 
 could bind them to earth;—their graves are in 
 distant localities, and the rank grass has long 
 waved over their last resting places. 
 
 Among that once happy group of young girls 
 were Jane, and Emma Lincoln, to whom the ac¬ 
 quisition of so many new sisters had been a source 
 of satisfaction, rather than a cause of jealousy, as 
 is too often the case with young persons under 
 similar circumstances. Let me depict one scene 
 which is daguerreotyped upon my memory in vivid 
 colors, and distinct outline. In the centre of our 
 pleasant garden, was a mound surmounted by an 
 octagon summer-house, called the “garden tem¬ 
 ple/ ' To this place on a pleasant evening in 
 early summer, the father and mother were invited 
 to a feast of field strawberries, which the girls had 
 gathered. While the parents were seated in the 
 temple, the daughters formed a ring, and danced 
 merrily around the mound to a joyous melody in 
 which all united. 
 
 Where are all those young girls? Three of the 
 sisters died young. One of them, she whose recent 
 loss so many have mourned, was spared for succes¬ 
 sive years;—she had pursued her plans for self-im¬ 
 provement, and for usefulness;—her life had been 
 rich in events of a nature to develope her affection 
 and her intellect. She was always a pupil, ever 
 
51 
 
 seeking to learn something good, to improve her 
 stock of knowledge, and to perfect herself in 
 accomplishments. 
 
 Some of you knew, and well remember her. 
 You have seen her in religious worship, leading in 
 the praises of the Sanctuary with her e ‘well-tuned’ ’ 
 voice;—you have seen her kneel to receive the Holy 
 Communion. You have known her as a kind ad¬ 
 viser, anxious that you should improve all your ad¬ 
 vantages, that you should he sincere, and good;— 
 you were happy to gain her approbation;—but on 
 earth you will see her no more;—you will hear no 
 more the sweet music of her voice;—the chords of 
 her harp and piano are silent;—no hand has yet 
 touched them since her departure;—she is no more 
 seen at the organ in the Chapel, or at the melo- 
 deon in our family prayers. But her example re¬ 
 mains for your imitation. What a consolation to a 
 parent’s heart to know that the child whom she 
 mourns, was loved and esteemed by others—that 
 her life can be pointed to as worthy of imitation;— 
 and especially that while she was prepared to fill 
 with usefulness, honor and grace, any situation in 
 life, she was also “ready,” by faith and a life of 
 humble piety, for the world of spirits. 
 
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