Family Circle

“Tames and Ann Whitall had nine children. The youngest of these, John S., was our father’s father. He was born on 5th month, 31st, 1757. His mother’s diary contains several little notices of him during his childhood, as being sick with ague and fever, and keeping her from meeting; and under date of 4th month, 18th, 1762, she records another trouble into which the poor little fellow, then about five years old, had fallen:

“Third day at night our .John fell into boiling water, and scalded himself so badly 1 thought he would go into fits. If we had put Indian meal and cold water on it, it might not have been so bad; or molasses and suit to get the fire out, or Irish potatoes, or spirits of turpentine, or sweet oil and the white of an egg beaten together, or oil that they paint with, linseed oil, or rattlesnake root boiled in hog’s fat. Now we have got shumac root, the inside bark, boiled in hog’s fat to bathe it in three or four times a day, and it does it a greal deal of good. Such a scald I never saw. Oh, that I never may again.”

At the foot of this entry our great-grandmother records under date of 3d month, 1788:

“He (that is, this same John, her youngest child) had bad luck when young, and since he came home has lost a great deal — fifteen hundred pounds, he says, in one vessel, all gone to the bottom, and now he is staying in Woodbury, but for how long I do not know.”

These are all the records we have of our grandfather, except a private diary kept by himself in the year 1785. It appears that in the division of the property, the family homestead naturally went to the older children, and our grandfather, as the youngest, entered upon another line of business, which seems to have been in some way connected with the West India trade. He frequently sailed as supercargo, and the diary referred to was kept by him during a voyage to Bordeaux on board the French Packet “Le Couriere de L’Amerique,” in the year 1785. He was then twenty-eight years old, and as the diary was kept for the eyes of a female friend to whom he seemed to pour out all his inmost feelings, we think it must have been for his future wife, Sarah Mickle, whom he married on 5th month, 16th, 1788.

Sarah Mickle, our father’s mother, was the daughter of John Mickle and Elizabeth Estaugh Hopkins. This Elizabeth E. Hopkins was the daughter of Ebenezcr Hopkins, who was the nephew of Elizabeth Haddon, the founder of Haddonfield. He was the son of her sister Sarah, and came to America to be educated by, and live with his aunt. Having no children of her own, she adopted him and made him her heir. In 1737 he married Sarah, a daughter of James Lord of Woodbury. In 1752 his aunt conveyed to him a tract of land fronting on Cooper’s Creek in Haddon township, which adjoined other lands also her gift, and he resided on this estate until his death in 1757. After his death his widow and children removed to Haddonfield. Here they were cared for and looked after by Elizabeth Estaugh. John Clements says in his History of the First Settlers in Newton Township:

“It is evident that she took much interest in them, since in these orphans she saw the perpetuity of her large landed estates in her own blood, and the tone of her will indicates a long settled intention in this regard,”

This will bears date Nov. 30th, 1761. Her real estate was principally given to these children of her deceased nephew, Ebenezer Hopkins. One of these children was Sarah, who married John Mickle, and who was the mother of our grandmother Sarah Mickle. As our family story is thus closely connected by collateral descent and inheritance with the remarkable story of Elizabeth Haddon, it will be interesting, for the sake of the grandchildren, to embody a short sketch of her eventful career in this memoir of our father.

She was the daughter of John Haddon, a Friend of good faiuily, who lived in Kotherhithe in the parish of St. George, borough of Southwark, county of Surrey, England, then a suburb of the city of London. John Haddon was in the iron business, and accumulated a large estate. His ancestry, I believe, can be traced to the manor of Haddon in Derbyshire, now a part of the estate of the Duke of Eutland. The old baronial mansion of Haddon Hall is still standing, and although uninhabited, is carefully preserved as in its old days. It was probably the seat of the Haddon family before the Conquest; but “William the Conqueror arbitrarily gave it to his son, and the original owners were driven away.

John Haddon had only two children, Sarah, who married Benjamin Hopkins, a wine merchant of London, and Elizabeth, who was born in 1682. Elizabeth seems to have been a very thoughtful child, and was always deeply interested in the accounts from the new settlements of Friends in America. Her father purchased some land in New Jersey, intending to remove there with his family, and even sent out mechanics who built a suitable house and out-buildings. But meantime circumstances occurred which made him feel it his duty to remain in England, and as he did not like to have the property lying useless, he decided to offer it to any of his relatives who would go and settle upon it. His daughter Elizabeth, hearing of this, felt led of the Lord to offer herself as that one, and calling the family together told them of her feelings. Her parents, who had always taught their children an implicit obedience to what they believed to be the voice of the Lord, were afraid to oppose what their young daughter seemed so strongly to feel to be a duty, and although in much fear and treml)ling, made arrangements for her emigration. A late writer, in speaking of this story, says:

“Among the many singular manifestations of strong faith and religious zeal, connected with the settlement of this country, few are more remarkable than the voluntary separation of this girl of eighteen years old from a wealthy home and all the associations of childhood, to go to a distant and thinly inhabited country in order to fulfil what she considered a religious duty. And the humble, self-sacrificing faith of the parents in giving up their beloved child with such reverent tenderness for the promptings of her own conscience, has in it something sublimely beautiful, if we look at it in its own pure light.’’

She reached the home which had been prepared for
her in the 6th month, 1701, and in 1702 married John

Estaugh, a preacher among Friends from England, who settled with her in her new home. There is a tradition in the family that John Estaugh, being a poor man without position, was not in a situation to offer himself to the young heiress, and that she, with her usual strong sense, took the initiative, telling him that she was strongly impressed that the Lord had sent him to her as a partner in life, and asking him not to answer her hastily, hut to weigh it before the Lord. The result was a very happy married life of forty years, passed, as she herself recorded, in the ‘’sweetest harmony.”

She was a woman of great natural abilities, sanctified by the grace of God, and was an untold blessing to the whole neighborhood for many miles around.

In a book by Lydia Maria Child, called “Fact and
Fiction,” there is a delightful account of Elizabeth
Haddon, called ‘’The Youthful Emigrant,” which I
recommend the grandchildren to read.

As we have seen, our grandmother’s grandfather, Ebenezer Hopkins, was her adopted son and heir, and his children came into possession of much of her property.

Our father’s mother, the grand-daughter of this Elenezer Hopkins, was a woman of great gentleness and refinement, and of much intellectual culture. Her husband and children were devotedly attached to her, and our father revered her memory to his latest days. He often told us that he learned to pray from her, and that he knew she prayed much for her children, and asked that each one might be saved. He always spoke to us of this with great reverence, and said that although she had died without seeing all the answer to her prayers, yet he believed they had been finally answered for each one. The diary kept for her by our grandfather during the days of their courtship manifests on the part of both of them fine literary tastes, and much thoughtful consideration of men and things. Its introduction is as

follows:

“August I6th, 1785.

“Oh, my dear sister! Thee can form hut a very imperfect idea of the feelings of ray poor heart, when I was about taking my last — perhaps last, farewell of my native shore. It was six o’clock in the afternoon, and I kept my eyes fixed on the land, till it was quite sunk in the ocean. The day and evening were remarkably pleasant, and contributed very considerably to exhilarate the gloomy ideas which agitated my poor soul; together with a firm reliance on Providence, and a perfect resignation to its holy decrees, and the pleasing thought that stole into my mind of seeing thee once more. * * * Otherways my situation would have been altogether insupportable.

“Thee may perhaps — sister — (conceive all this to be words of course. If thee does, and cannot discover some traces of sincere friendship in my character, banish me forever from thy thoughts and presence; * * * by letter will be sufficient to let me know wherein I am deficient. And should it be the case (which God forbid), I know not what friendship is, and have only been grasping at a shadow for the substance. The pain it would give me would be great; but to continue long in such a dream would be dreadful to the last degree. I will not conceal my thoughts from thee, sister; it would be inconsistent with what I profess — friendship, and will freely declare that in thee I have found a soul corresponding in every respect to my own. It is not thy person I esteem and regard; thy face is not beautiful. No! it is thy mind only. For while I retain the use of my senses, I can never forget the lesson thee taught me.

“‘Lean not on earth; ‘twill jjierce thee to the heart, A broken reed at best; but oft a spear; On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires.’” This, and many other matters, convincing me that thou art of the superior order of heings, and that thy soul is susceptible of the most tender impressions of friendship, attaches me in an irresistible manner to thee as the only person existing in whose mind I can place every confidence, and unbosom the most secret recesses of mv heart. (Witness, thy being the sole person I dare communicate my route to.)

“After this ingenuous confession, permit me the liberty, sister, to solicit thy attention to the following maxim: ‘Attempt nothing in which thou mayest not pray to God for success.’”

The whole tone of this diary of our grandfather proves him to have been a very religious man after the stately and dignified order. It is full of admirable extracts from the best writers of that time, and contains also many notices of personal experience that are very striking. Under date of August 21st, Sunday, he writes:

“Pleasant weather, wind fair, but light. Calculating for the difference of time, sister, between us, and supposing it nearly the minute that thee was seated in meeting, I shut myself ui in my state-room, and read the 5th, 6th and 7th chapters of Matthew, which afforded unspeakable pleasure to my mind. Although the people kept such a clamor and noise the whole time that one would think it impossible to attend to any one object, yet I was in a few minutes wrapped up in as profound a meditation as though I had been in a desert, recluse from all the world.

‘’ Dare I recommend to thee, my dear sister, the perusal (sometimes) of the before-mentioned chapters, for I believe them to contain all that is good and improving to the human mind. And I dare suppose, thee will not doubt my sincerity, when I humbly solicit the Supreme Being to instil into thy mind the ‘fear of His holy name, the thoughts of death, the love of virtue and religious principles.’”

He mentions on Sept. 6th, having read through quite a long list of books since leaving New York on the loth of August, among which are Young’s Night Thoughts, The Beauties of Milton, Thomson and Goldsmith, Seneca’s Morals and Sterne’s works (six volumes), which record shows him to have been a most diligent reader.

The business which took him to Bordeaux appears to
have been successful, and he returned the early part of
the year 1786. In 1788, on the 16th of 5th month, he
married this “sister,” as he called her, in Friends’
Meeting House at Woodbury, New Jersey.

Our grandfather upon his marriage went to live in a large old-lashioned brick house with a pent roof over the door, situated on the main street of the little town of Woodbury, and here our father was born. It was one of the best houses of the town, and as both bride and bridegroom seem to have possessed considerable property at this time, their style of living was quite elegant for the circle in which they moved, and which was the best the neighborhood afforded. Our grandfather was a gentleman of the old school, very stately in his manners, and permittiDg no liberties from any inferiors, either servants or children. He seemed to inherit his father’s fondness for gay society, and his intimate friends were among fox-hunting squires and men of family and fashion. It seems hard to imagine our father, with his free, joyous, fun-loving nature, so regardless of all conventionalities, and so open-hearted to every one around him, without regard to standing or position, growing up in the atmosphere of stately proprieties which thus surrounded him all the years of his early boyhood, and I can easily believe he caused his father many a pang. o

Those who remember him as a boy say that he was at once the most provoking and the best beloved boy in all the circle. No one could keep their anger against him for a moment. Let his pranks be as vexatious as they might be, and he was full and brimming over with mischief all the day long, no anger could withstand his genuine and openly expressed sorrow at the trouble he had caused, and the hearty and generous restitution he was always ready to offer, nor the merry rebound of fun that burst out the moment his apologies had been accepted. He was the first to help in every case of need, and every one, whether friend or foe, knew they could rely on him for any service, which he was capable of performing. All his friends loved and admired him, even while they scolded him, and they generally found themselves laughing at the very moment when they ought to have been the most severe and frowning. From childhood to old age this power of winning love and approval continued with our precious father; and the fun of his boyhood developing the genial merriment of the chastened Christian heart, gave his character a nameless charm.

Ten children were born to our grandfather and grandmother in the old house in Woodbury, of whom our father was the seventh. Four died in infancy or childhood. The remainder resided with their parents in the same home until 1815, when our grandfather lost a large sum of money through the failure of a West India house in which he was interested, and they were obliged to retrench. They moved a little way out of Woodbury to a farm beloni>;ing to our grandmother, and accordina; to the fashion of those times, the boys were talcen from school to help with the farm-work, so that after the age of fifteen our father received no school education, and had to learn wdiat he could from the life and the men around him.

The house to which the family removed was not a very attractive one when they first settled in it. But the fine tastes of our aunts soon transformed it into a beautiful vine-covered cottage, adorned within and without with a thousand little tasteful charms. They called it “New Virginia,” on account of the fact’ that it was built low and wide, with most of the rooms on the ground floor, after the fashion of Virginian houses of that date. Here the family spent many happy years, gathering around them the choicest spirits, both in the literary and religious circles of their neighborhood, which, partly owing to the holding of the courts at Woodbury, was settled by families of culture and refinement, thus making their low-roofed cottage a centre of much delightful social intercourse. Our father’s sisters were women of very fine natures and much intellectual power, and all became deeply earnest religious characters. Ann, the oldest, and perhaps the strongest character of them all, who was at one time one of the leaders of the gay society of Woodbury, was the first member of the band of brothers and sisters to be turned from darkness to light, and in accordance with all the family usages and traditions, she at once became a very plain Friend. Hannah was the next in age, and to her descended all Ann’s worldly gaiety, and Sally, the one still younger, began at once to wish that Hannah too might become ‘“’ serious,”

as they called it, in order that the gay apparel might all come into her possession. But both Hannah and Sally were converted at about the same time, and both testified their allegiance to the King of kings by adopting the Friends’ dress, so that the youngest daughter of all inherited the whole worldly wardrobe.

The oldest sister, Ann, was a woman possessing the strength of character of the grandmother, after whom she was named, mingled with the gentleness and refinement inherited from her gentle loving mother, and is still spoken of by some who remember her as an unusually fine woman. After her conversion, she and Beulah Hopkins, a dear friend who had formerly been her companion in worldliness, but who had also come under the power of grace, started a First Day school in the school-house on the meeting-house grounds at Woodbury. This school was held on First Day mornings before meeting, and the Friends generally took a deep interest in it. Old and young, white and colored attended it, and the elders of Woodbury meeting were among the teachers. Our mother remembers attending this school very well; first as a scholar in a class taught by an elder named Sarah Saunders, and afterwards as a teacher; and she says that when the school was over the scholars and teachers all walked across the green lawn to the meeting-house, and there the scholars were seated in the back part of the house. And our mother says that her grandfather, John Tatum, who was a preacher in Woodbury meeting at that time, was always so drawn out towards these rows of children, that he never failed, she thinks, to preach to them when at meeting. This was the only First Day school held in Woodbury at that time, and though conducted entirely by Friends, and in accordance with their principles, was attended by members of all the Denominations in the village.

Concerning this sister, our aunt Hannah has left the following record, written many years after her death:

“The remembrance of our beloved sister, Ann C- Wbitall, sheds a soft and subdued influence even at this time. And while it is delightful to dwell upon the beautiful Christian virtues that adorned her character, it is instructive to contemplate her purusing that path of self-denial in which she walked the latter years of her life so meekly, and yet with firm unfaltering step. She possessed naturally a dignity and sweetness of manners which won the affections of those who knew her; this, with a buoyancy of spirit, combined with a lively, energetic and cultivated mind, attracted around her in early life a large circle of fashionable associates; and she was thus drawn into the follies and allurements of the world, and to participate in scenes of gaiety. But the prayers of a tenderly anxious and pious mother followed her here; and here too the reproofs of the Holy Spirit often met her, showing her the inconsistency and unlawfulness of these things; and making her feel the insufficiency of worldly pleasure to yield solid and enduring happiness. * * * Thus she was led from the pursuits of the false pleasures of life, and instead of a desire for them, was excited a longing after the unsearchable riches of Christ; and by yielding her heart to the operation of the Spirit of truth she became about the year 1818 a new creature. The qualities which had rendered her so lovely before, were now meekly softened and beautifully illumined by the benign influence of religion. Her disposition was strikingly disinterested and generous, regarding the comfort and happiness of others far before her own; and the many little sacrifices which she made for the gratification of her family are sweetly in remembrance. She seemed practically to fulfil the injunction of the Apostle, ‘Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love, in honor preferring one another.’ And it may truly be said, she adorned the doctrines she professed, making religion appear attractive and lovely. Thus going on from one degree of grace to another, she became established, strengthened, settled; was increasingly useful in Society, unremitting in attention to her parents, and exhibiting a beautiful example of meekness and piety to her younger sisters.”

In the early part of the summer of 1821 she ruptured a blood-vessel, and from this time the cough never left her. Change of air was tried, and also riding on horseback when at home; but the disease made rapid progress, and on the 29th of 7th month, 1822, her purified spirit was released from suffering, and admitted into the heavenly mansions to an inheritance with the saints in light.

Many notes were taken during her last illness, which was marked by great peace and calmness, her whole confidence and hope being placed in the fnerits of her Redeemer; and, to use her own language, she “seemed to be enveloped in love.”

Our father left for a voyage to Canton on 6th month,
30th, 1822, and our aunt Hannah thus records the
parting from this dear sister: —

“Our brother Mickle, to whom she was warmly attached, left this day for Canton, and we looked with much anxiety towards the parting scene, lest it should prove too much for her feeble frame. But she gave him up with a sweet smile, saying, ‘If we do not meet again, dear brother, I have no doubt it will be in best wisdom. I know not how my sickness may terminate, but let it be as it may, all will be just right.’”

After her death her mother wrote the following letter to him:

“Thy clear sister grew weaker and weaker after thon left up, until the 29th of seventh month, when she departed this life in a sweet frame of mind. Indeed, it seemed as if love had cast out all fear of death. Although her sufferings were great, not a murmur escaped her lips. She often repeated — ‘Although thou slay me, yet will I love thee, O Lord,’ and said that she was willing to suffer that the measure might he filled. She placed her whole confidence and trust in her blessed Saviour. A great many times she repeated — ‘Not ray will, O Lord, but Thine be done,’ and many more such precious sayings which I cannot now recollect. The purity and sweetness of her spirit appeared in all she said, she never addressing us with any other appellation than ’ dear precious mother,” dear precious sisters.’ Her heart seemed indeed filled with heavenly love. One day, after her father had been sitting by her bed and had left the room, she remarked that if it had been her heavenly J’ather’s will to spare her life, how gladly would she have lived to soothe her aged father’s dying pillow; that he had been a kind and affectionate parent; but added, ‘now he performs that office for me.’

‘’ I felt that it was such a happy change for her that it was wrong to grieve, or wish her back, although she was a very precious child to me, and one I had looked forward to for assistance in many ways. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord! I have been wonderfully supported, and it seems as if I could only say. Oh, that my latter end may be like hers!”

In 1822 or ’23, our grandfather met with some fresh losses, and our surviving aunts determined to see what they could do to help him. They decided to move to Philadelphia, and open a school, which they were well qualified to do; and the change was accomplished in 1823. They sent around notes to all their father’s creditors, stating their intention of trying to pay his debts, and proposed, where there were daughters in any of the families of the creditors, to educate those children as part payment. This noble course of action on the part of our aunts won them universal esteem, and they soon had a large and flourishing school, which enabled them not only to help pay their father’s debts, but supported them and their parents in great comfort, and secured to them finally quite a little estate, upon which the survivors were able to retire after years of honorable teaching.

Among our old papers we have found a poem written to our aunts Hannah and Sally by one of their friends, on the occasion of their removal to Philadelphia, which gives such a pleasant picture of their cottage home and the life there, that I will insert an extract:

“I turn to mark that loved abode
Just seen amid the deepening sky,
And trace the oft-freqiiented road
Along the white-fenced boundary.

“It was a route I loved to tread,

When former pleasures pointed there,
For to a spot its pathway led,

Made by the smile of friendship fair.

“There taste a little temple found,

While concord built her peaceful throne,
And fond affections circling round,
Embraced the cottage as their own.

“Sweet was that porch of rural guise,
O’erlooking wide the western sky,
Loved for its sweet colloquial ties,
When evening spread her canopy.

“Dear was that parlor’s little sphere,
Decked by the sisters’ tasteful hand,
Where friendship beamed her smile sincere,
And converse bade the heart expand.

“Yet now that porch seems still and lone;
That parlor all its charms has shed;
For Hannah’s dear, loved mind is gone,
And Sally’s kindred smile is fled.

“Yet oh! can friendship dare repine
When filial duty points their goal?
No! Eather be it fondly mine

To love the brightness of their soul.”

Three years after this removal to PhiU^delphia, and while our father was away on a voyage to Canton, the gentle mother of the family died of consumption on the 28th of 8th month, 1826, in her sixtieth year. Many years after her death the following tribute to her memory, written by her husband, was found in an old Bible:

“Sarah Whitall, born Mickle, departed this life twenty minutes after four o’clock in the morning (on second day of the week), the 28th day of August, 1826, aged fifty-nine years, nine months and eight days, after great suflering during ten months of a pulmonary disease, which she bore with much Christian patience and resignation, affording me a strong hope, indeed assurance, that her soul has gone to rest in the bosom of God, through the redeeming mercies of Christ Jesus. And I have, in justice to the deceased, to aver that her whole life has been an instructive example to me, as well as to our dear children; a strong cord that bound us all in love together. And I pray that that cord may not be broken by her death. I have had much reason during more than thirty-eight years to bow down my mind and prostrate it before the great Jehovah in humble adoration, thanksgiving and praises for His great and merciful goodne.ss in blessing me with such a beloved wife, far, far better than I deserved, and with a hope, at the same time, of being enabled to love, to cherish, and to comfort her all in my power; for she richly deserved all — yes, a great deal more than all that I was enabled to do for her. No husband ever lived who enjoyed a greater degree of felicity than I have done during the whole course of our living together, and I may truly lament that I was not more worthy of her affectionate love. Humility was the bright jewel which adorned her whole life. ‘To do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly before God and man,’ was her daily practice.”

Our aunt Hannah lias left a manuscwpt account of her last illness and death, from which the following extracts are taken:

‘’ The memory of our dear mother is indeed precious, bringing to our view her many Christian virtues; with which few beside her immediate family had the opportunity of becoming acquainted, as she was of a meek, retiring disposition, not seeking the glory of this world, but ’ a better and an enduring substance.’

“She was a tender and anxious parent, often solicitous for our growth in best things, and her fervent desire and prayer was, that her children should ‘walk in the truth.’ Her exercise of spirit lest we should be carried away by the ensnaring vanities of the world, remains fresh in our remembrance, as she used sweetly to admonish us when with her, as well as by letter when absent from her, to keep continually in view that we were ’ placed Jiere for the direct purpose of preparing for another and a better world.’

‘’ She encouraged the habit of daily perusing the Scriptures; and associated with our earliest recollections is the remembrance of the quiet hour she used thus to spend.

“As her last illness was fraught with much deep instruction, the following memoranda were made at the time for her absent children I. F. W. and J. M. W., who were denied the privilege of witnessing her calm and peaceful transition to the world of spirits:

“She was confined to her chamber fourteen weeks, during which she exhibited to all around her the true Christian graces of gentleness, tenderness, and meekness, in an eminent degree.

“During the first few weeks of her confinement, she was impressed with the belief that her tarrying amongst us would be but of short duration; and was, at seasons, drawn into deep exercise for those who were so nearly and closely connected to her. In speaking of herself, she said she believed her sufferings were by Divine appointment, and hoped to be patient under them; that she had given her family up, and had nothing now to keeiJ her here; it had been her desire to do so, and she believed she had been helped to accomplish it. She was often led to number the blessings that surrounded her, and considered the many valuable and sympathetic friends who called to see her, not among the least; and frequently observed to those who watched her with tender solicitude, that she hoped they might be blessed with the same tender nursing that had been given her.

“The 9th of 7th month, 182G, she expressed herself in prayer thus: ‘Most holy Father, be pleased to grant me patience and resignation to Thy will, and when it shall please Thee to take me, oh, grant that I may be willing and ready to go.’ After expressing a concern about our dear father, she said: ‘He will miss me; but he is in the hands of Divine Goodness, who is able to save and do all things.’ A fear being expressed lest the blessing on the family should be removed when she was taken, she said, after a pause, ‘No, my dears, the same jjower that is over you now, will be over you then, if you do but continue faithful, keeping yourselves humble and lowly in His sight.’ She again said, ‘I believe I have tried to do the best I could through my life, and how much longer I am to stay I know not; but oh! I humbly hope through the merits of our blessed Redeemer I shall be permitted to enter into rest. But it is not of anything that I have done myself.’

“12th. Brother Mickle, coming into the room, asked her how she felt. She replied, ‘Very weak, my dear. When thou art sick at sea, thou hast no one to nurse thee; but there is One who cares for thee, and He will bring thee through all.’

“16th. Was passed by us all in the chamber of our beloved mother; brother Mickle with us all day. We sensibly felt it was the last First-day we should all spend together; and it proved a time of deep and intense feeling. Dear mother appeared much comforted in having our dear brother with her.

“ISth. Our brother Mickle left us for Canton to-day. Our dear mother and he bade each other a final farewell, not expecting to meet again whilst sojourners in this vale of mutability. Brother M. was much affected; mother was calm and serene. She bore it with much composure, and appeared drawn out in prayer after parting, and said, ‘I have given you all up to your Heavenly Parent; He can do more for you than any earthly one.’

“25th. We were renewedly made sensible to-day of the condescending goodness and mercy of our blessed Lord, in permitting His holy presence and support to dwell with our beloved mother. On awakening from sleep she said, ‘Oh, I fear it will be a trying conflict; but the Lord’s will be done.’ Some time afterwards she exclaimed, ‘Oh, how I do love you all!’ and appeared as if she wished to say more, but was so affected that the power of utterance was taken from her. Soon after, her tender spirit was drawn out in silent supplication on behalf of her children, and she wept much.

“28th. Early this morning our precious invalid was much exhausted, but revived, and was comfortable enough to see friend Richard Jordan, who made us an acceptable visit. In the afternoon she suffered much from weakness and oppression, yet her precious mind was tenderly alive for the future welfare of her dear children, entreating them to be faithful in the attendance of our religious meetings; then a blessing would rest upon them. She remarked to our father that a certain friend had not been to see her; when he replied, ‘Never mind, my dear, if she has not been near thee, God is near thee and with thee.’ She looked up, and, weeping, said: ‘Dost thou think so?’ and added, ‘Oh, Lord, be pleased to grant me one crumb from Thy holy table to support me in this trying conflict! ‘On father’s bidding her farewell, and saying he hoped she would have a comforta1.)le night, she replied: ‘Yes, my dear, if it is right that I should; but I have no will in it.’

“29th. This day four years ago, our beloved sister Ann was released from suffering, and no doubt entered the mansions of everlasting happiness. Her sufferings have been brought vividly before us since the illness of our dear mother; they being very similarly affected.

“8th mo., 23d. It is very evident that our precious mother’s bodily strength is rapidly declining, yet her mental faculties continue unimpaired, and she is favored with a precious child-like frame of mind and much peace.

“27tb. Last evening our dear mother evidently changed for the worse. Being observed to sigh, she was asked if she wanted anything; she replied, ‘I want, my child, to be released.’ To one who asked her if she felt any fear of death, she answered: ‘No, ray dear, no fear of death, no objections to go.’ About six o’clock she desired that her love might be given aflectionately to Israel and Mickle. This was the last concern she expressed for any of us, though her affection was strongly marked for us all, particularly for our dear father, on whom she often looked lovingly and said, ‘Art thou well, my dear?’

“After passing a night apparently more comfortable than for many previous nights, about half-past four on 2d day morning, the 2Sth of Sth month, 1826, the sweet spirit of our precious mother departed, we doubt not, into the bosom of redeeming Love, there to be clothed with the white robe of eternal righteousness, and to join our sainted sister, who, we trust, has been an inhabitant of the Heavenly Mansion four years. How peaceful was her close! Not a sigh, nor a struggle to tell that the spirit was departing; but the breath became shorter and shorter, till the immortal part winged its flight to the world of spirits.”

A member of the family still living, recalls manyreminiscences of this precious mother; and thus writes concerning her:

‘’ She was extremely lovely in every way, both in appearance and character. I often used to think she looked like an angel, and that her character was as angelic as her face. I can recall her vividly as I saw her one day a few weeks before her death. She was then well enough to sit up in her sick-chamber and be the centre of a loving family group, and looked so lovely and restful, but evidently destined not long to remain in this world, and only waiting for that beautiful home prepared for her by her loving Saviour. To me she was the pei’sonification of everything beautiful and good, fair and exquisite as a lily, the perfect spirit siiining out in the sweet face, and impressing the beholder with the feeling that one so pure could not long remain on earth.”

Fourteen years after her death, our aunt Sally died of consumption, in the same house, on the 28th of 10th month, 1838. We can just remember her as a lovely invalid who used to give us dainties out of her sick chamber, to which she was often confined, and who kept little silver thimbles for my sister Sarah and myself to sew with when we went to see her.

She married George W. Haverstick in the eleventh
month, 1836, and died after only about two years of
married life.

Our aunt Hannah has left a short account of her
also. She says:

“My beloved sister Sally was naturally possessed of a quick, active temperament, and in early youth was fond of gaiety; but by yielding obedience to the secret monitions of divine grace in her heart, she became gradually changed, and made willing to give up many things in which she had formerly sought pleasure, and the death of her beloved sister Ann, to whom she was warmly attached, was a means of more efTectually weaning her from some of the allurements of the world.

“Soon after this she engaged in the useful occupation of a teacher; which station she endeavored to fill, not only with reference to human approbation, but as discharging it faithfully before her heavenly Father. While imparting literary instruction, she remembered that it was to immortal beings, and was often found with the young gathered around her, endeavoring to lead them to a love of that better knowledge, which, without undervaluing human science, she deemed of far higher importance. She was much interested in her school, loved the employment of teaching, and frequently remarked how swiftly and sweetly the hours passed while thus occupied.

Her heart, M’hich was very sympathetic and atTectionate, felt keenly for the poor and afflicted, who were partakers of her kindness and counsel. She had been instrumental in forming an association among the pupils of the school for the relief of such, encouraging them to create a little fund by deducting from their selfish gratifications. With this youthful baud she had been for a number of years in the habit of regularly visiting the secluded abodes of sorrow and want, and she continued this work of love as long as her strength enabled her.

Asa friend she was sincere, affectionate and confiding; possessing in more than a common degree the virtue of faithfulness in reproving; endeavoring to do it in that ’ spirit of meekness ’ calculated to restore those who had missed their way.

“In the eleventh month, 1836, she was married, and although she entered upon this new and endearing connection with but little prospect that the earthly bond would be of long continuance, yet for months after she enjoyed tolerable health. And whilst her husband and anxious friends knew they held her by a slender thread, she possessed along with her bodily weakness such cheerfulness of spirit, and such a readiness to enter into the interests of others, with so much energy in using her remaining strength, that we were led to indulge the hope that she might be spared to us for many years. But thus, however, it was not to be.

In the seventh month, 1838, the birth of a daughter awakened a new interest; and though the little innocent seemed born but to open the fount of maternal feeling, to be loved and to die,* living only two weeks, yet she was enabled meekly to resign her, saying: ‘It is all done in mercy and in wisdom: the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’

“Her decline was so gradual as scarcely to be perceptible by those continually about her; yet the disease was making certain progi-ess, and hope soon fled from the bosom of her friends.

“From the early part of the autumn she had felt confident that her time would be short, and was diligent in making preparations for her departure, her chief concern being to experience a purification of heart, with an evidence of acceptance at last through the redeeming mercy of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. She was patient and persevering in exercise, wrestling in spirit, even like the patriarch with the angel until break of day, with an earnestness which seemed to say: ‘I will not let thee go, except thou bless rac.’

“Her aged father would often come to her bed side making tender inquiries. On one occasion, looking up affectionately, she said: ‘Dear father, I shall not be long with you.’ He replied: ‘And we, dear child, will soon follow thee.’ She added: ‘Oh, may we all meet in heaven!’ and then spoke of the goodness and mercy of the Lord, and of that redemption which may be found in Christ Jesus.

“On another occasion she remarked to a friend: ‘Thou seest me much changed since thou wast here last; I feel that I am going very fast.’ The friend remarked: ‘With bright hopes?’ She answered: ‘Not with bright hopes, but a little faith is granted to believe that perhaps all will be well in the end, and it will be through abundant mercy. Pray for me that my patience may hold out, for the enemy is very busy introrlucing doubts of the mercies of my Redeemer. Oh, that faith and patience may hold out!’

“She had much tender counsel to give to her young friends who called on her, and also to the domestics in the family for whom she had always felt deeply interested, and lost no opportunity to help with words of advice or sympathy.

“The recollection of her dear little Anna would always bring a smile upon her countenance, which generally was only expressive of most serious thoughtfulness. At one time she said to her husband: ‘Dear little creature, she is safe in heaven.’ And then alluding to its being near the second anniversary of their marriage, she observed that they had been two happy years of her existence.

‘’Difring the” last week of her life she expressed a wish to see her little nieces and nephew all together, that they might receive a little parting gift from her own hands. When they assembled around her bed, she looked most tenderly and affectionately upon them, as she gave into the hands of each a little Testament, desiring they would keep it as aunt Sally’s last gift, and to remember it was her dying wish that they might value its precious contents. She then said: ‘Go sit down, dear children a little while, where aunt Sally can see you, that she may look at you for the last time.’ With characteristic afiection she said to those near: ‘Don’t let them forget me; not that I am worth remembering; oh, no; but because I love them.’ Her calm resignation as she gave them the last kiss, the tearfulness and deep feeling of some of the children, contrasted with the infantile unconsciousness of others, rendered it altogether a touching scene, and one that will long be remembered by those who witnessed it.*

“The morning of her last day on earth found her composed and tranquil. Her husband standing near her, she asked, ‘Dear, is this the last day?’ He told her he believed it would be, that she was going home. After a few moments of silent waiting she said, ‘Now I am waiting the Divine will, and the coming of my Lord. I feel entirely resigned; I am done with the world, and all the things of it. Oh, how delightful it will be to awake at rest.’ After this she lay in a calm sweet frame of mind, and that evidence which during her

* As I was the oldest of this little band, and was at that time only six year a old, it cannot he wonaered at that our recollections are very dim of this solemn event.

sickness she had desired in a more eminent degree was, we believe, fully granted.

“About noon she said much which could not be understood, except the expressions of ‘Happiness, happiness!’ while her countenance beamed with heavenly joy; and soon after her spirit seemed gradually to depart, and her eves closed on all earthly objects, to awaken in the glory of her heavenly inheritance.”

Our grandfather survived this precious daughter five
years, and was tenderly cared for by his remaining
children. He died on the 13th of 12mo.,184;3, at the
age of 86, seventeen years after the death of his beloved
wife.

Our aunt Hannah thus records his death in her diaiy:

“12mo., 18th, 1843. — Since I last made a note in this book, we have met with a sad bereavement. Our beloved and honored and only remaining parent, has been removed from among us by the undeniable messenger, the cold hand of death, we humbly hope to the mansions of eternal rest and happiness. He departed this life between seven and eight o’clock on the morning of the 13th of 12mo., after a few days’ indisposition with influenza, and he was so mercifully and gently dealt with, (hat we had no idea his departure was so near at hand. Without any apparent suffering or struggle, he breathed his life out peacefully and sweetly, and we have every assurance to believe he has entered into rest. We believe ever since the death of our beloved mother, which occurred the 28th of the 8th month, 1826, our aged parent has been preparing for this important change. He withdrew very much from the things of this world, taking but little pleasure in them, and spent much of his time in retirement and reading the Bible, particularly the New Testament, in which he marked many passages pertaining to spiritual worship, and often spoke of the necessity of that important duty, and did not like any of the family to absent themselves from meeting for trivial causes, always asking the reason. The last three or four years his earthly tabernacle began to fail, and his children marked with much satisfaction his quiet patience and resignation to the Divine will, under his increasing infirmities, deafness, loss of memory, etc. He kept constantly in view the importance of being ready at any time, and used frequently to say it was no matter how soon death came, so that he was only prepared. And we trust he experienced a state of preparation, by his observing to a nephew two days before his departure, that he was then very comfortable, but was ready and willing to go at any time. Thus has our Heavenly Father been pleased through His great mercy in Christ Jesus to redeem our earthly father from all the transgressing nature, and iitted him for a mansion in the abodes of just men made perfect, to sing praises to His redeeming love. And we, his bereaved children, have great cause to bow in humble gratitude to the Giver of every good and perfect gift, for His great mercy and condescending goodness to our parent during his earthly pilgrimage, and in the end to crowning him with everlasting happiness. Amen, saith my soul!’

We can just remember him as children, especially in connection with our annual New Year’s gifts, to Avliicli he always contributed. I recollect on one occasion he gave my sister Sarah and myself the covered basket of gifts to carry home from their house, and promised each of us a “big orange” if we would take it safely there without once lifting up the lid to see the contents. Oranges were not as plenty in those days as now, and we managed to accomplish the walk in safety, but I remember to this day the conflict it cost me, and the resolution I made never to yield to such bribe again. I felt that fifty oranges would not have been worth such a battle with a child’s eager curiosity. He was very proud of our brother James, wdio was his only male descendant, and even at that advanced age used to delight to take the little fellow out to walk with him, while our brother on his part felt very grand with the thought that he was “taking care of grandfather.”

After his death our aunt Hannah continued to live in the same place and carried on her school for two years longer. This dear aunt was the passion of my childish heart, and the joy and delight of all our household. At the time we children can first remember her she had a flourishing school, and was in very comfortable circumstances, and most of the luxuries of our childhood came from her lavish hand, as our father at that time was obliged to be very economical. She drove a carriage and a pair of fat grey horses, and was always giving us treats of drives with her out into the country to Fairmount or along the Wissahickon. And I remember with what intense delight I used to lean out of the window sometimes to scatter among the groups of country children we passed, a handful of pennies given me for the purpose by my munificent aunt. She seemed to me the source and centre of untold delights of all kinds, and I can never, even now, pass the house where she lived at the N. W. corner of Race and Franklin, without a sudden stir of the old childish sense of happiness, made up of all the memorable gifts and pleasures that were lavished upon us within its walls.

In 1845 she gave up her school and married our mother’s brother, Joseph Tatum, and returned to the neighborhood of Woodbury to live. She enjoyed only three years of wedded life, and died of consumption in the year 1848. We cannot find any record of the experiences of her later years, such as she had so lovingly preserved of those who had gone before her. But her memory is most tenderly enshrined in all our hearts, and her loss out of our home circle was one not easily to be supplied. In my diary kept at the age of sixteen, I thus record my recollections of her:

“nthnio.,Sth, 1848. “My darling annt Hannah is dead. She, for whom I was in part named, who had taken me in her arras before T was half an hour old; who had petted and caressed me in my infancy, and who seemed to love me with increasing love as I grew older; for her to die seemed impossible. I knew she was in a consumption and very delicate, but I said again and again, ‘She will not die, she will not die,’ until I felt sure she would still be near me when trials came or temptations assailed me, to comfort me and assist me, and above all, to love me. My feelings for her were like those of one young person for another. I felt truly that she was my friend, and I loved her very, very dearly; too dearly perhaps, for I made no scruple of showing my partiality before all my other relations. But I could not help it; and I sincerely believe she returned my love with equal warmth. She always whispered to me, when she was leaving our house, ‘Wait, Hannah, for I want to kiss thee last; ’ and her kisses were so fervent and heartfelt that I should never have been tired of receiving them. To be in her company was a real happiness to me. I would sit by her side and hold her hand and listen to her pleasant voice, and feel as if there was nothing else in the world to care for. I was indeed often a wonder to myself, that I, who was so fond of fun, and whose very element it was, every one said, and so I then thought myself, — that I should like to sit still by her side was indeed surprising. And it was still more so that I should so very much enjoy pa.ssing weeks with her, after she was married, on their lonely farm, with no companion but herself. But she was just calculated to win the love of the young. She liked to see them enjoy themselves, and she was always cheerful and lovely, stooping to gather the beautiful flowers which angel hands scattered in her path, unmindful of the thorns which here and there lay among them, and showering them with bounteous hands before her loved ones. Almost the first thing I remember of her was her throwing the pennies from her purse on to the floor, and then she seemed so much to enjoy our fun, and smiled so sweetly when we would kiss and thank her. Oh, I could not possibly describe my aunt Hannah’s character — so energetic, so lively, so persevering, so smart, so intelligent, and above all, so good and holy! But now she is dead, and we are left sorrowful.”

This was the enthusiastic writing of a sentimental girl of sixteen, but I am sure it was no exaggeration, for from many others since, I have heard the same story. A dear friend has sent me the following record of her recollections of both our aunts Hannah and Sally:

“Thy two aunts, Hannah and Sally, are engraven on my memory never to be obliterated. After my parents, they did more to form my chai-acter than any others. They were the charm of my enthusiastic girlhood. This was the result not only of their high conscientiousness in discharging their trust as teachers, but sympathy for their altered circumstances touched my heart, and their noble bearing under these claimed my warmest admiration.

“It was my delight to dwell upon an incident known to their intimate friends, but I cannot say how widely spoken of. When their circumstances altered, and they were looking towards opening a school, Sally felt a need of renewing her studies, but did not feel at liberty to call upon her father for the funds required, when, to her surprise, the needed sum was sent her anonymously. With true simplicity she thankfully used the money, and, learning on enquiry the source whence it came, some of the earlier proceeds of the new school were used for its restoration. The true humility and nobility blended in this course, combined with the loving-kindness of Him who had her in His keeping, have warmed my heart many a time in recurring to the circumstance.

“They had the power possessed by some earnest people, of imparting interest to the commonest events of life. Even their dress, their caps and their needle-work received from their thoughts and lingers a magical touch, and I did not tire in hearing these dilated on. I remember a call I made, when your father came in to take home thyself and one of thy sisters who had passed the day with your aunts, when the recital of your performances created inuch merriment and, I doubt not, much pride in the heart of the happy parent. I am sorry I cannot recall the details, to which I listened with admiration.

“But above all these things, was the earnest, loving care they bestowed upon the highest Interests of their pupils. This deepened with Sally as her health waned. She was diligent in her work, feeling the night approaching.

“I feel that they were truly a blessing to their generation; and I realize that much of this blessing would have been lost but for their vicissitudes. They had noble natures with which to meet these, but the power of their Almighty Helper was plainly manifested in bearing them friumphnntly over the billows. And how abundantly did He reward their labors of love! and how, in blessing, did He bless them!

“I learned to love thy father first, because they loved him. In later years, I had other reasons for loving the friend who stood by me in a time of need. But I can never forget how I shared in their sorrow at his long, long India voyages, and how we all rejoiced together at his returns!”

We are often greeted in the street hj old scholars of our aunts, who retain very warm and grateful recollections of the years spent under their care. They always used to call them ‘^ cousin Hannah” and “cousin Sally,” titles settled upon by our aunts, no doubt, to obviate the need of using the word “Miss,” against which Friends in those days had a strong testimony; and also, I feel sure to create a warmer tie between pupils and teachers than is always the case. Certain it is that our aunts were very warmly beloved by their scholars, and that their influence over them was almost unbounded.

Our aunt Hannah kept a diary during the greater part of her life; but only a few volumes of it have been preserved. The records in these show that she was a very devoted follower of her Divine Master. It is very striking to see how deeply she felt that all her success in her school came from the blessing of the Lord upon her efforts. And it is exceedingly touching to read of the intense love that existed between her sister Sally and herself, and to s-ee how entirely her happiness seemed bound up in her sister’s life, while yet she was so tenderly sustained by the Divine Arm under the unspeakable trial of losing her. And we can but witness with thankfulness the power of grace that afterward enabled her calmly to contemplate her own gradual decay by the same disease, and that gave her perfect rest of soul for many years in the near prospect of certain death.

Some extracts from her diary will bring out these
points:

“First month, 1st, 1839. Third day. This day my soul lnth been bowed down in humble contrition before Him who is all-wise and all-merciful, in taking a retrospect of my past life, having lived to so little purpose. I have therefore craved that lie who seeth and knoweth the hearts of His children, would in the plenitude of His mercy strengthen me to greater dedication and greater watchfulness, that, whether my days be few or many, I may become more and more conformed to His will; not speaking my own words, nor thinking my own thoughts, but as a little child doing the will of its parent, I may be found doing Thy will, and walking humbly in Thy sight, oh Thou, my gracious and holy Redeemer, to whom belongeth all glory and honor now and forever!”

“7mo., 1st. Closed school yesterday, under something of a covering of Good. Yet it was nothing of our own, but the boundless goodness of our Heavenly Father to His poor dependent creatures. Many of the dear girls felt much at the separation, not expecting to return again. There is a loneliness to be felt when the school closes, and the family is dispersed, that is not altogether pleasant. Indisposition, too, has been my portion at this time. At such seasons how nmcli do I feel the want of my dear departed sister’s tender attentions and syrapatliy. Yet I would not call her back, for with her all is joy, nnspeakable and full of glory.

‘’2nd of 9mo., 1839. Second day morning, opened school at the new building N. W. corner of Race and Franklin, with 78 scholars. How unworthy I feel of such manifold blessings! Surely the language of the Psalmist is applicable, ‘He filleth thee with the finest of the wheat.’ For some time before opening school, and in the prospect of removing, ray jietitions to the Father of all our sure mercies were, in the language of the leader of Israel of old, ‘If thy y)resence go not with me, carry us not up hence.’ And I trust they have been heard, for I have been favored to feel sweet peace since.

“lOmo., 29th, 1839. This is the anniversary of the time when the spirit of my precious sister left its earthly tabernacle. How my memory lingers among the shades that then surrounded my path.

‘’ 13th of 8mo., 1840. Almost ten months have passed rapidly away, and no recoi’d made of the mercies and blessings with which they are replete; yet a record of every day’s mercies would fill volumes. Have I made any advancement in the Christian path during the past year? If ill health and the prospect of an early dismissal from the trials of time could effect it, I certainly must have made some progress. But oh, the want of deep introversion and self-abasement, how it retards my spiritual health; how it prevents communion with Him who can build up and strengthen the inward man as the outward decayeth. Yet for all my unfaithfulness, how doth the Lord continue to bless. He hath been pleased to strengthen the outward man by blessing the means used, far more than I had a right to expect. Although disease seems to have taken hold upon my poor frame for the last year, yet I have not been so enfeebled as to be unable to attend to my various duties, which is indeed a great favor.

“9th month, 20th, 1840. One year has passed since we moved into this house, and I have nothing to record but “blessings, blessings.” Every thing I have desired has been granted, not in my own time and way, but in the Lord’s, which is the right way. Have been able to meet all my payments, and still have had enough to carry me through. It is wonderful and marvellous in my eyes, and all of the Lord’s doing. And now we are favored with a very full school, much beyond my expectations, feeling a little apprehension as my health was declining, lest the school should also decline. But He who hath followed me all my life long, is still pleased to be with me, causing me to exclaim, ‘What shall I render unto Him for His abundant blessings.’

‘’ 29th of 10th month, 18-10. This day is the second anniversary of the death of my precious sister. How the past rises in remembrance, and the scene then passed through is fresh before me. I feel that I have been bereft of one who was my counsellor, my sister, my friend, my all, who might guide me in the things of this world as well as in the path to Zion’s holy city, that quiet resting-place where my wearied spirit at seasons longs to be at ease.

“First month, 3rd, 1841. First day. The thermometer down to 7 above Zero. So cold I did not venture out to meeting. My health is gradually declining. Passing away just as dear sister Sally did. One year and six months now since I had a cough, and all my own care, and the medicine I have taken, have not dispelled it. Thus it is not in the power of man to frustrate the Lord’s designs. He could restore if He saw fit; but I desire not my will but Thine, O Lord, be done!

“Fifth month, 2nd, 1841. The prospect of death hath been very near of late, and my spirit hath breathed for a closer walk with God, and 1 have been enabled, through a little grain of faith, to feel at seasons, that through the adorable mercy and condescending goodness of our blessed and holy Redeemer, an entrance may be granted into that blissful abode, where all is joy and gladness.

“Ninth month, 1st, 1842. Opened school today with more pupils than we could have expected in these difficult times. What abundant cause for thankfulness to the Giver of every good and perfect gift.

“Ninth month, 18th, 184.3. Four years since coming into this house. How favored and how blessed we have been! My health is very much improved, cough almost well, and a full school. Ah I ihese are blessings and mercies that call for more dedication of heart, more humble walking, and more circumspection.

‘’ Tenth month, 29tli, 1844. This day six years has been brought vividly to remembrance. Dear .«ister Sally was taken from me, and permitted to enter the mansions of eternal rest and happiness. And

I now feel but few years will separate us, if through the mercies of redeeming love I may be permitted to enter into the same state of rest. I had almost flattered myself that I should recover from my cough, it has been so gentle for the last two years. But within the last month it lias so increased, attended with soreness of the lungs, that I am now fully convinced I am in a decline, and have passed through deep mental anguish that I might be prepared for the change, let it be sooner or later. Tears have been my meat day and night; but it has been only known to the Searcher of hearts. He has seen my anguish of spirit, and has heard my prayers for deliverance from sin and death; and I trust in His own due time will arise for my deliverance, and cause me to joy and rejoice in His salvation. I am utterly unworthy; yet His promises are to them that fear Him, and I am therefore induced to raise my head in hope.”

The last entry is made Tenth month, 13th, 1844.

‘’ One year this day since the spirit of my beloved parent left its clayey tenement for the mansions of never-ending happiness. It lias been brought vividly to remembrance, and I have craved that I may be more weaned from the earth, and prepared to join all my loved family who have passed through the dark valley before me into that city none of whose inhabitants can say: ‘I am sick.’”

In 1845 she married, as we have seen, and left Philadelphia for a farm near Woodbury, and in 1848 she died at our house in Philadelphia, where she had come to pay a short visit. I can just recollect the sweetness and solemnity of her dying hours, and the beauty of her countenance as she closed her eyes on earth, and opened them in heaven.

The oldest brother, Israel Franklin, was the next one of the family to be called home. He died of Pleuropneumonia, after an illness of only five days, at his country seat, called “Tswedelle,” near Norristown,

Pennsylvania. He was a man of the same reserved, stately manners as his father, and very unlike his brother John M., but they were warmly attached to one another, and each regarded the other with the greatest admiration and respect. Owing to his natural reserve of character, he gave but little expression to his religious feelings, but many things proved them to be very deep. During the last years of his ‘life he was a diligent reader of the Bible, and especially of the Gospels, and one of his daughters says that at all hours of the day, when any of them would go into his library, they would often find him sitting quietly reading these. He also kept a copy of one of Fenelon’s books on the interior life, lying constantly beside him, and read in it very frequently. This book had been given to him when a young man by his mother, on the occasion of his leaving home for business in Havana, with the request that he would read it through once every vear. For a considerable time he neo-lected to do this, but afterwards, findinei; the volume amona; other old books, he recollected his mother’s request, and laying it on his table beside his arm-chair, he at once read it through as many consecutive times as years had elapsed since the request had been made; and then in the future read it I’egularly once every year until his death.

During the illness of his daughter Alice, whose sweet life and early death are lovingly recorded in a volume entitled “On the Rock,” she at one time spoke to one of her sisters of the intense longing she felt to hear from her father some expression of his religious feelings. And not long after she told this sams sister with a beamino; face, that this lonoino; had been granted, and that she had had sach a lovely talk with him, in which he had said more than she had ever thought he would to any one, of his own personal hope and confidence in Christ as his Saviour. She added, “It was too lovely to sit talking with father of these heavenly things, and now I feel ready to go; I have nothing more to wish for, after this sweet talk with dear father.” She also said that we must remember his reserve of character and his prejudices against a too free expression, and that we could not expect him at his age to overcome the habits of a life-time; but that she believed it was his reticence and withholding of all expression of feeling about Divine things, that prevented him from realizing the full joy and peace of believing in Jesus.

His last illness was sudden and short, and as he slept heavily most of the time there was but little opportunity for conversation, although a few words uttered during his conscious moments gave full expression of his hope and trust in his Saviour. And we feel assured that he also has joined the beloved family in Heaven, and is mingling his song of praise with theirs.

He died on the 1th of 12th month, 1873, in the 79th
year of his age.

Thus all of our father’s family have passed away one after another, until now in 1879 only his youngest sister is left; and all we believe have gone home to be with the Saviour whom most of them had in an unusual degree loved and trusted while on earth. Only two have left any children, our father and his brother Israel Franklin, and of these but one family bears the name of Whitall, that of the present James, who is the sixth in the line of descent from the first James,