Chapter I

AS I was sitting at the bedside of our boy on the afternoon he was taken sick, although no thought of danger had entered my mind, yet by one of those unaccountable impulses that sometimes lead the Christian into apparently strange things, for which afterwards he sees cause to be deeply thankful, I said to him, “Frank, this may be typhoid fever, and suppose thee should die; thee is not afraid, is thee?”

‘*0h, no,” he answered, very cheerfully, not at all.”

Pursuing my own train of thought as to the joys of entering upon the glorious eternity to be spent with Jesus, I added, after a moment, “It would be rather nice, would it not, to go?”

“Well, yes,” he said, with a smile, ‘^itwotcld; only [ would like to live a little longer to work for Jesus.”

Ten days after that afternoon our Frank had left lis to be with Jesus; and now we who are still on earth feel as if we would like, as far as possible, to fulfil the earnest longing of his heart, and to let him ’ * work for Jesus.” A sweet work, without any toil or weariness on his part, going on here on earth, while his head is safely pillowed on his Saviour’s breast.

It is with this object, and to comfort our hearts with the sweet remembrances of his happy life, that the following account has been prepared, for those who knew and loved him. And his parents earnestly pray, that from among his loving circle of relations and friends, many bright stars may be added to his crown, through the instrumentality of this book.

Our boy was born in our house on Shoemakers’ Lane, Germantown, August 12th, 1854. He was our second child; and three years of his little life were brightened by the sweet companionship of his sistei Nelly, whose patronizing love and care for her “little Bud,” as she called him, were a pretty sight to see. She seemed to consider herself resiDonsible for his good behavior on all occasions, and evidently felt as if everything she learned was valuable only as she could teach it to him. One little scene, when he was just three years old, is too sweet to be forgotten. We were spending the summer at grandpa Whitall’s house at Atlantic City. I had put the two children to bed one evening, and had left the room, when, hearing their voices, I stopped outside to listen. I heard Nelly say, *’Franky, does thee know that Heavenly Father don’t hear thee when thee prays, unless thee thinks about what thee is saying?

“Don’t he?” asked Frank, wonderingly.

“No indeed,” answered Nelly; “and thee ought to think how good He is, and how He loves us, and gives us good things, while the poor little beggars go from door to door.” Then she continued, “Franky, shall I tell thee a story about praying? Once there was a little boy, and his mother was very poor and had no bread, and he said, ‘Mother, I’ll get some bread.’ And he went in a corner and kneeled down and prayed, ‘Please, Heavenly Father, give us some bread.’ And he thought about what he was saying, Franky, and Heavenly Father heard him, and put a great big basket full in a good woman’s heart, and she took it to the poor people, and they had plenty to eat. So thee sees, Franky,” she moralized, ‘’we must always think about what we say.”

Her exhortations seemed to be understood by little Frank, and he asked, “Does thee think about thine?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Nelly, “always. Let me show thee.” And she repeated her little prayer very solemnly, saying, at the end, “There, Franky, I thought about that.”

Frank’s sense of condemnation for his own formal prayer was by this time thoroughly aroused, and he called out at the top of his voice, “Mamma, mamma, come back; I want to say my prayer over again, and think about it.”

And his little thoughtful voice and manner, as he repeated his childish requests, showed how effectual the lesson had been.

What such a companionship would have been to him as he grew up, we cannot tell; for, a few months after this time, on Christmas morning, 1857, our darling Nelly was taken home to heaven, at the age of five years and five months; and as no more children were added to the family for eight years, Frank was for all that time an only child. He was also the oldest grandchild in the families of both his grandpa Smith and grandpa Whitall, and was an especial joy and delight, petted by all around him.

A very sweet, fascinating little fellow he was, full of gentle and generous impulses, and developing daily many winning little traits. But he had also a naturally obstinate, wilful temper, and until he was between four and five years of age, the peculiar circumstances by which he was surrounded made him quite naughty at times; and his fits of loud crying, followed by long sullen spells, were very much dreaded by his mother and aunties.

About this age, however, a great change took place in him. His father and I, who had long been seeking the truth, were both brought on the same day, during the summer of 1858, to a knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ as our all-sufficient Saviour, bearing our sins in His own body on the tree; and by faith in Him were *’ born again “into the family of God. Almost at once we began to wonder whether Frank could understand this blessed gospel. He seemed too young. We thought it almost useless to try; and yet the news of salvation was too good to be kept from our child, and we told him as simply as possible the story of Jesus and His love. To our amazement, — so ignorant were we then of the meaning of those words of our Lord,” Suffer little children to come unto me.

/Etat. 4-] THE RECORD OF A HAPPY LIFE. IJ

and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven,” — Frank seemed to understand. The blessed Holy Spirit carried home the truth to his little heart. His soul waf, bi ought under a real conviction of his sinfulness and his need of a Saviour, and in his gentle childish way, easily and simply, he too believed and was born again.

Among my old papers I find the following account, written at the time, and as I have read it over and over since his death, every scene it describes comes up before me with vivid intensity.

“Our little boy, only four years old, has been converted this past winter. We had never taught him anything about trusting Jesus, because we did not know it ourselves. And we had contented ourselves with general instructions about God as a Father in heaven, and about His moral law as the rule of life. And even after we had learned the truth for ourselves, it seemed to us for a while that it was impossible for one so young to understand anything about it. But having heard the story of a little girl who had been saved, our eyes were opened to the fact that even little children could come to Jesus and find forgiveness. And with earnest prayer that the truth as it is in Jesus might be blessed to our child, we began to tell him the blessed story. He listened to it wonderingly and gladly. The Holy Spirit made him feel himself to be a sinner needing a Saviour, and at once he seemed to open his gentle heart to admit the dear Lord who was knocking for entrance.

“The fruits of the Spirit at once began to show themselves in him very manifestly. He loves to talk

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l8 THE RECORD OF A HAPPY LIFE. [.EtaL 4

of Jesus, and to hear stories about Him, and repeats over and over again, * Mamma, Hove Heavenly Jesus best of all.’ He has become gentle and yielding, and full of love, even his little face shining often with a real heavenly light, and all his old sullen tempers seem to have disappeared almost entirely. This change is so striking that even our casual visitors cannot but notice it, for he was formerly one of the most obstinate and difficult of children, so that we at times almost despaired of conquering him. Now, when he is tempted to be naughty, he runs away by himself for a little while, and then comes back with a bright smile on his face, and in gentle tones makes a pleasant remark, watching eagerly to see how it will be received. Several times when this has occurred I have said, ‘Frank, did thee ask Heavenly Jesus to send the good angel into thy heart? ’ and he has answered, ‘Yes, mamma, I said it in my heart, and right away He heard me and sent the good angel to drive the naughty one away.’ But sometimes his answer has been, ‘No, mamma, I did not ask Him, for He sent i* right in Himself, quick before I had time to ask.’

*’ He loves to talk about our spirits going up to heaven, and seems fully to realize that the spirit is the part of us that loves and trusts Jesus, and wants to please Him. Once when we had been talking together on these things, his face lighted up with a lovely, enthusiastic little smile, and he said, * Oh, mamma, I do love Heavenly Jesus so! If He was standing here by me, I would wipe my mouth right clean, and would kiss and hug Him all the time.’ Then, after a pause, he added, ’ and, mamma, I will save ever so many hugs on my hands to give Him when we go up to meet Him in the clouds.’

‘’ The darling child seems to have no fear of dealhj but rather to desire it, and sometimes he will say in the morning, ‘Oh, mamma, maybe it will be Heavenly Father’s time for me to- go up to Heaven to-day, and then I will be so glad.’

‘* A short time after his conversion, he taught me a lesson I shall never forget. I had been teaching him to pray every evening — ‘O Lord Jesus, please give me a new heart that will love thee.’ He was for a while very earnest in praying, saying it two or three times in the evening, and asking us to remind him to say it in the morning; and it was very sweet to see him, — his little hands clasped, and his eyes closed, pausing reverently a moment in silence, and then saying the few simple words so confidently, as though sure of a speedy answer. But one night, after I had read his usual little story to him, and had tucked him up comfortably in bed, as I leaned over him to listen to his last prayer, he said, ‘Mamma, I want to pray, but I don’t know what to pray for.’ * Why not say thy usual prayer for a new heart?’ I asked. ‘Oh, mamma,’ he answered, ‘I canU say that any more, for I did ask Heavenly Jesus for a new heart, and He gave it me, and I have got it now. And besides,’ he added, ‘I know it is a soft heart, for it loves Heavenly Jesus so much. So now, mamma, what shall I pray for? ‘I suggested that he should ask to be so very good that everybody would see it, and it would teach them to love Jesus too. ‘Oh, but,’ he replied, ‘I am too little to be a preacher.’ ‘No,’ was my answer, ‘thee is not.’ And then I told him of some very little children who had trusted Jesus, and had talked to others about Him, and had been the means, some of them, of bringing even men and women to believe in Him and love Him. Frank listened with deep interest, and said at last, * Well, mamma, / want to preach to the soldiers; and if papa will take me to their house, I will say, Do you love Jesus? and if they say. No, I will tell them to do it, and then they will. So, mamma, I will pray for that.’ And with clasped hands, and an earnest little face, he said, ‘Please, dear Heavenly Jesus, make me so good that everybody will know that I love thee; and please let me preach to the soldiers, and tell them to love thee, and to throw their guns away.’

‘’Since then, something like this has been his nightly prayer; and he often adds, with beseeching earnestness, ‘Please, never, never, never let me do anything naughty any more! ‘”

How well I remember it all. My incredulity ab to the possibility of so young a child being converted, and my slowness in believing in the reality of it, even after I saw daily so many proofs. But looking ba.ck now over the fourteen years that followed, I see how wonderfully real and true it all was, and what a radical change did at this period take place in our boy. From that time I have no recollection of anything in him ever needing punishment, scarcely of anything calling for reproof. And yet his life was so thoroughly natural and boyish, that while it was passing it had no sense of strained piety, such as we have been too apt to associate with the idea of children converted young. From first to last he was a joyous, happy, natural boy, ready to enter into all sorts of innocent fun, rejoicing in every manly sport, fond of gunning, sailing, climbing, swimming, and base-ball and cricket; and always the foremost to lead in any adventurous expedition.

His religion did not deprive him of happiness, but increased it tenfold. He could afford to be natural, because having been made a partaker of the Divine Nature through faith in Christ, it became to a great degree natural to him to do right. Relieved from all anxiety about his salvation, he was free of heart to throw himself into every innocent pursuit or pleasure that came to him; and the result has been a life which it is a perfect delight to contemplate, so unstained seemed its last fourteen years to our sight with any care, or sorrow, or sin. He said himself, in the last conversation he had with his darling cousin Minnie, to whom he confided everything, that in looking back over his life he believed he had always had everything he wanted, and had done just what he pleased. And this was very much the case. 1 can scarcely remember his ever expressing a wish that we found it necessary to deny; and we were able, for many years before his death, to grant him’ almost the entire control of his actions in every respect. It was because his heart was right with God, that this could be. And it is a beautiful exemplification of what the religion of Jesus was intended to do for us, taking effect first upon the inward life, and then producing its results naturally, and therefore easily, upon the outward actions. Being” born again” into the family of God, and knowing it, it was characteristic of his new nature to desire, above everything else, to live and walk as became such a position, and such a relationship.

What a glorious proof such a life is, that the Lord Jesus Christ came to make us happy, and to give us liberty, if only we so understood His gospel as to apprehend that ourselves, for which we are apprehended of Him.

Only a month or two before his death, I said to Frank, on the occasion of some especial pleasure he had been enjoying, “Frank, it does seem as if all the good times come to thee.” And then added, “I do believe it is just because thee has given thyself to Jesus, and trusts Him with everything, and so He manages for thee to have a real happy time all the while.” He laughed in his quiet way, and said, “I really think it must be so, for I certainly do seem to have the best time of any one I know.”

Surely his life has been throughout an illustration of the truth, that if we seekyfrj-/ the kingdom of God and His righteousness, all things needful shall be added unto us; and that no good thing will God withhold from them that walk uprightly.

After Frank’s conversion, his childhood flowed on very happily, his little heart learning easily the lessons of faith, and acquiring very quickly the blessed habit of going to Jesus with all his childish needs and childish troubles. His confidence in prayer often amazed us. I remember very well one occasion when he was about seven years old. We were passing the summer in a little cottage on his grandpa

Smith’s place on Shoemakers’ Lane, Germantown. Frank had spent his little stock of money for a certain kind of toys which were all the fashion among the boys at that time; and I felt as if a due sense of economy and propriety forbade him having any more. So, as I handed him the last of the toys, I said, ‘’Frank, this is all, remember. When this is gone, thee cannot have anymore.” He made no reply, and I thought the matter was ended. Shortly after I went up the main street to do some errands, and on my way home passed a store where these toys were for sale. I noticed them at first, without any thought of Frank, but after having passed by some distance, I began to feel as if I must go back and buy the little fellow some more. The feeling increased so much, and made me so uncomfortable, that at last I walked back several squares and made the purchase. When I reached the house, Frank came running out to the gate to meet me, and said, in the most confident little way possible, ‘’Well, mamma, where are my toys?” “Why, Frank,” said I, quite surprised, “don’t thee remember that I told thee, thee could not have any more?” “Oh, yes,” he answered, “but then I asked Jesus to tell thee to bring me some, and I k/iow thee has got them.”

Another time, while still living in this cottage, Frank was dangerously sick with the measles, and was utterly unable to retain a drop of water on his stomach, yet he was consumed with thirst. One evening, after a day of great suffering, he said to me just at nightfall, “Mamma, I want thee to come here and pray that I may go to sleep, and sleep sound all night, and wake up to-morrow morning with my stomach well, so that I can drink.” I rather hesitated, feeling that there was no hope of his prayer being answered, but was at once checked for my want of faith, and said, “I will, Frank, if thee has faith. Can thee believe that God will do it?” “Oh, yes,” he answered, ‘*I am sure He will; so just pray.” I accordingly kneeled beside his bed, and asked for the things he wanted. He then fixed himself for sleep, and said, “Now, mamma, tell Ellen to get up early in the morning and go down to Mr. Thompson’s spring, and bring up a big pitcher of water, and set it by my door with two tumblers, so as to be all ready when I wake up.” And then he quietly went off to sleep. T obeyed his injunctions to the letter, feeling thoroughly stirred up by the child’s faith, and yet so doubtful as to the result that I resolved in myself never to mention the subject of water again until he did. Need I say, however, that according to his faith it was unto him? Frank slept delightfully, waked up at daylight, and called for his water. It was all waiting for him just as he had ordered, and he sat up in bed and drank two full tumblers with the most intense enjoyment; and not an uncomfortable feeling followed. Verily God hath hidden these things from the wise and prudent, and hath revealed them unto babes.

Many similar instances I could relate, but these are sufficient. This habit of confiding prayer was never lost, and to it, no- doubt, was owing much of the happy even tenor of his young life. Before the years had come when doubts are so apt to harass the soul, Frank had learned too deeply ever to unlearn yEt at. 7.] THE RECORD OF A HAPPY LIFE. 2$

it, the blessed truth that God means what He says when He tells us to ask and we shall receive, and when He urges us to be careful for nothing, but in everything to make our requests known unto Him. He realized that all things, both great and small, were included in the two words 7iothing and everything; and as a consequence his life was largely filled with that peace which is declared to be the portion of those who know this secret. 3