friendship was "less than nothing," in comparison with the value of truth, and of a clear conscience before God. All who have attempted to draw his character have mentioned him as eminently disinterested. Few men have originated more numerous or, more important institutions or measures. Yet it is believed, that in no instance whatever was he even suspected to connect a private selfish end, his own personal benefit, or the advancement of any member of his family, with that which was avowed and ostensible. The purposes which he professed were the only purposes he had in view. To accomplish them, he could not stoop to management and finesse. They were honourable purposes. He declared them with the sincerity of truth, and pursued them with the dignity of virtue. So perfectly known was his character in this respect, that the instance probably cannot be named, in which any man ventured to approach him for his assistance in a manner which was not direct and honourable. The love of money appears to have had no influence over his mind. He viewed wealth not as a blessing in itself, but in the good which it enabled its possessor to do to himself, his family and others. He had a right "to eat and to drink, and to enjoy the good of his labour under the sun," and to make adequate provision for his family; but the residue was vested in his hands to promote the wellbeing of his fellow-men. These were his principles. Were the amount of property that he relinquished for the benefit of the Institution over which he presided to be stated, those who know how limited were his resources, would view the degree in which they were reduced by his liberality as literally romantic. His temper was ardent and natively impetuous, but under the discipline of kindness and of principle it had been chiefly subdued. If its impetuosity was ever manifested, it was against conduct which was base and dishonourable. If at any time, through misinformation, he had been led to form incorrect views of men or of conduct; when convinced of it, no man more cheerfully retracted his error. His ardour was daily conspicuous in his friendships, his love of rectitude, and his zeal in doing good. Though ardent, he was amiable and affectionate, and possessed an almost child-like simplicity and tenderness of heart. Never have we known the individual, whose feelings were more uniformly or more powerfully excited by the recital of a tale of distress, of a kind and honourable action, or of an account of the triumphs of the cross. The interest which he took in the great and splendid Christian charities which characterize the present era, was extinguished only with the lamp of life. While able to converse, the establishment, labours, and success of Bible Societies and Missionary Societies, maintained their hold upon his heart. Such was the excitement which, from time to time, during the few last days of his life, the accounts of their success produced upon his mind, that it was sufficient for the moment to control the influence of his disease; to bring VOL. I 8 back his thoughts, occasionally bewildered by the intenseness of his sufferings, to entire collectedness; and to enable him to give vent to his feelings in the lively and animated language of fervent and pious gratification. In the nearest relations of private life, President Dwight was an example of almost all that is excellent and praiseworthy. As a son, he manifested towards his parents, on all occasions, the most dutiful and cheerful obedience and the most reverential affection. So true is this remark, that his mother declared, a short time before her death, that she did not know the instance in which he ever disobeyed a parental command, or failed in the performance of a filial duty. As a husband and a father, his life was eminently lovely. It was an uniform display of conjugal affection and paternal tenderness: a daily exemplification of the great principle of benevolence, "It is more blessed to give than to receive." His highest earthly enjoyment was found at the fireside, in the bosom of his family. Their happiness was his own; and to promote it, no exertions were too great. As a brother, it has been seen he was affectionate and generous; supplying to his numerous brothers and sisters, as far as the nature of things would admit, the severe loss they had sustained in the morning of their lives, in the death of an excellent father. As a friend and neighbour, let the united testimony of the various communities in which at different periods of his life he resided, give his character. Rarely indeed does an instance occur, in which the influence of individual example has been more beneficially experienced. It was not merely that he was kind to his neighbours, polite and hospitable to strangers, and charitable to the poor; and that, as far as in him lay, he followed peace with all men: there was a moral charm that uniformly surrounded him, which was felt in every circle, and spread its benign influence through the region in which he dwelt. His sentiments with regard to personal religion, are every where unfolded in the following work; but especially in the sermon on the Nature of Faith; in those on Regeneration; and in those on the Two Great Commandments. We have met with no other account of these subjects, which has appeared to us equally definite and satisfactory. Religion he viewed as having its seat only in the heart; and himself, and all men, by nature, as entirely destitute of it; and remaining so voluntarily until renewe by God the Holy Ghost. Wherever it existed, he supposed it to be comprehended in love; and proved to exist only by the fruits of love visible in the life. His views of his own attainments as a Christian were unaffectedly humble. On this subject he was reluctant to converse; conceiving that real piety is unostentatious, and that mere professions are of little value. Rarely, if ever, has he been known to mention it when numbers were present; and not often before a single Christian friend. He never spoke of himself as a Christian. His humility in this respect was striking in his sermons and his prayers: when speaking of the Christians present, never including himself among them. His declarations on this subject, in health and in sickness, always were, that he did not know that he had any personal interest in the mediation of Christ; that the promises of the Gospel were great and glorious; that he was usually free from distressing doubts and apprehensions; and that his hopes were often bright and supporting. He loved retirement for religious medita tion, self-examination, and secret prayer; and spent, it is believed, a portion of every day in the discharge of these duties. His prayers in the family and in public exhibited, so far as the human mind can judge, unusual evidence of contrition, self-abasement, trust, resignation, gratitude, and love. We have not known the individual whose powers to instruct, or to interest, in conversation, were superior to his; yet it was his highest pleasure to converse on religious subjects, and where propriety permitted it, on experimental religion. Such was the state of his thoughts and feelings at all times. in company, that his mind seemed willing to enter on the contemplation of religion at every opportunity. It was not, however, mere speculation. It was a living exhibition of the various affections of piety and benevolence as they came warm from the heart. His life was a steady course of cheerfulness, as well as of submission; and this, under trials well calculated to determine the character. Probably no man, without actual experience, can realize how great a trial of patience it is to endure pain in the eyes every day for more than forty years, uninterrupted except by the hours of sleep, and often intense and agonizing; to be deprived by it, for weeks together, of a great part of his necessary sleep; to be cut off, absolutely, from the pleasure of reading; and to be continually threatened by it with blindness, and, occasionally, with apoplexy. Not only, however, did he not murmur nor repine-he was resigned. He was more-he was universally cheerful and happy; and always ready to contribute to the happiness of those around him. He chose rather to remember his blessings than his afflictions; and felt that he had not deserved the least mercy. Nay, his very afflictions he viewed as among his greatest blessings. Death often invaded his peace. He lost a father in the prime of life and usefulness, whom he ever mentioned with the highest reverence; three brothers, at the age of manhood, whom he tenderly lamented; a mother, endeared to him by every consideration which could affect the heart of filial piety; two sisters, for whom he felt no ordinary warmth of attachment; and a son, a youth of fine promise, at the age of nineteen, just after he had completed his education. The effect of these repeated strokes was obviously such as a Christian should desire. Their evident tendency was to soften the heart, to subdue the will, to loosen the attachment to terrestrial good, to enliven the conscience, and to assist the soul in its assumption of the heavenly character. This was peculiarly obser vable of the death of his son. It occurred before the termination of a remarkable revival of religion among the students of the seminary; during which he was believed to have become possessed of personal piety. Had he lived, he intended to have been a clergyman. He died at a distance from home; and his father did not arrive in season to be present at his funeral. Rarely have we witnessed parental sorrow equally intense and permanent. Rarely could he mention his son without a faltering voice, and checks suffused with tears. Those who witnessed his sufferings during the two last years of his life, were not more struck with their severity, nor with the fortitude which he discovered under them, than with the marked effect of them upon his mind. Often, for months together, the pain which he endured was not only unintermitted, but, in its severest forms, spasmodical. During the continuance of these convulsions, which recurred frequently during the day, so intense was the anguish, that the sweat would roll down his forehead for many minutes together in continued streams. Yet such was his fortitude, that though compelled at times to groan from severity of distress, he never once forgot himself so far as to murmur or complain. But while these sufferings thus ravaged the body, and prepared it for dissolution, their effect upon the soul was obviously salutary. Accustomed, for many years, to the daily contemplation of death, he now witnessed its gradual approach with serenity and peace. In the midst of his sorrows he found consolations "that were neither few nor small." He grew continually more and more humble, gentle, meek, and resigned; more and more disposed to give up every trust but in his Saviour. Though his intellect retained all its vigour, yet his temper became, in an eminent degree, that of a lovely child. His affections were exquisitely tender. Their native character seemed entirely gone, and they resembled the affections of heaven. His views, his hopes, his purposes, and his joys, were heavenly; and nothing terrestrial seemed to remain, except his earthly tabernacle, which was just ready to be laid in the grave, there to rest in hope. When called to pass the dark valley, his Shepherd appeared to be with him. His rod and His staff, they comforted him. Though frequently bewildered through excess of pain, yet no distressing fear assailed him. He saw the presence of the grim Destroyer with tranquillity and hope; yielded up his soul without a struggle; and, as we trust with undoubting confidence, found a glorious welcome into the "house not made with hands; eternal in the heavens." His life was eminently useful and lovely. His death was peaceful and happy to himself, but most widely and deeply lamented by his countrymen at large, as well as by his family, his many friends, and the Church of Christ. His eternity, we trust, will pass among angels and the spirits of the just, in their immortal progress in knowledge, happiness, and virtue. Over the grave of President Dwight, the Corporation of the College have erected a neat marble monument, on which is the following inscription: Hic Sepultus jacet Vir ille admodum reverendus Sacrosanctæ Theologiæ Professor; De Literis, de Religione, de Patria Maximo suorum et bonorum omnium Mortem obiit, Die XI. Januar. Anno Domini MDCCCXVII. Etatis suæ On the opposite side. Annos XII. VI. Præses XXII. Senatus Collegii Yalensis Hoc Saxum Ponendum Curavit. |