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taken while I am left? But I do.' She well knew that such joy in the sovereignty of God was not the feeling of the natural heart, yet she felt that she could indulge no such hope herself. “If I were a christian,' she would say, 'I should feel more deeply my sins. I know I am a sinner, but do not feel it. Shortly after this, the Saviour was pleased to manifest himself to her in a most delightful manner. Her views seemed clear and rapturous. When questioned by her father with regard to these exercises, and asked why she might not now be deceived, as Satan could transform himself into an angel of light; she promptly replied, “Because I think my views and feelings are perfectly scriptural. Ever after this, her mind remained in the most delightful and tranquil state. For several days the lamp of life burned dimly, and we were in constant expectation of her departure. When we were called in the night to enter her dying room, her countenance was lighted with a smile, and she continued to converse with her brothers and sisters in the most affectionate and interesting manner.

Her parents stood with us around her dying bed. Their calmness and composure was manifest in this hour of trial; and as the sun was rising upon this dark world, her spirit Aed as we trust to the abodes of light and glory. During the whole of this period my father was calm and collected; yet it was evident he felt it most deeply. When questioned with respect to this bereavement, in comparison with that he suffered in the removal of his two other children, he replied, 'There is a different train of reflections. In the death of an adult child, the loss is more deeply felt, but in the death of little children, the tender feelings are more powerfully called into exercise. One of the means made use of to keep himself from being overcome in this day of trial was, that he followed in contemplation the departed spirit. This may be inferred from the advice given to one of his children who was at this time disposed to linger around the beautiful clay,' and continue by its side. “Beware, beware,' said he, ‘of nursing your grief at the body; follow the soul, and you never need fear being overcome,' This was found to be of great practical importance to the one to whom it was addressed. That my dear father was most deeply affected by this dispensation was evident from the fact, that when alone in his room, he was often heard to repeat the following lines, which he afterwards placed upon her grave-stone. They are, with slight alterations, taken from Henry Kirke White.

When o'er thy dawn the darkness spread,

And deeper every moment grew;
When rudely round thy painful head

The chilling blasts of sickness blew;
Religion heard no plainings loud ;

The sigh in silence stole from thee ;
Thy dearest friends around thee crowd,

With hearts of deepest sympathy."
“ This marble marks thy bed of mortal sleep,

And living statues here are seen to weep;
Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,
Affliction's self deplores thy early doom.”



In March 13, 1820, Dr. Emmons was placed in more trying circumstances than in the death of his daughter. His son Erastus, whom he had invited to settle with him at home, and who was on many accounts peculiarly fitted “ to rock the cradle of his declining years," was then taken from him. This young man possessed a noble disposition, great buoyancy of spirit, and a talent for doing business with order, neatness, and despatch. He had repeated offers from bis acquaintances of an opportunity to go into trade with them; which were apparently far more advantageous to him, in a pecuniary view, than any which could be made him at home. But from a regard 10 the feelings of his aged parents, and a desire to look after them when they should be unable to take care of themselves, he was induced to decline these oflers, and to remain under the paternal roof. His decision on this subject was a high gratification to all his friends; and if there was any arm of Aesh on which Dr. Emmons now leaned, it was the disposition and ability of this beloved son to render his last days comfortable and happy. But this frail support was soon removed. While on Boston Common, in the discharge of his duty as aid to Major General Crane, on a cold autumnal day, he received a heavy chill which fastened disease upon his lungs. From the first of this attack, Death seemed to mark him as his victim; and, with one short interval of relief and encouragement, his course was onward, with rapid strides, to the grave. His father now distinctly saw the heavy calamity that was before him, the irreparable loss which he was about to sustain. But the thought of being deprived of the society and support of one on whom perhaps he had placed too much dependence, was not the greatest subject of his anxiety. This dear object of his affections and hope, had given him no evidence of a preparation for death. The thought of his leaving the world without a good hope of salvation, filled him with the deepest solicitude. By his counsel and his prayers, he endeavored to lead him to a saving knowledge of Christ. His efforts were apparently attended with success. For some time this son suffered great anxiety and distress of mind in view of his situation ; but at length, as it was hoped, submitted himself to God, and found peace in believing. For a number of weeks previous to his death, he enjoyed great consolation; and gave as much evidence of a change of heart as could be expected from one converted upon a dying bed. From his appearance near the close of life, the anxiety of his father respecting him was evidently greatly relieved. Though always distrustful of the saving nature of a change which takes place just as the day of probation is expiring, yet from an expression which he dropped in the ear of his dying son, he evidently cherished a hope of his salvation. Just before he left the world he looked up and said, " Father, I am dying." His father then, in allusion to what he had previously heard him say respecting his submission to God and hope in his mercy, inquired if his trust and confidence in God remained unshaken. He replied in the affirmative. Then said his father, “ Your passage is short, and, if you are not deceived, your rest in heaven will be glorious." The son expired. Shorily after, the father offered a prayer, in the room where lay the remains of his departed son, apparently full of submission and trust in God. So perfect was his composure, that once only was his utterance choked by the depth of his emotions. God evidently granted him peculiar, consolation in this trying hour. And now there is no mystery in the extraordinary support and consolation which he then enjoyed; for it has since been ascertained that a number of his church, anticipating the fearful result of his son's sickness, had met weekly to unite their prayers that he might be sustained under the approaching calamity.

Within less than three years of the death of this son, his daughter Sarah, who had taken the principal care of him, and whose strength had often been exhausted by her unremitting attention to his wants, began to decline.

She was now the only child that remained with her parents at home. Her presence and aid in the family seemed peculiarly desirable, previously to the death of her brother, but afterwards indispensable. When her health first began to fail, strong hopes were entertained that she might be restored. Some who knew the circumstances of her aged parents, and had sympathized with them in the trying scenes through which they had passed, could hardly believe that God would bereave them of all their children, and leave them as it were alone, in their declining years. But his ways were not their ways, nor his thoughts their thoughts. Though every means within the reach of her friends was used for the removal of her disease, it still continued, and gained strength, until it put a period to her valuable life. In this instance, Dr. Emmons was called to endure again, essentially, the same affliction which was brought upon hinn by the deaih of his son. This daughter, like him, was amiable and judicious, and peculiarly useful. Her devotion to the welfare of her parents, and the skill with which she managed the concerns of the family, were truly remarkable. The loss which they must sustain in her untimely removal, seemed irreparable. But alas! this was not their greatest trial even in her case. They were obliged to see her, as they had seen their two other chil. dren before her, descending to the grave without the consolation of hope. Their hearts were again wrung with anguish. Again

they endeavored to lead a graceless child to Christ. Again they sought the Lord in behalf of one who was soon to leave the world. And again the Lord heard their prayers. From the following extract of a letter, in which her father announces her death to a distant relative, it will be seen that he mourned not as those who have no hope. “I believe that she had but very little expectation of living for more than six months before

All that time her mind was seriously impressed; but she did not entertain a hope of having right views and feelings till about two months before she left the world. Ever after she first found light, she continued to enjoy it, which gave her great peace and tranquillity of mind as long as she lived. She conversed very freely about the state of her mind, and of her prospects beyond the grave. She seemed to regret leaving the world, principally on account of her aged parents. But the wise and holy Disposer of all things has been disposed to deny the gratification of her desires and ours. She is gone and we are left to lament her loss." When his other daughter died, he had five children left, and four of them were in his own family. When his son died, although the staff on which he leaned was taken away, he still had one child whose presence prevented in some degree his sense of loneliness, and whose filial regard and attentions greatly alleviated the pains of his bereavement. But when this daughter died, he and his feeble companion were left alone, without a child at home to participate in their grief, or to lighten the burden of their cares.

The good providence of God preserved his wife for several years after the death of his daughter. But on the second day of August, 1829, this relict of his family was taken away. This was a solemn and trying day to him. It not only separated him from a companion whom he tenderly loved, and highly esteemed, and who had been a partaker of his joys and sorrows for almost fifty years; but deprived him of the aid which her kind attention and care had so long afforded him. Though feeble in health, and for many years unable to walk except with the assistance of crutches, yet such were her habits of industry and care, so well did she “ look to the ways of her household,” that she was felt to be peculiarly useful to the very close of her life. Dr. Emmons knew and appreciated her worth. He often said, in reference to the almost mysterious manner in which his temporal wants had been supplied, “ My wife has supported me.” When he saw her descending to the grave, he felt that a day of calamity had come. The following letter to her brother, John Hopkins, Esq., of Northampton, will show both his estimation of her character, and the depth of the alliction which he suffered.

“FRANKLIN, Aug. 6, 1829.

Dear Brother: The last Sabbath, about four o'clock in the morning, Mrs. Emmons exchanged that day of rest, I hope and believe, for

that rest which remaineth to the people of God.' Your loss is great, but mine is irreparable. I am emphatically a pilgrim and stranger on the earth, having neither father nor mother, nor brother nor sister, nor uncle nor aunt living. I am left alone to bear the heaviest affliction I have ever been called to bear, in an evil time. Though I enjoy usual health, yet the decays of nature and the infirmities of old age render me less able to bear troubles and sorrows than I was in former days, when I was called to suffer breach after breach in my family; therefore this last and widest breach seems destined to bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to my grave. I sympathize with you, and I know you will sympathize with me. You knew the excellent character of your sister, but I knew more of her excellence, worth, and importance to me. She was indeed a rich blessing to me, and to her family, and to her people, among whom I believe she never had a single enemy. She was eminently a pattern of patience, meekness, and submission during a long life of peculiar trials, bodily infirmities, pains and distresses. She was - but I forbear. Her health was visibly declining through the Winter and Spring, but we did not view her immediately dangerous until the Tuesday before she died. She was apparently struck with death Saturday evening, but did not expire till morning. She retained her senses to the last, and left the world, not in triumph, but in that hope which was an anchor to her soul, both sure and steadfast. You and Mrs. Hopkins will, I hope, in your best moments remember your aged and bereaved brother.


Under this bereavement, however, he was calm, collected and submissive; an object of admiration to such as beheld the composure with which he sustained the shock, and of deep and compassionate interest, to all who considered his great age and lonely condition. He was now in his eighty-fifth year. His surviving children were all settled abroad. Those whom he had expected would continue with him, and be his solace and support in his declining years, were now all in the grave. had no connections in his family, or in the town, but an aged sister of his late wife, to beguile his hours of solitude, or extend to him the attention and care which at this age he evidently needed. Though an event of divine providence not long after occurred, which brought back his eldest daughter to the paternal roof; yet it was an event which in some measure aggravated his trials. It was the sudden death of her amiable and worthy husband, Willard Gay, Esq. of Dedham, to whom he was warmly attached, and whose occasional visits and kind attentions he highly appreciated. This affecting event occur

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