Chapter 2 ADDITIONAL ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF MRS. MARGARET BRECKINRIDGE.

Whoever has been called, in the midst of life, to part with 'the wife of his youth'-if these pages should chance to meet his eye-will know what the writer has felt. Such a bereavement must be felt, in order to be understood. There is a shock in its coming for which no foresight or submission can fully prepare us. There is a chasm created by it which nothing can fill. It is a new experience, replete with dreadful desolation.

It is a wonderful attribute of grace that can make these great afflictions so "work for us an exceeding and eternal weight of glory," that the most weighty and enduring of them all, shall seem, in comparison, to be "light, and but for a moment." Yet "no chastisement," (especially such as this) "for the present seemeth to be joyous, but rather grievous." God intends that we shall be moved by such visitations. The call which they utter is too costly to be lightly felt. The stroke is too deep to be hastily healed. "To faint when we are rebuked of Him," is to reproach the goodness of God, when we ought to "lay hold on his strength." But insensibility to his afflictive dispensations is to "despise" the methods of his grace. And who can fail to feel at such a moment! To find one's self strangely, and after all the warnings mercifully given, suddenly left alone; in the midst of life to be broken in twain; to come to a time when you may no longer pray with her whose presence sweetened devotion itself; no more pray for her who many a year has been the dear burden of all your intercessions; to see your orphan babes left desolate, and enhancing your woe, by being unconscious of their own; yea, "to sorrow most of all" for those dread words, "that you shall see her face no more!" This is sorrow! If it were possible, and being so, were right to ask it for others, we might pray for our readers, that they may be forever ignorant of our experience. But we know that every house is appointed to such a sorrow, sooner or later. They who are yet to pass through these deep waters, if they cannot now fully enter into our trials, may at least be expected to excuse this humble tribute to the dead, as an amiable weakness.

But it is not bleeding affection, merely, which has prompted us to add to the foregoing brief narrative, these imperfect illustrations of the life and character of Mrs. Margaret Breckinridge. The bereaved children having been early called to lose a mother's care, justly claim of surviving friends to preserve her image that they may gaze on it, and her example that they may imitate it, in after life. It is a cruel addition to an orphan's lot, to consign to the tomb even the memory of the dead. We refer not to the indecent and revolting haste with which every memorial of the deceased is swept into oblivion by those who, studious of new relations, are faithful only to forget. Such a spirit is abhorrent to every sentiment of humanity and religion. But it often happens that the disconsolate survivor, for a season careless of all things but of grief, neglects to treasure and record what God gave in peculiar trust to him-for the good of others. That godly example, which it cost the toils and the trials of a life to exhibit, ought not to be permitted to perish from the world. That "death of the saints," which "is precious in the sight of the Lord," and which so gloriously shows forth his praise, is worthy of a monument that time cannot consume. These should live! We should embalm them in the memory of the heart. We should hand them down in the tradition of faithful love. We should record them in a household book, if not publish them to the world-in honour of Jehovah; in memory of the beloved dead; and for the good of those who, even while they were spared to them, were too young to know their value. It is the memory of the wicked alone which God has doomed to rot; or if it live, to stand as a beacon on the brow of death.

There is another consideration of great tenderness and force by which we have been influenced in making these sketches. Woman dwells, to speak so, in the shade of retirement; and not like man, in the blaze of public life. In the household she sits enthroned, the weaker vessel, but the stronger power. Yet the domestic circle, in a great degree, circumscribes her influence; shuts in her character. Her refinement-her patience-her humility-her cheerfulness in trial-her fortitude-her readiness to forgive-her faithful, constant love-her self-devotion to her children-her personal charms-her domestic virtues-her Christian graces-which make her

"The light and music of our happy homes,"

are little known beyond the narrow boundary of her own family, on which they continually rest, "like the dew of Hermon that descended upon the mountains of Zion." It is not less so with her domestic trials-with her perplexing domestic duties, as she meekly toils in "patient continuance" amidst their innumerable detail, and ever returning round. Now while the full disclosure and rewards must be reserved to the great day of final account, it is a special duty, on proper occasions, to bring such excellence to view. Without our care, this never will be done, since the graces that most adorn, are the most retiring. By an affectionate diligence in this service, a thousand pearls might be brought from the recesses of domestic life, and added to the too scanty stock of memorable worthies. At least, we ought not to make oblivion the penalty of domestic virtue. On the other hand, the doing of proper justice to real female merit, would most effectually rebuke that assurance of coarse and fanatic women, who, in the insulted name of God, assume the prerogative, and attempt the offices of the stronger sex-forgetting that the immodesty which is offensive to all men, can never be an offering pleasing to a God of purity and order. By presenting to mankind examples of Christian women revolving in orderly beauty, and shining with mild lustre in their appointed course, we not only preserve the memory of those who rest from their labours, but we diffuse their influence abroad. If we may but do justice to the subject of these notices, she would be herself the only being likely to complain, for she shrunk with instinctive sensibility from every such disclosure of her retiring character.

Without repeating what has been said in the first chapter, we proceed to fill up the narrative given therein, by additional notices, which some one ought to furnish, and which a parent could not.

It was God's peculiar mercy to Margaret (Miller) Breckinridge, that she came into life under parental influence so admirable in all respects, that she may be said to have been born and reared in a family, which, like that of Aquilla and Priscilla, "had a church in the house." She enjoyed, in its happiest form, a domestic Christian education, having the Bible for the basis of knowledge; the Parents for instructors; the family fire-side for the school of manners; and the royal law of love and truth, as the standard and source of all true politeness. Truly it is a goodly spectacle in these days of pretension, and vulgar parade; of shallow learning, and degenerate manners, to behold here and there a mother in Israel, after "the manner of the olden time," training her little flock without the aids of modern parties, fashions, vain accomplishments, and earthly tinsel; waiting with them day by day at the door-posts of that wisdom by which grace is poured into the lips, and mien, as well as heart-where "woman indeed becomes the glory of man;" (1 Cor. xi. 7,) and then to see her lead them forth into life, from these sacred shades, polished after the similitude of a palace.[3] Such a school was well fitted to form the mind, refine the manners, and under God to save the soul of our lamented friend. God had been pleased to endow her with an unusual measure of personal beauty, and great charm of character and mind. So that as soon as she entered into society, which she did with great reserve, she attracted much attention, and was universally admired. These things combined, might have been expected, especially in early life, to draw her into the world; and lead her away from the humbling and self-denying religion of her father's house. But even before she gave her heart to God, there was an inimitable simplicity in her character, manner, and dress, which evinced either a total unconsciousness of her attractions, or a noble superiority to human praise. Her good taste, and the better principles of the Gospel, enabled her in all her after life, notwithstanding the many temptations to which she was exposed, to exhibit the same transparent and lovely example.

HER RELIGIOUS CHARACTER.

The work of the Spirit was early begun in her heart; but it was for some time resisted. Our acquaintance with her began just as she was closing her domestic education, (in her sixteenth year,) and almost before she had looked this evil world in the face. In 1820 she became decidedly serious; and after several months of deep religious impression, expressed a trembling hope of an interest in the Divine Redeemer. At this time she was strongly disposed to make a public profession of religion; but the salutary caution of her parents induced her to postpone it to a future occasion. Subsequently to this, the extreme fear which she ever after cherished, of self-delusion in religious exercises; the high standard of Christian character which she had proposed to herself; and her strong conviction of the frequent and very hurtful inconsistencies of many professors of religion; influenced her, in the end to defer that solemn step to a distant day. That day, as stated in the narrative, did not arrive until after her marriage, her removal to Kentucky, and her settlement as the wife of a pastor. In the mean time, however, it cannot be doubted, that the grace of God had taken possession of her heart. And when finally she did publicly connect herself with the people of God, her tenderness of heart, her self-distrust, her deep humility, her child-like simplicity, and transparency of Christian character, condemned her only for a delayed profession, and left few fears for her sake in any bosom but her own.

She was in a remarkable measure devoted to the Word of God. Her extraordinary memory faithfully stored with its rich treasure in early youth, vividly retained the chief part of it through life. The Psalmody of Dr. Watts, her favourite author in that department, she had almost wholly at her command. And with the Commentary of the inimitable Matthew Henry, a Latin and a French Bible, and a Harmony of the Gospels at her side, she daily and most devoutly searched the Scriptures. Clarke on the Promises, was also a favourite book, especially in her last days; and the Pilgrim's Progress was her companion to the "water's edge," where her real visions of the celestial city enabled her to lay the sweet Dreamer by, as the Parting Pilgrim did his crutches, when on the bank of the river he saw "chariots of fire" to bear him to the Pearly Gates. Her diligence in studying the Bible, without in the least degree neglecting her domestic duties, (and even in the days of her feeblest health,) was truly wonderful. When a subject specially interested her, she compiled and collated all the leading passages of the Bible upon it; often writing them out at great length, and preserving them for reference on future occasions. Indeed, so far did she carry her interested inquiries into the various parts of the Old and New Testament, and especially into the life of Christ, that she drew out a harmony of the Gospels with her own hand; the better to confirm her knowledge of the true order and relation of the events of his history.

She was a most faithful hearer of the preaching of the Gospel. Her luminous face cheered the progress of the herald of the Lord, and marked the deep measure of her personal interest in the message from the skies. Since her decease, we have found numerous briefs of sermons which she had heard at different periods of her life, from those whom she most admired. Some of these were delivered by Dr. James P. Wilson, and some by her father, others by Dr. Green, but chiefly by the venerable and honoured friend whose tribute to her memory is affixed to this Memoir. He was undoubtedly her most esteemed instructor from the sacred desk. His inimitable simplicity, vivacity, richness, and force of truth, always carried her understanding and her affections along with him; and those appeals which were most searching and simple, were most treasured and admired.

To her refined and candid spirit, nothing was more detestable than religious parade. As it is intimated in the former chapter, it sometimes served to repel her from things and people that were good, but savoured of religious cant. She was especially shocked with the numberless and painful examples of female impropriety in this way, which our age has disclosed. But in all the appropriate walks of Christian females, and in every becoming expression of their feelings and influence, though diffident of herself, she promptly took her part. Perhaps her most cherished occupation in the service of others, was that of a Sunday-school teacher. Here she rejoiced in the work of her hands. Here, without indelicacy or pretension, she could use the word of God, in his house, and on his day, to teach the little children, whom like her Lord, she so much loved to take in her arms and bless. She had for this service uncommon adaptation in the vivacity of her mind, in the charm of her manner, and especially in the rich store of her Biblical knowledge. She continued this relation after she became a wife, and a mother; and the tenderness of a Christian mother's love seemed to be transferred to the little commonwealth of the Sabbath-school.

We shall never forget the animation and delight with which she communicated to us, two years before her decease, the account of a visit which had been paid her very recently, by a highly respectable young gentleman, then attached to a learned profession, the son of a distinguished public man, who had been a member of her Sunday-school class in Princeton, fifteen years before!

HER DEDICATION TO THE WORK OF FOREIGN MISSIONS.

It was not long after the first experience (as was hoped) of the grace of God in her heart, that the relation was formed between herself and the writer of these pages, which, by its consummation and close, became in succession the crowning joy and the absorbing sorrow of his life.

While this interesting event, combined with other causes, was made the occasion (from an excess perhaps of delicacy on her part) of retarding her public profession of religion, it led to an early and very decisive trial of her Christian principles in another form. At this time the friend whom she so much honoured by her affection, was devoted to the work of Foreign Missions; and he had solicited her hand with the distinct expression, both to herself and her venerable parents, of such a purpose. This necessarily called her to consider the question of a personal engagement in this work. She met and decided this question with a promptitude and nobleness of Christian resolution which surprised even those who knew her best; and though in the providence of God she was spared the expected trial of separation for life from her family and country, yet the unreserved dedication of herself to the Missionary cause which her Redeemer enabled her to make, gave elevation to her Christian character, and prepared her for the trials scarcely less severe to which she was called in the domestic field. It was on the ground of her having thus dedicated herself, that with so much self-oblivion, and even cheerfulness, she encountered the many difficulties of which we are now to speak.

HER SACRIFICES FOR THE CHURCH OF GOD.

By a train of events over which we had no control, and in the interpretation of which we were permitted to enjoy the direction of the Church, (it would be needless to recite them here,) we were hindered from indulging the desire to "go far hence to the Gentiles." But the principle of dedication for life was settled; and hence it was from the first, understood and acted on at all times, that other things being equal, the field at home in which there was opportunity to do most for the conversion of the heathen, was always to be preferred, if offered by the Lord of the harvest. Her first and second settlements could scarcely be considered as giving occasion to many sacrifices. Lexington, Kentucky, was in the bosom of her husband's native state. There, in the garden of America, surrounded by a great circle of the most affectionate kindred and friends, and in a city remarkable as the Athens of the west for its refinement and general intelligence, and connected with a most kind and worthy congregation, Mrs. B. felt, that even separation from the home of her youth, was a form of trial so softened by her circumstances, that it was converted into a mercy.

In our removal to the interesting and important city of Baltimore, we felt that goodness and mercy followed us, changing our abode, but augmenting the number of our friends, and opening to us new and effectual doors of usefulness. Her attachment was very strong to both cities; she left each with regret; but still referring the decision to others in whose wisdom and affection she confided, she cheerfully obeyed their successive summons to depart. It was in leaving the latter city that her sacrifices for the Church more especially commenced. At this eventful period, (the summer of 1831,) it was found that there were more than one thousand congregations in the Presbyterian Church without a pastor, not to mention the immeasurable destitution of the heathen world. To supply this immense demand required, in addition to the very inadequate means already in use, a greatly enlarged and quickened effort of the entire Church. This necessity was deeply felt by the General Assembly of 1831, and led to the re-organization by that body of its Board of Education. In the solemn providence of God, the writer of these sketches was called to fill the office of Corresponding Secretary and General Agent for that Institution. He found it impossible to resist what appeared to be the voice of God speaking through his Church; though in yielding to it he was constrained to dissolve forever the sacred tie which bound him to a beloved people, and to pass from the endearments of domestic and Pastoral life, to incessant toil and travel in the wide and homeless world. She foresaw, and with keen anticipation felt, all the trouble which such a step must bring upon herself and her little household. But the decision of all her friends, excepting the kind people we were about to leave, was in favour of removal. She remembered her Missionary vows. She saw in it the sweetness as well as the severity of the cross, and without a murmur meekly bowed to the burden of the Lord. In this service, which continued for nearly five years, she shared; and like an angel, soothed the trials of the work. The comforts of domestic life were almost annihilated, either by incessant separations, or the nameless discomforts of a constant absence from home. During one entire year her house was occupied by her but six weeks, the rest being spent in hotels, and boarding houses, and steamboats, and stages, with occasional intervals of repose in the bosom of related or attached families scattered through the wide field of her visits from the Mississippi to the Hudson. Yet never did woman shine with more lovely lustre at home; never was woman more indisposed to step from this, her undisputed and delightful empire, into the confusion and folly of this selfish and evil world. Yet did she give up all, and consent to erect her domestic altar in the wilderness, and gather her little fold on the highway, for Jesus' sake. When weary of a year of travel, undertaken to shun a year of separation, she returned to occupy and order her solitary home. There she was constrained, though both tender and inexperienced, "to guide her house" alone; and to receive her husband only as an occasional visitant. Still, she never murmured; nor would we complain. But faithful history-now that she rests from her labours, requires this narrative; and God permits the record of "those works which follow" such "as die in the Lord." Thus, for five years, were kept up the alternations of these affecting trials. They were relieved, it must devoutly be acknowledged, by the unremitting attentions of those kind and lovely families in Philadelphia, whose virtues bound them to us by better ties than those of earthly kindred-as "Zion's friends, and ours;" whose reward we will not attempt to take out of a Saviour's hands by our poor praises; and whose displeasure we shall only then be sure of incurring, when we attempt to unveil to the public eye, the authors of so much disinterested and untiring goodness. The same reference is due to very many families in the city of New York, in which, for several successive years, she passed the winters with her husband. He who thus imperfectly attempts to record his gratitude, knew her worth so well, that he cannot wonder that such friends should love her; and he feels it his duty here to say, that any portion of success in the work herein referred to, is under God, largely owing, not only to her influence on his labours, but to the charm which she threw upon every circle with which she mingled, and the interest she kindled in all the persons and objects which interested her. When, at the end of two years, he felt overwhelmed with the review of her domestic trials, and was strongly moved to abandon a work which made them inevitable, she earnestly resisted the thought of change; and with generous self-devotion urged her husband forward in a work which, though painful to her feelings, was in her view useful to the Church, and pleasing to its glorious Head. As her impressions were those of all her friends, and apparently of the Church at large, and as the Board itself kindly relaxed some of the severer features of our trials, we were confirmed in the conviction that it was our duty to persevere, lest we should incur the divine displeasure, "by being weary in well-doing."

When, however, the indications of divine Providence in the spring of 1835 seemed plainly to say, that our work for the Board of Education was done, and that we ought to enter the door opened for us at Princeton, she was the last to see the duty of a removal; and though her parental home was there, and though her heart and her wearied nature cried aloud for rest, she would not allow any reasons for the change, to be drawn from her wishes or her sacrifices, and to the last, rather submitted to, than heartily approved of, the new relation.

But how deep are the ways of God! Scarcely had she time to establish herself in her new home at Princeton,[4] when another and loud call to an agency, directly in behalf of Foreign Missions, was pressed upon us. Though at this period her health had become evidently far more delicate, she heard and heeded again the voice of her Saviour; and still recalling the Missionary vow, offered herself again a willing sacrifice on the altar of God. In deciding this momentous question (in the winter of 1838, after having spent but eighteen months in Princeton, nearly half of which was occupied by her husband in active agency in behalf of the funds, library, &c. of the Theological Seminary,) we found ourselves incapable of being instrumental in recalling her still again to the commotion, desertion at home, and incessant cares, of another agency. Three months therefore were given to the important work, and the offer of the office finally declined. Even here however, she persisted in referring the decision to public relations alone, leaving all personal considerations out of view. And though fast approaching her end (what at that time none of us knew) she spontaneously put herself at the disposal of the friends of the Board of Foreign Missions, for her part of any service which might be required of her husband, whether it was in extensive journeys with him, or separation from him, or a winter's sojourn with him and her children in the city of New York. For the first, hoping it might invigorate her health, she was actually furnished; and when that was abandoned for the last, she repaired, with the spirit of her Master in her heart, to meet the trials it induced. It was in the fresh recollection of the parting scene, on her way thither, that the following sentences were addressed to the writer by the Rev. Dr. Alexander.

"I cannot conclude, without a word to dear Mrs. Breckinridge. I admire her ready submission to the calls of Providence. For although she cannot help dropping the silent tear, she makes no complaint, but shuts up her comfortable house, leaves her home and her friends, and as cheerfully as she can, goes to live in a hotel, and among strangers. Well, she shall not lose her reward. For these sacrifices she shall have rich compensation: and our sweetest earthly pleasure is in doing the will of our Heavenly Father." (Dated Princeton, December 17th, 1837.)

At the close of the winter we returned to Princeton, hoping that now God would grant us a little rest in that quiet village and that delightful home, where not "unaware we entertained an angel." But ah! this blessedness was not long intended for us. Having done her work, (though still we did not fear it,) she was soon to be taken to her rest and her reward on high.

HER LAST SICKNESS AND DEATH.

Her last sickness was of a protracted and very interesting character. When she returned from New York, she was delicate and her state of health was mysterious, but not yet alarming even to her physicians. Very soon after this, she had a violent attack, which in a short season prostrated her frame, and, disclosing a peculiar complication of diseases, overwhelmed every mind in the family, but her own, (she was calm,) with the most gloomy apprehensions of her danger.

At the close of the winter term of the Theological Seminary, (May first,) it was our anxious desire to take her to the Red Sulphur Springs in Virginia. But it was too early in the season; and being yet doubtful, whether this or that place would be useful or hurtful, it was agreed by her physicians to indulge her strongly expressed wish to try the waters of Saratoga. Thither therefore we went, pausing only a short time in the city of New York for medical consultation.

At this time, she was a most interesting object to all who saw her. Her debility was so extreme that she was borne from place to place in the arms of her husband, which, from her delicate frame, it was easy to do. The gentleness and patience with which she endured her sickness, the inimitable moral beauty of her countenance, and the general expression of frailty mingled with grace, excited the deepest interest wherever she passed.[5]

At Saratoga we spent a very quiet season of three weeks, (before the great hotels were opened, or the crowds had arrived) at the house of a most kind and deserving Christian woman, Mrs. Taylor, whose unceasing attentions greatly conduced to soothe sufferings which God had pleased should not be arrested. During this visit she used the waters freely, as a beverage, and in the bath, with no apparent injury, except that it evidently disclosed the fatal symptoms of her malady. She was able almost every day, to take gentle rides in the open air, and frequently to mingle with the family. But her chamber was her sanctuary. There she reclined, feeding on the Word of God. She was especially delighted with Clarke on the Promises. During that season of seclusion, she seemed to grow in grace with a progress which surprised (while it delighted) us; for we knew not then how near she was to the perfection of the heavenly rest. But it has since been interpreted to us, by the event, as one of God's peculiar mercies. What made this the more pleasing evidence of grace was, that she did not know her own danger. It was the power of religion poured upon her spirit by Him who was "hastening to make her up among his jewels." At one time, she said-"Oh, yes, pray that the distance between God and me may be taken away." And after uniting, with the most affecting solemnity and tenderness in the prayer which was offered, she at its close expressed aloud her joy in the exercise, (a thing most unusual with her) and her delight in God her Saviour, who draweth nigh. On another occasion, after hearing some of the promises of healing to the body, as collected by Clarke, she seemed for a moment to be musing, she then gently said: "My dear--I am like the poor woman who had spent all her living upon physicians, neither could be healed of any; but rather grew worse. My hope is in the Great Physician!"

Since we have been calm enough to review the various stages of her last sickness in relation to her religious exercises, it has been a subject of deep regret, and of no little self-reproach, that we had not made the attempt at recording, as they were uttered, some of the deeply affecting expressions of her Christian principles and feelings. But the tumultuous hour of hope and fear, and hurried, anxious watching at the bed of death, is not the time for cool calculation. Some of the most affecting parts of such scenes are incapable of being written down, even by one not interested in the sufferer. Nay, more-like the voices which John heard from heaven in Patmos, the Spirit seems to say of them, "write them not." These are "joys with which the stranger intermeddleth not." (Prov. xiv. 10.) It is a sanctuary which no creature can enter. And then our beloved Friend, who was often afraid to whisper her religious joys to her Saviour, lest she should be found offering "strange fire" on his altar, seldom talked of her hopes, (though often of her sins,) to her nearest friends; and never, by writing them down, put it in the power of posthumous publications to expose them to the view of others. We can only, therefore, illustrate her religious character, at the stage which we now approach, by broken fragments of thoughts and feelings, caught from her lips amidst the awful mercies of a dying hour.

She began at length, visibly to sink, when Dr. Freeman, of Balston, whose skilful and kind attentions she enjoyed, (Dr. Steel, of Saratoga, having himself been recently removed by death,) strongly advised a discontinuance of the use of the waters, and an attempt to reach the Red Sulphur Springs. For now the prevailing type of the disease had become distinctly pulmonary; and the skill of physicians, and the healing waters, and all the help of man were vain. Now, for the first time, we began to discern the dread reality of her approaching dissolution; and had some foretaste of the first anguish of such a loss.[6]

With heavy hearts, but hastened steps, we returned to Princeton; whence almost in despair, yet anxious to try any and all means for so great an end, we hastily set out with our meek sufferer for the Virginia Springs: but as the previous narrative has recited, we were arrested at Philadelphia. Here all was done by the assiduity and skill of her physicians,[7] and the most tender and constant attentions of a great number of friends. But her divine Redeemer claimed her for himself. She returned to Princeton, to bless her household, and to die. On the evening of June the 13th, she reached her children, and her earthly home. On the morning of the 16th, a quarter before ten o'clock, with her reason unclouded, in a frame of calm and holy triumph which marked the dawning of heaven on her soul; with a meek prayer for permission to die, and with but a single pang, she bade the world farewell, and ascended to God!

Her remains were attended to the grave by a very large and deeply affected assembly, after the delivery of the impressive funeral discourse affixed to this Memoir; where they rest by the side of her three little children, two daughters and a son, removed by death before. The like number and of the same sex, two daughters and a son, are left to the surviving parent, to mourn her loss, to treasure and imitate her example, and, by the grace of the Saviour, to follow them to the skies, where the "house now left desolate unto them" shall be restored with added bliss; and the little family thus divided in the midst of life, being reunited in pure and perfect love, be received into everlasting habitations.

A neat marble monument points to the spot where her dust reposes.