T H E   L A D I E S '   R E P O S I T O R Y .

CINCINNATI, DECEMBER, 1844.

      IN the latter part of July, 184-, I was spending a few days in the pleasant village of B------, Kentucky. Its retired situation, and the pleasing manners of its inhabitants, had such an effect on my mind, that I thought I could cheerfully consent to spend my days in its calm retirement. Here, in the circle in which I became acquainted, cheerfulness, softened and brightened by the hallowing influences of Christianity, seemed to have found a genial home; and though an entire stranger on my arrival there, in a few days I found myself surrounded by friends and circumstances which I shall never forget.

      I had not been here long, however, before I found that, notwithstanding the general peace and content which appeared to prevail, there was even there much that was calculated to make me remember that this is but a world of sin, and of sorrow, and death. Though, at the first casual glance, the picture seemed bright, yet I soon, very soon, made the discovery that pain and sickness, the struggle of the spirit for life, the pallid brow, the fevered cheek, and the sleepless eye of the watcher, were all to be found in this beautiful and apparently happy spot. Yes, even here the monster who has triumphed over so many myriads of our race, who has made earth one vast charnel-house, a very Golgotha, was, by his agent, disease, preying upon the cheek of beauty, seizing upon the strong man and the infant with a giant's grasp, and bearing alike the purest and noblest to the silent dwellings of the dead.

      There was one of whom I heard shortly after my arrival. Consumption had laid its hand upon him, and slowly and silently, but surely, was performing its accustomed task. For some years this disease had been preying upon him; but, like all its victims, he seemed to hope that life would be prolonged, and that the ties which bound him to earth would not soon be rudely severed. He was still young, and the wife of his youth, and one fair child, the pledge of their pure affections, were cords of union of no common strength, and they seemed to bind him to this lower sphere with the holiest ties.

      About the time I arrived at B------, he began to perceive that life was fast waning away, and that soon he would be called upon to pass "that bourne from whence no traveler returns." By the advice of his friends he had been removed a short distance into the country, in the hope that its quietude and pure air might have a beneficial effect on his declining frame. It was at this place that I first visited him. The morning on which I started for this purpose was truly delightful. A short time before, a heavy rain had fallen, which had imparted to all things around a pleasing freshness and fragrancy. All nature seemed cheerful, the birds were caroling forth their sweetest songs--all around me seemed full of life--all joy and gladness; but I was on my way to the house of sorrow and of mourning. When I arrived there, how changed was the scene! Silence seemed to reign around. The friends of the sufferer spoke in whispers, and the heavy, measured breathing of the dying man was the only audible sound to be heard. All hope of life had fled, but, with his weakness, the hope of eternal life seemed to grow stronger and stronger. He made signs for us to pray. We knelt at his bedside and poured out our fervent prayers to the great Dispenser of all good in behalf of our suffering brother. When we arose his eyes were cast upward. He made a strong effort to speak, and looking round him, he exclaimed as loud as his feeble voice would permit, "Sing! sing!" A hymn was chosen, the burden of which was the final resting-place of the faithful, and the joys reserved in that happy home, or, in the words of the hymn which we sung--

Never before had I so deeply felt the power of music. I had heard the union of young and happy voices sending forth, in merry peals, the "unwritten melodies" of their hearts--I had heard it swelling from the lips of beauty in the scene of festal mirth, and bursting in solemn anthems from the deep-toned organ; but never, to me, did music seem to possess such power as when it rose tremulously yet triumphantly around the couch of that dying man. There were weeping eyes around that bed, and hearts that were nearly breaking; yet, when their voices caught the strain, their weeping eyes were upturned, and thoughts of heaven so triumphed over those of earth, that even the sufferer strove to join in that glad yet solemn song with his dying breath, and, even in death, to shout victory. The song ceased, and soon his glad spirit, borne on the wings of faith and holy prayer, took its heavenward flight. My own feelings it were vain to attempt to describe; but shortly after leaving the room, I attempted an imperfect transcript of them in the following lines:

[The Ladies' Repository 4 (December 1844): 364-365.]

      William Baxter's "A Leaf from My Note-Book" was first published in The Ladies' Repository, and Gatherings of the West: A Monthly Periodical Devoted to Literature and Religion, Vol. 4, No. 12, December 1844, pp. 364-365. This volume, edited by E. Thomson, was published in Cincinnati by L. Swormstedt and J. T. Mitchell for the Methodist Episcopal Church.

      Pagination in the electronic version has been represented by placing the page number in brackets following the last complete word on the printed page.

      Addenda and corrigenda are earnestly solicited.

Ernie Stefanik
Derry, PA

Created 7 April 2000.
Updated 28 June 2003.