THE RECORD

OF A

HAPPY LIFE.

A

CHAPTER I.

S 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?"

“Oh, 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, "it would; only I would like to live a little longer to work for Jesus.'

Ten days after that afternoon our Frank had left us 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 sister 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 responsible 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,