MY last informed you of the seeming health of our dear little Basil: on Monday last, we availed ourselves of a favourable opportunity of having him christened, and we all thought that, though a little fallen away, he was looking very well. On Wednesday, however, he was attacked with infantine cholera morbus, and on the morning of yesterday his happy spirit burst its way to God. To us, indeed, the scene was very affecting; it was the first inroad death had been permitted to make among us, and his entrance spread a degree of awe upon our minds such as we had not known before. The strong feelings of affection likewise, and numerous endearing recollections, kept making us weep till, like David and his men, we seemed to have no more power to weep, and even all the grateful expressions which kept bursting from our thankful hearts, could only be uttered amidst our quickly flowing tears. These stronger feelings, however, have now somewhat subsided, and a holy calm of gratitude has regained its seats within our breasts: our dear little one has, indeed, fled from among us, but he has fled to a far happier place—fled to the arms and bosom of his ever-to-be-adored Redeemer; and oh! how quick, as well as blessed, the transition!
“We scarce can say he’s gone, Before his happy spirit takes Its station near the throne.”
To-morrow, we think of committing his dear remains to the silent tomb. I have been selecting and marking out a suitable spot to be employed, should we continue here, for the successive members of our family, as they may be called from among us, and my prayer has been ascending to my blessed Redeemer that we may every one of us leave as firm a persuasion behind us of the safety of our eternal state, as our dear little Basil has. And, indeed, his removal has given me an increased confidence that this will be the case; for our united prayers for our dear children have ever been, that they might either live a holy life, or die an early death. My dear wife, though weak, is very mercifully supported in the season of our trial; she feels, and that at times very sensibly, but peaceful gratitude is still her constant companion: I say gratitude; for it is not mere submission, it is the peaceful grateful adoration of that gracious God who is too wise to err, too good to be unkind; and I am very thankful for all the support and consolation which our kind Saviour so mercifully affords her. I think of having a small head stone for my little boy, mentioning his name, the day of his death and his age, and, underneath, the following lines which I put down in my pocket book when you and I were at Enfield, little, indeed, imagining at the time that I should ever have a dear child of my own over whose grave they would be inscribed:—