I do hereby certify that the gentlemen who have subscribed their names to the within letter, are every member of the Session and Trustees of this church, except one of the Elders, who is absent from town; and I have no doubt, if it should be thought necessary, that the whole church, comprehending more than five hundred persons, would subscribe the same, with very few or no exceptions.

JAMES RICHARDS,

Pastor of the first Presbyterian Congregation of Newark.

On leaving New-Jersey, Doctor G. was accompanied by five young men who became students in the new theological seminary. One of these, Mr. LEWIS LE COUNT CONGAR, sickened and died, while yet in the early part of his theological course. An interesting sketch of his character was published in the Panoplist for September, 1810. The following letters were written by Dr. G. to the parents of Mr. CONGAR on the occasion of his illness and death.

MY DEAR SIR,

Boston, January 2, 1810.

How often have you and your dear family said, "The Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice." What a blessed thing it is that he has the appointment of all our changes and trials. He has appointed the bounds of our habitation, and the time of our continuing on the earth. He has no need of any of us. He can raise up children to himself of the stones of the streets, and ministers from the Pagan world. Or he can carry on his work without ministers. You have given a son to Christ, and if he has work for him on the earth, he will preserve him and make him a blessing to the church; but if he has other designs, he will I doubt not, take him to himself. Whether our dear Lewis is to be made a minister, or an angel, is with God to decide. You will conjecture by this time, that your son is sick. He is not well. Be not alarmed; God can make him well. At any rate, his will will be done. I have been

for several days confined to my room with a dreadful cold; and have the distress of being still confined, so that I cannot go to see him. But sick as I am I cannot refrain from writing to you. Lewis has the typhus fever. The best physicians have been procured for him, and the best attendance. His mind is weak; but he loves to hear of the name of Christ, and will listen with deep interest and tender affection to every thing that is said about that blessed Saviour. I long to go and see the dear boy. I never before longed so much to do a thing that I could not do. But I must submit. All that I can do I have done. I have sent a request to C. and C. to let me hear every day from him. And as often as I hear, God willing, you shall hear. I beseech you, my dear friends, to summon all your fortitude and all your religion to your aid. Prepare for every thing which God has in store for you. That I have some apprehensions you will suppose, when I inform you that this letter is written, not without tears. The footsteps of God are in the mighty deep; and his way is not known. Clouds and darkness are round about him; but justice and judgment are the habitation of his throne. May God Almighty support you, my dear friends, under this trial, is my prayer, and the prayer of Mrs. Griffin who sits by me and weeps.

Affectionately yours,

E. D. GRIFFIN.

Boston, Jan. 3, 1810.

Last night, at 11 o'clock, I sent off a basket of the best things which Boston could afford, by a man who promised to stop at no place, (though the distance is 20 miles,) until he had lodged them in the sick room of the dear boy. They were such things as Dr. Pearson represented to be necessary, viz. oranges, lemons, tamarinds, figs, guaver-jam, sago, and a few bottles of old Madeira wine. We do little else but pray for him; and the whole college is crying with tears, "Spare him, spare him!" Mrs. Griffin, having wept out all her tears, says "He will live." I cannot but humbly and earnestly hope that God will spare him for your sakes, and for ours, and

for the church of Christ. Let no one leave home on his account. He will either recover, or the messenger would arrive too late. With deep affection and sympathy, I am,

The Almighty God support you, my dear friends, under the trials which you must feel. I wish with all my heart that I had any thing agreeable to communicate. And I have— Jesus of Nazareth reigns. The infinite God is happy. And our dear Lewis is happy. Ah my heart, why this aching and trembling? The will of God is done. Lewis himself wished that the will of God might be done. And I am confident that he does not wish to oppose it now. It is with the deepest sympathy, my dear friends, that I announce to you an event which has filled our college with tears, and spread a gloom over us all. Lewis left these abodes of pain this morning at 10 o'clock.

My heart aches and bleeds for you. By my own sorrows I know that yours must be extreme. I never knew how to love him till since he left Newark; and since his sickness I have almost felt that my earthly comfort was at an end. No young man was ever more beloved. For myself I can say of him, what I cannot of many others, that I never saw any thing in him that had the appearance of sin since he has been under my care; no not the least word or turn of thought.

He has not lived in vain. He did not come to Andover in vain. He has been the means of good to some souls; and by his influence on the college, has probably been indirectly the means of some good to thousands. His parents have reason to bless God that they were the means of bringing a son into the world to do so much good as he has done at Andover.

I know your trial in not being able to see him. I have felt it myself. During all the time that he has been considered dangerous, I have been confined to my house. I am still confined, and cannot attend his funeral to-morrow. His dust will lie in a strange land; but mind not that. It will not be

lost or overlooked. It will be gathered and restored to him and to you. I have much to say. I pity you with all my heart. I know not that I was ever so tenderly tried before. May God support you and comfort you all.

Affectionately yours,

E. D. G.

Boston, Jan. 7, Sabbath, 5 o'clock P. M.

This hour they are burying our dear child! And as I can think of nothing else, I sit myself down to commune with his afflicted parents and sisters. No creature so dear to me ever left this earth. I am thinking of his pleasant manners, by which he comforted us by the way, when we left at Newark almost all that was dear to us; and how he helped Mrs. Griffin and Louisa over the hills. I am thinking of his sprightly gambols in our fields and our summer house, and how delighted he was with every scene, which he served to render more delightful. I am thinking of his attentions to me in sickness; his affectionate sympathy, and mature judgment, by which he soothed and strengthened me during all my troubles since I left you. Verily he has not died in my debt. He has more than compensated me for all my attentions to him. In following summers, every object in our fields will bring the dear youth fresh to my thoughts. And if his body is permitted to remain there, I shall often visit his grave, and bathe it with my tears. It will be a spot ever sacred and dear to me. I and my family shall yet be with him, and rise with him at the last day. He has been a great comfort to me. Surely he did not come to Andover in vain. I have had some distressing thoughts about being the means of taking him from Newark; and I suppose that you may be tempted to say, "If he had not left Newark, he would not have died." But, my friends, it is all the appointment of heaven. Eternal wisdom fixed it that he should die at that time and place; and perhaps more good will result to the college, and through that to the churches, from his death, than he would have done had he lived. He was to come, and was to die in a strange land; and you and I were to weep under the great loss. And great VOL. 1.

15

But conit is. Few parents ever lost more in a single son. sider, my dear friends, how many comforts you have left. You have two dear children; and they have two dear parents. May you live long to be a mutual comfort to each other. We had just licensed him to preach, when God translated him to the church triumphant. I can give no other reason for it than that he was too refined by divine grace to live in this gross and polluted world.

Think not, my dear friends, that you have lost your pains in giving him an education. No, you have been fitting him for more than a pulpit,-for a higher throne in heaven. The expansion of mind which his education has given him, will probably render him a more illustrious instrument of God's glory, and make him a more capacious vessel to contain happiness, while the kingdom endures. You have not lost any of your pains, nor any of your prayers for him. Few parents have been so much honored, as to raise up and send such a son to assist the praises of the assembly of the first born. There he is! Think not of him on a bed of sickness,-in a land of strangers,-away from his parents and sisters. Think of him on Mount Zion. There is all that is Lewis. The rest is mere dust. We have not lost him. He is only gone a little before us. Ten thousand worlds would not tempt him to return. There we shall soon find him and enjoy him again, and forever-and far better than we ever did in this world. Ah, my heart! why this bleeding and breaking? Did we not know a year ago that Lewis must remove? If the church might not go to heaven, in vain would be a gospel ministry, and revivals of religion. It was indeed desirable to keep him with us a little longer. But I now perceive that our past revivals were not so much intended to raise up comforts for us in this world, or to fit men to preach the gospel, as to fit souls for that eternal society to which our dear Lewis has gone. Oh may my thoughts be more loosed from earth, and fix on that glorious assembly of our fathers and brethren, which has been increasing since the days of Adam. There is Lewis! There will soon be his parents and sisters. And there I hope