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AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL. 



been a very acceptable pastor, and bad 

 declined, but a short time before, an 

 invitation from an institution of learn- 

 ing, to solicit funds for them. As they 

 still urged him to accept, he called a 

 council of the neighboring ministers, 

 who advised him not to accept the 

 agency ; whereupon (such often is 

 human nature) he rejected their advice. 



From the beginning of his work, his 

 health, which before had been unusually 

 good, began to fail. He became dis- 

 couraged and morbid ; and in conversa- 

 tion with Mrs. Walker, he contended 

 that his afflictions were even greater 

 than those of Job. He was reminded 

 by her of a Christian brother known 

 to both, who, after an absence from 

 home of a few days, found, on his re- 

 turn, his beloved wife dead, and her 

 dead infant lying in her arms. Even 

 such an overwhelming calamity he 

 thought was more bearable than those 

 which had befallen him ! 



At this point in her narrative I be- 

 came too much excited to sit still. Ris- 

 ing to my feet, I exclaimed, "Oh, that I 

 could see this unhappy brother, and 

 warn him of the fate, which, if he per- 

 sists in cherishing these delusions, may 

 soon overtake him ! He is on the very 

 verge of insanity, if not already insane." 



After the sermon next morning, Mrs. 

 Rockwell, the wife of the superintend- 

 ent of the insane asylum of that place, 

 said to us, " Do you know that Mr. 



" (the very brother we had been 



talking about) " was brought to our in- 

 stitution last night, quite insane ?" 



I once related this circumstance to a 

 family circle,entirely unconscious that it 

 could have any personal application. To 

 my surprise, the father of the family 

 privately said to me, with deep emotion, 

 that nothing could have been told better 

 adapted to influence for good one of his 

 own children. 



Oh, how often does some bereaved 

 '•oul cry out in anguish, " I do well to 

 give myself up to the indulgence of 

 sripf. I have no heart for anything but 

 lamentations for the loved ones who 

 have been buried out of my sight !" No ! 

 poor, afflicted soul, you do not do well 

 when you neglect any positive duty. 

 Beware lest what you call "the luxury 

 of grief" may be carried so far as to be- 

 come rebellious murmurings against the 

 divine will. 



I cannot here forbear giving a short 

 extract from Walter Scott's Antiquary. 

 An old fisherman had lost his son in a 

 storm at sea. His landlord makes him a 

 visit of condolence. 



"When he came in front of the fisher- 

 man's hut he observed a man working 

 intently, as if to repair a shattered boat 

 that lay upon the beach ; and going up 

 to him he said, in a tone of sympathy, 'I 

 am glad, Saunders, thatf you feel your- 

 self able to make this exertion.' 'And 

 what would ye have me do,' answered 

 the fisherman, ' unless I wanted to see 

 four children starve because one is 

 drowned ? It is weel with you gentles, 

 that can sit in the house with handker- 

 chers at your eyes when ye lose a friend; 

 but the like of us maun to our work 

 again, if our hearts were beating as 



hard as my hammer She maun be 



mended for the mornin' tide— that's a 

 thing of necessity.' " Let us thank God 

 for these " things of necessity." 



Many of my experiences when under 

 the attack of melancholia resemble very 

 closely those of the poet Cowper. He 

 had long spells of despondency, when his 

 pen was entirely idle, and no persua- 

 sions of his most intimate friends could 

 induce him to resume employments in 

 which he once took so much delight. 

 After he had abandoned, apparently for 

 ever, the revision of his translation of 

 Homer's Iliad, a relative one day placed 

 on his writing-desk the manuscript at 

 the place where he had left off, together 

 with his books of reference. It was with 

 great delight that he perceived that it 

 attracted the attention of the afflicted 

 poet, and that he began to resume the 

 work of revision, so long suspended. 



This reminds me of an incident in my 

 own experience. The first revision of 

 my work, " The Hive and Honey-Bee," 

 had been about one-third completed, 

 when the return of my disease compelled 

 me to lay it aside for nearly a year, and 

 nothing could induce me to resume it. 

 My wife and mother had been for some 

 time noticing that the violence of the 

 attack seemed to be wearing away, and 

 were daily hoping for some more decided 

 signs of improvement. My mother, in 

 joyful excitement, said to my wife, 

 one day, "Oh! our dear one will be 

 well again, for I saw him in his study, 

 with his pen in his hand." They had 

 both learned, from long experience, how 

 invariably in my case, were the cramp 

 mental and the cramp digital associated 

 together. 



How often has Cowper's sad history 

 awakened our deepest sympathy ! and 

 to think that he never recovered from 

 his last attack, but passed away under 

 the terrible delusion that he was a hope- 

 less outcast from all God's mercies ! 

 Let me give some of its mournful stanzas 



