You serenity, and obtain also the approbation of God, and of his fellow-mortals. Young people sometimes imagine that the precepts of their parents are too strict, to merit their attention and observation; but were they acquainted with the world, and could they see the difficulties which lay before them, they would acknowledge the propriety of admonition, and listen to the dictates of experience. Parents and friends, in affording instruction to those committed to their charge, can have but one motive, and that is the benevolent wish to see their children excel in the practice of every laudable virtue. The vivacity of youth requires a check to keep it within the bounds of prudence. Children should, therefore, submit to direction, and instead of being displeased with admonition, they should be grateful to those who mercifully bestow it upon them. are at present under the maternal care of an aunt who loves you; the affection which she entertained for your dearest mother, she has fixed upon you. She views you both as the representatives of a beloved sister, and her heart beats with tenderness for you. Study, therefore, my dear daughters, study, I beseech you, to make her happy; attend to her requests, and let her see that you value her instructions, by paying an implicit obedience to what she says. My happiness is suspended upon the thread of my children; if they behave well it is all that I desire, Providence has blessed me with a decent competency; my only object, therefore, in this world is to see them amiable, and I shall be as comfortable as human nature will admit of. It is by our behaviour in this life, that our happiness in the next will be proportioned. If we live agreeably to God's word, eternal joys await us beyond the grave; if we are sinful and disobedient, ruin unceasing stares us in the face. Endeavour, then, to conduct yourselves in such a manner as to secure the smiles of your heavenly Father. Remember with gratitude the mercy and compassion of your Redeemer; and show forth his praise, not only with your lips, but in your lives. How pleasing is the thought of meeting our departed friends in heaven; of seeing those with whom we have lived in love; and of being established in the possession of endless and eternal bliss! Yes, my dear daughters, if we are not wanting to ourselves, we shall meet in glory, and enjoy with our God a state of uninterrupted happiness. Sorrow and sighing in heaven find no admission-our harps of praise and gratitude will be ever strung, and pure unsullied comfort fill and pervade our bosoms! Your mother, praised be God, is already there; her evidences were as clear as the sun, and her faith in the promises of God, immoveable! Prepare to follow her. As a minister of the Gospel, I beseech you to keep your lamps lit, and as a father I pray you to tread in the path of duty and of holiness. Your friend and father, RICHARD CHANNING MOORE. His first wife, whose peaceful and triumphant death is alluded to in the preceding letter, was the mother of the eldest son, David Moore, and of two daughters, Christian and Eliza. On the 23rd of March, in the year 1797, he was married to Miss Sarah Messareau, of Staten Island, who, at her decease, which occurred in August, 1824, after their removal to Virginia, left six children as the pledges of their mutual affection: four of whom were daughters; Gertrude, Sarah, Frances, and Mary Ann: and two sons; Van Rensalaer, and Richard Channing. Both the wives of the late Bishop were not only ladies of distinguished piety and virtue, but remarkable for great per sonal beauty; and his nine children still survive him. The following letters exhibit the state of the Bishop's feelings on the demise of his second wife. LETTER ON THE DEATH OF MRS. MOORE, TO REV. MR. NOrris. Richmond, August 17, 1824. My Beloved Son,-Your letter of sympathy and condolence reached me in due time, and from the expressions of tenderness which mark its pages, you have furnished me with another, and an acceptable evidence of your regard. I had formed the idea when a young man, that such a bereavement in advanced life, would be attended with less distres sthan I have found it to be. I had concluded that as we advanced in years our feelings became less acute, consequently the pungency of grief less severe; but experience has taught me a different lesson, and convinced me that as long as we live we have much to learn. In early life our spirits are so buoyant, that we are enabled to view the brightest part of every scene; and from the hope of better days to come, our afflictions are divested of that edge, which prostrates in the dust the expectations and promises of age. In advanced life we become more attached to home, and although from principle, as well as inclination, we occasionally mingle with the world, still home is always uppermost in our minds, and furnishes us with the most delight. To have our domestic retreat stripped of its enjoyments; to look, and look in vain, for those with whom we have been associated for many years, constitute considerations of a character so formidable and impressive, that nothing less than experience can present to our view the dreariness of the picture. Afflicting, however, as these events are, the Almighty, I believe most firmly, intends them for our good. Every tie that he is pleased to sever, serves to break our hold upon this transitory world; every connexion which he takes from our embrace, provided those connexions are prepared for death, he takes to himself, and by assuring us that our friends are living in the enjoyment of happiness in his presence, heaven is brought more fully to our view. The transition which we must soon experience, appears to the believer as the transition from one apartment of his father's mansion to another-from an abode in which sickness and sorrow dwell, to that abode in heaven where sorrow and sighing find no admission, and where our departed friends will bid us the most sincere and joyful welcome. To murmur at the dispensation of Providence I feel no temptation. The Lord has been so good to me, my dear son, that I should be worse than ungrateful, were I to dispute his love. I kiss the hand which has dealt this last blow, and am resigned to His will. Dr. Wilmer has no doubt related to you the calmness and composure with which my dear departed wife was blessed. She was sensible to the last moment. Her mind was serene and unclouded. Her hopes were bright and encouraging. Her last words to me were spoken in reply to a quotation I made to her from the 23d Psalm: " Though I walk through the valley and shadow of death, I will fear no evil." She turned to me, and with a smile which proclaimed the presence of the God she loved, she said, "There is no evil there." May we die the death of the righteous, and may our last end be as tranquil as was her's! With love to all my friends in Alexandria, Believe me your affectionate father in Christ, RICHARD CHANNING MOORE. TO HIS SON UPON THE SAME SUBJECT. August 11th, 1824. My Dear Son,-The long indisposition of your dear mother has been brought to a termination; and she has bid an adieu to all her ailments, and entered into the joy of her Lord. The tranquillity and composure with which she met her dissolution, forms another evidence to the many I have heard of the power of a saving faith, and of that belief in the promises of God which inspires the soul with confidence and the mind with perfect assurance in his word. To the inquiries I repeatedly made of her relative to the state of her mind, she uniformly assured me that she had not a doubt of her acceptance with God, and that her prospects were perfectly clear. When I called her attention to the declaration of the Psalmist "Though I walk through the valley and shadow of death, I will fear no evil," she looked at me with an eye beaming with life, and a countenance clothed with a heavenly smile, and then said, "There is no evil there." Her understanding to the last moment was undisturbed; and I do not believe that her reason left her until the breath left her body. She placed, a few minutes before her death, her hands upon her breast; and from the motion of her lips, it was evident that she was engaged in prayer; after which she raised her eyes to heaven, and exclaimed, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly!" She died without the movement of a finger. In a conversation she held with me the morning preceding her dissolution, her children formed the objects of her solicitude; and she requested me to press religion upon their consciences. Her funeral was attended with every mark of respect; and Dr. Wilmer, who had come upon a visit to me, preached upon the occasion the day |