occasion of his death in the vicinity of his relatives, on the same text.

His remains await the resurrection summons, in the Protestant Episcopal Burial Ground at Granville Corners, N. Y. A beautiful monument, erected by his relatives, marks the spot, bearing the following simple inscription:

REV. THOMAS KIRBY,
of the

Methodist Episcopal Church.

Died, July 10, 1846, aged 31 years.

"For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." Thus has our brother passed away; and thus has his pathway been rapidly sketched. A few remarks only, and the subject must be left to make its own impress.

In person, brother Kirby was rather short, of a full habit, and a decidedly pleasant expression of countenance. One chief cause of the high esteem in which he was held, was, his uniform cheerfulness and kindness of spirit. These states of mind were prominent and abiding, rendering him the agreeable companion and unfailing friend.

His voice was pleasant as music, and under complete control; which contributed not a little to his acceptability and usefulness in the pulpit. To listen to him was like hearing the smooth and mellow sounds of some instrument which would hold the attention of the hearer to the last. But it was not merely the sound which was heard when he was in the pulpit. His discourses were respectable in their method, and warm with holy fire, which rendered him an impressive and effective preacher.

He loved to preach; not that he was fond of saying so; but he proved it in his practice. He was ready to take his share in that work, and never sought for excuses when called on to perform it. In one of his circuits

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there lived an aged brother who was greatly distressed with an asthmatic difficulty, which confined him at home. Almost as often as brother Kirby visited that part of the field, he would call upon Father Lawrence, and ask if he had heard any preaching since he was there? If the answer was in the negative, he would say, Well, you must hear a sermon;" and seating himself he would announce some text suited to the condition of his auditor, and proceed to expound, illustrate and apply the whole, during, perhaps, twenty minutes, with all the interest and feeling which he would exhibit if hundreds were listening to his discourse. Such seasons were remembered and referred to in after days, by that afflicted disciple, with great delight and satisfaction.

The death of our brother was such as might well be anticipated from his life. He "rests from his labors, and his works do follow him."

REV. ALFRED SAXE, A. M.

BY REV. S. D. BROWN.

"A gentleman, a scholar, and a Christian."-J. P. GOULD.

The memory of the pious dead is a sacred legacy committed to the church, and to cherish it is a duty we owe, not to them only, but to the living. Kneeling at the shrine of those they loved, and who loved God, men gather confidence and strength manfully to contend with the evils and difficulties that surround them. Thousands of years had passed over the grave of the pious Abel; the remembrance of the place of his sepulture had

faded from the hearts of men, and the last human being that ever saw his form, had been for centuries a tenant of the dust, when an inspired apostle called to mind that act of piety and devotion, recorded in the sacred volume, and with rapture exclaimed, "by it, he being dead, yet speaketh." This is emphatically true of one whom we have personally known, to whose counsel we have been accustomed to listen, and from whose society we have derived pleasure, but who has been taken from us by the strong hand of death. As often as we reflect upon the virtues of such an one, we place before our minds an example of piety and devotion, rendered more impressive by the fact, that he to whom it related is enjoying the reward of that life of devotedness in the paradise of God. As often as we recall his sayings, a voice seems to break upon our ear, in familiar tones, urging us on in the path of duty. And even when their early death awakens regret, it yet tends to stimulate to higher and more ardent effort.

And such is the constitution of the human mind, that the reflection that the hour is approaching, when we shall become strangers in the circles where we are now familiar, awakens painful emotions, however it may be counteracted by the hope of joys to come. But the thought that we shall not be forgotten; that our words will be recalled, and our acts remembered; and that thus, though dead, we shall yet speak to those with whom we now associate, affords to the shrinking heart a degree of joy. As often, therefore, as we call to mind our former companions, and fondly dwell upon the recollections of the past, we convey encouragement to ourselves; for we strengthen the conviction, that, when dead, we shall yet live in the memory of those to whom we are now allied.

These thoughts have been suggested, by recalling the

memory of him whose name stands at the head of this article, and whose early death caused mourning in so many hearts.

Alfred Saxe was the son of Jacob Saxe, and was born in Sheldon, Vt., September 5, A. D., 1814. When about three years of age, his father removed to Plattsburgh, N. Y., and fixed his residence upon the banks of Lake Champlain, at the mouth of Salmon river. In this beautiful yet secluded spot, he passed the period of his childhood, and it could hardly be expected that this period of his life would present much that is either striking or peculiar.

When not yet five years of age, an incident occurred, which, however trivial in itself, is yet interesting as exhibiting that coolness and presence of mind, and that decision and promptness of action, for which, in subsequent life, he was so remarkable. He was at play, on a warm summer afternoon, along the banks of the stream above alluded to, in company with a boy two years older than himself, and a little girl, when the latter slipped from the log upon which she was standing, and, as the water was deep and no help near, was in danger of be ing drowned. Little Alfred did not run for help, as many older than himself would have done, or look idly on, as his companion seemed disposed to do, but promptly rushed to her rescue, with the spirit and courage of a man. She was yet within reach of the log from which she fell, and the little boy of five years, dashing aside the bonnet which covered her head, and which he had sufficient presence of mind to know would check her res piration, or suffer her to slip from him, he seized her hair, and thus bore her above the water, until his feeble cries brought the requisite aid. But such was the shock produced upon his sensitive nature, that long after the occurrence his eyes would fill with tears, whenever he recalled the exciting scene.

In early life he imbibed a strong desire for knowledge, and some portion of his time each day was devoted to his books. At this period, history was his favorite study, and he stored his mind with a great variety of historical facts. These were so classified that he could readily call them to mind, and relate them in order; and his childish heart seemed filled with rapture, when he could collect around him a company of listeners, and rehearse to them the incidents gathered from historic records. And it was not uncommon to behold the laborers in his father's employ (of which, at this time, there were a large number), gathered, at the close of the day, around the youthful Alfred, then only twelve years of age, listening, as to an oracle, while, with a flushed countenance and beaming eye, he related some event gleaned from the annals of the past.

When about fifteen years of age, he became deeply impressed with a sense of the importance of religion. With him, feeling was sure to lead to action; and, although there was no general revival at that time, he soon obtained the pardoning favor of God. From that moment a new life was indeed opened before him, and new powers were stirred into being by the moving of the Holy Ghost. Thoughts, to which his mind had before been a stranger, were awakened; desires and aims of a more lofty character were presented, and motives more mighty in their influence, began to operate upon his soul; and connected with all his thoughts of usefulness, was the great work of the ministry. The impression, gentle at first, continued to deepen, until his earnest heart became satisfied that the authority to which he had vowed submission, now directed him to go forth and "call sinners to repentance."

But he realized the solemn responsibility of this office, and the duty of employing every means to prepare him