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and in a climate much colder than that to which he had been accustomed, he went and found the Bishop, and staid with him. until he arrived at his own house in Indiana. While with the Bishop, Brother Brown was ordained to the office of a deacon. In December he returned from the north, and entered upon the duties of his station as assistant preacher in Lebanon circuit. Our beloved brother Brown may properly be styled a martyr in the work of God. His exertions and labours subjected him to frequent afflictions. Several attacks of sickness, of the Biliary form, were met by his physicians, and his life preserved; but he knew not how to spare himself, when he saw souls perishing for lack of knowledge. His unremitted exertions, in riding and preaching day and night, through every kind of exposure, were greater than the strength of the man was able to bear. When he attended the Camp-Meeting at Salem, near Nashville, the 13th of July, he was almost literally reduced to a skeleton, and was scarcely able to keep up; and yet when he ascended the pulpit, it seemed as if the spirit of the Lord was poured out upon him in such a manner, that he forgot his weakness, and his hearers could think of nothing but the subject which he poured into their souls. His congregation seemed in their imagination to leave the world behind, and ascend with him, until the light of eternity would flash upon the assembly, and his voice be lost amidst the shouts and cries of the people.

He returned from this meeting, and commenced the necessary arrangements for the Camp-Meeting at Ebenezer in his own circuit, which was to commence, July 27th. On Sabbath the 22d, he preached on a funeral occasion, from 1 Thess. iv. 13, 14. But I would not have you to be ignorant, Brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died, and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. The congregation was large, and deeply affected. This was the last sermon he preached: he lodged that night at Brother Seays, where he had uncommon liberty and much of the divine presence while engaged in family prayer.

Here he sunk under the weight of his labour. On Monday the 23d he was unable to proceed any further on his appointments; his fever was violent, and continued so on Tuesday; and as it affected his head, he was much of his time delirious. On Wednesday the 24th, Doctor Frazer, his good friend, in the town of Lebanon, went with his carriage and brought him to his own. house, where every attention was paid to him, which could possibly be required, as long as he lived. He requested the doctor to be plain and candid with him, and let him know should he think his situation doubtful, which the doctor promised he would do. On Friday night he grew worse, and on being informed by the doctor that his case was very doubtful, and possibly he might not

live till morning, "Well, Doctor," said he, "I have given myself to the Lord," and appeared to receive the information with a mind perfectly resigned and stayed upon God. He however survived the struggle of that night. On doctor Frazer's suggesting the propriety of calling in a consulting physician, brother Brown consented, and named Doctor Yandle, preferring him, in consequence of his life having been preserved the preceding year (as he believed) by the prompt and energetic practice of a physician who had studied and practiced with Dr. Yandle. The physicians when met, concurred in the mode of treatment, but the heavenly summons had come. His brother Hartwell H. Brown and Robert Paine, who entered into the ministry the same time he did, were both with him, and attended his bed-side night and day. He became very weak, and unable to converse or suffer much company in the room. The business of his circuit and the approaching Camp-Meeting, seemed to lie with peculiar weight upon his mind; his solicitude respecting the success of the meeting, and the prosperity of the circuit, it was thought frequently brought on, and increased his fever. On Thursday evening, August 2d, I arrived in the neighbourhood on my way to the Camp-Meeting, and hearing of his situation, I went early on Friday morning to see him. When I entered his room, he reached his hand to me, and looked some moments very wishfully in my face, at last he said, "and you have found me." I asked him if he retained his confidence in God, he replied, "I do," and mentioned the happiness he enjoyed the last time he preached, and the comfort he experienced in family prayer the night. before he was taken sick. I asked him if he then felt like giving himself up to the Lord, and trusting in him, he answered, "I do." When he was asked by one present, if he regretted having started to preach the gospel,he answered, "O no!" and on being asked a second time if he had it to do again, would he do it? he very feelingly replied, "O yes, yes." "O yes, yes." When I informed him, I was going to the Camp-ground (which was four miles from Lebanon) he said, "you ought to be there, but" (after pausing a while to collect strength said) "you must come back and see me-When I left my Father's house I put myself under your care,-you are my friend, -see me through." This was an appeal to my feelings which I could not resist; accordingly I staid but little of my time on the Camp-ground. On Saturday morning a little before day, it was again thought the time of his departure had come; he received the information without manifesting any degree of surprise or alarm, and after making a disposition of his property, which he did in the most deliberate and judicious manner, he mentioned his relations; " tell my father and mother," said he, "to go onnot to grieve for me, and I shall soon meet them in heaven-and tell my dear sister to meet me at the throne of God." Being asked respecting his belief in the doctrines of our church, which he

had preached, he replied, "he had no doubt of their truth, and still most unquestionably believed them." When asked if he did not still feel a wish to recommend a religious life, as the surest and sweetest life on earth, he answered in his usual manner, "0 yes, yes." He seemed particularly fond of conversation about the doctrine of holiness or sanctification; and of the goodness of God to him. He expressed the deepest gratitude to God for his kind protection to him through the numerous vicissitudes of life, and particularly for his conviction, conversion, and call to the ministry. He would frequently call on those around his bed, saying, "pray to my good Maker-O bless the Lord-Glory to God." In this way he continued until Sunday night, when the doctor again despaired of bringing the system under the influence of medicine, and informed him he must certainly die, to which he listened with his usual composure. After some minutes looking at brother Paine, who was standing by him, he said, "I am gone," alluding to his death. When brother Paine spoke to him about entering into his heavenly rest, he joyfully added, “Heaven! the weary wanderer's rest." When informed day was breaking, and that he would soon see a Sun that would never set-you will soon be he interrupted brother Paine by adding," I shall soon be past the portals of light." He requested his brother to take his horse and dedicate him to the good purpose of travelling the circuit, "and always recollect," said he, "when you get up to preach, get up in the Spirit, and preach in the Spirit, you can't preach without the Spirit." To another of his friends, a young preacher, he said, "It is an awful thing to be a minister of the gospel,-better never start than to be unfaithful."

In this frame of mind he continued until Wednesday, at which time I had to leave him, and we all flattered ourselves, there was a prospect of his recovery; but it was only the effort of expiring nature, summoning up all its strength for the last conflict. In the evening he grew worse again, and gradually sunk, until he bid this world adieu. A little before he breathed his last, he said to a mother in Israel, who attended him almost constantly, "If I had to live again I would live as I have lived,-only I would go out with double zeal, and spend another life in preaching the gospel of a crucified Jesus to perishing sinners," and added, "I would rather die now, than live and not be able to preach the gospel." In a letter to me, giving an account of his last moments, Doctor Frazer writes, "His occasional remarks to me, when labouring under the heart-rending precursors of his dissolution, warrants me in believing that he enjoyed strong evidences of his eternal felicity. When I let him know he could not recover, he replied, 'I thank you, sir, for your candour,—I thank my God he has been propitious to me, my peace is made, my Christ smiles in my face, and if it is the will of my good Maker to take me now, I am ready,-his will be done, -Doctor,' said he, 'I have no wish to live in this world, only to VOL. VI. 12

serve my good Maker as long as he will let me live, and then to wing my way to heaven.' At another time he remarked, that his friends all appeared to be alarmed for him; but, said he, "I am not alarmed, —I am in the hands of my good God, in whom I have great confidence,' and shouted in acclamations of praise and thanksgiving, observing, that the light of his Saviour's reconciled countenance shone brighter than he ever saw it before.' As well as I can recollect, it was about forty minutes before he expired, that I saw his lips moving, and felt a wish to know his mind. I asked him if he had that unbounded confidence yet in his God for his eternal salvation, that he had always expressed? He replied, 'I have; and in a few minutes sweetly fell asleep." These were his last words,-human nature sunk, and died, but the immortal spirit lives for ever. Without a struggle or a groan he reclined his head as in the bosom of his Master and breathed his last, a little before day, on Friday, August 10th. On Saturday his remains were deposited in the silent tomb, in the burying-ground at Ebenezer, near the Camp-ground. On Sunday, September 2d, I preached his funeral sermon at the stage on the Camp-ground, near his grave, to about two thousand people. It was a weeping time. Some of the people came more than twenty miles. They met in silence,-took their seats, and wept on account of their loss, and the loss the church had sustained; but our mourning was not of the bitter kind: a confidence that our much loved brother, had joined the church triumphant, seemed to sweeten our sorrow, while we cherished the consoling reflection, that we should meet him again, in that heavenly city whither he has gone.

As a Christian, and a Christian Minister, brother Brown was admired and esteemed by hundreds and thousands, who knew and heard him. Had wealth, or worldly distinctions, or the comforts of domestic enjoyment been objects of magnitude in his estimation, few young men enjoyed more flattering prospects than he did; but these were nothing in his view, when he felt the word of God like fire in his bones. He enjoyed the advantage of a good education. good education. His knowledge, particularly of the English Grammar, and of the English Language, was such as qualified him, in a very eminent degree, for the work to which he was called of God. His mind was super-eminently illuminated by the divine truths of the gospel. His religious enjoyments were not occasional flashes, but a constant, steady flame of pure rational Christian happiness. He was cheerful and agreeable, and at the same time solemn in his deportment. In him we beheld a devotion of the most refined character. It was at once, both humble and elevated in its nature. His language in prayer, was the most natural, easy, and childlike mode of expression, while his earnestness clearly evinced, that he had immediate and near access to a mercy-seat. His zeal was perfectly scriptural, ardent,

steady, pure and persevering; kindled at the altar of God, it went not out by day or night. When in the pulpit, he appeared to receive the flame immediately from heaven, and gave it in its purity to his hearers. He seldom addressed a congregation without feeling the subject himself; and one of the most distinguishing characteristics of his discourses was, that they never failed to inspire the mind of his hearers with the liveliest sensations of happiness. His judgment was excellent in the selection of a subject applicable to his audience, and his memory such, that he was seldom at a loss; and although he might give ideas which we had often read, or heard before, his manner and method were so peculiarly his own, that what he said appeared to be entirely new and original. His eloquence was purely that of the pulpit. There was nothing trifling in his matter or manner, when he was engaged on an important point; nothing facetious, nor chaffy was addressed to the skittish fancy of his hearers. He informed the judgment by pouring instruction on the mind, and communicating divine light in a solemn and impressive manner. He awakened the conscience by closely applying the truths of the gospel, and developing the depravity of human nature, in the practices of mankind, in such a manner, that sinners present, have sometimes thought themselves personally alluded to; and have charged their companions with giving information respecting their conduct and sentiments. He would then move all the affections or feelings of his hearers, by exhibiting alternately to their minds, the beauty of religion and the deformity of vice,the happiness of the righteous, and the miseries of the wicked,the glories of heaven, and the gloomy horrors of hell. His sermons were warm and powerful addresses to his congregations, in which he very judiciously connected doctrinal, experimental and practical religion, with its resulting consequences. He was both a Boanerges, and a son of consolation. At one moment, with divine authority, he would pour forth all the thunders of Sinai; and the next moment he seemed to be a heavenly messenger standing on Mount-Calvary, and in angelic strains, imparting balm to the wounds which had been made. He was tall and athletic in his person, fair in his complexion, and of an intelligent and interesting countenance. We loved and esteemed him very highly for his work's sake, while he was with us, but we had not a full conception of his true greatness, until after he was taken from us. In him the church militant has lost one of its most useful ornaments, but his work is done; and we have not a doubt, but he now enjoys the reward of his labour of love, "where the wicked cease to trouble, and the weary are at rest."

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