A Memorial of Mrs. Margaret Breckinridge

by John Breckinridge; Samuel Miller

When her mind began to open to this subject, the glory of our revivals was beginning to be tarnished. "The enemy had begun to sow his tares." The extravagance which so frequently attended them, had produced in her no little disgust for what she thought the mere machinery of religion. In such circumstances, it is difficult to "choose the good, and refuse the evil." The cast of her mind was such, that parade in any thing, and especially in the vital concerns, in which is involved our everlasting destiny, irresistibly revolted her mind. And the errors in principle and in practice, which had been by these means insinuated into, and corrupted the legitimate and professed doctrines and ordinances of the Presbyterian Church, greatly impaired her confidence in what many good people esteemed genuine revivals of religion. Subsequent events have abundantly confirmed the wisdom of her early and deep distrust.

After her constitution had been tried with another violent and unusual attack, in March, 1838, which prostrated nearly all her remaining strength in a few hours, it was evident to many of her friends, that recovery was no longer to be expected. Every means, however, were made use of, that might in any way prove salutary; many of which, as has often occurred, were rather injurious than beneficial. As a last resource, a journey was commenced, for the purpose of trying the Springs of Virginia, so highly recommended to invalids. She was not permitted, however, to go beyond Philadelphia. Her physicians there, judging so long a journey very hazardous, gently arrested it, by proposing a delay of a few days; thus endeavouring to obviate the effects of any disappointment which she might experience. Her own views seemed, spontaneously, to meet theirs, and a quiet acquiescence was every day more manifest. After a consultation of physicians, in which they agreed that an effort might be safely made for her return to Princeton, the sweet complacency with which she said to a very kind friend, who was visiting her, "I am going home to-morrow," encouraged a hope that she had realized her danger; and that her will was gradually moulding to the Divine will, and she preparing for a far better home.

It appeared as if she was permitted to get thus far on her journey, in order to gratify the feelings, and experience the renewed kindness of friends, whom her husband had attached to his family, from his temporary labours amongst them. The attention of these, and indeed many others, whom their interesting circumstances were a means of winning to them, is deeply felt in the family circle, of which she was a beloved member; and which will continue to be felt, as long as her memory shall be cherished amongst them.

It was with difficulty that she was removed to her own residence at Princeton, a few days before she died, fully sensible that her departure was not far off. One of her anxious friends, wishing to be more satisfied of this, said: "You know, my dear Margaret, how ill you are?" A most emphatic "O yes," silenced every remaining doubt.

The day before she died, the conversation leading to the subject of death, she said, "I am only afraid of the article of death: I know that when this is over, I shall be in Jesus' arms." From one, so slow to speak, these were encouraging words.

A few hours after this, she awoke from a light sleep, with that sort of bewildered spirit, which is frequently experienced under circumstances of so much weakness, especially when accompanied with, perhaps, the effects of an opiate, and repealed the name of a person, with which she had been familiar in her childhood. She observed, "what easy words!" Some one present remarked—there are words equally easy. She said, "tell me some." Upon being referred to a Psalm which had been spoken of the day before, she commenced, as having found something exceedingly pleasant—"The Lord is my shepherd"—and continued to the end of this short and interesting portion of the Word of God, in a tone of sweetness and solemnity, which impressed every one present, adding her testimony to the sweetness of the words. It appeared as if, while the world was fast receding, her character was rapidly finishing in the mould of this precious Word.

Reason was continued to her until the last departing moment, when, after a violent but short struggle, which seemed to arrest every mental exercise, except that which led her spirit immediately to "Him who takes away the sting of death," the freshness of former years was restored to her complexion, which had been, for some months, suffused with feverishness, and marked with suffering, and a calm and solemn composure settled on her countenance, appearing full of meaning, which persuaded those who were around her, that she had some communication to make. But her mouth was sealed, and her hand could no longer effect the gentlest pressure. We were left to conclude, that when in her agony she had cried—"Come, Lord Jesus—come quickly;"—"Lord Jesus receive my spirit," "she was heard, in that she asked;" and the freshness of everlasting youth, casting one parting ray upon her mortal countenance, had passed upon her, and "she had gone to be forever with the Lord."

"She being dead yet speaketh," and speaks, especially, to all who yet live of her youthful associates. Many of them are, as she was, called to sustain the character of wife and mother, and their history in its prominent features, most probably resembles hers. Her course was marked with much failure in duty, over which she mourned, and, in view of which she seemed deeply humbled. She once said—many months before she died—"O! if the Lord were to send his bereaving commission into my family, I could never forgive myself for the manner in which I have failed to improve the trust committed to me, and fulfilled the duties to which I have been called." Hear the voice which speaking, says, "My dear companions in sin and infirmity, I leave you a poor example. But I exhort you to become believingly and affectionately acquainted with Him, who has borne me through the dark valley and shadow of death, and 'presented me faultless before his Father, clothed in his righteousness, and washed in his blood.'"

"Ye cannot, though Christian wives and mothers, do the things ye would;" but there is a fountain opened, in which your poorest desires and efforts, though like filthy rags, "may be washed and made white, and made instrumental for much good." Point this out to your children, "talk to them in the house and by the way, in sitting down and rising up," of this only hope of perishing sinners. And lest, after all, they should come short, plead, unceasingly, the promises for them, and take hold by faith of the blessing. O! how will you rejoice if you can say, "Here am I Lord, and the children thou hast given me." In order to sustain your character as wives, aim continually, by prayer, to obtain the gift of a meek and quiet spirit, "which in the sight of God is of great price, that even the unbelieving husband may be won to the knowledge of the truth."