MY DEAR SISTERS,—YOU well know the deep sorrow through which we have been called to pass, in the illness and death of our precious little Dottie; but, while sorely distressed on account of our loss, we do greatly rejoice in the exceeding grace of God manifested to and in our darling; and for the praise of Him who said, “Suffer the little ones to come unto Me;” and to encourage you to bring your own dear children early to Jesus, I want to tell you how sweetly our darling’s heart was drawn to Jesus when a babe of less than three years old.
We received her as a precious gift from the Lord, in the place of our sweet Katie, whom He had taken to Himself about sixteen months previously; and sweetly did she fill the void, for she grew full of life and love, and was so open and winning, that all who knew her loved her; and she was, so to speak, the sunshine of our home. The memory of her short sojourn here is very precious, with scarcely one sorrowful exception. Our great desire was to lead her little heart to Jesus; and oh, how graciously were our desires met, and our efforts blessed! The Lord indeed caused the seed sown to take root, and bear fruit a hundredfold: to His dear name be all the praise!
Before our darling was two years old, the sweet tale of Jesus taking little children in His arms and blessing them had won her heart, and she would listen with intense delight while told about it. As soon as she could talk, she would get on my lap, and say, “Now, ma, tell me about Jesus;” and resting her head on my bosom would listen as long as I would speak to her, and then say, “I like that.”
Her brother Charlie had a book with many pictures, that pleased her exceedingly, but none of them so much as one of the crucifixion; this she would select from all the others (indeed, the page is quite soiled with her reference to it), and with her elbows on the table, and her little head in her hands, she would look at it a long time, and then say, “That’s Jesus; He died for us; He loves us;” and the quiet confidence of her manner showed that she comprehended the precious truth. Indeed, I believe one of the first things she felt and believed was that she was a sinner; and that Jesus died for her. Well may we say with the Lord Jesus, “I thank Thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes.” About this time she wanted “to learn a little prayer to say to Jesus,” and one of her sisters taught her—
“Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child;
Put Thy gracious band on me,
And make me all I ought to be.”
Kneeling in her sister’s lap, she would repeat these words, and then of her own accord would add, “Please, Jesus, make me good;” and as she grew older, other little petitions were added, with all the simplicity of an infant’s heart. She would never omit her little prayer, if she could help it; but more than once, when I have gone to look at her in bed, supposing she was asleep, she has said, “I have not said my prayer, mamma; I must get out of bed and say my prayer;” and then she would do so with such earnest simplicity, and afterward go to bed so happy! When she had her goodnight kiss, she would often say, “I not afraid, ma; Jesus can see me;” and at another time would add, “God never goes to sleep.”
Her faith and trust in Jesus was very precious, and she seemed to delight in the thought that He saw her always. The manner in which she spoke of Him was at times almost startling; she always did so with the greatest solemnity, and yet as a real living person, one who loved her, and whom she loved.
God she seemed to know as a Father, and would say, “God gives me food and nice clothes, and takes care of me” (Matt. 6:3232(For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. (Matthew 6:32)); but of Jesus her constant tale was, “He died for us; He can make us well,” evidently in her heart appreciating the precious truth in one of her hymns
“He went about, He was so kind,” &c.
I had often told her of her two little sisters in heaven, and one day, after telling her again how happy they were, I added, “They see Jesus.” She looked up, and in her own sweet assured manner said, “I shall some when.” Precious child! I little thought that in a few months she would see Him whom, unseen, she loved. She had a most retentive memory, and was intelligent beyond her age; before she was three years old she could repeat many hymns, and was very fond of singing. Her grandmamma gave her a little book, “Tracts for Children,” and she had it read to her till she knew all the tales the pictures were about; but the hymns pleased her most, and as they were read to her she would say of one, “That’s a prayer;” of another, “That’s a hymn;” and again, “I shall sing that to Jesus.” It was not only her delight to hear about Jesus, but the sweet, intelligent remarks she made showed how fully she understood what she heard, and her eyes would brighten with joy as she heard of the love of Jesus.
Her love of the Bible, which she called “God’s book,” was very great; and although she could not read, she had a Testament of her own, and always held it open at our morning reading. Scarcely a day passed without her bringing it to me, and saying, “Now, mamma, read to me about Jesus,” and with great delight she would listen to the oft-repeated tale of Jesus dying and rising again, and of His wonderful works while living, and respond to all most sweetly.
She had a beautiful manner of responding to what was said to her; for instance, when repeating to her the hymn,
“I think, when I read that sweet story of old,”
she would say at the end of each verse, “Ah, I wish I had!” “Yes, I do!” &c.
She was very fond of Bible stories, especially of David’s killing the lion and rescuing the lamb. I recollect once telling her that David loved his lambs; and would not let the lion have one; that was like Jesus, He loved His lambs, and would not let Satan have one of them; but that Jesus did more than David: he killed the lion, but Jesus died for His lambs. She took up the thought directly, and made some sweet remarks which I have now forgotten; but I know my heart greatly rejoiced at her faith in the love of Jesus, and as long as she lived, Jesus as the Good Shepherd had a peculiar hold on her heart.
The following hymn she was very fond of, and in her dying hour it gave her comfort: —
“A little lamb went straying
Among the hills one day,
Leaving its faithful shepherd,
Because it loved to stray.
And while the sun shone brightly
It knew no thought of fear,
For flowers around were blooming,
And balmy was the air.
But night came over quickly,
The hollow breezes blew,
The sun soon ceased its shining,
All dark and dismal grew.
The little lamb stood bleating,
And well indeed it might,
So far from home and shepherd,
And on so dark a nigh;
But, ah! the faithful shepherd
Soon missed the little thing,
And onward went to seek it,
And home again to bring.
He sought on hill and valley,
And called it by its name:
He sought, nor ceased his seeking,
Until he found his lamb.
Then to his gentle bosom
The little lamb he pressed;
And as he bore it homewards,
He fondly it caressed.
The little lamb was happy
To find itself secure;
The shepherd, too, was joyful,
Because his lamb he bore.
And now, dear little children,
There’s a Shepherd up on high,
Who came to seek the straying,
Who all deserved to die.
For sin each lamb had ruined,
And far from God had led;
But, oh, what love unbounded!
He suffered in their stead.”
On the Sunday school being opened, she greatly desired to go, but being so very young (only two and a half years), we objected, but her pleadings prevailed, and ever after nothing could induce her to stay away. There she soon learned to sing hymns, and then, as she nursed her doll, or played about, her little voice, clear and strong, would be heard singing some of her hymns, but most frequently, “There is a happy land;” “Glory, glory, glory;” “Here’s a message of love;” and “Mothers of Salem.” These she loved, and often when she has sung her hymn has she said (with a look I cannot describe), “I shall sing that to Jesus, ma; God will let me, won’t He?” Truly, “Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings God has perfected praise.”
The Lord’s day was one of special enjoyment to her; entirely of her own accord she would lay aside her playthings, and as each blessed day returned, very soon after breakfast she would say, “I must not play on Sundays; but I may have my book and my pencil, and you must read me my hymn.” This hymn was on an illuminated card, and greatly treasured by her, for it was the echo of her own little thoughts—
“’Tis Sunday morning, dear mamma,
I do not wish to play;
Last night I put my doll and toys
Safe in my box away.
I’ll come and sit down by your side,
While you the story tell
Of the good little Joseph, whom
His father loved so well,
And how the infant Moses, too,
Floated the Nile along,
And how his mother made for him
The basket-cradle strong.
Please tell these Bible stories, then,
And take me on your knee,
And I’ll sit still, my dear mamma,
And listen quietly.”
The last Lord’s day my darling could stand she brought her hymn to be read. She loved to go to the meetings, and her quiet manner and happy face were often remarked; though she did not understand what was said, she knew that Jesus was the theme, and that the bread and wine were taken in remembrance of His death; and that was quite enough to arrest her attention, and awaken in her little heart thoughts of love and peace.
One Lord’s day, before she was three years old, her papa was very poorly, and could not go out; and, as it was very cold, we thought it best for Dottie to stay at home. At first she objected, but her papa said, “We’ll have a meeting at home, Dottie;” she was then quite willing to stay, and when we returned home, she ran up to me full of glee, and said, “Pa and me had a meeting, ma.” They had sung some hymns, and talked about Jesus; indeed, her papa was astonished at her remarks. In the course of her conversation, she had said to him, “I have two little sisters in heaven, and they have white frocks on, and harps in their hands, and crowns. I have got a very wicked heart, but Jesus will wash it in His precious blood, and make me so clean; and I shall go to heaven, and have a harp and a crown too.” In the evening of the same day her papa read to her and her brother Charlie a little book, entitled, “I love Jesus.” When he had finished, she said very earnestly, “I love Jesus, I do. Do you, Charlie?” appealing to her brother.
She often asked of others if such a one loved Jesus, and if told they did, her heart would open to them at once. That she loved Jesus with no childish love was apparent to anyone who spoke to her about Him.
During the last four months of her little life, we could plainly discern the work of the Spirit in her heart; she expressed herself so clearly and sweetly about the Lord Jesus and His “precious blood.” She always said, “PRECIOUS blood,” and that little word showed how she valued it. Surely this was the work of the Spirit, for no human teaching ever made Jesus or His blood precious to one soul. We must adore the wonderful grace of God in revealing the power of that blood, and showing the need of it to such a little one; nothing but the work of the Spirit could have led my darling to say, “I have a very wicked heart, but Jesus will wash it in His PRECIOUS blood, and make me so clean, and I shall go to heaven, and have a harp and a crown.” Precious Gospel! that gave my little one such full assurance: she had no doubts, no uncertainty, but simple faith in the precious blood, and joy in the result of its perfect cleansing. It is sweet to remember how her heart was occupied with Jesus; it really seemed “full of thoughts of Jesus, and of heaven where He is gone.”
Heaven seemed so near to her, she would associate it with anything that gave her pleasure, and she would speak of it as a place to which she was soon going; for instance, she had a pink frock made, and the first time she wore it, she said, very simply, “I must have my pretty frock in heaven.”
She was told she would not want it there; Jesus had a white robe for her in heaven. She answered, “Very well,” and never again referred to her frock.
To talk or sing of Jesus was her great delight. To any one she would sing of His love; even in the workshop her voice was not silent. We have often missed her, and found she had been singing “Happy Land” and “Mothers of Salem” to the men, and telling them she was going to heaven, and should have a harp and a crown. So much was one impressed by what she said, that, when she was ill, he said, “That child will not get well; she has told us so often she was going to heaven.”
In little things it was sweet to see how her heart was turned to the Lord. She would not eat without a blessing had been asked; and if any at the table began before it was done, she would say, “Stop! we have not said a blessing.”
One day she was sent to fetch something from upstairs, and by mistake she brought a very large instead of a small thing, and as she let it fall at my feet, I said, “How could you bring it down, my darling?” “God helped me,” was her ready answer. This was her real feeling; there was no lightness in her manner when speaking of the things of God, ox of God himself; but at other times she was full of life. It is a matter of great thankfulness to us that our darling scarcely knew a naughty word, or any of the foolish nursery rhymes so common; she had no heart for them, but the pretty lines to the cow, pussy, fly, &c., she was very fond of, and often as she stood watching the flies on the window have I heard her saying, in a low voice—
“God is very kind and good,
Gives even little flies their food.”
She was intensely fond of her baby brother, and, with her arm around his neck, she would sing—
“Little brother, darling boy,
You are very dear to me;
I am happy, full of joy,
When ye smiling face I see.”
Very sweetly, but firmly, had her winning ways and loving heart entwined themselves around our affections; but we knew not how we loved her till she was passing away; and though sometimes we were astonished at her words, and felt how sweetly the Good Shepherd had drawn our little one to His loving heart, yet we did not think how soon He might take her to Himself. But Jesus had beheld and loved Her, and now He called her to come to Him; He would carry the lamb in His bosom; He came into His garden to gather this lily, and though we sometimes sing, “He hath done all things well,” yet how hard it is to give up these precious lambs and say, “Even so, Father; for so it seemeth good in Thy sight”!
The last time she went to the Sunday school was just a month before she died; she was then in good health, and had been for some time very open, so ready to speak of Jesus. That afternoon she came home very happy (Mr. R—had addressed the children), and with great delight she said: “Oh, ma, Mr. R—told us about Jesus making lots of bread for the people, and there was too much; and we sang ‘Mothers of Salem;’ and I LIKED IT, I DID.” On the Monday she bought with her own money several little books to give away, and she told Mr. R— what she loved to tell— “That Jesus would wash her in his precious blood, and make her so clean, and that she would go to heaven,” &c. Before the next Lord’s Day she had taken the whooping cough, and was very poorly. We very soon saw that she would not bear it; she was very slender, never strong, and the cough tried her much; but through all this trying illness we were compelled to adore the grace and love of the Lord towards this lamb of His flock; she was kept in perfect peace, never once cried or fretted, and when asked, “How are you, dear?” she would say, “Not very well.”
To be talked to and sung to about Jesus afforded her real enjoyment. One day I said, “We are very sorry for you, but we cannot make you well.” “No,” she answered, “but Jesus can.” Another morning, on saying, “You have coughed very badly tonight, darling,” she answered, “Yes, Jesus heard me cough, nobody but Jesus,” and then she added, “Nobody but you, and pa, and Jesus.” She was evidently comforted with the thought that Jesus heard her cough; and we, too, felt that He who “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb” would not lay more on His precious one than she could bear. At another time she said, “I cannot say my prayer now.” I said, “You can say, ‘Jesus, bless Dottie.’” “So I do, ma,” she answered.
About a week before she died she was exceedingly weak and ill (having for many days refused all nourishment). I undressed her for the last time, and when her nightdress was on, and I had wrapped her in a shawl, she said, “Now, ma, rock me, and sing to me; sing Happy Land.” I did so. “Now, Mothers of Salem;” but I did not know the tune, and she said, “That’s not right.” I then repeated the words she so loved, and when I said, “Jesus, sweetly smiling, kindly said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto Me,’” she turned her expressive eyes upon me and said, as though delivering a message, “That means suffer ME to come to Him.” (Ah, the Lord knew how hardly we suffered it; but from that hour we sought to give her up to Him who had given her to us.) She then said, “Now, ma, sing Around the throne of God in heaven;” and then her little voice, clear and beautiful, rose above mine. I sang slowly, for her breath was short, and would have ceased at the third verse, but she said, “No; you must sing, ‘Because the Saviour shed His blood.’” And again she sang every word to the end, “Glory, glory, glory.”
A more touching scene I never witnessed, as I held that precious little body, and looked on her sweet pale face, her whole soul beaming in her eyes, as she sang, “Glory, glory, glory.” Anything more beautiful than that last dying strain I never heard; nor can I ever forget. It was her last on earth, but now
“She has learned the song they sing
Whom Jesus has set free,
And the glorious walls of heaven still ring
With her newborn melody.”
Though suffering at times very much, the Lord dealt very gently with our darling; she had sweet sleep and perfect peace. Once in that last week she rallied, and asked for her little book, and told her sisters the stories the pictures were about; but she mostly lay with her eyes closed, and scarcely spoke, unless to answer a question, or to ask us to sing to her. She had become very weak. Before the cough came on, she would moan very much, and it was most touching to hear her say, rather quickly, “Sing, sing—sing Happy Land;” and thoughts of that happy land would calm her distress. On the morning of the Lord’s day on which she was taken from us, she was greatly distressed, and called for one and then another to take her; seeking relief, but not able to obtain it. We were only able to cry to the Lord to quiet her; and as we told her Jesus was here, she said quickly, “Oh, sing, sing Happy Land;” but our hearts were breaking, and we could not sing. She then turned to her papa (who was nursing her), and said, “Tell me about the little lamb.” He did so. Her moaning ceased. The Lord graciously heard our cry, and it did not return.
Throughout the day she was sweetly sensible, and looked at us all more than she had done for some time, frequently asking to be sung to, and to be told about Jesus. In the afternoon, as I was nursing her, she said, “Ma, tell me about the little lamb,” and once again I told her how the Good Shepherd went to seek the little lamb, and when He had found it, He took it up in His arms, and was so happy, because He had found the little lamb. She responded to every sentence, and evidently enjoyed it.
A little while after, I said to her, “Jesus has sought and found ma’s lamb, and is going to take her to His loving bosom, and Dottie will be happy then.” Though scarcely able to speak, she again responded in her peculiar manner. It was very evident that she was fast passing away, but she was so sweetly composed and quiet, that I laid her in her bed on the sofa, thinking she might sleep a little, but in a few minutes the cough came on, and she became insensible. Consciousness never returned, and in a few hours my precious lamb was safely folded. “Absent from the body, present with the Lord.” She fell asleep in Jesus on July 5th 1863, aged three years and five months.