James Hay Beattie.

Extracts from the "Life and Character of James Hay Beattie," by his father, James Beattie, LL. D.

"November 28, 1790. I INTEND to write a short account of the life, education and character of my son, now deceased. It will innocently, and perhaps not unprofitably, amuse some hours of this melancholy season, when my mind can settle on nothing else. In order to convey a favorable notion of the person of whom I speak, I have nothing to do but to tell the simple truth.

To parents, and other near relations, infancy is very interesting; but can hardly supply any thing of narrative. My son's was in no respect remarkable, unless perhaps for a mildness and docility of nature, which adhered to him through life. I do not remember, that I ever had occasion to reprove him above three or four times; bodily chastisement he never experienced at all. It would indeed have been most unreasonable to apply this mode of discipline to one, whose supreme

concern it ever was to know his duty, and to do it.

The first rules of morality I taught him were, to speak truth, and keep a secret; and I never found that in a single instance he transgressed either.

The doctrines of religion I wished to impress on his mind, as soon as it might be prepared to receive them; but I did not see the propriety of making him commit to memory theological sentences, or any sentences, which it was not possible for him to understand. And I was desirous to make a trial how far his own reason would go in tracing out, with a little direction, the great and first principle of all religion, the being of God.

In general company, indeed, he was (though not awkward,) modest to a degree that bordered on bashfulness; and so silent, that some people would have thought him inattentive. But nothing escaped his observation; though what he had observed he never applied to any improper purpose. And I have known, not any other person of his, and very few persons of any age, who with so penetrating an eye discerned the characters of men. I, who knew his opinions on all subjects, do not remember any instance of his being in this respect mis

taken. Yet so careful was he to avoid giving offence, that none but a few of his most intimate friends knew that he had such a talent.

In the end of June, 1790, a cough made its appearance; and it was then I began to lose hopes of his recovery, as I have reason to think he also did; he saw death approaching, and met it with his usual calmness and resignation. "How pleasant a medicine is christianity!" he said one evening, while he was expecting the physician, whom he had sent for, in the belief that he was just going to expire. Sometimes he would endeavor to reconcile my mind to the thought of parting with him; but, for fear of giving me pain, spoke seldom and sparingly on that subject. His composure he retained, as well as the full use of his rational faculties, to the last; nor did his wit and humor forsake him, till he was no longer able to smile, or even to speak, except in a whisper.

One day, long before the little incident last mentioned, when I was sitting by him, soon after our second return from sea, he began to speak in very affectionate terms, as he often did, of what he called my goodness to him. I begged him to drop that subject; and was proceeding to tell him, that I had never done.

any thing for him but what duty required and inclination prompted; and that, for the little I had done, his filial piety and other virtues were to me more than a sufficient recompense, when he interrupted me, (which he was not apt to do,) and, starting up, with inexpressible fervor and solemnity, implored the blessing of God upon me. His look, at that moment, though I shall never forget it, I can describe in no other way than by saying, that it seemed to have in it something more than human, and what I may, not very improperly perhaps, call angelic. Seeing me agitated, he expressed concern at what he had done, and said that, whatever might be in his mind, he would not any more put my feelings to so severe a trial. Sometimes, however, warm sentiments of gratitude would break from him; and those were the only occasions on which, during the whole course of his illness, he was observed to shed tears, till the day before his death, when he desired to see his brother, gave him his blessing, wept over him, and bade him farewell.

As his life drew towards a close, his pains abated considerably, and he passed a good deal of time in sleep. When I asked him whether his dreams were distressing, he said,

"No; for he sometimes dreamed of walking with me, which was an idea peculiarly soothing to his mind.”

At seven in the morning of the nineteenth of November, 1790, he said his throat was dry, and desired a draught to be given him. Mr. Wilson stept to the table to fetch it: but before he got back to the bed-side, the last breath was emitted, without a groan, or even a sigh.

I have lost the pleasantest, and, for the last four or five years of his short life, one of the most instructive companions, that ever man was delighted with.* But, "the Lord gave; the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." I adore the Author of all good, who gave him grace to lead such a life, and die such a death, as makes it impossible for a christian to doubt of his having entered upon the inheritance of a happy immortality."

*The loss of this, and soon after, of another, and his only surviving son, Montagu, deeply affected the mind of Dr. Beattie. He bore indeed these great trials with an exemplary piety; but they weighed upon his spirits, and even produced a temporary loss of memory respecting them. His accomplished biographer, Sir William Forbes, relates the following most touching incident, concerning the younger son: "Many times his father could not recollect what had become of him; and, after searching in every room of the house, he would say to his niece, "You may think it strange, but I must ask you if I have a son, and where he is."-Life of Dr. Beattie, vol. iii.