Domestic Portraiture

by Legh Richmond, 1834

(With remarks by Edward Bickersteth)

The successful application of Christian principle in the education of a family, exemplified in the memoirs of three of the deceased children of the Legh Richmond.
 

Life and death of Nugent Richmond

Nugent was the eldest son of Mr. Richmond, was born at Brading, in the Isle of Wight, June 18, 1798. From his birth to the hour of his death he was the child of many prayers to God, for life and salvation through a crucified Redeemer.

"My responsibilities," said Mr. Richmond "are greatly increased by the birth of a son, and I have need of wisdom to preserve this loan of the Lord, and to train up an immortal soul for heaven.

The views of a Christian parent concerning his offspring are not bounded by time, nor his hopes and wishes limited to a present provision. Our heavenly Father knows our needs. We must seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all other things will be supplied as far as is needful to our welfare.

It was Mr. Richmond's earnest desire, that his first-born child should be a minister of the Lord, and a servant of the sanctuary; and his son's course of education was conducted with this view. There was nothing censurable in Mr. Richmond's wishes for his son's introduction into the ministry; but considering the peculiar character and requirements of a minister of the gospel, it may be doubted whether it would not be more consistent that the designation of a young person to that sacred profession should follow, rather than precede, a discovery of fitness for it. I am not here speaking of the awful profanation of making a boy a clergyman because he shows an incapacity for other situations, or with a view to some worldly advancement, or for the sake of literary respectability and enjoyment; such motives and practices cannot be too strongly deprecated—is it not to bring the lame and the blind into the temple, and to offer money for the gift of God? In such, God can have no pleasure, neither will he accept an offering at their hand. (Mai. i. 2, 12.)

But I am adverting to an error, not uncommon even among religious parents, of selecting the future occupation of the ministry for their children, on the general grounds of correct conduct and amiable dispositions. God has taken into his own hands the work of the sanctuary; when He calls and separates by his Spirit, we may cooperate with his purposes, and supply materials and tools for his workmen; but it is seldom desirable to anticipate the divine will on this head, or to forget that there must be, not only a real conversion of heart to God—but a peculiar aptness for the work, to justify an entrance into the sacred calling.

Such was Mr. Richmond's judgment in after-life—and his tender mind sometimes reverted to his disappointment in poor Nugent's delinquencies, as a rebuke for his presumption.

It appears that Mr. Richmond's early adopted the practice of corresponding with his family—and I present to the reader a letter to Nugent, as a pleasing specimen of his happy manner of addressing his children.

My dear little boy,
You cannot think how glad I was to see your letter; so glad that it made me weep—if you knew how dearly I love you, I am sure you would dearly love me; and if you knew how dearly God loves you, you would love him also. Never forget God, for he is always thinking about you—do you not see how good he is to you, in giving you a papa and mamma, and sisters, and friends, and a house to live in, and food, and so many other good things.

I preached a sermon last Sunday to some hundreds of little children, and you can hardly think how well they behaved, and how silently and closely they attended to what they heard. Many of them when they returned home, wrote down what they heard from me at church—when will you do so, my dear Nugent? I hope you get your lesson well for Mr. D.—how kind he is to teach you! I hope you pray for me every day; I often pray for you, and God will hear both you and me, if we pray with our whole hearts. When you have read this letter, you must go and kiss M. and F. and H., and tell them I bid you do so for me, because I am far away, and cannot give them myself a proof of my affection for them.

My Nugent, you are the eldest; if you are a good child, they may follow your example; and if you are a bad boy, it will teach them to be sinful; and that will make God very angry—and me very unhappy. You are now every day growing older, and you ought to grow wiser and better, and then you will be a comfort to us all, and I shall rejoice and praise. I wish you tomorrow morning to read the tenth chapter of the gospel of Mark, and you will see how Jesus Christ loved little children, and how he took them up in his arms, and blessed them. I hope he will bless you, and then you will go to heaven when you die; but without a blessing from Christ, you never can go there. I trust I shall see you again soon. You must pray to God to bring me back in health and safety. I have written to you as long a letter as perhaps you will like to read; one thing only I will add, that I am your truly loving Papa,

For some years Nugent was educated at home; being seldom absent from his father's eye. He had no companions, for Mr. Richmond was afraid of bringing his son in contact with any associations out of his own family. It may be doubted how far it was wise to confine a boy to his own resources for amusement; for at this time Mr. Richmond's had not provided the apparatus, by which he afterwards supplied his children with full employment in their leisure hours—certainly the subsequent transition, from these restraints—to the almost unbounded freedom of association at school, proved injurious to Nugent.

As Mr. Richmond's public engagements increased, he found it necessary to place his son under other superintendence; and he committed him to the care of __; in this situation Nugent attached himself to a companion of bad principles and incorrect conduct, who in the end succeeded in perverting the victim of his confidence. It became necessary to remove the bad example from the family, and at last, though with great reluctance, and bitter disappointment, Mr. Richmond consented to the advice of his friends, and placed his son in a merchant-ship. All hopes of the ministry were abandoned; and Nugent, now a wanderer in the wide world, had to make his own way in life. Many affecting circumstances relating to this exile from his father's house, have been already detailed in Mr. Richmond's own memoirs, and I am obliged to forego their introduction in the present narrative.

The repetition of such details is not, however, essential to my purpose; which is not so much to gratify curiosity, as to show the great advantage of a religious education, amidst the most discouraging and distressing disappointments; and that the promises of eventual success, under all the oppositions of a fallen nature, and the worst temptations to evil, will ultimately reward the faithful and conscientious discharge of our duty towards our children.

Mr. Richmond gave his son, on his departure from this country, a Bible, and a paper of admonitions and instructions for his conduct. Amidst all his irregularities, Nugent revealed a grateful and affectionate temper. His errors were evidently those of a thoughtless and yielding disposition, rather than of a deep-rooted and wicked propensity; he sincerely loved his father, and he preserved, with a kind of religious veneration, these two testimonies of his regard; never losing them, though twice shipwrecked, and though all the other little property that he had realized was then swept away.

He was evidently deeply impressed by his parents' bright example, and he kept up a regular correspondence with them. Mr. Richmond's letters are lost; but some extracts from those of his son will serve strongly to illustrate the good effects of past instructions.

It never should be forgotten that there is a moral influence in Christian principles, which keeps evil within certain bounds, even when those principles have not penetrated the heart; and bad as unconverted people often appear, amidst all the pains taken with them, they would probably be much worse without the unseen restraint which thus operates within them. A lodgment of truth once made in the mind, cannot afterwards be wholly eradicated. Conviction often returns, and at last, as in the present instance, produces a saving change of heart and life.

Nugent was not long on the mighty deep before he acknowledged the mistake of his removal from home, and began deeply to repent of the follies which rendered it necessary.

My dear Father and Mother,
I am now, as it may be said, at the other end of the world—but still I often think of you and home. I often reflect on my past conduct, and bitterly bewail my folly; if I had not done what I ought not to have done—I might now be resting comfortably under your roof, instead of having to bear very great hardships by night and by day; but I will not complain of my chastisement, and have indeed far greater comforts than I deserve.

Papa, I am far away—but I often think of you and of my dear mother, to whom I have occasioned bitter sorrows. Alas! I fear my offences can never be forgiven.. The maxims and rules you gave me, I cherish and keep by me.

Oh! how I look back on the hopes and fears, alarms and anxieties of my dear parents. If God permits me ever to see them again, I hope it will be under different circumstances and feelings. May He preserve me amidst the winds and waves.

I am still your affectionate son,
Nugent
 

There was something so sincere in this his first letter, that Mr. Richmond's anticipated the return of his son from the voyage with all that strength of affection which issued from his loving tender heart on all occasions. He longed to embrace the poor wanderer, and mingle his tears with those of his child, saying, "This my son was dead—and is alive again! He was lost—and now is found!" but these fond hopes were disappointed. Nugent left the vessel in which he sailed, in opposition to the remonstrances of the captain; to whom he had been entrusted, with directions to bring him back to England. Mr. Richmond's had only intended to try the effect of absence and employment, in reclaiming his son, and not to fix him forever in the perilous occupation of a seafaring life. The captain proceeded on her voyage without him, and he had soon reason to regret his own indiscretion (for such it was, though God meant it for good), when he found himself cast on the world without means of livelihood, without friends, or even an acquaintance who could advise and help him; a youth of only seventeen years of age, and separated from all who felt any interest in his welfare. In this desolate and almost hopeless state, he addressed the following letter to the senior chaplain of Ceylon.

Dear Sir,
There are many occasions in life when it is easier to write than to speak, particularly when we are obliged to speak of ourselves. Your known condescension and kindness encourages me to hope you will pardon my present intrusion.

It is proper I would acknowledge that my own thoughtlessness and inconsiderate conduct, and neglect of the instructions of an excellent father, have been the cause of my present misfortunes. I ran away from school, and spent my time in dissipation with the young farmers of my neighborhood; which gave my poor father great uneasiness and many a miserable hour; and finding me unwilling to settle to any useful employment, he sent me to sea, as a last resource, in hopes that time and reflection, and experience of the world, might change my habits, and lead me to a proper sense of my errors. With the reluctant consent of both parents, I served under the charge of Captain Simpson, whose uniform kindness to me I gratefully remember. He refused to give me permission to stay in India—and I withdrew from his ship, with a view to profit by the opportunity, and to see Calcutta, and other parts and places, before I returned to England. In this expectation I have been disappointed, and knowing the dislike of my parents to my present occupation, I have abandoned further thoughts of continuing in it; at least until I can learn their pleasure as to my future destiny. I humbly throw myself on your kindness, and entreat you to take me under your protection and guidance—for which I hope to testify the gratitude of my heart, by conducting myself with diligence and propriety.
Your obedient servant,
Nugent Richmond
 

Self-will is a principal source of mischief to young people; submission and deference to parental experience, is a chief virtue to be cultivated by them. To follow his own inclination and leave the ship, was a culpable thoughtlessness; nor can it be justified or excused, though the consequences were advantageous. There is, however, much to approve in Nugent's frank and open avowal of his errors; he might have concealed them; a more subtle mind would have been tempted to do so; but simplicity and sincerity are always the best policy. This disarms hostility, and disposes men to overlook the past, by the security which seems to be given of future good conduct. This relieves the parties from a train of evils and embarrassments, and temptations to new offences, which will meet them at every step. To an honorable mind, it is ever painful to appear in false colors; the fear of disclosure, and of the consequent loss, perhaps of our friends, will always fill us with restlessness and apprehension. An offender had better trust God with his case, than turn for deliverance to the wretched expedients which his own pride and folly might suggest. This appeal to a stranger, "I have been an offending wanderer; therefore take me under your protection," may seem to some, to be little consistent with prudence—but Nugent could not have acted more wisely, if his letter had been written under the influence of selfish calculation, instead of having been, as it appears to me—the result of integrity.

It is also evident, from the last two letters, that Mr. Richmond's care and instructions were not, even now, without their use; there was clearly an influence in operation, and a turning to right principles and feelings on the part of Nugent; which, if too weak to stem the torrent of natural corruption, was doing much to control evil, and prepare his mind for its subjugation. Indeed, the full effect of religious education is seldom seen, until a young person has had an opportunity of making an experiment on the principles which he has been taught. However pleasing is the piety of children—it can never be relied on. It must first stand the test of solitary exposure to adverse circumstances. The family is a kind of nursery of tender plants, of whose growth and fruit we cannot determine, until they are transplanted into other soils. But in all cases, a conscientious and diligent cultivation of a child's mind, accompanied by a consistent example—without which, instruction too often injures rather than improves—will be like the seed sown, which may not appear for a season—but will in the end spring up and reward our labor.

I have already remarked, that Mr. Richmond constantly corresponded with his son; he did more—Nugent was in his daily thoughts, and he earnestly and continually carried him to a throne of grace. I cannot but ascribe to the faith and prayer of the affectionate parent—the remarkable escape of the child. That same ship, having sailed without him, was wrecked near Cape Lagullas, with the loss of the whole crew! Three hundred and fifty people perished, and thus Nugent's error was overruled by a gracious God to the preservation of his life. But, his return being expected by this vessel—the account of its loss threw his parents and family into the deepest affliction—not knowing that Nugent had left the ship. The whole family went into mourning; and the father sorrowed for his lost child with a grief unmitigated by the communication of any cheering circumstance as to the state of his mind, on his fitness for so sudden a change.

In the following winter, a letter was delivered to Mr. Richmond, in the handwriting of the very son whom he mourned as dead; announcing that he was alive—that circumstances had prevented his setting sail with that ship, of whose fate he seemed to be unaware; and communicating details of his present engagements and future prospects. The transition of feeling to which the receipt of this letter gave rise, produced an effect almost as overwhelming as that which the report of his death had occasioned. The family-mourning was laid aside, and Mr. Richmond trusted he might recognize in this singular interposition of Divine Providence, a ground for hope that his child's present deliverance was a pledge of that spiritual recovery, which was now alone lacking to fill up the measure of his gratitude and praise.

Such interposition of Providence may be treated with indifference and contempt by men of the world; but Mr. Richmond's bowed the knee, and thankfully praised God, "I have prayed to You, O Father, in secret—and You have rewarded me openly."

Soon after Nugent left the ship—he obtained the situation of third officer in the brig Kandian. Of this appointment he informed his father, adding, "And now my dear parents, while you are living quietly at home, I am tossed about the stormy ocean in all weathers, and never knowing that I am safe a moment. I hope Wilberforce will take warning from my sad wanderings, or he will never be happy. Receive my kind love, dear father and mother—the same to my brothers and sisters. I hope God will take care of me, forgive and convert me; he is the best friend. Do not cease to pray for me, and remember me still, for I am Your affectionate son,
Nugent

From some unknown cause, the letters sent from his family in England, though sent at regular periods, did not reach their destination; and Nugent suffered much anxiety at not hearing from his family. He writes—

Ever dear and affectionate parents,
It is now two years since I left England, and I have neither heard from you, except once from a missionary, who told me he had seen you in Yorkshire a few months after I sailed, and that you were quite well. He is a very good man, and I have been to hear him several times. I have also attended Mr. __ another missionary, and a valuable

servant of God; indeed they all appear to be of one heart. Would to God, that I were like them!

Mr. __ has been very kind to me; but he is a bad man, and altogether unfit to be a clergyman. I shall not mention his faults, for it seems ungrateful to dwell on a benefactor's misconduct, or indeed on the misconduct of anyone. I have been greatly distressed at hearing nothing of my poor mother, who has shed so many tears on my account; nor of my dear brothers and sisters, though I have written so many letters to them. I hear that the ship I had formerly sailed on, was lost! Oh! merciful escape for me.

I am sorry to say, my new captain is a wild, extravagant, and dissipated man, always giving parties on board, or on shore. Dancing and singing to a late hour, is a sad way of spending Saturday night. It shocks me to say, my dear father, I have only been to church about twelve times since I left England—indeed, sailors scarcely know what church is, except on board war-ships, where there is a chaplain. Nevertheless, if we cannot go to church, we seldom work on a Sunday as on a week-day; so that I have time to read the Bible and pray. You gave me a Bible when I left you, and I have it still, and hope always to have it. Oh that I knew how to make a right use of it.

Be assured, my dear father, I neither dance nor gamble; although there is much of both here, and I would please others more—if I did as others. I thank God I know not how to do either, and I am sure I have no wish to be wise in such things, I have encountered many unpleasant remarks on this account. Pray for me, pray for your poor Nugent. Think, when you are in bed, and by your fire-side, that I am toiling by day and watching by night, tossed about in gales of wind, scared by storms of thunder, lightning, and rain, ignorant of my fate for a single hour. Oh! a sailor's life is wicked, miserable, and deplorable; but this is all the fruit of my sin, and I justly deserve my chastisement.

Farewell—that you may long live, and my mother, and my sisters, and my brothers, to enjoy every blessing, temporal and eternal, is the ardent wish of your affectionate son,
Nugent

A few months after, he wrote again to his mother—

My dearest and most affectionate mother,
I have just heard that the ship Alexander is arrived at Columbo, by which I hope to receive letters from home. I am on the other side of Ceylon, and I fear it may be some two weeks or three weeks before I can get them here, and we expect to sail before that time. I am all uneasiness; and still more anxious when I think what will be said in them. Sometimes I am pleased, then I am grieved and fear—uncertain of their contents, still I long to read them. Thanks to an all-merciful God, I have succeeded well in India, especially when I consider I had no friend to guide me—but my success gives me little satisfaction, while I reflect on the wounded feelings of an affectionate mother.

I now indeed, see and feel my folly; if I had taken your advice, I would never have suffered so many hardships; but this is not my greatest trial, my sins will all rise up against me in the hour of death, and at the day of judgment! Oh! that I could feel this consideration as I ought; my insensibility distresses me! May the Lord help me.

November 2. No letter. I am full of uneasiness and anxiety. This is Sunday, and the vessel is under my command. My superior officers are gone on shore—I fear for no good. They think very little of worship. The men are great gamblers. I went among them this evening, and found them gambling—I threw the dice overboard, though probably my life is in danger for what I have done, for the dice belonged to a Spaniard, who thinks nothing of using his stiletto—but I have done what I considered my duty, and I must trust God with the consequences.

The Portuguese sailors, when provoked, are as revengeful as the Spaniards—the other night I nearly lost my life from a group of them; there had been a quarrel between some Portuguese and English sailors; I was walking alone on shore, and fifteen of the Portuguese came up and asked me to what nation I belonged; and on my replying, "To the English," they lifted up their cudgels to level me with the ground. I raised my arms to defend my head, when they discovered my uniform and buttons, and cried out, 'Don 't strike him!' for they perceived I was not a common sailor, or I certainly would have been killed on the spot. This was another wonderful escape. God is very good to me, and I long to make a suitable return to him.

November 4. This day your letters arrived—but they are a series of sorrows to me. When I read the first—I could scarcely hold it in my hand—I sobbed and wept. Oh! my poor mother; I have occasioned your illness, and endangered your life! I do not know how to go on writing; I cannot print two words comfortably together. I know, my dear mother, you prayed for me in that trying hour.

Mr. B __ who is returning to Europe, has behaved very kindly to me ever since I first knew him, which is now more than a year; he will tell you all about me. I am conscious of not being what you would wish me to be—but I hope, by God's grace, to be made altogether such as you desire. I know you pray for me continually, and I trust that God will change my heart before I die. Farewell, my dear mother; I shall write whenever opportunity serves; do write constantly to me. Remember me most kindly to my father, brothers, and sisters. That they may live long in the enjoyment of every blessing, is the earnest prayer for them all, of
Your affectionate Nugent

I have ever remarked that no case is hopeless—where there is strong affection. An unimpassioned soul is seldom touched by anything beyond the range of its own selfish gratifications, and usually presents a stubborn resistance to considerations which affect only, or chiefly, the welfare of others; but an affectionate temper, amidst many sinful wanderings, is still capable of impressions.

The letters of Nugent reveal a very feeling and grateful spirit, a sense of obligation, and a self-condemnation for past misconduct. They display a conflict between duty and sinful inclination, and, in some instances, a firmness of principle far above mere nature. They could not fail to inspire a pleasing expectation, that though an enemy had sown tares in the field, the wheat would ultimately overtop them and grow to maturity. Mr. Richmond's heart was full of hope, and his faith leaned on the promises of God with firmer dependence; he was encouraged to more vigorous perseverance in interceding for his much-loved child. He had carried his sorrows to God, and he now praised him for his faithfulness in alleviating them.

About this time the following letter was received from a missionary at Columbo, which bears an honorable testimony to Nugent's improved conduct. It will be read with interest by those who can sympathize with a father's sufferings, or understand the joy which, welcomes a returning penitent.

Dear Mr. Richmond,
I have no doubt you will excuse the liberty a stranger takes, who knows you only by name, in writing to you a few lines, which cannot fail to interest both you and your family. I have a father's heart, and know well the feelings with which you will receive the information I send you respecting Nugent Richmond, your once disobedient son. It would be most pleasing to me to say that he is a humble penitent, seeking life and salvation through the boundless merits of a crucified Redeemer. But though I fear to go thus far, I am warranted to bear testimony to a real change in him in many respects. He has become quite steady in his conduct, and is very attentive to the duties of his profession, and you have not the least cause for anxiety with regard to his temporal welfare; nor is he by any means careless and unconcerned about the things which make for his eternal peace. He is much more anxious than he used to be for pious society, and often attends our evening meetings.

This morning he breakfasted with us, and I endeavored to supply your place in my poor way, by interrogating him in the most serious manner, respecting the state of his soul; and when I found him unprepared to answer me in the way I wished, I urged his still closer attention to true religion, by motives addressed to his hopes and fears. I read to him the fifty-first Psalm, and he listened with deep interest, and seemed to feel every word. I prayed for him in my family worship, and enjoyed a more than usual freedom in spreading his case before the Lord. When we rose from our knees, I believe there were few dry eyes. On the whole, I think we have reason to hope the best respecting your son. I advised him to read some passage in the Bible every day with special application to his own case, and to turn it into prayer for himself. I have heard many acknowledge that they have received great benefit from praying in God's own Words. May poor Nugent be another instance. I cannot close this hasty letter, without informing you of the good effect of the Dairyman's Daughter in Ceylon. A person of whose conversion I do not doubt, and who has joined our little church, ascribes his change of heart to God and you.

Begging you will read with candor—what I have written with difficulty; I am, with respectful and affectionate regard,
Yours,
J. C.

The caution with which this correspondent speaks of conversion, renders his testimony the more valuable; yet it appears to me very evident, that Nugent was making progress towards a complete surrender of his heart to God, and that his mind was at this time under the influence of real principle. He might be less acquainted than others with experimental religion, and have much to learn as to the cause of all his wanderings, and the entire corruption of his heart—defects of this kind he laments himself, and in all his letters describes his case rather as that of one who seeks and longs to be a true convert—rather than of one who has attained a saving change. Still, in a long series of correspondence before me, I remark in him a gradual, and very real approximation to all that is correct in opinion and conduct; he never reflects badly, on anyone but himself; he labors to guard his brothers against sin, by the knowledge of its effects and consequences in his own history; he bears an affectionate testimony to the conscientious consistency of his parents; he wishes for an opportunity to make some suitable returns for their kindness; he connects every event with the disposition of Divine Providence; he secures the respect and countenance of everyone by his steady and correct conduct; he courts the society of good people; he firmly resists evil, though attended with danger to himself; and on all occasions expresses himself with so much affection and veneration for true religion, as on the whole satisfies my own mind, that if even he had now been removed from the world, his family would have had no reason to have sorrowed, as those without hope.

There is not, however in these letters such a degree of interest to people unacquainted with him, as to warrant their introduction. A sufficient number relating to this period, are already before the reader, to show the value of early pious instruction under every circumstance.

The young sailor left the Kenyon, which was sold by the government, and went on board the Oracabessa, from which vessel he wrote to his father the following affecting account of the state of slavery at the Mauritius. This letter is full of correct feeling, and still more satisfactory evidence of right conduct.

My dear Father,
We are on the point of sailing for the Mauritius. I know that you will be pleased to hear that I am taking out some Bibles, New Testaments, and tracts, in different languages, which were sent to me by my friend Lieutenant B., to distribute and try what good I could do there. How is it, that there are no missionaries at the Mauritius—an island containing thirty thousand souls; ten thousand whites, and twenty thousand men of color. I can safely assure you, there is no part of the world where the British flag is flying, which is half so ignorant, or in such a dreadful state of darkness—there is, indeed, scarcely any religion at all there; what there is, is Roman Catholic. It is true that there is an English church, and perhaps from twenty to thirty people in it—but the island, from one end to the other, exhibits every species of vice, without control or check of any kind.

Slavery, as you know, is the cause of everything that is bad—never were its frightful effects more clearly shown than in this place; they are far worse than even in our West India plantations. I have been an eye-witness to scenes altogether shocking to humanity—the heaviest punishments are inflicted for faults, which in England would receive only a trifling fine, or a short imprisonment. Masters have chopped off the ears of their slaves, and in some instances, have literally starved them to death. Neither is the slave-trade extinct in this part of the world—but is still carried on to great extent. There may be a stricter watch against the slave-ships; but nevertheless they are here every month, and I have known the slaves to have been taken into harbor in empty water-casks to elude detection.

Now, my father, take your Atlas and look at the position of Mauritius, Bambour, and Madagascar, with the African main. Slaves are to be procured at either of the last places for about thirty dollars a head. If taken to Bourbon, or the Mauritius, they fetch from three to four hundred dollars. Is not this an irresistible temptation to a slave-trader, when he is sure of his price—if he can escape the vigilance of the naval officers? If you look at the position of these places, you may judge of the ease of carrying on this traffic, when I tell you that there is only one man of war in the harbor of Port Louis to search vessels which come in; and not one cruising about this coast, though it is well known that there are five Spanish ships, two Portuguese, and one English, employed in the slave trade. One of these vessels was lately wrecked there; of the crew, one sailor only was saved, who is now on board our ship; he has frequently conversed with me, and I am persuaded his information is correct.

Can nothing be done to restrain the cruel treatment of these poor creatures? On landing at Port Louis, you would see one of them in irons, and as you advanced, another flogged most unmercifully, without distinction of gender; and in general no clothing allowed. Some kind-hearted masters give a dollar a year for clothes. There is, I believe, a code of laws—but they are never enforced. I have myself seen slaves unable to stand, from the severity of their punishment; thirty stripes in a row, on whose backs gashes, not lashes, are observed, pieces fairly cut out, and in some instances an eye forced out! And there is no redress—nor are they fed properly. I had forty-five of them working under me, for whom their owner received a dollar a day per head; they worked from sun-rise to sun-set—and what was their food? For breakfast a cake, made of a kind of potato, weighing three ounces; for dinner half a pound of boiled rice, with one spoonful of assinge, or an equal quantity of horse-beans; for supper, the same as at breakfast, with a little water to drink.

I will tell you an instance which I know to be true, amidst many others, which I have heard from men of veracity. A woman flogged her own sister, who was unfortunately her slave also, until she fainted. She then twisted her arms until the poor creature nearly expired. She then let her recover, and singed her flesh with a hot iron. The sufferer never complained; indeed if she had, it would have been worse for her in the end. The truth is, there is a collusion among the people of the whole island to resist the law, and support each other in their acts of oppression. My object in mentioning these things to you, is, that you should first make inquiry to satisfy yourself of the truth of the facts, and then try to get something done for these wretched beings! If such cruelties be passed by with indifference in the harbor, what unobserved abominations may be expected in the interior of the island.

It is said that the climate requires no clothing—but this is false—the nights are very cold and the season sometimes severe. I have even slept under several blankets and been cold. How many poor souls have not one!
Kindest love to all, and Believe me, my dear Father,
Your affectionate Son,
Nugent
 

From another bay, he touches again on this horrid slave-traffic, "I have made many observations on the country and people here, and particularly on the slave trade; all of which will confirm what I have already told you respecting it. This port is full of slave-ships, and I am lying close to one which has just landed seven hundred, men, women and children. What a pity that this nation should persist in this notorious slave-traffic! I admit the slaves here are better used than in some other places—but still they are exposed to the caprices and unrestrained passions of corrupt nature.

I have been distributing tracts and Bibles—which some have rejected with scorn, and others received with thanks. I assure you I have spent more time in this way, than in attending to my worldly interest, and so I ought; for I am indebted to Him for all my mercies, in whose cause I am so laboring. And if only one Bible finds its way to the heart, what shall I think of my task in eternity. Wherever I go, I will labor faithfully in this good work, to the utmost of my power, and particularly in the Isle of France, for that island is grievously neglected as to all spiritual instruction.

I have conversed with two Catholic priests, they appear to me to be pious men, though they refuse to sanction the distribution of the Scriptures among the laity. I confess I am not able to argue with them.

Upon the chief subjects of these letters, we may again remark the happy recollections of his early years. From his excellent father he had imbibed an aversion to this iniquitous slave-traffic, and a sense of its wretched effects on the well-being, both of the oppressor and the oppressed. From him, he had learned also to value the Holy Scriptures as God's best gift to a ruined world, and had received associations of sentiment and affection which no subsequent wanderings of sinful inclination, no exposure to the temptations of scenes full of danger, and abounding with iniquity, could ever obliterate. The principles of his education restrained him in his worst moments, and they obtained a permanent ascendancy with the return of those better feelings which were produced by the beneficial correction of his misfortunes.

In his case, the experiment of a voyage was successful, though it may be doubted whether, in general, any other result can reasonably be expected from it than a confirmation of a young man's evil propensities. It seemed good, to a wise and gracious God, to exercise this misguided—but affectionate youth, with a succession of disappointments, mingled with merciful preservations, and to train him in the school of adversity, to show the good effect of a pious father's instructions, and the rich value of his blessings and prayers.

His shipwrecks—his losses—and the severe trial in the death of an amiable young woman to whom he was engaged in marriage; have been detailed by another hand. I have only to add a few extracts from numerous letters in my possession, illustrative of his progress in sincere piety.

The happiest day I could see in this world, would be that on which I might mingle myself once more with you all. Oh! with what joy would I return to you, my dear father, and my dear mother, to receive your forgiveness, and welcome home again. God only knows whether we shall ever meet on this side eternity; there seems to be more difficulties and obstacles in my way every year.

The next happy day—would be when the Lord, who has been ever kind and merciful to me, would entirely wean me from this wicked world and its temptations; then would I be as happy as I wish to be!

My Bible is the only means of grace I have; by reading it, with some other good books, tracts, and sermons, I hope to keep close to the fear of God.

There are two clergymen here—but, alas!—I must say no evil, when I can say no good of them. I wish some missionaries, truly pious men, were sent out to us; I assure you we have great need of spiritual instructors. A godly man preached in a brig close to us yesterday.

My dear father, you have now four sons, will you spare me one of them? it will be a great charge—but not the first of the kind. I have had a youngster three years under my care, and it will be some security to you for my proper conduct, when I tell you that Lieutenant B. is going to put his younger son under my management. He is a pious man, and his confidence in me may serve to show that I am not altogether undeserving of yours.

I have never kept my birthday but once since I left England. I sat and felt so melancholy, instead of being joyful; and with good reason, when I look back on years that are past.

We sail for the Mauritius tomorrow, and I have humbly besought the Lord, who has ever been merciful to me, to protect and preserve us all.

Oh, my good father, no one can imagine the horrors of a shipwreck—but those who have experienced it. Many, many heartfelt thanks to that Providence which has again rescued me from a watery grave. I had made a little fortune, and was returning home with presents for my family, and with three beautiful shawls for my dear mother; but all is lost, except one trunk, in which was my Bible and the Dairyman's Daughter. Thus all my hopes and expectations have been frustrated. Yet I believe these things are for my good. I must begin the world afresh, and I hope to do so in more senses than one. Tell my dear mother not to grieve for my misfortunes. God knows what is best for us.

While the ship was in the midst of the hurricane, I went down to my cabin to pray to the Lord for his assistance and protection in this trying hour. In the midst of prayer, and while the tears were in my eyes, the ship struck on the sand, with a shock that brought many to the ground; I staggered a little, though on my knees. Everything was now confusion. In the mean time, I again went below and prayed with heart and soul to Almighty God to save us—and my prayers were answered, for a kind of comfortable thought seemed to rise within me and say, ' Your life shall be spared.' Not all the shocks, seas, or winds could afterwards make me fear or think the contrary. Surely there never was a greater proof than this, that the Lord is always with us. It animated and comforted me, and made me work and exert myself with redoubled vigor, though a great part of the night it rained hard accompanied with thunder and lightning.

Oh! how thankful I ought to be to Almighty God, for his many mercies repeatedly shown to me; indeed, I trust I know that suitable returns are expected from me. When I look back on the last twenty-five years, I am lost in wonder and astonishment.

One thing grieved me in the shipwreck more than all—the loss of some valuable presents for my family; but this is God's will; it is the Lord's doing, and all is for the best.

I am returning home for the re-establishment of my health, which has suffered severely from exposure to hardships by night and day—but the happiness of seeing you all once more, will not a little contribute to my restoration. My heart beats, and my head turns giddy at the thought of this meeting; it will be both a pleasing and a painful one to me.

Do not expect me before the end of July or the beginning of August. I shall, of course, write to my father on my arrival, that I may not take you by surprise. And oh! my dear mother, pray for a safe voyage for me, and a happy meeting to us all. I have had many trials, afflictions, and crosses for the last ten months—but I feel the loss of her to whom I was engaged, most of all, perhaps too much. Still in all these things there is one great consolation; they are sent by him who cares for me! I believe they are all ordered in wisdom and mercy, though you and I may not be able to interpret their meaning. If we could see the end, as we shall do by and by—I am quite satisfied that we would gratefully acknowledge that they were intended for good; and this comfortable assurance, through him who loves us better than we love ourselves, will, I trust, be my support, and inspire me with cheerful resignation and renewed confidence in God. I have many thoughts about eternity; though alas! the Wicked One strives to banish them from my mind.

Your truly valuable letters, my dear mother, reveal so much affection and kindness towards me, that I know not how to express my joy and thankfulness; they often draw tears from my eyes, and are the dearer to me—the more I read them. I have a great deal to say, to propose, and to request, and hardly know whether to begin now, or wait until I have the joy of seeing my dearest parents. What a meeting will this be! I seem to dread it, though it will be a grief inexpressible were it not to take place. Pray for an unfortunate wanderer, and may God answer your prayers, to my present and eternal good.
 

The expected return of Nugent was an event which warmed every heart in the home with the most anxious and affectionate sympathy. The whole family was eager, either to welcome a relative whom they scarcely knew but by report—or to renew an affection which time and distance had not effaced—but rather strengthened.

Mrs. Richmond fitted up, partly with her own hand, a room for her son's reception, and arranged everything to testify her regard for the returning child, and banish every painful recollection from his mind; but after the lapse of a few months, his death, instead of his arrival, was announced

His bodily constitution had been greatly impaired by unhealthy climates, and the succession of hardships to which he had been exposed, and both his health and spirits finally sunk under the last and greatest trial—the death of his fiancé. After this event he resolved on returning immediately to England.

On this voyage he had an attack of fever, and embarked in very weak health. The ship met with a heavy gale, which induced him to exert himself beyond his strength; he had a relapse of fever, became very ill, and was occasionally delirious. Immediate danger was not apprehended—but one night he went to bed about twelve o'clock, and was found dead in his cabin the next morning—to the surprise and grief of all on board, by whom he was universally beloved and respected.

Alone in the hour of his departure from sin and sorrow—yet not alone, for his God, and the God of his father was with him, and gave him rest from the days of adversity.

An ivory box containing a few jewels and gold-chains, which he had intended as presents for his brothers and sisters, was discovered in his pocket after his decease. On the inside of the cover, the following lines were written in his own hand in pencil, apparently a short time before his death.

"Where vice has held his empire long,
'Twill not endure the least control—
None but a power divinely strong,
Can turn the current of the soul.

Great God! I own the power divine,
That works to change this heart of mine,
I would be formed anew, and bless,
The wonders of redeeming grace.

While little was known of his dying moments—the most satisfactory accounts of his living hours were received by Mr. Richmond from many people who, for some years, had observed Nugent's exemplary conduct.

In the letter to his daughter at Glasgow, Mr. Richmond's thus adverted to them—

The circumstances attendant upon our dear Nugent's end, are few and simple. You are aware what a long series of favorable accounts of his general behavior we have had from a variety of quarters. You should know, that from at least five pious friends, I have received highly satisfactory testimonies of his pious feelings and principles, although he was modest and reserved in speaking of himself. I had much information while I was visiting his most intimate friend, Mr. Bailey, in the Isle of Wight.

His affections for his relatives were very strong. His principles of honorable conduct, integrity, financial accuracy, official diligence, kind manners, and moral deportment, were exemplary. He lived in much esteem, and died much beloved. Dear boy! He was snatched from our embraces at the hour of his returning to them. He is buried in the depths of the ocean. But the sea shall give up her dead, and I trust he shall then appear a living soul.

A melancholy feeling steals over the spirits, as we follow this first-born son of an excellent man through each succeeding calamity of his life, to a solitary death.

We must adore in silence, confidently resting on the wisdom and goodness of Him whom clouds and darkness surround, while 'righteousness and truth are the habitations of his throne.' The history before us exhibits in the clearest light (and this is my chief purpose in writing it) the inestimable blessing of a pious parent, and the value of religious education under all possible contingencies. 'In the morning sow your seed, and in the evening withhold not your hand, for you know not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good.' (Eccles. 11. 6.)