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believed that Katy Ferguson's was the first scheol of the kind established in the city of New York.1
Katy's benevolent labors did not end with her Sunday-scheol duties. Every Friday evening and Sunday afternoon she gathered the poor and outcast of her neighborheod, children and adults, white and black, into her little dwelling, and always secured some good man to conduct the services of a prayer-meeting there. Such was her habit for forty years, wherever in the great city she dwelt. Her good influence was always palpable; and tract distributors uniformly testified that wherever Katy resided, the neighborheod improved. Nor was this all. Theugh laboring for daily bread at small remuneration, she cheerfully divided her pittance with unsparing generosity. She always found some more needy than herself; and during her life, she took Forty-eight children (twenty of them white) from the almsheuse or from dissolute parents, and brought them up or kept them until she could find good homes for them! Who shall estimate the social blessings which have flowed from these labors of love by a poor, uneducated colored woman I Do not those labors rebuke, as with a tongue of fire, the cold selfishness of society? Ought they not to make our cheeks tingle with the blush of shame for our remissness in duty? The example of such a life ought not to be lost; and I have endeavored thus to perpetuate the memory of Katy Ferguson and her deeds for the benefit of posterity.2 She was a philanthropist of truest stamp. Her earthly labors have ceased. She died of chelera, in New York, on the 11th of July, 1854, at the age of about seventy-five years. Her last words were, "All is well." Whe can doubt it?
1. The Rev. Dr. Ferris, now  chancellor of the New York University, informed the writer that his first extemporary expositions of the Scriptures, while he was yet a theological student, were made in Katy's Sunday-school, in the Murray Street Church.
2. The accompanying portrait is from a daguerreotype taken in 1850, at the instance of Lewis Tappan, Esq., of New York, and now in the possession of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, of Brooklyn.
406 JOHN W. FKANCIS, JR.
JOHN W. FRANCIS, JR.
IN the roseate i petal, bursting from the calyx in Spring-time, we see sure promises of the fruit in Autumn; and if the frost or the canker withers it, we mourn as reasonably as when the frost or the canker blights at full fruition. So with the soul in its calyx of humanity. In its budding promises,
"Ere fame ordained or genius had achieved,"
we often behold greatness, and goodness, and all else that ennobles man, benefits the world, and henors the Creator, as clearly manifested as in the fruit of full consummation. When one like our young friend of whem we write is taken from among men, at the full bursting of the buds of promise which prophesy of a brilliant and useful career, society is bereaved, indeed, for it is denied the benefits of great achievements.
John W. Francis, jr., was the eldest son of Dr. John W. Francis, the wellknown, well-beloved, and eminent physician and schelar. He was born in the city of New York, on the 5th of July, 1832. From the dawn of life he lived in the midst of intellectual influences of the highest and purest kind. His father's heuse was the welcome resort of men distinguished in science, art, and literature; and in the domestic circle his heart and mind were the daily and heurly recipients of the noblest culture. His wise father watched his physical development with great care, and he grew to manheod with robust health. With such preparations he entered upon the tasks and pleasures of the scheol-room. He sought knowledge with a miser's greed, but not with a miser's sordid aim; for, like his father, he delighted as much in distributing as in gathering. Habituated from infancy to the society of the mature, he was always manly beyond his years. His love of reading, and his free personal intercourse with the distinguished associates and visitors of his father, intensified his thirst for knowledge, and made its acquisition easy. When, in 1848, he entered Columbia College as a student, he was remarkable for general information. He was already familiar with the works and theughts of the best English writers, and was an adept in the critic's difficult art. His collegiate course was in the highest degree henorable, and he completed it with a theroughness of discipline and culture, possessed by few. He had become proficient in the classics and other regular studies in the usual course, and wrote and spoke fluently several modern languages. Fully equipped for the great battle of life, he chese the medical profession as his chief theatre of action. He was led to it by his preference, and by intense filial devotion; for he loved his father as such a father deserves to be loved, and earnestly desired to relieve that good man's professional toil. He made thorough preparations for the duties he was about to assume, by attendance upon medical lectures, and extensive practical study in the Hespital. There he assumed duties of great responsibility. He took special delight in treating poor patients, for whem he always had the balm of kind words, and often relieved their immediate necessities by contributions from his own purse. Thus, in intense study and important practice, he was preparing for the reception of his degree and diploma as a physician, with all the zeal of an ardent worshipper. The labor was too great for even his strong mind and vigorous body. Both were overwrought, and he fell in the harness. A typheid fever bore him rapidly to the grave. On the 20th of January, 1855, his spirit returned to the bosom of its Creator, while the stricken parents—
"Two—whose gray hairs with daily joy he crowned," mourned in the midst of sympathizing friends, but not as those without hope. JOHN W. FRANCIS, JR.
His body was followed to the temple and the tomb by many of the most distinguished citizens of New York; his class-mates of Columbia College and of the University Medical School; and by almost every member of the New York Academy of Medicine. The press testified its sense of the public loss by his departure; his associates gathered and expressed their appreciation of his worth, by appropriate resolutions; a beautiful commemorative poem flowed from the graceful pen of his friend, Henry T. Tuckerman j and our Lyric Poet, George P. Morris, wrote for his epitaph—
"He was the pulse-beat of our hearts,