CONCLUDING REMARKS. 66 Although the distinctive features in the character of Mr. Marks stand out with prominence upon the surface of the preceding history, still there are a few incidents not introduced into the body of the work, which perhaps present those distinctive features in a still bolder light. One distinguishing characteristic, as has been already seen, was his untiring industry. Perhaps no man ever lived who set a greater value upon his time. Seldom, if ever, could he take up the lamentation, "I have lost a day !" if indeed he could say, "I have lost an hour!" The following incidents will illustrate this point, and also exemplify his particularity in the most trivial things which infringed upon his moments. On one occasion, a few months before his death, an inmate of his house blew out his candle without saturating the wick with the tallow, as was his custom in order to make it ignite more readily. The next morning, he said to the individual, very solemnly, "Do you know that you have robbed me of one minute of my precious time?" How," was the response. "It took me one minute longer than usual to light my candle, in consequence of the manner in which you extinguished it last night." Having, in early life, severely tasked and disciplined his mind by study and intense thinking in the midst of company, he suffered little annoyance from calls, even when pressed with labor. After explaining the importance of his engagements, to those who called, and apologizing for his seeming want of attention, he would request them to converse just as they would if he were disengaged. He would then resume his writing or reading, and at the same time carry on his share of the conversation. From his eminently social disposition, he enjoyed society with the keenest relish, but he never suffered himself to indulge in visits to his friends, only so far as he thought he could promote their spiritual interests. When urged to spend more time with them, he would say to them, if they were Christians, "Soon we shall have an eternity to visit in." As he seldom laid aside his books when riding, on account of a storm, they would often get injured; and if any one suggested that it was not good economy to use books thus, he would reply by giving his valuation in money of one, two, or more hours' study, and then the cost of the book, and according to his estimate, the pecuniary advantage was much in his favor. His reading was always of the solid kind. He had no moments to waste on the ephemeral productions of the press. He remarked not long before his death, that he had never read a novel. Life with him was too serious to waste on such trifles. His mind, trained to such activity in his waking moments, was often in his hours of sleep occupied with the same momentous subjects, and he would pray and preach for a long time, frequently awaking all in the house. He was emphatically a happy man, even in his most adverse circumstances. Few ever enjoyed life better than he. He lived in the sunshine-in an atmosphere of cheerfulness and joy, and though at times he was weighed down with an oppressive sense of his responsibilities, yet these seasons were but as "passing clouds, shading a path usually bright." This was doubtless owing in part to a very happy natural temperament, but it should be mainly attributed to his strong confidence in God. His firm, heartfelt assurance of a state of eternal blessedness for the righteous, scattered joy and gladness in his pathway, while it enabled him to look upon the trials of this brief life as of little moment. The religion of the Bible was to him, as he expressed it, a "tangible reality," absorbing all other claims and filling the whole sphere of his vision. He thought, planned, prayed, studied, and labored, as if he had no interest separate from the interest of the Redeemer's kingdom, and whenever matters relating to its success were presented, "his own things" were the last and least which occupied his thoughts. Another very prominent feature of his character was his crucifixion to the world. Indeed, he seemed to live so much above it, as to lose all desire for worldly fame or honor. Especially was this true of him during the last years of his life. Envy was a passion that had no resting place in his bosom. If good could be accomplished, he cared little who had the honor. If others could be more useful than himself, he rejoiced with joy unspeakable. Though frank and open almost to a fault, yet knowing a little "what was in man"-that eminence exposed its possessor to the envy and jealousy of little minds-he frequently sought privacy in the execution of his plans for doing good, persuading others to take the lead, and charging them, to use his own language, not to let it be suspected that the "hand of Joab" was there. In this manner he effected much for God and his generation, which will remain unknown till the judgment. He feared and dreaded the praise of men, not that he did not naturally love it, but he trembled, lest it might tempt him to seek worldly honor. Against this, he watched, and struggled, and prayed. The following incident is a specimen of the care with which he guarded his heart. During the fourth session of the General Conference in Rhode Island, 1830, he preached a sermon much to the acceptance of the audience, and which was blessed to the conversion of several souls. Soon after the close of the meeting, sorrow was depicted on his countenance, and he hastened to be alone. A friend inquired the cause of his sadness. He replied, mournfully, "Brother [a minister of considerable influence] has been talking to me just like satan.” "What has he said?" the friend inquired. "As I was coming out of the church, he said to me, 'Brother Marks, you have preached well to-day,' and satan had just told me the same." He never seemed elated by success. Indeed, his greatest seasons of humiliation generally followed his most successful efforts. In his preaching, he was remarkably affectionate and pathetic. After portraying the dreadful condition of the impenitent, his own feelings would often become almost uncontrollable, tears would trickle down his face, and frequently he would kneel in the midst of his sermon, and pour out in prayer the gushing desires of his heart for the salvation of his hearers. The effect produced was often like an electric shock. At other times, while urging his appeals to the consciences of sinners, he would descend from the desk, as though he thought if he were nearer the people, the truths he was urging would find more access to their hearts. Notwithstanding tenderness was a prominent characteristic of his preaching and of his intercourse with society, yet he was bold and fearless in his reproofs of sin, and when he thought the occasion demanded, he was very severe. About two years previous to his death, he said to his companion, on returning from Pittsfield, (a town adjacent to Oberlin,) "To-day, for the first time in my life, I told a man he lied." She replied, "You were not so abrupt as to use that language ?" "Yes, I said in so many words, 'You lie.' I said it, because he did lie, and faithfulness to his soul made it my duty to tell him so. I was at the house of brother J- -S. A man was present who went on for some time with a tirade of falsehoods about Oberlin. At length, he said that amalgamation with the colored people prevailed very extensively. I then asked him if he knew his statement to be true. He said, 'Yes, I have often been in Oberlin, and there is hardly a child to be seen in the street that is not as red as a copper cent.' I fixed my eye upon him for a moment, and then, in a perfectly calm and kind manner, said to him, Sir, you lie, and you know you do. I live in Oberlin, and there has never been a case of marriage there between the white and colored people. The man seemed thunder-struck. I supposed that he was an infidel, or some one who had no regard for his reputation as a man of truth, but, to my surprise, I afterwards learned that he was a professor of religion." In the domestic virtues, Mr. Marks eminently excelled. He was emphatically, "The light and the joy of his house." As a son, he was a pattern of filial piety. No mother was ever more tenderly beloved by a child than was the mother of Mr. Marks. Though she had long lain in the grave, yet his love for her was "fresh and fragrant to the last." She was indeed worthy of his affection, and though she lived in obscurity, she was one of that noble band of mothers, whose piety and maternal government have made them benefactors of the world. Few days of his life ever passed in which he did not allude to her; and when he was crossing death's dark river, his eye shone with unwonted lustre, as he spoke of soon seeing his dear mother. It has been said that "Trifles, lighter than straws, are levers in the building up of character." Mr. Marks ascribed to the decision and firmness of his mother on one occasion, an influence which decided his future course. When he was about ten years of age, he was very anxious to visit a certain place, and for several days before he ventured to ask permission, exerted himself in every possible way to please his mother, hoping thereby to secure her assent. But his request was denied. He was greatly disappointed, and could not see the reasonableness of her refusal. Though always trained to habits of implicit obedience, yet in this instance, he was so intent on the gratification of his wishes, that he persuaded himself to think that she was wrong, and he resolved to make the desired visit. He knew his mother would punish him, yet he thought she was so tender-hearted that she would not be severe, and he would rather endure some chastening than not enjoy his anticipated pleasure. He began to make preparation. His mother inquired with surprise, "Where are you going?" He told her. 66 But," she replied, "I said to you that you could not go." "I know you did," he calmly answered, "but I think it is my duty to go." Indeed," said she, "it is then my duty to punish you till you change your views." He persisted in his course. 66 Without any further reasoning, she used the rod. For a time he bore it without complaint, thinking the tenderness of her heart would unnerve her, but the stripes becoming more and more severe, he was obliged to cry out for pain. He then thought he would frighten her, and falling on the ground, groaned out, "Mother, you will kill me." She replied, "Such a rebellious child ought to die. It is written in the law of Moses, that a stubborn and rebellious son that will not obey the voice of his mother should be stoned to death." [Deut. 21:18-21.] He now began to fear he should die, when the thought of meeting God in the very act of disobeying the command to honor his parents, filled him with unutterable horror, and he sobbed out, “O mother, can you forgive your wicked son? I will submit." Her strength failed, and bursting into tears, she said, "O my son! my son! never did I expect such a trial as this from you. You don't know what suffering you have caused me: but I knew that you were ruined if I did not subdue you." Her words increased his distress a hundred fold. His broken heart was filled with anguish, and a sense of his sinfulness never left him till he gave himself to God. In after years, and indeed, until the 66 516 MEMOIRS OF DAVID MARKS. close of his life, he seldom ever related this circumstance without shedding bitter tears. He was ever much interested in the simplicity and innocence of children, and was always a great favorite with the children of families where, in his travels, he was accustomed to call. After winning their confidence, he would labor in the most affectionate manner to impress their minds with a sense of their duty to God, and many of them have in consequence been converted. He used to say, he loved little children, because Jesus said, "Of such is the kingdom of heaven." God has said, "Them that honor me, I will honor." Here lies the secret of Mr. Marks' influence and success. He honored God by his simple faith, and reliance on his word, and God verified his promise, not only through his whole life, but in permitting him, in the hour of his dissolution, to bear a glorious testimony to the reality of the Christian's hope. It may be truly said of him, in the beautiful language of Tupper, that, "In childhood, he loved holiness and drank from that fountain-head of peace; Wisdom took him for her scholar, guiding his steps in purity; He lived unpolluted by the world, and his young heart hated sin; His friends were the excellent among men, and the bands of their friendship were strong. His house was the palace of peace, for the Prince of peace was there. Thus did he walk in happiness, while The light of affection sunned his heart, and the tear of the grateful bedewed his feet. He put his hand with constancy to good, and angels knew him as a brother, While the busy satellites of evil trembled, as at God's ally. He used his goods as a wise steward, making him friends for futurity; He bent his learning to religion, and religion was with him to the last : And after many days, when the time of his release was come, I longed for a congregated world to behold that dying saint. As the aloe is green and well-liking to the last summer of its age, And then hangeth out its golden bells to mingle glory with corruption; As a meteor travelleth in splendor, but bursteth in dazzling light, |