that he was upon the bed of death, he forgot all these apprehensions; and while those about him were heart-broken, as they saw him lying helpless, wasted, and worn out with his tedious illness, and confounding, from his blindness, midnight with midday, he was even cheerful; full of gratitude to his family and household for their long, dutiful attendance on him, and expressing no anxiety but that his poor dependents might not lose their accustomed Christmas gifts, and that no purposes of kindness which he had expressed, should be forgotten after his departure. He derived great comfort from devotional reading to him, and especially from the reading of the Psalms; remarking that he had often thought of the extraordinary adaptation that might be made, by any thoughtful reader, of at least some part of almost every one of them personally to his own state and circumstances; and how forcibly he felt this truth now brought home to himself. One night, when he had been sleeping disturbedly, under the influence of laudanum, he awoke in a state of great excitement. He had dreamed that he was struggling with a serpent. "Read me," he said," the 91st psalm, and I shall be composed." d In the last week of January, although the end was not believed to be so near, it was felt that every hope of ultimate recovery must be resigned. But, day by day, he grew more feeble, until, on Sunday morning, the 30th of January, it became evident that he was sinking rapidly; and never had Christian a more peaceful end. He was quite conscious of approaching dissolution. Calm and composed, he commended his spirit unto God who gave it. He asked a blessing separately upon each of those who stood around his bed, and breathed his last about midday, without apparent pain or any struggle. On the following Thursday he was interred in Sandbach churchyard. Every shop and house was closed, as the simple funeral procession passed through the street; and his remains were borne from the churchyard gate betwen two lines of uncovered, sorrowing spectators, into the church, and to the grave; where, with his father and his mother, his eldest son and infant children, his body is buried in peace ;but his spirit lives for evermore. He has left three surviving children: George William, his eldest son; Mary Frances, wife of the Rev. Ambrose Jones; and Francis Law, a boy at Rugby school. It hardly can be necessary, but it may perhaps be right to add, that this short sketch of an uneventful life was drawn up with the view to its being perused only by the personal friends of the deceased; nor is it likely that it will find its way into the hands of many others. But those who have had the happiness of a lifelong intimacy with John Latham, may feel a melancholy pleasure in retracing, step by step, these recollections of the past; while those who had the privilege of knowing him but recently, and those whose early intercourse was only broken off by their separating into different paths in life, may be interested to know more of the preceding or the after-course of one whom they had learned to love. To these, this little biography will, it is hoped, be an acceptable addition to the volume offered to them, as a memorial of their departed friend. A stranger cannot be expected to take the same personal interest in it; but, if it has been truly said, that a faithful record of the private life of any individual, however undistinguished, would contain both interest and instruction, even an indifferent stranger may find them here. He may learn how large a share of earthly happiness was mercifully reserved for one whom the world, from his bereavement, might have deemed without resources; and he may see, in this slight portraiture, another example of that peculiarly English character,— the unobtrusive but accomplished and highminded Christian gentleman. April 21, 1853. |