[Illustration] CHARLES DWIGHT; OR, The Missionary’s Son. RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY; 56, Paternoster-row; 164, Piccadilly, LONDON. CHARLES DWIGHT; OR, THE MISSIONARY’S SON. [Illustration] Charles Dwight was the son of a Christian missionary, and was born in Constantinople, February 16th, 1837. When he was only four months old, he lost his mother by the plague. She was a good mother, and desired above all things for her children that they might become the disciples of Christ. Charles, though a pleasant child, needed a new heart, as all children do, however lovely they may be. While yet young, he was made to feel this. When he was about seven years old a child of a mission family died. This led him to think of death. A sermon which he now heard made him pray very much for his sins to be forgiven. The Holy Spirit was striving with him. He soon yielded to His power, and put his trust in the Saviour. He now entered upon a new life. Prayer was his delight. The Bible was a precious book. He aimed to do right and to make everybody happy. Charles’s companions could not help loving him, for he was always kind in his ways. Some of these, like himself, were pious youths. They never came together to spend any time in each other’s society without praying before they parted. As one of these loved friends was about to leave on one occasion, Charles said, “Let us not part till we have prayed together;” so they went into a room by themselves, and he read a chapter in the Bible, and they knelt down and prayed. That very night—it was Saturday, February 5th, 1853—he was seized with a headache. The most skilful aid was called in, but it could not help him. His pains at times were very great, but he never lost his patience, nor his sweet hope in God. A part of the time his mind wandered, and then he kept talking, now in English, now in Greek, now in French, now in Turkish,—but it was about Christ and his cause. Once, when a dear friend who was siting by him asked him if he felt ready for whatever might be the result of his sickness, he said, “My head is in such pain that I cannot collect my thoughts; but sometimes I am able to do so, and then my mind is in perfect peace. But if I had not been led to make my peace with God before this disease came upon me, I am sure I never could have done it now.” At another time, in reply to a question from his father, he said with great feeling, “I cannot yet say that I _want_ to die now; but I desire the will of the Lord to be done. If He wills that I die now, _I am ready_.”