Robert Arrington Land.

Was born in Cassville, Ga., June 14, 1855. He was the youngest son of the late Judge Nathan Land, who departed this life about twelve years ago, full of years, honors and usefulness. His mother was Mrs. Mourning Land, of Cassville, Ga., who still survives, a venerable mother in Israel.

Robert Arrington Land, in the year 1872, was graciously converted and admitted into the Methodist church under the ministry of Dr. W. H. Felton. He was nurtured in the lap of religion, trained by pious parents, and surrounded by all the influences of a Christian home. Of quick, bright, active mind; of warm and steadfast friendships; of a generous, impulsive nature; of sterling honesty; he lived a life which endeared him to his friends and commanded the respect of all with whom he was brought in contact. About ten years ago, he was married to Miss Garwood, an accomplished, cultured daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J. H. Garwood, now of Cartersville. Children, the heritage of the Lord, blessed their union, and, with his widow, survive to mourn the death of the subject of this sketch.

Honesty of purpose, uprightness of life, and gentleness of heart, are characteristic of every member of that noble family, of which Robert Arrington Land was the youngest boy. No child of such parents could be other than honorable in all the relations of life and imbued with all the instincts of uprightness and lofty character. And so, his friends, “mourn not as those who have no hope.” For, aside from the natural and inherited integrity of his life, Robert Arrington Land died the death of the righteous. He was smitten with that dread disease, pneumonia, and in a short while he seemed to feel a premonition of his approaching death. His friends, and even his physicians did not anticipate at that time a fatal termination to his illness; but something perhaps “the still, small voice,” told him that his end was nigh. In perfect consciousness he made his peace with God and expressed his entire resignation to His will. He looked and spoke his readiness and willingness to join those of his family who had preceded him to the brighter world. Just before his death he gathered about him the wife of his bosom and the children of his loins, and urged them to live so they could make a ready and acceptable answer to the summons, whenever it should come. Not even the pangs of sickness nor the shadow of approaching death, could dim the ardor of the happiness of these last two days. He prayed aloud and lifted up his voice in sweet songs of Zion. To the end he was perfectly conscious and met the grim monster without a struggle or a fear.

This was the more remarkable because neither his physicians nor his attendants considered his case dangerous until a few hours before his death. Yet, before they realized his condition, he had prayed and talked and sang as though he was in a Methodist love feast. He saw the Shadow before he entered the Valley. There is about it a mystery; but the mystery is not dark. There is over it a cloud which shuts out the reason of these things from our mortal sight; but that cloud is effulgent as that which stood guard over the children of Israel in the desert. His character was admirable. It would be untrue to himself and untrue to his friends—it would be only fulsome adulation—to say that he had no faults. He was a man; but, with the frailties of a man, he had also a high order of principle, an exalted standard of honor, and a keen appreciation of the true, the beautiful and the good.

It is not the purpose of these lines to minister to those who have been bereaved by his death. Such consolation can come only from higher and holier sources. His wife and children, his brothers and sisters, his aged and honored mother, are where he left them—commended to the mercies and goodness of that God in whose likeness they shall see him again.

Farewell, friend of my boyhood! In the heat and burden of the day, thou wert true to thy labors. The sun of life has set for thee earlier than for those who were thy playmates in childhood; and thus the rest and the reward has come earlier also. Sweet be thy slumbers; happy thy awakening in the brightness of the everlasting morn! John W. Akin.