Please pardon the multiple postings of this, but I felt this was worth sharing to all of those who may have enjoyed Rev. John DuBois' writings that were posted to the net a couple of months ago. I received the following obituary written about Rev. John DuBois from Huntingdon College's Methodist Archives, courtesy of Mary Ann Pickard. If any of us lives a life such that we are honored in this manner, then we have lived truly well and blessed. ----E. DuBois Russo (PS--Genealogists, take note of all the info we wish we could have on all of our ancestors!) ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Obituary; Alabama Christian Advocate, March 5, 1884 : Rev. John DuBois Known, loved and honored by so many is no more with us. He was born in Charleston, S.C. June 28, 1798; came to Alabama, January, 1821; joined the M.E. Church 1822; was married to Miss Louisa Williams, niece of General J.E. Elmore, January 6, 1825; was licensed to preach 1833; ordained deacon by Bishop Morris, 1837; and elder by Bishop Andrew 1841; and fell asleep in Christ at Whistler, Ala., February 1, 1884. These are the outlines of the biography of one, whose consistent life, patient suffering, and devoted service to the Master, impressed all who knew him with the genuineness of his religion and that the power of God's grace is sufficient to refine and sanctify nature. He received only an English education, but his thirst for knowledge "grew with his growth, and strengthened with his strength." This thirst received powerful impetus in the conviction that he was called of God to preach the gospel, and that he might be prepared to proclaim the glad tidings to dying men, he allowed no moment to pass by unimproved. His father, Rev. Peter DuBois, was contractor and builder of the city of Charleston. It was there the son learned the blacksmith's trade and began to improve the cotton gin--a work which occupied his time up to the past few years, when increasing infirmities seem to shut out earthly things, and confine his attention to his own spiritual profit, and that of all who might be thrown within reach of his influence. As long as he could walk by the aid of his staff, he went to the bedside of the sick and dying, and whenever he heard of any who had been blessed through his instrumentality, his face would glow with pleasure. Brother DuBois loved his Church and doctrine, institutions and usages. Generous, even beyond his means, he was the preachers' friend--his home their resting place. Whenever his services were needed, he was found true to his obligations, faithful to all charges committed to him. His life was quiet, humble, modest; his religion strong, positive; decided; and his experience deep and abounding. He drank deeply from the wells of salvation. For more than a century he had been drinking from the pure river of the water of Life, the streams whereof make glad the city of our God. He was a zealous, earnest, and deeply pious minister in the local ranks, a faithful, affectionate husband, a fond, loving father, and a kind, beloved neighbor. When weakened by age and no longer able to proclaim the truth from the sacred desk, he resorted to the pen, and many readers of this Advocate can testify to the pleasure and profit they received from his articles on "Methodism in Alabama and Charleston." Becoming "diligent in business" as well as "fervent in spirit" he educated a large family and enjoyed the comforts of life though attended by many losses and embarrassments. After the war had completed his reverses and he had turned over to his creditors his home, and the little of real estate he possessed beside--homeless, yet having many homes among his children, he and his wife who had borne the burden and heart of the day--became the pride and joy of those whose cradle they had rocked and who, in turn, delighted to rock the cradles of their age. Some years ago she passed from his loving care to Heaven, and, I doubt not, her welcome to him increased the brightness even of the New Jerusalem. His way was clear, his hope strong, and his victory complete. His death was like the setting sun--gradual, quiet, beautiful. In the quiet burying ground at Eutaw he sleeps beside his loved Louisa; yet in memory dear and lasting, he still lives in the hearts of those who mingled and communed with him here. He is at rest. Let us rejoice in that divine goodness which can thus throw heaven's light over earth's darkest passages, and enable perishing humanity to stand in the immediate presence of the last enemy and triumph perfectly. W. P. Hurt