Her Illness and Death

The period of her illness embraces a large portion of what in her case, as her father observes, ’ might be not untruly called, “that long disease — her life.” ‘From her childhood, her health was very delicate; and the long illness which occasioned her leaving school, left a debility in her constitution, from which she suffered more or less to the end of life. Violent pains in her head, chest, and side, appeared however to be the commencement of that disease, which gradually developed a fatal character. For some years she was indeed able to exert herself, too often much beyond her strength, both in bodily and mental activity. She continued her intellectual studies with her usual vigour, till about a year after her settlement in Devon, when increasing illness constrained her to send her young pupil to school, and she was never afterwards enabled, though she much wished it, to resume the care of her education. From that time she became a decided invalid, and, except in the year 1827, when she changed the scene for the benefit of her health, she never ‘moved beyond the garden, and only two or three times ventured into the outward air.* For the last two years she was entirely confined to her room, and unable to be dressed. During the

* Of one of these times the following memorandum occurs in a letter to her cousin. ‘To-day, I know not how, all my illness seems to have disappeared, and I feel much better, so that I have been out in the garden the second time since you left me. Ah! how delightful the weather was: what pleasure I felt in breathing the fresh air, in seeing the trees which begin to bud, the spring-flowers which are appearing, and in hearing the song of the birds, who seem to rejoice no less than myself in this new season. ’ whole of this period* her anxious mother slept in her chamber, watching over her with the most unremitting tenderness. She generally” kept her bed, till within the last seven or eight months, when a violent cough, and spasms in the heart, prevented a reclining position, except when she was compelled to return to it by fainting and exhaustion. The only resource was a chair well supported with pillows, in which she sat up day and night, and from which the assistance of three persons was required to remove her during the last few weeks of her life. She appeared however to suffer less from debility than many invalids. For though she was wholly unable to stand, yet a change of medical regimen appeared to give her temporary relief from distressing helplessness.

In this state of wearisome languor and pain, her mind however was always vigorous and full of energy. She never seemed to know an idle moment. During the whole period of confinement to her bed, she was always surrounded with books, or other objects that engaged her attention. It was her habit to have her table placed by her bed-side every night with her books and writing materials, that she might commence her operations with the earliest dawn of light. Her beloved Bible was always under her pillow, the first thing in her hand in the morning, and the last at night. Subordinate to this object of supreme interest, her diligence and perseverance in study were most remarkable. When reminded that such intense application must be injurious to her health, she always replied, that she considered these diversified sources of interest as among her greatest temporal blessings, in diverting her mind and attention from her bodily ailments. Her studies in the sick-room were as varied as in the time of health. Sometimes the languages were taken up. At other times the more engrossing study of mathematics fixed her mind. This in its turn was exchanged for chemistry or botany. Occasionally, when her mind was less equal to exertion, she would amuse herself with lighter employments. In the spring of her last year, she attempted to dry flowers which her parents procured for her, with the intention of forming an herbarium. But increasing indisposition frustrated this plan.. Cutting out paper was also a favourite amusement, in which she early excelled. Her skilful use of the scissors had attracted in her young days the admiration and interest of her school-fellows. She was also a beautiful netter, and sent a number of purses to a bazaar, to be sold for the benefit of her dear Spanish friends, which produced upwards of three pounds to their fund. Thus in these various employments did her mind maintain its ceaseless activity, both in intellectual indulgence, and in all the exercises of practical devotedness. No opportunity of usefulness appeared to be forgotten. When detained from the house of God by her protracted indisposition, her time and interest were employed in explaining the Scriptures to the servant who was necessarily occupied in attendance -upon her; and in one instance it was hoped, as well as in a former case of much earlier date, that her simple and spiritual instructions in the household were applied with Divine unction and sovereign grace to the heart.

As, however, her illness evidently approached its termination, her employments assumed a character more exclusively spiritual. She was occupied in girding up her loins, and trimming her lamp, in constant and delighted expectation of her Lord’s immediate coming.

And now it was that the Christian graces which had been matured in the school of affliction, and under the influence of habitual communion with her God, displayed more manifestly their holiness, beauty, and consolation. This was (as an excellent clergyman before adverted to wrote to her father) the fiery chariot, her vehicle to heaven, in which — the more it shook her mortal frame, until it left it all behind — the stronger and more full of faith and triumph in Christ Jesus she grew in her immortal spirit.’

A detailed account of this last period of her mortal career will, it is presumed, be found generally interesting. In these solemn seasons is every feature more accurately defined; while the colouring is heightened by the impressive manifestation of the love and faithfulness of our God and Saviour.

To the last, her habits of active employment were predominant. Her thoughts and time were much occupied in preparing her two small, but valuable, works for publication; and she continued to correct the proof sheets of them as they were sent to her, till within a few days of her death. At first her mind was divided between the completion of her projected Series of Letters to a Governess, and the work — On the Freeness of Divine Grace. But mature deliberation decided her in favour of the latter, as being calculated for more extensive usefulness. She was indefatigable also in her correspondence with her friends, upon the principle of duty, in using every opportunity of setting forth the grand and inviting subject of the gospel to her fellow-sinners. She continued to write even after she was unable to use her pen, and when having had just power to direct a pencil, her wrist had been bound up to give her a little strength. The following extracts from her letters, during this solemn season of daily expectancy, marks the character of her mind. We select an illustration at some length of the intense anxiety with which she regarded the spiritual interest of those that were dear to her, and of the earnest, awakening, and yet encouraging application of the privileges of the gospel, to fix them to an entire devotedness to their eternal concerns.

Stoke Fleming, Sept. 28, 1830.

’ “Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the children of God?” This love should be enough for us. Come pain, sickness, poverty, affliction; and still the Christian must rejoice, when he considers “what manner of love the Father has bestowed on him.” Reconciled to God; redeemed by Christ Jesus; sanctified, taught, and comforted by the Spirit; what is there in the world that can rob him of his joy] “Who shall separate him from the love of Christ.” And as long as he has this love, how shall he not “rejoice with joy unspeakable, and full of glory V

1 My dear, I would stir up your heart to make this joy

your joy. O that my God would give me words of power and persuasion, and send them by his Spirit to your heart! “Awake thou that sleepest;” awake, awake. Time is passing — eternity is at hand. Thou must soon receive a crown of glory, or “cover thyself with thine own confusion as with a mantle.” “Behold now is the accepted time. Seek the Lord now while he may be found, call upon him now while he is near. Draw nigh unto God, and he will draw nigh unto you.” O let me remind you, not in a spirit of reproof, but of the most anxious, earnest affection, how long “the goodness of God has been leading you to repentance.” I believe it is now ten years, or nearly so, since we were confirmed together. Then you seemed resolved to make the Lord indeed your God; to be no longer “conformed to this world,” but to “come out from the world, and be separate;” to walk as “a stranger and pilgrim upon earth.” Often since then have you appeared to he affected by the same feelings and desires. The time you spent with me here was marked by one blessed season, during which the word of God seemed to be your delight; prayer to God your chief comfort; and you expressed your entire renouncement of your own righteousness, and a simple trust in the atonement and righteousness of God your Saviour. Recall that precious time to your mind, my beloved friend. You were then beginning to be happy. Inquire how it was, that, instead of “going from strength to strength,” from “glory to glory,” from faith to faith,” you relapsed so soon into your old uncomfortable state of mind, and have since found so little comfort in religion. Remember that now, even now, Christ is willing to receive you, to give you strength and peace, grace and glory; that he is able to save to the uttermost, and more willing to give than you to ask, more ready to hear than you to pray. Consider what an awful thing it is, to go on for many years, “halting between two opinions;” knowing your Lord’s will and not doing it: visited by repeated convictions, yet those convictions producing no decided appearance of conversion. Consider all these things, and again I say unto you, Awake, awake! May God of his infinite goodness arouse you to a sense of the importance of eternal things! May he enable you to wait upon him in incessant and importunate prayer, till he has “blessed you,” as he is most willing to do, “with all spiritual blessings in Christ Jesus.”

When you come to die, all the trifles which now vex and disquiet you, will seem less than a drop of a bucket, than the small dust of the balance. But the concerns of your soul, of what immense importance will they appear! Why should they not now assume their real weight and value in your eyes ] Death may either snatch you away suddenly, or be preceded by such violent illness, as to render you incapable of reflection. At such a time, how delightful will it be to be able to lean upon Christ, as an old friend, not to seek him

as a new one! O my dear, you must find time to die,

why will you not find time to prepare for death. You must shortly be in Heaven or in Hell! must feel the happy consequence of being pardoned and accepted in Christ, or the dreadful consequence of remaining in a state of guilt and condemnation. “There is now no condemnation to those that are in Christ Jesus; who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit,” who “mind not the things of the flesh, but the things of the Spirit, who “look not at the things which are seen and temporal, but at the things which are unseen and eternal,” who “live not to themselves, but to him who died for them, and rose again,” who have “their conversation, their treasure, their heart, in Heaven.”

‘Examine yourself, my beloved, whether you answer

to this character. I can write no more now, but as long as I continue in the flesh, I hope I shall not cease from time to time to remind you of these things, to beseech you to give yourself to Christ.

‘My health continues much as when last wrote. I

suffer much at night, as I can never lie down in bed, but am obliged to be propped upright in an easy chair. But they do not seem to consider me now in any immediate danger, and if no sudden attack takes place, they seem to expect that I shall live over the winter, or even some time longer. All this is very uncertain; but I hope that I am willing to wait till my Saviour’s time is come to call me home to himself. He doeth all things well, and I may truly say, that he has “made all my bed in my sickness.” “His comforts delight my soul,” and “in the night his song is with me, and my prayer to the God of my life is” — “Precious Saviour! Tender Father! Thou wilt cast out none that come to thee.”

The following letter, written in the immediate prospect of eternity, is valuable as an exhibition of those views of the gospel, which will alone stay the soul in perfect peace at that awful juncture. It is salvation, rich, free, full, finished — not a matter of uncertainty, dependant upon our own efforts or righteousness; but ordained, wrought out, and applied by God — not connected with faith, repentance, and love, as our previous fitness for the reception of it, but including these graces as component parts of the inestimable gift, “afore prepared of God, that we should walk in them.”

July 5, 1830. 4 I find, my beloved friend, that in death no past good works, no holy endeavours or desires can give the least comfort, except as evidences that we have been accepted for Christ’s sake. My sole confidence is — that I have cast my poor guilty soul entirely, and without reserve, on the free mercy of God in Christ Jesus; casting far from me every other hope. My good works — where are they 1 I can remember none. They are too poor to think of without the profoundest humiliation. My desires and endeavours — 0 my dear friend,! feel I should insult rny holy God, by even naming them. They are, indeed, “coverings too narrow for any one to wrap themselves in,” at the moment of entering into the presence of God. But my Saviour hath cloihed me with his own perfect righteousness, and I wrap myself round in it with unspeakable feelings of security. I examine it on every side, and find it “perfect and entire, wanting nothing.” I am not afraid in this my wedding garment, to appear even before the King of kings. I think I hear my Saviour perpetually saying to me — “Not for thy sake do I this, be it known unto thee; be ashamed and confounded for thine own ways.” A sinful worm. May Jehovah, my Righteousness, my Tower and Strength, my Rock of defence, my Sun and my Shield, my complete Salvation — O may he be your God and Guide, for ever and ever.’

She was usually favoured throughout the last months of her life with a remarkable sense of the Divine presence. During times of extreme agony, Christ,’ she said ‘is with me, “touched with the feeling of mine infirmities.” Her intercourse with God at this solemn season, while it was most intimate, was yet most hallowed. One evening, after a day of great bodily suffering, her cousin went into her chamber to take leave of her for the night. The room was darkened, and perfectly quiet; and the state of her soul seemed to accord with the outer tranquillity. She said — ‘I can scarcely speak to you. The sense I have of the presence of God is so powerful, that it almost overcomes me. He has often manifested himself to me; but never in such a manner as this night. Indeed I feel ready to exclaim with Job — “I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear; but now mine eye seeth thee.” She said very little more, being evidently too deeply impressed to converse; but — her cousin adds — ‘I shall never forget that night.’

Yet this sacredness of feeling was mingled with cheerful delight. It was truly Hooker’s ’ reverend gaiety’ — ‘Oh!’ said she one day to a friend, ’ he gives me to speak to him “face to face;” and sometimes, when I am so weak that I cannot utter words, his “Spirit helpeth my infirmities, and maketh intercession for me with groanings that cannot be uttered.” I love to feel my weakness, that I may experience “his strength made perfect in weakness.” I delight to lie low before him.t

She loved to speak of the character of God. Her mind appeared to be much expanded in the contemplation of his unsearchable nature and glorious perfections. ‘How delightful’ she observed on one occasion, ’ to think that “God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all.” All his dispensations are light; and though now they seem dark to us, hereafter, all clouds will be dispelled.’

Her desires for a clear and full knowledge of God were most intense. ‘What’ — she exclaimed one day — ’ are ten thousand worlds compared with one ray of the knowledge of God!’ The ardour of her soul, unsatisfied with former manifestations, was continually stretched out for higher and deeper views of the Divine glory. She was not afraid to offer that prayer, which seems scarcely befitting an archangel’s lips, and which only the clear warrant of the gospel preserves from the stamp of presumption. “I beseech thee; show me thy glory.” Often did she intreat her minister to pray that more might be revealed to her in this world. Nor was the petition unheard. For, in reply to her dear mother’s question a day or two before her death, her answer was, 4 1 could not feel happier.’

The concentration of all her thoughts upon eternity was peculiarly striking and edifying to those around her. This main concern for the last few months of her life absorbed her entire interest. Nothing unconnected with it seemed to possess any claim upon her attention. The engrossing delights of intellectual study were relinquished for ever. She had no enjoyment of any train of conversation, except that which directly led her mind and contemplation heavenward. Communion with God was the one object of her desire. The word of God now occupied her whole attention. All other books — even her favourite authors — Romaine, Leigh ton, Milner — seemed comparatively uninteresting. This heavenly absorption of mind is finely depicted in the following short extract from one of her late letters to a friend:

Stoke Fleming, Oct. 1, 1830.

* My dear, knowing that my life hangs upon a thread,

I dare not delay answering your letter: I pray God to enable me to speak the truth to you in love, and to dispose you not to think me “your enemy, because I tell you the truth.” But I must, as long as I continue to live, continue to urge you on the subject of religion. I speak not now willingly on any other subject; I desire to have no more to do with earthly things, but to turn my whole joyful expectation to that blessed Saviour, whom I believe I shall soon see face to face, through that infinite undeserved love and kindness of his, which has taught me to put my whole trust in him for salvation.’

Connected with this feature, we may add, that she seemed so perfectly weaned from the world as scarcely to have an earthly wish. Several times she took leave of her beloved relatives. In parting with her young cousin about three months before her death, she writes — ‘I have not one earthly care or wish; for even my cares for her are now all cast upon God, whose tender love will, I trust, lead her all her life long, as it has led me. She is going one way, and I shall soon depart in another way; but I would wait patiently. One day earnestly recommending a friend to “cast all her care upon God” — she gave the same expression of her mind — 1 1 have no earthly cares — no earthly wish. But’ added she — ‘I have spiritual cares — spiritual wants; but I cast even them all upon God.’ Christ and eternity filled up the whole vacuum, and left nothing else to be desired.

Resignation to the will of God was prominently marked during her illness, and was to her the source of much heavenly enjoyment. After meditating upon her Saviour’s words — “My meat is to do the will of him that sent me,” — she observed, — ‘Though I cannot now do the will of my heavenly Father, I can suffer his will.’ She looked forward with great calmness to a protracted life of suffering, when the medical attendant gave his judgment, that she might probably live for many years, but would never regain her health. As she was naturally of an energetic disposition, ardent in forming and executing her plans, this state of acquiescence to so inactive a life appeared, manifestly to be the effect of Divine grace. Once indeed she remarked with tears, that the prospect of lying on that bed for many years — of seeing her friends die around her, and those whom she loved remove away (alluding to the anticipated removal of the Rector’s family, which, however, she did not live to see) was a melancholy thought. But the passing cloud was soon dissipated, and she regained her usual cheerfulness.

The same warm temper of love to the Lord’s people that had distinguished her general profession was ruling to the last. Even in her state of distressing weakness, she could not be satisfied without seeing some of them round her bed, that she might enjoy sensible communion with them. However weak they might be in faith, or low in condition, her heart was fervently drawn out in union with them. In referring to some refreshing intercourse with two eminent Christians — she observed — ‘How good my gracious God is in thus sending his saints to commune with me upon those deep and precious things which now form my only consolation — my “joy and the rejoicing of my heart.” But’ — added she — acknowledging the supremacy of her heavenly Friend — ‘after all, his presence is the only unfailing source of happiness. “With him is the fountain of life; in his light shall we see light.”’ The expressions of her deep humility, were peculiarly striking during her illness. All her attainments in the Christian life were never thought of, but as dross and dung. Her sense of unprofitableness kept her low in the dust, while the recollections of faith, exercised in habitual application to the blood of her Redeemer, upheld her from despondency. When her minister ventured to express the advantage which his own soul had derived from attendance upon her, she exclaimed with vehemence — ‘How should such a dead dog as I am be of any use?’ She sometimes seemed as if she could scarcely conceive the possibility of being the Lord’s instrument for the good of his people, while at the same time she continued to employ her every power of body and mind in their service. This self-abasing apprehension was, however, combined with ardent gratitude to God as the author, and to her friends as the channel, of all her mercies. Every attention, every act of kindness from her parents and nurses, excited the most lively emotions of thankfulness. Speaking one day of the kindness of her nurses, her minister observed, — ‘But oh! how kind, how much kinder is Christ S ‘Yes’ — she replied — 1 but even all this kindness of the creature flows to me through his love, his kindness.’ Thus did all her earthly comforts receive a double relish — thus also were her bitterest trials sweetened by being traced up to their Divine source, and by flowing into her soul through the delightful channel of the mediation of her Saviour.

The same flood that had nourished her throughout her journey, continued to supply strength and vigour for the last efforts. Her Bible was more invaluable than ever to her. It was her constant practice before she went to rest, to repeat a text to her beloved mother, and to require one in return — assigning as a reason, that she might have them to think upon after she was gone.* She pursued the same habit of Scriptural

* A few months before her death, she presented her little Bible to her mother, having obtained from her the assurance, that she u2 repetition with her affectionate cousin — the constant attendant upon the last months of her illness — adding to it the privilege of social prayer, except when attacks of illness prevented it. “Ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full” — was her favourite text to the last.

As in health, so especially in her last sickness, she had great delight in communion with the Holy Spirit. She used to address her prayers much to him, thought of his personality, and found the contemplation of it most refreshing to her soul. She would often speak with comfort of her expeperience of his distinct influence upon her heart.

Hymns were also a source of much refreshment to her soul. She used to repeat many to herself, especially during the night, and was thankful to the last to have them repeated to her. The last that her cousin read to her two days before her death, was one by Madame de Fleury, beginning,

‘Ye angels, who stand round the throne,’ &c.
and Gambol d’s beautiful hymn,

‘That I am thine, my Lord and God,’ &c. was’ a great favourite. Cowper and Toplady also, were a source of great delight to her.

She expressed to her minister her strong desire to receive the sacrament, the mention of which had been refrained by her friends on account of her great weakness and sudden attacks of violent pain. She feared, however, that she had too long neglected it, and could not be satisfied without the refreshment of this holy ordinance. When speaking of it before the administration — she said — ‘Oh! I desire a full communion. I long to see as many as possible of the dear children of God to partake with me of this blessed ordinance.’ She expected, as she was justly warranted to do, a rich blessing in the fulfilment of the last command of her dying Lord. Nor was she disappointed. Twice she received the sacred emblems from the hands of the venerable rector of the parish (since departed to his rest); and in the following affecting letter written in pencil with great difficulty immediately after one of these occasions, she expressed to him her grateful acknowledgment of the consolations which he had instrumentally imparted to her soul.

would read a chapter “every day with prayer. In order to keep this promise in mind, if the precious treasure was at any time out of reach, she would playfully ask for it, ‘You know, dearest mother, it is not mine now; but do you read it to me while I am here.” My dear Sir: — I thank you very affectionately ‘for the comfort I have received to-day through your means. When I saw you, I regretted that I could not tell you so myself. But it is the Lord, who hath both dulled your power of hearing, and weakened my power of speaking; and he does it with both of us, to warn us gently, that these frail bodies must soon be quite taken to pieces, and lie till we are “clothed upon” with “a body like unto his glorious body.” It will give you pleasure to know, that, while you administered the bread and wine, I was enabled to cast my whole soul as a miserable sinner on the free mercies of him, who died that we might live; and to rejoice in the thought of our meeting ere long, through the same free grace, at the marriage supper of the Lamb.

‘I wish to write these few lines to explain my own feelings to you. For my dear mamma, in her anxious love, so much fears my seeing one, to whom she thinks I could not talk without exertion, that I fear it has never been properly explained to you, that though I feel unable to talk to you, I should be most happy to listen to you.

4 Accept, my dear sir, the Christian love and thanks of your truly and gratefully attached,

* Mary Graham.’

The support which was vouchsafed to her in the midst of her intense bodily sufferings, was such as might have been expected from the known and tried faithfulness of her God. Such was her enjoyments at some seasons of agony — that her * pains,’ as she said on one occasion, “were sweeter than honey or the honey comb.” At one of her times of distress she remarked — ’ 1 am a child lying in the arms of Christ, and he treats me with more than a mother’s tenderness.’ Truly, indeed, was she “strengthened with all might, according to the glorious power of God, unto all patience and long-suffering with joyfulness.”

It is almost needless to add, as the concluding article of detail — that the sting of death was removed from her.

4 It is not death to me’ — she would say — ‘Jesus hath tasted death for me, and hath drunk up all its bitterness.’ The prospect of eternity was entirely divested of its terrors, and beamed with the bright anticipation of everlasting joy. We may take the following glowing view of her hopes, given for the conviction of one of her young friends.

Aug. 7, 1830. ‘I am going to mention a sentence in your letter which grieved me; not as it regards myself, but as it leads me to fear, that jou are not fully acquainted with those things, which can afford real and solid satisfaction on a near view of death. You speak of feeling satisfaction in death, as it affords a cessation from all pain. Dearest, did you remember at the time, that death is something more than a cessation 1 — that it is an entrance into an eternal world, and that to those who have “washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb,” this is an entrance into eternal glory. Bear with me, while I tell you from my own actual experience, what it is that ransomed sinners rejoice in at the approach of death. I have stood lately more than once on the very brink of eternity, and thought myself on the point of taking the awful step. This makes heaven and earth, temporal and eternal things, appear in their strong and true point of contrast. And now that I am called back to the things of time for a little longer, if 1 can be of the least use to one of my fellow-sinners and sufferers here, I shall not regret the delay. It is not the cessation from pain, that can make Christians view the approach of death with satisfaction. For, believe me, they have not one pain too many. Not that they love pain, or are not glad to be freed from it, when the Lord pleases. But they know that every one of their sufferings is necessary and good for them, and that they come from the hand of a kind and tender Father. They are willing to bear as much pain as his love sees fit to inflict. Their pains are very sweet to them, as they come from him. And,

O dearest, could you know how he “strengthens them

upon the bed of languishing, and how he makes all their bed in their sickness;” you would almost envy them even their pains, sweetened as they are by “the peace of God which passeth all understanding!” Wherein do they rejoice? In the hope of being “for ever with the Lord!” of seeing him, “whom having not seen, they have loved; in whom, though now they see him not, yet believing, they rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory.” Oh! to behold this “King in his beauty” and beholding, to be transformed into his glorious likeness! and then to cease from sin! this is the blessed cessation after which real Christians pant. To love their holy and reconciled God without any coldness or unfaithfulness; to offend him no more by one unholy, or rebellious, or selfish or unbelieving thought ‘, to be pure as he is pure; to be “without spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing;” and then to praise him, to give him glory, to cast our blood-bought crowns at his feet, through the countless ages of eternity!

Pray, my beloved, that in the hour of death you may be

so filled with these causes of joy, that the mere escape from a few bodily pains may seem not worthy to be mentioned in the comparison. The Bible tells you, that “except you be born again, you cannot see the kingdom of God,” and that “if any man be in Christ Jesus, he is a new creature, old things have passed away, behold, all things are become new.” Examine, I beseech you, whether you have undergone that mighty change in all your views, tempers, and sentiments, which these expressions imply. If you die without being born again, and made a new creature in Christ Jesus, I shall never meet you in heaven; for God, who cannot lie, hath said it. But pray, pray, O pray to him, that he would thus convert your heart. He will hear and answer you. There is nothing else worth living for, but that, living or dying, you may be the Lord’s. May this be your happy case.’

She would sometimes speak of herself as a disembodied spirit, as if she realized in the fullest perception and assurance, her entrance into the world of blessedness. Her frequent reference to her departure was in calm composure — like making preparation for a short journey, or a temporary absence. At other times it was in joyful hope. On one occasion — six months before her death — when she was thought to be dying, she unexpectedly revived, and, seeing her weeping friends around her, asked her dear mother why they were all in tears — adding with great animation — ‘Do you think that I shall be with Jesus to-morrow V At another of these times, she exclaimed — ‘If the Lord should come and take me this night — but, oh! that is too much to hope for.’ After a violent attack of coughing and spasm, a friend observed — ‘I fear you suffer much.” Oh, no!’ — she replied — i I delight to feel the pins of the tabernacle taking out, She burst into tears, when a physician who occasionally saw her, informed her, that the disease had not made the progress he had supposed. This, however, was but a momentary feeling. For, upon her mother’s reminding her — that she was only not quite so near home as she had expected, she replied — ‘Oh, no! this is wrong;’ dried up her tears, and returned to her usual serenity and cheerfulness. Writing to one of her friends in reference to a beloved saint, who had died in the triumph of the gospel — she remarked —

* Well; I shall have one friend more to welcome me, when the Lord’s time shall come to “administer” to me also “an entrance into his everlasting kingdom.” Oh, blessed hope! happy sinners saved by the blood of Jesus.’’ Then she adds this affectionate exhortation — ‘Oh, my dear, my beloved friend, I charge you so to devote yourself to the Lord, that “the full assurance of hope” may cheer you now, and at the hour of death.’ Upon receiving the intelligence of the sudden death of another Christian friend — she exclaimed — ‘I have heard the good news. She has rent the veil at once. Mine is taking down piece by piece. By and by I shall find a chink large enough to get out of; like a bird confined in a cage, and fluttering about to extricate itself in vain, till at last, the door being open, the happy prisoner wings its flight towards heaven.’ There might probably be an occasional mixture of infirmity in these intense desires for her home. It is indeed the dictate of Christian wisdom to prefer the gain of death. But it is equally the part of Christian obedience to embrace the service of life; and the desire to depart, so far as it is not subjugated to the readiness to wait, partakes of the nature of self-will more than of holy affections. Generally, however, the ardency of her desires appeared to be subdued to a resignation to the Divine will. Thus in reference to her dissolution she writes to the aged minister who, during her residence in London, had been the means of communicating established peace to her soul — 1 Blessed be my all-sufficient Saviour, that, accepted in him, a few months more or less can make no great difference; “Neither life nor death can separate us from his love.”’ On one occasion, after expressing her earnest longing to depart, she checked herself, and added — ‘But I am willing to sit here a hundred or a thousand years, if it be the will of God.’ Her mind maintained its vigorous character in the midst of her protracted sufferings. The subjects of ber conversation were usually of a highly interesting character. She would often speak with considerable clearness combined with deep humility of the more mysterious parts of Revelation, such as the distinct persons of the Holy Trinity; the Person and glory of Christ; the ministry of angels; the state of separate spirits; the prospects of the church of Christ. It is much to be regretted that no particular details of these conversations are preserved. The resurrection and future glory of the body were favourite subjects with her. She delighted to dwell upon 1 Cor. xv. * What a wonderful change’ — she observed on one occasion — ‘takes place in nature in the acorn; which from so small and insignificant a seed afterwards expands and grows into a noble tree, the glory of the forest! What a remarkable transformation also is that of the oaterpillar; which, after having been changed into apparentlydead matter, at the appointed time bursts its shell, and becomes a beautiful winged insect! Had we not witnessed such changes, we should not have believed them possible. But having seen them in nature, shall we doubt the possibility of that great change, which will take place at the resurrection day, when “this vile body shall be fashioned like unto the glorious body” of our Lord?’

For a short time, however, before her death, the enemy was permitted to harass her soul, and her lively apprehensions of the gospel were occasionally obscured. At one of these times she said to her minister, ‘Christ is not so precious to me as he deserves.” No,’ it was replied, * he is so to none.’ 4 But’ she added, ‘he “feeds me with food convenient for me,” though I do not experience those spiritual enjoyments I so ardently long for.’ Of a distressing season of temptation which happened about this time, her minister writes, ‘I shall never forget the state of her mind. It seemed as if “a horror of great darkness had fallen upon her.” ‘Oh’ she said, ‘I cannot pray; I can only utter words. It is mere wind.’ She earnestly called upon me to strengthen her, by repeating the promises of the gospel. God at that time seemed to give me words. For when I scarcely knew what to say, words of effectual consolation were put into my mouth. Once in her impatience to hear the word, she exclaimed, ‘Oh! say something to me from God — whether a word of comfort or reproof.’ I think of that proverb, “The full soul loatheth the honey-comb; but to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.” At these times of “needful heaviness, through manifold temptations,” while “walking in darkness, and having no light,” she was, however, manifestly enabled to “trust in the name of the Lord, and to stay upon her God.” She could not enjoy the full manifestation of her God, which she had known in times past — ‘Yet, though’ she said, ‘I cannot love God with that warmth which I so earnestly desire, I can act faith upon Him.’ She complained much of deadness in prayer. Yet her faith was in exercise, upholding her soul upon the sure word of promise, that her Lord would return to her in his own best time. She would at such seasons cheer her soul by repeating suitable promises. “When the poor and needy seek for water, and there is none, and their tongue i aileth them for thirst, I the Lord will hear them; I the God of Jacob will not forsake them.” On this encouraging promise she rested in one of her seasons of distress and desertion. At another time she would say — “Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise: when I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto me.” And again — “The Lord my God shall enlighten my darkness.” At these times of trial, the book of Canticles was much upon her mind.” “By night I sought my Beloved, but I found him not.” Then she added, ’ but I sought not in vain.’ She appeared at this time much enlivened in speaking of her Saviour as represented under the figure of the bridegroom. ‘He loves us to such a degree, that he seeks after us, he desires, he delights in us, all which is to be seen in this wonderful portion of Scripture.’ At another of these times she remarked, that often in the experience of the Lord’s servants, a season of darkness had preceded some special manifestation of his love. Thus, as she observed, ‘Jacob wrestled a whole night; and it was not until the break of day that the angel revealed himself. Thus for a while our Lord seemed to disregard the cry of the Canaanitish woman; but “the trial of her faith was” eventually “found to praise, and honour, and glory.” Thus also the disconsolate state of the disciples in their journey to Emmaus was the prelude and harbinger of a blessed display of their Master’s light and love.’

The dark clouds which “for a small moment” had been permitted to spread themselves over her soul, were however shortly dispelled; and “at evening time it was light.” Her extreme weakness indeed prevented her utterance; but the few words that could be gathered from her, were descriptive of the peace and joy that reigned within. ‘My weakness’ she said, * reposes on his strength — my folly on his wisdom.’ When her minister, in allusion to her late painful exercises, observed, ‘God was “leading her by the right way to the city of habitation” ’ — she replied — ‘Oh! yes — but how different is the case of those, who “wander in the wilderness in a solitary way, andrac? no city to dwell in!” ‘In the last visit of this beloved attendant — v God’ — she said to him — ’ is the rock of my salvation.’ Then speaking of her being detained in her earthly tabernacle — she added — ‘It is a comfort to think that “Christ has the keys of death and of hell.” All is well. May God be with you, during the remainder of your pilgrimage! I can only lie as an infant in the hands of

Her bodily sufferings at the last period were most severe, arising from a complication of diseases. Her lungs, which had been supposed to be sound, were discovered after her death to be fatally diseased. Her heart also was found to be enlarged. Her weakness and inability to recline for so many weeks, produced dropsy in her feet and legs. This was, however, from time to time relieved by incision. Her life terminated at last by a rapid mortification in one of her legs. The last day of her life was a day of intense agony. She was obliged to take doses of opium, which before, she could not touch, so that the day and night, till she expired, were passed in a doze, or in the most violent suffering. A few words only were preserved at this affecting crisis. A day or two before her death, she cried — ‘Come, Lord Jesus; come quickly; “nevertheless not my will, but thine be done.”’ At another time, speaking of “the glory that shall be revealed” — she exclaimed — “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard; neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.” Alluding to those who watched by her side, she said — ‘What a comfort that we are not watching alone. “He that keepeth Israel, shall neither slumber nor sleep.” Then again, shortly after, “I know whom I have believed.” Then again, in a moment of excruciating suffering to her mother, ‘Pray for me, that my patience may not fail me at the last.’ The last words she was heard to utter before her death in a moment of deep agony, were, ‘I am come into deep waters; O God my rock, “hold thou me -up, and I shall be safe.” The next morning, on Friday, December 10, 1830, without a sigh or struggle, she entered into her eternal rest.

Thus upheld by the good hope of the gospel — thus having displayed in lovely concord the diversified graces of the Christian profession — thus having been abundantly refreshed by the consolations of Christ, this blessed sufferer, this ransomed sinner, this victorious believer, fell asleep in the arms of her Saviour and her God. She heard, and gladly obeyed the call of her Lord — ’ “Gome up hither.” Lay down the cross, and take the crown.’

“To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and set down with my father in his throne”