time till the day previous to her death; but her strength was wasted by an internal fever, which was indicated, not so much by the pulse and skin, as by a constant thirst, which demanded cold water and ice, and which even these did not allay. Her reason, her calmness, her patience, her kindness, never for a moment forsook her, and Ellen and I watched over her, with sympathy indeed, but with little apprehension of the result. "What ardently we wished we still believed," and we looked for that on the morrow which each day failed to bring, an entire removal of the disease. It was not till the Saturday evening previous to her death that my husband's faithfulness forced us to look upon her recovery as doubtful. She was then very feeble, and we found it necessary to apply both external and internal restoratives, which soon brought warmth and comparative vigor to her system. From about eight to twelve we were occupied in this way, during which time I frequently asked her if she was in pain; to which she calmly answered "some." About twelve she suddenly became entirely relieved, and continued so through the night. Every time I laid my hand on hers she would open her eyes and repeat in her sweetest tone, "quite easy." The sudden change made me anxious, and I went to my husband repeatedly through the night to inquire whether there was cause for alarm. But as her system. seemed more vigorous in its actings than the evening previous, he ventured to hope she was better. About daylight my mother inquired of me what the Doctor thought of the sudden change. I told her he hoped she was better. Said she, "I never felt as I did last night." "How, mother?" "Those dying pains," she twice repeated; and yet through the whole she had only acknowledged in answer to my repeated inquiries that she suffered "some." She continued more comfortable through the sabbath; and when my husband retired that night he pronounced her better, and expressed a hope that she would have a comfortable night. But when I went into her room at one o'clock Monday morning, I found her restless, and suffering with thirst. I remained with her through the night. Early in the morning my husband found her feverish and her

disease more alarming in its progress. From that time he was almost without hope, and immediately communicated his fears to his beloved patient. "Mother," said he, "you are very ill." "I know it," she calmly answered. "And I have serious fears," he added, "that you will never be any better. What are your feelings in view of death?" "I have no uncomfortable feelings," was her reply. "Are you willing to trust yourself with the Saviour for life or death?" "Yes." Ellen then asked her if she had thought much of death during her sickness. She answered, "I don't know that I have thought more of it than I did when I was well." She had slept much and conversed but little since her illness, but when awake usually lay with her hands clasped as if in prayer. After breakfast my father came into the room, and, struck with the great change in her countenance, he thought her actually dying. Feeling there was no time to be lost, he at once exclaimed, "My dear, I think before to-morrow morning you will be in Heaven!" This sudden announcement, following so soon upon the first intimation of her danger, might have been expected to have produced at least a momentary excitement. I was bending over her, where I should have seen if a breath was quickened, or a nerve was moved; but with unruffled composure, closing her eyes, she twice repeated, "I hope so." My father said, "I want you to look to Christ." After a moment's silent meditation, she gently repeated, "Great sinner, great sinner, great Saviour." She then expressed her wishes as to the disposal of her letters, clothing, &c.-sent messages of love to all her friends, &c. My father said, "My dear, I don't want you to be thinking of these trifles. I want you to "That is just the reason," she replied, mind at rest." I said, "You are not "We do not want to part with you." "I do not," she sweetly answered. "I hope we shall follow you to heaven." "I hope so;" and placing her hand gently on my father's arm, added, "It will be but a little while." My father asked, "Before we meet in heaven?" "Yes." She had that morning seen every member of the family, and

be looking to Christ."
"I want to have my
afraid to die." "No."

kissed her grand-children. One of them coming in the second time I called her attention to it. She answered, "I have seen them all." In less than an hour from this time she sunk into a state of insensibility, from which she roused not again, except to ask for air and drink. Her intercourse with mortals was ended, but not before she had said all that she wished and all that we could desire. At two o'clock on Tuesday morning my father was called up to see her die. He said to her, "My dear, we think you are dying, and I am going to pray with you." She immediately folded her hands across her breast, (no longer able to clasp them,) and fixed her glazed eyes upon him for a moment, but before he closed she sunk again into insensibility. She thus alternated between life and death till some time in the afternoon of Tuesday, when suddenly her countenance assumed the fixedness of death. Her respiration became harder and harder, then shorter and shorter, then suddenly ceased. She gasped, then stretched herself as an infant awaking from sleep, gasped twice, stretched herself again— and again-The spirit had fled !*

There was a heavenly sweetness about her countenance after death. Perfect peace was written there. She was laid unchanged in the grave on Thursday, 27th.

We selected the 3d hymn, Book II. to be sung at her funeral. Mr. Eddy chose the very text I had selected: "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints." Doctor Hillyer of Orange, the only early friend of my parents in the ministry left in this region, offered the prayer.

The chamber of death and the house of mourning were filled with long tried christian friends, who had welcomed her return, and who were anxious to pay the last tribute of respect.

I have already mentioned that my father's health had been improved of late. He sustained this trial as a christian, most of the time calm, never overwhelmed. But the "outward man" quailed under the stroke, and for several days after the funeral he was very feeble; his difficulty of breathing returned,

* She died at half past 5 o'clock, Tuesday, July 25.

"And

and he felt as if he was soon to follow his sainted wife. Oh how she will welcome me," he would exclaim with tears. He is now much better, and is going to attempt supplying Mr. Eddy's pulpit for the next five sabbaths. He spoke at the communion table last sabbath, and referred most affectingly to the "amazing realities which had broken upon the view of those who had lately gone from our bosom to the bosom of the Saviour."

My father wishes me to present him to you most affectionately, and we all unite in our gratitude for your prayers and sympathy.

Believe me, Dear Sir,

With respectful regard, yours,

F. L. SMITH.

August 16th. I have been blest this morning with clearer views than I ever had before. I certainly delight in God's glory and happiness more than in any thing else, and I do not wish for a personal happiness distinct from that delight. I do love to lie at his feet and to look up from the dust and see him on the throne. I desire above all things to see him known and honored as God. It is because he is in heaven that I wish to be there. I rejoice to know that he is his own reward, all that reward to himself that he ever expected or desired. I long to be holy because it is right and agreeable to his will, and not primarily for the sake of the reward. The happiness I seek is derived from the happiness and glory of God. I feel that my sins against his authority and happiness and glory, are unspeakably vile, and do deserve more misery than I can measure, and my judgment tells me, eternal misery. I love to repent. It is a luxury to lie low at his feet and mourn for sin. Christ is precious to my soul, the chief among ten thousands and altogether lovely. That God should have regenerated me, according to an eternal decree of election, making all the difference in my favor between an eternal hell and an eternal heaven, lays me under boundless, boundless, boundless obligations. My most. earnest desire and

prayer is, that I may spend my life in his service and in heavenly devotion.

My practice founded on the rule to pray without ceasing, and in every thing to give thanks, has opened God to my view, somewhat, I think, as he will be seen in heaven,—and it would be so fully if the rule was fully observed. It has established a habit of gratitude more constant and tender than I ever experienced before.

Mrs. Griffin's death has certainly been sanctified to me, and has rendered heaven more familiar, and real and dear. And as God had evidently prepared me for that event, I know not but his present dealings are intended to prepare me to follow her soon. I should be glad to live to carry my MSS. through the press, and for a little while longer to promote revivals of religion by preaching. I have no wish to live for any other reason; and I am willing that God should defeat these purposes by my removal, if he sees fit.

August 20th. I certainly do love God with great tenderness. My heart is dissolved in gratitude to him for his amazing and distinguishing love. That he is infinitely and eternally happy, and that he will be known and honored and glorified as God, are the two sweetest thoughts that ever enter my mind. I think I love him better than myself. It has been a question whether to see him known and honored as God, was my supreme desire, or whether a wish for my own happiness was stronger. But I am convinced that the happiness I wish for, instead of being superior or opposed to his glory, consists in it. The delight of seeing him known and honored, is the very heaven I desire. I certainly long to be holy because it is right and agreeable to the will of God, antecedent to all considerations of reward.

August 24th. Do I love God better than myself? My happiness consists in the happiness and glory of God, and in his will's being done. I do not, therefore, habitually set up my own will or happiness against him, and of course do not love myself better than God, but God better than myself. It is my supreme desire to see him known and honored as God, for I VOL. I.

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