sitting down, prepared to watch by him. He entreated me to lie down,
and I told him when he slept I would.

"'Oh, God,' he exclaimed with fervent energy, 'how sweet to sleep and
wake in heaven!' This last desire was realized. He clasped one of my
hands, and as I bent over him and arranged his pillow he put his arm
around me. I did not stir; apparently he slept. But the relaxed grasp,
the dewy coldness, the damps of death which stood upon his forehead,
all told me that he was hastening fast to Jesus. Alone, at the hour of
midnight, I sat by this bed of death. My eyes were fixed on that face
whose calmness seemed to say, 'I rest in peace.' A gentle pressure of
the hand, and a scarcely audible respiration, alone indicated that life
was not extinct; at length that pressure ceased, and the strained ear
could no longer hear a breath. I continued gazing on the lifeless form,
closed his eyes and kissed him. His spirit, freed from the shackles of
mortality, had sprung to its source, the bosom of his God. I passed the
rest of the night alone."

And alone, the only mourner, this brave, heart-stricken girl followed
the remains of her beloved father to the grave.

When all was over she went back to Philadelphia, where she remained two
or three months, and then returned to Charleston.

During the season of family mourning which followed, having nothing
especial to do, Sarah became more than ever concerned about her
spiritual welfare. She constantly deplored her lukewarmness, and
regarded herself as standing on the edge of a precipice from which she
had no power to withdraw. The subject of slavery began now also to
agitate her mind. After her residence in Philadelphia, where doubtless