I must write something of myself today. I can look back and see plainly
all my journey here. The day may come when I shall be laid away in the
grave, and my boys--the dear boys I have loved so well--will look over
my trunk and find this manuscript; they will then perhaps believe I am
not crazy. I know Dr. Steeves tells them I am a lunatic yet. They will
weep over this, as they think of the mother they have left here to die
among strangers. It would be happiness to die surrounded by my friends,
to be able to tell them they have only to live well that they may die
well. To be true to ourselves and to our fellows, is all the good we
need. That I have always striven to do, does now my spirit feed.

I have been so near the grave, the border land of heaven. I heard
angels' voices; they talked with me even as they did with John on the
Isle of Patmos, when they said to him, "Worship God who sent me."

I was very much alone, engaged in writing a book on the laws of health.
My desire to write increased; I became so absorbed with my work I forgot
to eat, and, after a day or two, I seemed to think I had done some
wrong. The angel voices whispered me that I must fast and pray; I know I
had plenty of food in my closet, but I don't remember eating any more. I
fasted eight days, and felt comfortable and happy most of the time. I
sang to myself, "O death, where is thy sting, where is thy victory,
boasting grave." I wept for my own sins, and wished to die, the world to
save. I was trying to perform some ancient right or vow, one day, and my
sons came in. I ordered them away, but they would not go. They said they
would bring me home, for Lewis, who was living with me near Boston, sent
for my son, T. M. Pengilly, who is proprietor of a drug store in St.
John. I suppose he discovered I was fasting, and saw me failing so fast
he telegraphed to Tom to come to his assistance. I remember I kissed him
when he came, asked him what he came for, and bade him leave me. I know