dread the hand of death. My father now implored her to be tranquillised,
and, in the most tender and affectionate manner, assured her, that of all
living creatures she was, he thought, the best prepared to enter the
presence of her Creator. She calmly replied that though to her knowledge
she had never intentionally injured any human being, either in _thought,
word, or deed_; though she had never neglected her duty to her Maker, but
had always acted to the best of her judgment so as to deserve his mercy;
yet, she trembled, and doubted, and feared to die. My father now observed
that her voice faltered, and, to draw her attention from such a painful,
heart-rending subject, he asked her if she knew me, supposing that she was
becoming insensible. With the kindest look she took my hand, and gently
replied, "I know him perfectly well, God bless him!" She then seized his
hand also, and instantly expired, grasping both. Thus breathed the last,
of as bright, as lovely, and as perfect a pattern of Christian piety as
ever lived to grace society, and to adorn and bless a husband and family.

My father's sorrow was now become too intense for outward shew; he stood
dumb and motionless, with his eyes fixed and rivetted upon her, in whose
death he felt that he had sustained an irretrievable loss. We had both
still hold of her hands; his mute, immovable figure looked like a statue;
and I fancied that his heart was breaking. I seized him by the hand, and
in the most supplicating manner implored him to leave the room. My extreme
sorrow seemed to awake him from his trance; and I led him gently, and he
followed involuntarily, out of the chamber. Having seated him in his armed
chair, I knelt before him, and threw my head in his lap, there I gave a
loose to my grief, and mingled my tears with those which were now flowing
in streams down his manly cheeks. To endeavour to describe what I felt,
upon this melancholy event, would be puerile in the extreme; none but
those who have been placed in a similar situation are capable of
comprehending the distress which enters the soul of such a husband and