TO MES. S., AT NEW-LONDON.

Boston, June 29, 1823. I WISH I could look in upon you and your little charge this evening; I should then know better than I now do how to address you. I will, however, take it for granted that you are well, that the children are well, that your journey has been comfortable, and that you are comparatively happy.

You and I, my dear madam, have seen many changes, we have met with many vicissitudes, every one of which the Lord chose out for us, in infinite wisdom and mercy, before the world was. And has he not helped us hitherto? Has he not always delivered us from evil, or enabled us to bear it? And is not his grace in times past a pledge of future mercy?

Upon the whole, my dear Mrs. S., I believe all that we want is more grace; a heart to rest in God; a heart to love his character, to love his will, to love his government. This would set all right. All that we have is his, our own bodies and souls, our children, our possessions, our acquirements. Is it not so? Are we Christians? And are we grasping any darling object, and saying, "All the rest, Lord, but not this; this I cannot part with?" Oh, are we Christians; and shall we do this? No, no. Let it be our glory, let it be our happiness, to GIVE UP ALL TO GOD, and we shall be repaid a thousand fold.

The letter just read, was the last written by this excellent woman, previously to her being seized with the malady which terminated in her death. The cough, spoken of more than once in the preceding extracts,

had continued without abatement. On Saturday, July 5th, she took an additional cold. In the evening of the succeeding Sabbath, her indisposition assumed a more painful and alarming character. The change, and her feelings in relation to it, are thus described by herself in a postscript to the letter commenced June 29th. "Since I wrote the above, my dear Mrs. S., my health has changed a good deal. You recollect my troublesome cough. Day before yesterday, I spit a little blood; and every day since, I have raised a little. A blister and a slight fever have reduced my strength; so that I feel that I am a frail, dying creature.

Dr. is very anxious to get me from Boston. He hopes a change of air will benefit me. I hope so too, and think of Connecticut, if I can get there. But, oh, how lonely I feel! Whom shall I look to. But hush every word that looks like complaining. The Lord has written me, widow, and desolate; and he has done well. Oh, for a heart to bless him now, to bless him for ever! I need strong faith. I cannot write much. You must all love and pray for me. But we all want love to, and confidence in the blessed God, a thousand times more than any thing else."

A second postscript to the same letter, written by another hand, and dated "Wednesday evening, July 9th," is as follows, "Dear Madam, thus far our beloved friend had written to you. She is now unable to finish; and has requested me to do it, and to inform you of the particulars of her case. It is painful indeed to know it, but you would consider it cruel to keep you in ignorance of it. Last evening, and but a short time after she had written the above, she was taken with raising blood, to a degree which alarmed us very much. The physician took nearly a pint of blood from the arm, and she was considerably relieved from the irritation on the lungs. Another blister has also been applied, and

has drawn very well. The doctor thinks there is no immediate danger, and hopes she will recover. He wishes her to keep entirely quiet, and not to speak a word. She is very much exhausted, and the weather to-day has been oppressively warm. We hope that the means which are using will be blessed of Him in whose hands is the breath of every one, and that this precious woman may long be continued to her children, her friends, the church, and the world. Many fervent prayers are ascending for her; and she will not be forgotten by you and her other dear friends in Connecticut. She is in a very quiet and happy frame of mind, sweetly feeling that she is in the hands of her covenant God.”

These hopes in regard to her health were not realized. Every effort which skill and kindness could make, was made for the removal of her complaint. Prayer was continually offered, by numerous and ardently attached Christian friends, for her restoration. But she continued gradually to decline.

In the latter part of August, she was removed to the house of a friend in the country, about ten miles from Boston, with the hope that a change of air and scene might be beneficial. And, for a time, she was more comfortable than while in the city; but the progress of her disease was not interrupted. While here, she wrote two or three short notes to her children, none of whom were with her. The following extracts are from one to her son at Andover.

September 19, 1823.

"My beloved child, though I am very feeble, I feel a great desire to write you a few lines. My love and anxiety for you are greater than any but a parent can know; and yet I tell you your faults. I want you to settle this truth in your mind for life, my J., that he is your best friend who takes the most pains to correct

your errors.

Beware of the person who tries to make you think well of yourself, especially when your own conscience is not quite satisfied.

20. Always love your sisters. Consider yourself as, in a sense, their protector and guardian. Write to them often: pray for them. You are likely to be left alone in a strange world. So have I been; and

Thus far the Lord hath led me on;

so that I have never lacked any good thing. The way has been boisterous sometimes,

But Judah's Lion guards the way,

And guides the travellers HOME.

Make this friend yours.--but I must close. Love Mr. C., always love him. He is one of your best friends; and faithful friends are not very plenty in this treacherous world, my J. But, oh! that I could see you securing the friendship of your God. Remember, his vows are upon you, and you cannot, must not, go back. Farewell, beloved child. The Lord be with you continually.".

About the close of the month of September, she desired the physician then attending her, to inform her, definitely and frankly, whether there was, in his opinion, any prospect of her recovery. His answer was in the negative. She received it with some feeling, but with submission, and thanked him for his kindness in being so explicit.

On the third of October she was removed again to her residence in Boston; and proceeded immediately to set her house in order, in preparation for death. She had an interview with the gentleman who has since, in compliance with the request then made, been appointed

guardian to her children. She saw, or wrote to the friends who have kindly undertaken the charge of their education. The following is an extract from one of her letters on this subject, dated October 20, 1823. “My dear how I have longed to see you. Your mother said you would be here, and I have expected it with great anxiety. She said you would take S. Will you be her mother? Will your husband be her father? Will you watch over this dear child?—Yes, you will, and I shall die easy on this point. God helps me to trust the promise, "Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them."

"My strength decays. I have scarcely any appetite. But my Saviour lays under me his everlasting arm; and I trust that all is well, and will be well for ever. Pray that I may have his presence, and that I may glorify him to the end. Farewell, beloved

friend."

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During her illness, her pastor had frequent interviews with her. She at one time, about a fortnight after the first bleeding from her lungs, had some douɔ̃ts and fears in regard to the genuineness of her religious experience. Her apprehension was, that she might never have been truly humbled for sin. But the feelings which this apprehension excited, were of such a character as to furnish to others the most satisfactory evidence of her piety; as they clearly evinced a deep and practical conviction, that, without the light of God's countenance, there can be no real happiness. The cloud was, however, soon dissipated; and, from that time till her death, she was favoured with uniform peace of mind.

Her pastor usually, when other engagements did not prevent, made brief minutes upon returning home