appear before God. But blessed be his name, he gave his Son, his own Son, to redeem mankind. Poor sinners may therefore come to God through him. The invitation is, "Ho! every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money." As such I come. My trust is in the

friend of sinners, and as a miserable sinner I come to him." I said, "My love, I am very thankful that God has given you such a deep acquaintance with the human heart, and such clear views of the gospel; yet I must say, that excepting a little irritability of temper, you have lived a very innocent life, and been very free from outward sin. But the more we grow in grace, the more we shall see of our own corrupt nature." She instantly exclaimed, "O no, I am the very chief of sinners, I have neglected God, I have lived without God, I have abused his mercies." I observed, "St. Paul used the same language before you did; it is the common acknowledgment of all who know their own hearts." After a short pause, she said, " When we go to Devonshire, take Omicron's Letters, and the Pilgrim's Progress. You remember how Christian was encouraged when he gazed on the cross. I do as he did I look at the cross; I lose my burden as he did. Jesus died for sinners; I believe it, and I can rest upon it."

'On Sunday, April 17, the Rev. Mr. Buckley having kindly offered to take my duty at Bentinck

Chapel and St. Peter's, I stayed at home. I proposed reading to her a discourse on the love of God, as displayed in the gospel of Jesus Christ; but, to my great astonishment, she desired me to read Mr. Walker of Truro's second sermon on the helplessness of man. I objected to it, as being of so tremendous a description. I wished rather to direct her attention to the Saviour: but she persisted in her desire, and listened with great attention to the first three heads, occasionally remarking, "It is very awful, but very true. I know it by experience.” Then she sweetly adverted to the gospel, and exclaimed, "What hope could there be without such a Saviour? What a mercy to have such a Saviour! This Saviour is God's own Son. Here I rest my hope."

'The preceding conversations evinced that there was in her a remarkably deep sense of sin, and an entire freedom from self-righteousness. She preferred close, practical truths, and the more they probed her heart, the more eagerly she listened to them. At the same time she had such reviving views of the gospel, that I never heard her express a sentiment of despair; scarcely even of anxiety respecting her eternal safety; she was calm, placid, happy, without rapture, and without apprehension. She was in a frame of patient waiting for Christ. 'On Tuesday the 19th, conversing with her sister on the importance of religion, she said repeatedly,

"I wish I had been more serious; I hope when I recover I shall think more of God. I remember how Archbishop Usher on his death-bed lamented his many lost opportunities. It is a serious thing to die. I desire to die like him, saying, "God be merciful to me a sinner." This evening the sky was beautifully clear; the moon and stars shone very brightly before our window. She fixed her eyes on these glorious objects, and after some pause, said, "God is omnipotent-absolute-sovereign:" then paused, and proceeded, "God is gracious; he "forgiveth all my iniquities; he healeth all my diseases."

'She had been for some time very rapidly declining, but hitherto in a great measure free from pain. Now, however, her sufferings became more distressing, and she was reduced to extreme helplessness. In my journal I find the following insertion, dated April 20: "O my God! having no doubt, through thy rich grace, of my beloved wife's admission to endless glory; seeing her now helpless as a babe, and beginning to suffer pains which I perceive must daily increase; and regarding her recovery as utterly hopeless, I feel this day, for the first time since our union, willing to part with her. O my Father, take thy child, thy daughter, to thy bosom, where her pains will cease for ever. She has been dear, very dear to me; but much more so to thee; this present dispensation assures me of it.

I can therefore now part with her; satisfied that to depart and be admitted into thy blissful presence will be better for her than to remain. Blessed, for ever blessed be thy glorious name, that though some while since I was full of fears and doubts, I can now say that I wish for no farther evidence of her safety than what thou, my God, hast graciously given me. I still feel the struggle of nature; I dread the parting moment; but my affection for her overcomes my own interested feelings. Haste, happy spirit, to those mansions for which thy God has prepared thee. How will my beloved mother rejoice to receive thee! How will thy own sweet little William exult at thy coming. Yea, manymany will congratulate thee on the event which I deplore. O blessed interview! though I cannot now share its triumphs, I still trust one day to receive thee again."

Occasionally, when she was well enough, we took an airing through Hyde Park. On one of these occasions, the day being very fine, and the Park full of gay company, as she was leaning on me, almost fainting, I could not forbear saying to her, "How much rather would I see you in your present reduced state, with a prospect of heaven before you, than in the midst of health, gaiety, and splendour, and at the same time as unconcerned about eternity as, I fear, are most of those around us." She smiled, and feelingly replied,

"O yes,
there cannot be a moment's hesitation
on that point."

'On Thursday the 21st, being too unwell to join
in any conversation, I took the opportunity, as she
lay asleep on the sofa, of writing to her brother in
the garrison of Gibraltar. Just as I finished my
letter she awoke much revived, and said, " Give my
kindest love to my brother; tell him I hope that in
the gaiety of the army he does not forget eternity.
Heavenly joys are far before earthly happiness."
She added, "I feel myself naked-poor-undone in
myself; but I look up to Christ, the Rock of ages;
there I rest; and I wish my dear brother the same
happy experience."

'The next day was Good Friday. She was so ill the preceding night, that I several times imagined she was no more. However, as I knew that nothing now remained for me but to wait the approach of death, I did not disturb the servant. About four in the morning I sat up in bed, and, looking on her, involuntarily said, "My poor suffering, but still rich, happy Nancy!" She was only in a doze, and, looking up, said, "Wherein does my happiness consist?" I replied, "In that you are redeemed by the blood of the Lord Jesus. The great God is your God he will keep you while you live; and when you die, he will receive you to his arms." She smiled, and said, "O! that is charming; it is excellent. Precious Saviour!" A little while after, I