Lady Huntingdon at this period of her life was called upon to endure some very heavy domestic griefs.  She had to mourn for two of her sons, George, aged thirteen, and Fernando, aged eleven, who died of small-pox.  They were both buried in Westminster Abbey.  On October 13, 1746, she lost her husband, who was carried off by an apoplectic seizure, in his fiftieth year.  The Countess had only just passed her thirty-ninth birthday when this last great sorrow came upon her.  She herself was at the same time tried by a long and severe illness.  The effect of these repeated and heavy afflictions was to further develop her character, and to increase the devotion and self-sacrifice with which she gave herself to works of benevolence and to the extension of the Saviour’s kingdom.  On Lord Huntingdon’s death, besides having entire control of her own means, she became sole trustee of the children and their fortune.  In regard to the latter she proved herself a good steward; the former she devoted very largely to the evangelistic and charitable work in which she delighted.

Early in 1747 she wrote to Dr. Doddridge:  “I hope you will comfort me by all the accounts you can gather of the flourishing and spreading of the glad tidings.  Oh, how do I lament the weakness of my hands, the feebleness of my knees, and coolness of my heart!  I want it on fire always, not for self-delight, but to spread the Gospel from pole to pole.”  And in other letters:  “My heart wants nothing so much as to dispense all—­all for the glory of Him whom my soul loveth.”  “I am nothing—­Christ is all; I disclaim, as well as disdain, any righteousness but His.  I not only rejoice that there is no wisdom for His people but that from above, but reject every pretension to any but what comes from Himself.  I want no holiness He does not give me, and I could not accept a heaven He did not prepare me for; I can wish for no liberty but what He likes for me, and I am satisfied with every misery He does not redeem me from; that in all things I may feel that without Him I can do nothing....  To preach Christ and His blessing upon repentance over the earth is the commission—­the event must be with Him—­all else is from man and of man.  May the Lord give us all such love, to live and die to Him and for Him alone.”

At a later period in life, May, 1763, she sustained another serious bereavement in the loss of her youngest daughter.  Although only twenty-six years of age, she had long been a great comfort to her mother, who, writing after her death, called her “the desire of my eyes and the continual pleasure of my heart.”  Many were the letters of sympathy she received from Venn, Berridge, Romaine, Fletcher, and others; but it was a loss that could not be replaced.  But it could and it did help to purify still more the loving and trusting heart which could see, even as Fletcher urged, in so sore a trial, “mercy rejoicing over judgment.”  One of the sayings of her daughter on that death-bed must often have come to the mother’s mind in later days, “I am as happy as my heart can desire to be.”