November 27th.—­Two months, and not a word in my journal!  I have done far more with my needle and my feet than with my pen.  One comes home from the country to a good many cares, and they are worldly cares, too, about eating and about wearing.  I hope the worst of mine are over now and that I shall have more leisure.  But no, I forget that now comes the dreaded, dreaded experience of weaning baby.  But what then?  I have had a good rest this fall.  Have slept unusually well; why, only think, some nights not waking once—­and some nights only a few times; and then we have had no sickness; baby better—­all better.  Now I ought to be willing to have the trials I need so much, seeing I have had such a rest.  And heaven! heaven! let me rest on that precious word.  Heaven is at the end and God is there.

Early in March, 1857, she was taken very ill and continued so until May.  For some weeks her recovery seemed hardly possible.  She felt assured her hour had come and was eager to go.  All the yearnings of her heart, during many years, seemed on the point of being gratified.  The next entry in her journal refers to this illness: 

Sunday, May 24th, 1857.—­Just reading over the last record how ashamed I felt of my faithlessness!  To see dear baby so improved by the very change I dreaded, and to hear her pretty, cheerful prattle, and to find in her such a source of joy and comfort—­what undeserved, what unlooked-for mercies!  But like a physician who changes his remedies as he sees occasion, and who forbears using all his severe ones at once, my Father first relieved me from my wearing care and pain about this dear child, and then put me under new discipline.  It is now nearly six months since I have been in usual health, and eight weeks of great prostration and suffering have been teaching me many needed lessons.  Now, contrary to my hopes and expectations, I find myself almost well again.  At first, having got my heart set toward heaven and after fancying myself almost there, I felt disappointed to find its gates still shut against me. [10]

But God was very good to me and taught me to yield in this point to His wiser and better will; He made me, as far as I know, as peaceful in the prospect of living as joyful in the prospect of dying.  Heaven did, indeed, look very attractive when I thought myself so near it; I pictured myself as no longer a sinner but a blood-washed saint; I thought I shall soon see Him whom my soul loveth, and see Him as He is; I shall never wound, never grieve Him again, and all my companions will be they who worship Him and adore Him.  But not yet am I there!  Alas, not yet a saint!  My soul is oppressed, now that health is returning, to find old habits of sin returning too, and this monster Self usurping God’s place, as of old, and pride and love of ease and all the infirmities of the flesh thick upon me.  After being encompassed with mercies for two months, having every comfort this world could offer for my alleviation, I wonder at myself that I can be anything but a meek, docile child, profiting by the Master’s discipline, sensible of the tenderness that went hand-in-hand with every stroke, and walking softly before God and man!  But I am indeed a wayward child and in need of many more stripes.  May I be made willing and thankful to bear them.