As the different members of her husband’s family surrounded her bed, she addressed each with a few appropriate words.  Taking her mother S.’s hand, she said, “Thou hast been a kind mother to me:  I can never repay thee. * * ” To her father S., who was absent, she sent her love.  He, however, returned in time to see her.  From his having left her so much better on Seventh-day, she feared he might be alarmed at the change, anxiously inquiring whether he was aware of it, and affectionately greeted him when he came, saying, “I am _so glad_ to see thee!” To one she said, “Dear ——­, seek the Lord; seek Him and serve Him with a perfect heart.

    ’Why should we fear youth’s draught of joy.’[3]

Tell her that verse from me. * * * " She inquired for J.H.; and, on his coming into the room, being rather overcome with her exertions, she said, “I am too weak to speak now;” but, waving her hand, she pointed her finger towards heaven with an almost angelic smile.

After a short pause, she renewed her leave-taking, adding, at its close, “Farewell—­my best farewell! now I have nothing more to say.  Farewell!” And a little after, turning to her sister, “Now, my dear R., there seems nothing to say—­nothing but love—­all love!”

She then asked for a few minutes alone with her dear husband, and took a calm and tender leave of him also.

Difficulty of breathing now became very trying to her; but again and again she tried to cheer us by the assurance that she had no pain—­“only oppression:  don’t think it pain.”  The lines being repeated

  “Though painful at present,
    ’Twill cease before long;
  And then, oh, how pleasant
    The conqueror’s song!”

she responded with a sweet smile, and exclaimed, “Oh, glorious!” She dwelt with comfort on the text, “Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth,” and once, commencing to repeat it herself, asked her sister to finish it.

No cloud now appeared to remain before her.  “I don’t see any thing in the way,” she said.  Her sister reminded her that the everlasting arms were underneath and above her, waiting to receive her.  “Dear R.,” she replied, “she can trust for me.” * * She spoke at intervals until a few minutes before her departure, but not always intelligibly.  On her dear husband’s asking her if she felt peaceful, she assented with a beaming smile, and soon after, resting in his arms, she ceased to breathe.

She died on Second-day evening, the 6th of 10th month, 1851.  Thus, at the age of about twenty-eight years, and within six weeks after the happy consummation of a marriage union which promised much true enjoyment, was this precious plant suddenly removed, to bloom forever, as we humbly trust, through redeeming love and mercy, in a celestial paradise.  The funeral took place at Friends’ burial-ground at Birmingham, on the following First-day; being only three weeks from the time she had first attended that Meeting as a bride.  It was a deeply solemn time; but, amidst their grief, the hearts of many responded to the words expressed at the grave-side:  “Now, unto Him who hath loved her, and washed her from her sins in His own blood, unto Him be glory and dominion, for ever and ever, Amen.”