Mr. Garrison gave a brief summary of her life, and ended by saying:  “In view of such a life as hers, consecrated to suffering humanity in its manifold needs, embracing all goodness, animated by the broadest catholicity of spirit, and adorned with every excellent attribute, any attempt at panegyric here seems as needless as it must be inadequate.  Here there is nothing to depress or deplore, nothing premature or startling, nothing to be supplemented or finished.  It is the consummation of a long life, well rounded with charitable deeds, active sympathies, toils, loving ministrations, grand testimonies, and nobly self-sacrificing endeavors.  She lived only to do good, neither seeking nor desiring to be known, ever unselfish, unobtrusive, compassionate, and loving, dwelling in God and God in her.”

The last look was then taken, the last kiss given, and the coffin, lifted by those who loved and honored the form it enclosed, was borne to its resting-place in Mount Hope Cemetery.

“Dear friend,” wrote Angelina to me, before yet the last rites had been performed, “you know what I have lost, not a sister only, but a mother, friend, counsellor,—­everything I could lose in a woman.”

The longer our loved ones are spared to us, the closer becomes the tie by which we are bound to them, and the deeper the pain of separation.  It was thus with Angelina.  She could rejoice at her sister’s blessed translation, but she keenly felt the bereavement notwithstanding.  Their lives had been so bound together; they had walked so many years side by side; they had so shared each other’s burdens, cares, and sorrows, that she who was left scarcely knew how to live the daily life without that dear twin-soul.  And so tender, so true and sacred was the communion which had grown between them, that they could not be separated long.

Angelina continued, as her feeble health permitted, to do alone the work Sarah had shared with her.  The sick, the poor, the sorrowing, were looked after and cared for as usual; but as she was already weighed down by declining years, the burdens she tried to bear were too heavy.  Sarah used to say:  “Angelina’s creed is, for herself, work till you drop; for others, spare yourself.”  Now, with no anxiously watchful sister to restrain her, she overtaxed every power, and brought on the result which had been long feared,—­the paralysis which finally ended her life.

Those who have read Mr. Weld’s beautiful memorial of his wife, with the touching account of her last days, will find no fault, I am sure, if I reproduce a portion of it here, while to those who have not been so fortunate, it will show her sweet Christian spirit, mighty in its gentleness, as no words of mine could do.  In vain may we look back through the centuries for a higher example of divine love and patience and heroic fortitude; and, as a friend observed, her expressions of gratitude for the long and perfect use of her faculties at the very moment when she felt the fatal touch which was to deprive her of them, was the sublimity of sweet and grateful trust.