SMITH’S, EIGHT IN THE MORNING.

The lady is in a slumber.  Mrs. Lovick, who sat up with her, says she had a better night than was expected; for although she slept little, she seemed easy; and the easier for the pious frame she was in; all her waking moments being taken up in devotion, or in an ejaculatory silence; her hands and eyes often lifted up, and her lips moving with a fervour worthy of these her last hours.

TEN O’CLOCK.

The Colonel being earnest to see his cousin as soon as she awoke, we were both admitted.  We observed in her, as soon as we entered, strong symptoms of her approaching dissolution, notwithstanding what the women had flattered us with from her last night’s tranquillity.—­The Colonel and I, each loth to say what we thought, looked upon one another with melancholy countenances.

The Colonel told her he should send a servant to her uncle Antony’s for some papers he had left there; and asked if she had any commands that way.

She thought not, she said, speaking more inwardly than she did the day before.  She had indeed a letter ready to be sent to her good Norton; and there was a request intimated in it.  But it was time enough, if the request were signified to those whom it concerned when all was over.  —­However, it might be sent them by the servant who was going that way.  And she caused it to be given to the Colonel for that purpose.

Her breath being very short, she desired another pillow.  Having two before, this made her in a manner sit up in her bed; and she spoke then with more distinctness; and, seeing us greatly concerned, forgot her own sufferings to comfort us; and a charming lecture she gave us, though a brief one, upon the happiness of a timely preparation, and upon the hazards of a late repentance, when the mind, as she observed, was so much weakened, as well as the body, as to render a poor soul hardly able to contend with its natural infirmities.

I beseech ye, my good friends, proceeded she, mourn not for one who mourns not, nor has cause to mourn, for herself.  On the contrary, rejoice with me, that all my worldly troubles are so near to their end.  Believe me, Sirs, that I would not, if I might, choose to live, although the pleasantest part of my life were to come over again:  and yet eighteen years of it, out of nineteen, have been very pleasant.  To be so much exposed to temptation, and to be so liable to fail in the trial, who would not rejoice that all her dangers are over?—­All I wished was pardon and blessing from my dear parents.  Easy as my departure seems promised to be, it would have been still easier, had I that pleasure.  But god almighty would not let me depend for comfort upon any but himself.

She then repeated her request, in the most earnest manner, to her cousin, that he would not heighten her fault, by seeking to avenge her death; to me, that I would endeavour to make up all breaches, and use the power I had with my friend, to prevent all future mischiefs from him, as well as that which this trust might give me to prevent any to him.