“Thanks be to God for this salvation; but, Lord, this is but a small thing with thee.  Look, O look on this twig from a guilty stock; poor, helpless, feeble creature, it can do nothing for its body, and still less for its soul.  O God of the spirits of all flesh, give it a plunge in the blood of Jesus—­cleanse, O cleanse him from original sin, and now, even now, in thy own sovereign and mysterious way, sow the grain of mustard seed in his soul.”

In the spring of 1792, Mrs. Graham and her family were called to a severe trial by the translation of their beloved pastor, Dr. Mason, to a better world.  A few months before his decease, while preaching to his people, his recollection failed, his sermon was gone from his mind, and he sat down in his pulpit unable to proceed.  After a short pause, he arose and addressed his people in a pious and affectionate strain; he considered this event as a call from his heavenly Master to expect a speedy dismission from the earth, and solemnly admonished them also to be prepared for the will of God.  His people, who loved him, were affected to tears.  An illness soon followed, which terminated in the death of the body.  He departed on the night when Mrs. Graham took her turn of watching with him, and she closed his eyes, which she always accounted a privilege and honor bestowed upon her by her divine Master.  But this tender and affecting scene is best described in a letter which she wrote to her sympathizing friend Mrs. Walker, of Edinburgh.

“NEW YORK, April, 1792, Sabbath noon.

“MY DEAR MADAM—­It is not my custom to take my pen on this day even to write to a Christian friend, having occasion for the whole time with my family or in secret with my God; but I cannot go to dinner, I cannot eat, I cannot talk to my girls; my heart must bleed afresh on the same altar upon which it has often been pierced.  O, madam, my dear Dr. Mason goes, and leaves me here alone:  in all probability his course is nearly finished, and his crown awaits him.  Five physicians now attend him closely.  I have seen him often, and he says, ‘All is well, all will be well,’ Of the physicians he said, ’Yes, yes, it is very well; they are useful men in God’s hand; they may be instrumental in patching up the tabernacle a little.  If it be raised to usefulness, I am content; if not to usefulness, I do not desire it.  I feel no concern about the issue of this; the will of the Lord be done.’

“I say, Amen; but Oh, I feel alone.  I should need large communications from his Master to fill up this blank.  I cannot write for weeping; now my face is so swelled I cannot go to church.  I called at his house this morning, found the doctors in the parlor, and learned from them the worst.  The bell was ringing for church.  I stifled as much as possible my grief; would fain have come home to give it vent, but durst not be absent from the house of God.  I heard a stranger in Dr. Rodgers’ church; our doors are closed; his text was, ‘Henceforth I call you not servants, but friends;’ he ran the parallel between human friendship and that subsisting between Christ and his disciples.  I ought to be comforted, nay, I am comforted.