it, yet, unless the hand of encouragement was held out to them, it is very hard for them to rise again." She said she felt no distinction in the human family; and it was evident she made no distinction, but encouraged all to endeavor to attain to what she so fully realized-that peace of mind which is the reward of obedience.

Early in the morning she wished to have the window curtains raised, that she might see the light. She then said, "The Lord said 'Let there be light,' and there was light, and how beautiful it is." She requested a friend who was sitting by her to read in the New Testament. She was asked if she had any choice in what part of the book was read. She said, "No, not any; it is all instructive to me." During the morning she sent for two of their workmen, conversed with them in a friendly and familiar manner, and advised them to attend meeting, and relinquish their present habits of drinking. One of them states that he was much affected with what she said, and thinks it likely he should still have continued in the habit of drinking, had she not thus admonished him.

About two o'clock, nature had a hard struggle with the disease, the latter gaining the victory. She continued to sink gradually until about midnight, when she passed quietly away, like one falling into a sweet sleep, on the 22d of Second month, 1841.

not by his children be considered common or unclean, or too unholy for them to mingle with, for the promotion of any good cause whereby she believed the human family might be benefitted. Her faith rested not on works, but her works on faith.

On her return from a visit to Indiana Yearly meeting, in the winter of 1840, she appeared to be laboring under a pulmonary affection; but the ardor of her zeal being in no wise abated, she continued active until the following autumn, when the disease had made such ravages on her system that she was mostly confined at home, yet still evincing a lively interest in those subjects that had previously occupied her mind.

About this time she had to pass through an afflictive dispensation, in the loss of her youngest child, a promising daughter of thirteen. Her feelings on this occasion are expressed in a few lines of poetry, written by herself at that time:

Third-day morning, 11th mo. 4, 1840. Another morning dawns in beauty bright, While yet she lingers in this world of care; A lovely daughter, for whose early blight, Sadly, and oft, will fall the dimming tear. Her playful innocence, her child-like glee, Her genius too, not of inferior mould, Have left their traces on each memory, That, day by day, its treasures will unfold.

Second-day, 23d.

The bourne is past, her sufferings at an end,
Her limbs are shrouded in the peaceful clay;

Her ashes with a sister's ashes blend,
As side by side their precious relics lay.

Is it a blight? a scion taken hence,
Engrafted by the potent hand of love
Into the vine that grows in Paradise,

And weaves its branches round the courts above.

Nay, nay, my soul, rather rejoice to know,

This bud shall flourish there, and there shall bloom Unnipp'd by frosts that wither here below, Or blighted by the dampness of the tomb.

After this event, her strength continued gradually to decline, though her mind was preserved calm and cheerful, becoming one who has a well grounded hope of a blissful immortality.

A short time previous to her death, a female friend who had travelled with her on several. religious visits to distant places, visited her. During the time she was with her, Martha said to her, "I feel it right to impress on thy mind the very great importance of attending to every duty that is clearly manifested to thee, though it may be greatly in the cross to thy natural will, and there may seem to be mountains of difficulty in the way, yet if we attend simply to the dictates of truth, these duties will become pleasant to us. I think thou hast known something of this in thy own experience; it is the true principle of Friends; but there is so much looking to our friends, and fearing this or the other will not be in accordance with the Discipline, or with the

views of our friends, that I think there are but few who fully practice simple obedience to the manifested will of our Heavenly Father, which is of more importance to us than every other consideration.

"I now think it right to mention to thee some of my past experience. When my dear mother lay very helpless, and I had been nursing her some time, I believed it was my duty to leave her, and attend to other duties, which were very clearly pointed out to me; but my best friends could not see and feel with me; they thought it improper, and I believe, irrational, for me to leave my helpless mother and my family at that time. It was very trying to my natural will, but I believed my peace of mind depended thereon, and in that belief, I was strengthened to leave all and go. I believe it was more in the cross than I ever left home before. I met with many outward trials, and my stay from home was prolonged, because I could not appoint any meetings; therefore I was obliged to wait until meeting-day, to attend the meetings I thought it right to visit. I think the performance of that journey, and the devotedness to what I believed was right, added more to my spiritual life than any one visit I ever performed; and I can now recur to it with peace of mind."

The day before her death, it was the privilege of the writer of this to be with her, who can testify, that in her case the words of the poet were fully realized, when he says:

"The chamber where the good man meets his fate, Is privileged, beyond the common walks

Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of Heaven."

To be with her was like being in the borders of the spirit-land, and holding sweet converse with its celestial inhabitants; while the world, with all its allurements, receded like the phantom of a dream. She did not appear to have any sense of her approaching dissolution, although her weakness was extreme, and every symptom indicated that it was at hand. Indeed, so strong was the spirit of life in her, that death, in every sense of the word, might be said to be swallowed up therein. The breathing of her soul was one continuous strain of love, thanksgiving and praise, though in broken accents. Light, too, beamed on her understanding, at that solemn crisis, on the most interesting of all subjects, as will appear from her own expressions, which were committed to writing at the time.

She said to one of her particular friends, in reference to the subjects which had divided the Society of Friends: "We have quarreled about the blood, we have quarreled about the man, we have quarreled about the miraculous conception of Jesus Christ, but what have we to do with these things? Let us consider the man as the mere garment clothing the Divinity, that fulness of the Godhead that dwelt in him. It

was the Father's purpose, his eternal purpose, to send him to the world of mankind, clothed with all the feelings of a man, that overcoming these,