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has not any hope of having become a Christian. I trust God has a blessing for her in this sickness. At all events, I know that he will do all things right, and that he is a God of boundless mercy and goodness. I shall write again shortly. May the Lord greatly sanctify this trial to you, and to us all. In his hands we are always safe, and never, unless in his kind keeping.
“With great love and sympathy."
6 August 19. “My dear Friends,
“I wrote you yesterday an account of E.'s sickness. Our hopes are much raised, yet we must regard her as being very sick. I had a tender and solemn conversation with her this morning, on the concerns of her soul. I thought she discovered more feeling than at any previous time. She said she hoped her sickness would not be lost; that if she felt prepared for death, she should have no fear of it ; that she did try to leave herself in God's hands, but feared she did not do it. She was very restless a part of the night, and appears to be much exhausted. But we feel on the whole encouraged.
“I pray God that we may all be found in a humble, patient, and submissive frame of mind, waiting the will of Him who does all things well.”
“Dear Mr. and Mrs. J.,
“My last letter was written on Friday. On that day the physicians thought E. was better. On Saturday they both said she would get well, her symptoms continuing to improve. My mind became more quiet concerning her, and I should have written you, had not my own health become such as to require attention. We had previously obtained an experienced nurse from New York, with whom E. was much pleased. Mrs. C. and myself therefore went to the house of a friend, to spend the Sabbath, in order that I might attend to my health more effectually than I could at our boarding-house. Saturday night E. was very restless-Sabbath morning her symptoms were bad, and Sabbath night still worse, and this morning, (Monday,) her physicians consider her as drawing near her end. My heart is too full, and my body too feeble, to admit of my writing much.
“Dear Mr. and Mrs. J., I know this will be an exceedingly heavy stroke to you and your family. But what can we say, after we have done all that lies within the reach of human skill, except ‘Not my will, but thine be done?' You have given this child to God; and few have had more prayers offered for them in sickness than E. She has evidently felt the influence of the Spirit for months; and may we not hope that the Lord will carry on and perfect his work in her heart. She knows that she is drawing near her end, and feels deeply the solemnity of her situation. It is a comfort that her physicians are pious men, and take a deep interest in her spiritual as well as bodily state. Indeed, the house has been, this morning, a house of prayer. I have just been into the chamber and prayed with her again. I asked her, Dear E., are you willing to leave yourself in the hands of Christ? She answered · Yes.' Are you willing to die? “Yes.' Do you feel that it is right that God should take you out of the world? Yes. Is your mind more easy than it was ? · Yes.? Do you know why? "I don't know. She was asked what message I should send to her parents and friends at home. She seemed reluctant, or rather, I suppose, unable to speak. Shall I tell J. that he must not put off repentance to a dying hour ? 'Yes." She has felt this subject deeply. To a remark of Mrs. C.'s, she replied, “Oh it seems to me, no one ever can put it off, after this, till the last day of life.'
“In reviewing all which has taken place, I feel that the hand of God is very apparent. My dear wife and myself have been very anxious, and have done all that we could do. But God seems to be speaking to us all, and saying to us, "Be still, and know that I am God.' When I think of you as the professing children of God, I know you will bow with submission. It is true also that God deals with his children in covenant faithfulness, and that the darkest providences will be seen at last to be irradiated with the clearest light.
“ It is one o'clock. Your dear child is no more. She breathed out her life without a struggle. All we can now say is, the will of God is known, our duty is submission. Oh may the affliction be sanctified to us all, and be the means of preparing us all for our own dying hour. .
“I can write no more now. The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with you all, and keep your minds and hearts in the peace and comfort of the Holy Ghost. . “With tender sympathy,
“And in much affliction, yours.”
The following is an extract from a letter which Mr. Cornelius wrote after the interment of E.
“With regard to the spiritual state of your dear child, I think I can say with truth, that it has absorbed the deepest interest of my soul, and called forth my most earnest prayers. I have taken many opportunities to impress the truths of religion, and its importance, on her mind. Last spring she was the subject of many prayers—became anxious for her soul, and for a time attended inquiry-meetings. She assured me on her sick bed, that she had prayed in secret every day since. But no language can express the sorrow she felt that she had not then given her heart to Christ. When I asked her what I should pray for, she said, “That God would forgive all the sins that ever Į have committed.' She several times prayed aloud, and in the most affecting manner. "O, my Saviour, I am sorryI am sorry that I have sinned. Forgive me. Forgive me that I have grieved thy Spirit. Is it not as easy for thee to have mercy on me now, as it was then?' (Alluding to the time of her being awakened in the spring.) · I endeavored to hold up the Saviour to her as the only Redeemer, and exhorted her to put all her trust in him. She then said, 'Lord Jesus, I trust thee'-and looking at me, asked, 'Is that right?' I told her to look nowhere but to the Saviour, and to give up all the world, and rest only in him, and added, let your last prayer be, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.' She made a strong effort, and said,
Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.' This was the last sentence she ever uttered. I spoke to her afterwards, to which she only answered, 'yes.””
The following are miscellaneous communications to various persons, relatives and others.
“Let me assure you, E., there is not a subject or an object which deserves or demands your earnest and unceasing regard so much as your God and your soul. Let there be peace here, and you will be tranquil when the world shall be convulsed with the agonies of final dissolution. Give your heart, your highest and warmest affections to Christ, and he will in return, give himself, and with himself the glory and the blessedness of an immortal life to you. But this you have often heard. 'Give then, neither sleep to your eyes, nor slumber to your eyelids,' until the solemn truth is more than heard-is felt—is sweetly enjoyed. Believe me, dear E., all the accomplishments of nature, of art, or of education, will be nothing, ah! worse than nothing, without the accomplishments of grace; and arrayed in such beauty as grace can give, you will possess such beauty as the touch of death cannot soil, nor the cold and dismal damps of the grave wither. I speak thus because I love you, and am anxious to hail your spirit as the happy expectant of eternal life, and the destined subject of everlasting joy.
“I rejoice to hear that you are in L., and have not a doubt but you are disposed to appreciate those important moments of your life which you may spend there, and that you will devote them with diligence to the acquisition of whatever may make you useful and happy."
To the instructor of his youth, Mr. Daggett, he thus writes.
“ I accuse myself of filial ingratitude for suffering your most welcome letter, received in July last, to remain so long unanswered. For although your candor may look upon it with indulgence, knowing as you do the variety of duties which compel one in my situation often to postpone friendships to official engagements, yet my feelings cannot pass over the omission without a stronger sentiment of disapprobation. Rarely indeed, have I received a letter which has awakened so many interesting recollections. I happened to be occupied when I received it, in a way which called to mind with peculiar feelings, the scenes of my childhood, and the day when my father first placed me under your care, in North Salem, now nearly twenty-three years ago, rushed upon my recollection with as vivid an impression as though it had just elapsed. How many things have happened to your wild boy since that day ! Ruined, and I trust he may add, by grace saved—both, within that period ! Not but that he was ruined before; but not so deeply. ` I look back with amazement at the temptations escaped, the dangers passed, and the alliances with sinful companions broken. To grace, how great a