and sharing His joy.

I think our letters of last month would make you somewhat anxious about her. She was feeling considerably depressed when the mail went away, and had apprehensions as to the result of the trouble she might have to go through before the departure of the next. Still she had more hopes than fears; and so had I, and all her friends. I mentioned about the middle of last month to Dr. Hobson, that the reappearance of some of the symptoms which accompanied her great prostration in the end of last year was making me anxious, and he answered, Yes; but how strong she is!" We all, then, trusted that she would get safely through her confinement, and that the cold weather approaching would most materially assist towards her having a good recovery.

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After the beginning of this month she felt much more indisposed. It was a great grief to her not to be able to get out and join in the communion on the first Sabbath; but during the ensuing week she went down-stairs with me in the evening, and walked backwards and forwards in front of the Mission-house, for, perhaps, nearly half an hour at a time. On these occasions her conversation was always cheerful, and hopeful whenever it turned upon herself. On Friday and Saturday diarrhoea supervened, and though it was at once checked by medicine, it was thought advisable she should keep her bed for some days. She seemed to be getting round. We all thought she was so, when on Tuesday, the 12th instant, she was attacked by a distressing sickness, and constant tendency to vomit. All Tuesday night, and through Wednesday, this continued. Our medical attendant, Dr. Balfour, who had been so for more than four years, and knew dear Mary's constitution well, did all he could to overcome the nausea, but in vain. He was assisted by Dr. Hobson, who had returned the week before from Canton; and all the services which love and affection could perform were freely given by myself, Mrs. Hobson, and Mrs. Chalmers. To Dr. and Mrs. Hobson I can never re

Mary. On Wednesday night she had some sleep, and next morning the irritability of the stomach was a good deal allayed. Our hopes and hers rose again. On Thursday night, a dose of morphia was administered, in consequence of which she had rest towards the morning; and during the Friday, the fits of vomiting occurred at still wider intervals, though the stomach continued to reject all nourishment of every kind. Towards evening,. medicine which she had taken operated for the first time, and she went to sleep, trusting that on the next morning we should have to be grateful for an improvement in her symptoms. I watched her carefully all the night. She was restless, but dozed through the greatest part of it. When the morning came, she thought she was a little better, and she succeeded in keeping on her stomach a glass of champagne, which the doctors at last proposed, after trying I know not how many different things. This was repeated several times during the day; but my anxiety about her continued rather to increase. Towards the evening, I read the 40th chapter of Isaiah, and prayed with her. When I concluded, she said, "What can be the matter? you all seem to be thinking that I am worse to-day, whereas I am feeling better myself."

Dr. Hobson proposed to sit up with her the first part of Saturday night, and then call me. It was nearly eleven o'clock when I left the bedroom. Perhaps, she felt then some premonitions of approaching labour, for her bidding me good night was very tender. She wanted to know where I was going to sleep, and hoped I might be comfortable, for I must be very tired; and then she put up her hand, and put it round my neck, and stroked my head gently two or three times. Oh, how I yearned over her as I left the room! but it did not enter into my mind that she was about to die. In about two hours, Dr. Hobson came and called me. He said that she thought labour was commencing, and wanted me to go and call Dr. Balfour. I went and saw her, and immediately after called the doctor up. He lived close by, but I was obliged to

hurry on nearly a mile farther, to the artillery barracks, to fetch the nurse, whom she had engaged to be with her in the time of her distress. When I got back, Dr. Hobson met me with the tidings that the child was born, but dead. ..... But all thoughts were concentrated on the dear sufferer herself. . . . . Our kind medical friends, I could see, were very anxious; but I did not dare to question them as to what they hoped or feared. She got very much excited, and her mind began to wander a little. Dr. Hobson then told me that they feared the worst, in fact that he thought her life was ebbing away. For a minute or two I was overcome, but I took my position by her again, and said, "If you should not get over this, my dear, you know that your Redeemer liveth." The reality of her situation seemed to flash upon her own mind. "You think that I am dying then. Dr. Balfour, am I dying?" He replied, "You are very ill, Mrs. Legge;" and I then repeated my remark, saying, "You can trust yourself in the hands of the Saviour, can you not?" "I trust so," she said. Her faith was always strong and silent. Her quiet trust was that of the beloved disciple. Feeling how precious the time was, I went to bring dear Eliza and Mary to see her. While I was gone, Dr. Balfour said to her, "You have peace, Mrs. Legge?" Her answer was, Yes, I have; but it is a solemn thing to die." The children exercised a wonderful degree of self-command. They instantly cried when I awoke them, "Oh, mamma is going to die! Is mamma going to die?" "Mamma," I told them, "is very ill. If she could get some rest and sleep, she might yet get well. Don't cry, or you'll excite her, and make her worse." Poor little darlings, they came quietly into the room. To Eliza she said, "Take care of dear Emma; teach her to love Jesus." Her words to Mary sprung from her entire knowledge of the dear child's character, and showed how possessed she was of the faculties of recollection and thought. I carried the children away, and our friends tried every means to allay her excitement and induce sleep. But their endeavours

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were unavailing. She got weaker and weaker, and her mind wandered, awaking to fitful gleams of consciousness. She had no great struggles. About five o'clock she turned upon her side without much effort and so she lay for an hour, sobbing, as it were. I held her hands in mine, and when she had turned, she pressed me firmly. I think it was her last act of consciousness with regard to anything of earth. six o'clock drew near, her sobs came less and less frequent and at that hour they stopped. On the morning of the Lord's Day she went to be with Him. I walked out into the verandah. We had often stood in it together at such an hour, and looked towards the rising sun. It was wet and misty, but while I stood the dark clouds in the east began to assume a radiance, and say, that though they could hide the sun, and prevent his being seen, yet he was surely there, and would byand-by shine forth.

Oh! her dear parents, may the everlasting arms of our covenant God support you when you receive this intelligence. My heart bleeds more painfully when I think of you. How you loved her! and she returned that love in all its fulness. She once said to me, as the highest possible expression of her affection, "I love you more even than papa." You did not grudge me the preference in her heart; but never did a child venerate and love her parents more than she loved you. God will support you. The Saviour will make His consolations to abound to you. Many have been your afflictions. In your old age stroke is following upon stroke; and now this heavy blow has fallen. But what is the fact? She has gone and is with Christ; which is far better. Ere long, we shall all rejoin her. Our God shall meanwhile supply all our need. IIis name is Love: He is infinite. You have lived on Him long, through many troubles and sorrows, and now, in this sore distress, He will still be with you, Jehovah

the Father, the Son, and the Spirit, our Author, our Saviour, our Comforter. She died, I have told you, on the Sabbath morning, and, on the afternoon of the next day, at four o'clock, she was borne to the narrow house. Her counte