helplessness, and the holiness and extent of the law; but now the love of the Saviour was clearly revealed to him. I do not here give you his exact words; only the substance of them.

To return to the scene from which I have so far wandered. I found my husband, as already stated, lying on the sofa in deep thought, but more calm. On inquiry if any fresh circumstance had occurred to cause uneasiness, he replied, in a whisper, "No; but bring me the slate; I have a great deal I wish to tell you." I could little conjecture what was passing within, only I saw increasing illness; and then first the conviction took hold upon my mind of the probable result of this, or some subsequent attack. I was mercifully enabled to appear calm, and earnestly to request perfect stillness; and to express the hope and expectation, that whatever he now wished to tell me, a few days would give him much more strength to state. I allowed no words to be spoken; and only remember, this day was spent by me in silent watching and much mental anguish; and that the sufferer appeared, though in some agitation, much more calm than I felt.

In the night the hæmorrhage returned with increased violence, and I dreaded the effect, knowing his terror on its first appearance; but my husband was much less agitated than before. I gained his permission to send off to town to my dear and most kind father, in whose medical skill this, his only son, reposed implicit confidence; for he loved him, and was beloved by him, with exceedingly tender affection. The usual reme

dies succeeding for a time, I left my husband's room, for a few hours' rest.

Early in the morning the servant came to tell me, she was sure her master was very ill; though he had not sent for me, or spoken. The former surprised me, for I knew he did not like being alone in indisposition. On reaching his bedside, before I had time to make inquiry, he said, "O, how good is God, how very good! I have been praying!"—and on my expressing a fear that he had had little sleep, he answered, "I have not closed my eyes; but, oh, how good is God!" Under this feeling he seemed almost overwhelmed. No inquiry made as to when we should get medical aid, &c., so contrary to the conduct I had expected, that I could not but wonder; especially as, though the words I heard were few, the manner was indescribably impressive. A peace and holy breathing of soul was manifestly visible in the whole countenance, and the life of God shone forth in it. The nature of the disorder forbade any inquiry or conversation. I felt thankful; but forebodings of the future so astounded and oppressed me, I could do nothing but watch the disease. Some hours after, on a removal into another room, he desired me to pray by him: this was a request new indeed! fetched a book of prayers, and read one of the most suitable; on my concluding, he said, "You have left out a part of that prayer, which speaks of being prepared to die. I know I am in danger; I am not afraid of death: if it please God, I should be glad to recover, but pray earnestly,

I

that I never may recover this illness if I am to depart from Him, and to live the life I have been living. Oh, how good is God!"-at the thought of which he was again overcome. I now saw here was some work going on within the heart, which I was quite unable to speak upon or understand, far too deep for me to venture to direct: yet help and direction seemed to be needed. We were far from home, and no faithful minister then near us: I knew not what to do. After some consideration, the thought crossed my mind of sending immediately to Dr. Fearon. I saw all the difficulties, the greatness of the request, to travel forty miles for a stranger, and immediately after Sunday, and where the plea of danger of death could not be urged; nevertheless, I determined to send, wrote an incoherent note on Sunday evening, and requested Mr. Daniel Wilson,* then very young, and on a visit with us, to take it, hoping Dr. F. would receive it more favourably as carried by the son of his friend. Remembering the injunction formerly received,† I did not venture to consult my husband lest I should be forbidden; nor even to tell him either that day, or the day following till evening, what I had done. This was a time of fear and anxiety on my part, and certainly of prayer. ⠀

As soon as I knew of Dr. Fearon's arrival, I then ventured to say I had sent for him. "Thank you very much," was the reply: "I shall like to hear him, but you know I dislike to see a

* Son of the Bishop of Calcutta; and now Vicar of Islington. † See page 54.

stranger, and could only bear he into the further part of my room."

should come I went away

to see Dr. Fearon, and hope always to remember with deep gratitude his kindness and judgment under circumstances so exquisitely trying. I told him my permission, and then went to state his arrival. My husband gladly welcomed it, and expressed a wish to see him at once. The difficulties of this visit were not a little increased, as my dear father had arrived, and told us there was some danger from the present attack, though he anticipated recovery from this illness; but perfect quiet was essential. After, however, some conversation with Dr. F., who was chiefly anxious to know if I could feel assured whether the feelings of sorrow for sin, implied in all my husband had said, did not arise from a conscience struck with remorse for some gross immorality; and on my replying that I knew it to be otherwise, after a short prayer, Dr. F. went into the room, and desired to be left alone; in which request my husband acquiesced, and I obeyed. On returning some time after, I found Dr. F. expounding the third chapter of St. John's Gospel; but how deep the interest, and fixed the attention, both of speaker and listener, I cannot easily tell you.

From this period there seemed an almost daily growth in my dear husband's Christian character. It pleased God to grant him a slow recovery from this sickness, and to spare him to labour for three years. As soon as he recovered sufficient strength to write, his first effort was to address

letters to one or two of his oldest friends, of course in a very different tone of feeling from that of his usual correspondence. Without at all entering into particulars, or describing to any one the past state of his mind, he mentioned that his views were changed; and his letters gave evidence of this. One of these communications, I know, lamented his having lived in the prayerless state, which the friend he wrote to must have been aware of. I witnessed the feelings with which these letters were written, and which his correspondents could little realize, from the calmness of the expressions used by him: but oh, how bitterly, how intensely he mourned over the past scenes which the remembrance of these friends brought before him; telling me, in reference to his college life, "I had influence-great influence; but abused it, wasted it! O, what I might have done!"—and then again breaking out in admiration at the forbearance of God.

In the course of a few weeks he again commenced family-prayer, and, for the first time, exposition. Of his peculiar talent for this kind of instruction I will only now say, that he entered on it, the very first morning of the trial, with all the ease and fluency for which he was afterwards remarkable, and all the calmness of one who had had much experience and deep knowledge of Scripture-truths, and who was thoroughly accustomed to this kind of teaching. Certainly this was to be in some measure accounted for from his early education, and most unusual knowledge of the Bible. But the goodness of God was