In the early part of her illness she spoke much of the satisfaction she had felt in our three last journeys to the Continent, and that she was thankful in having been enabled to go through the whole of the service which her Lord had put into her heart.  I have since thought it was a mercy that I did not proceed into South Russia, as, in all probability, my precious one would have fallen on the journey, and never seen her peaceful home again.

During the whole of the illness her delight was to speak of the joy of heaven.  My sins of omission and of commission, she said, are all passed by; my iniquities are all forgiven, and washed away in the blood of the Lamb; and now I rejoice in God my Saviour.  His love and mercy to me are beyond all bounds; and so strong is my faith in my precious Saviour, that I have scarcely known, the whole of the illness, what it has been to be troubled with an evil thought.

When she expressed a desire to go to Heaven, I reminded her of my loneliness when she should be taken from me.  The Lord will care for thee, was her constant reply.  He has promised me over and over again that he will care for thee; the answer to my prayer has always been, I will care for him.

Nearly the last conversation she had with any of her beloved relatives was with ——­, to whom she observed:  My affection for thee is strong; I believe thou lovest thy Saviour:  I desire that thou mayest keep nothing back that the Lord may require of thee, but serve him with greater devotedness of heart; and if ever thou art called to bear public testimony to his truth, be sure to preach the whole gospel, faith in Christ, and the necessity of the practical work of the Holy Spirit to produce holiness of life.  To [another of her near relatives] she observed:  Thou hast often been sweetly visited by the love of thy Saviour, and be assured thou wilt never find any joy equal to that of yielding thy heart in prompt obedience to the will of thy Lord.  Her last words to her affectionate sisters were, The Lord bless you all:  Farewell.

Towards the end of the year John Yeardley again communed with himself in the language of sorrow, but also of humble resignation.  At the same time he speaks of an engagement of gospel labor from which he had then recently returned, the first which he had undertaken alone since his marriage with Martha Savory.  Having seen his faithful and well-tried comrade fall by his side, he had now to learn again to gird himself and enter, as in the days of his youth, alone into the combat.

1851. 12 mo. 13.—­How often have I prayed that the portion of her Lord’s spirit which animated her devoted life may rest on me!  Her heart, her tongue, and her pen were all employed in promoting the cause of her Divine Master, whom she delighted to serve.  All my earthly joy was now gone to heaven, and I felt alone in the world; but my spirit seemed never to be separated from her:  she seemed to be hovering over me constantly.  My heart does sorrow for the loss of her sweet society; to me she was a wise and sound counsellor, and a never-failing consoler in all my troubles.  I do mourn, but I dare not murmur.  I hope my merciful Heavenly Father will keep me in the hour of temptation, and be with me in the last trying hour, and prepare me to join this precious one and all by whom she is surrounded with her God and Saviour in the centre of bliss.