His mind was relieved from earthly cares, every thing being arranged as he desired, and he used to say,

“I have ‘set my house in order,’ and have nothing to do but die.”

The things of eternity occupied his entire thoughts; he seldom spoke of his sufferings as being great, but expressed thankfulness that he was passing so easily away.  But it appeared different to his friends that looked upon him.  He could lay only upon one side for several months before he died, and he had painful ulcers upon several parts of the body, and a constant cough, with laborious breathing and profuse night sweats, accompanied by great emaciation.  These were the most prominent features in the fearful disease.

But he would allow no one to remain with him during the night, affirming it was unnecessary for any one to be disturbed, thus spending his restless, weary nights in communion with his Saviour and his God.

He made all the arrangements for his funeral, telling his friends not to weep for him.  He hoped as his usefulness on earth was so soon to end, his death might be sanctified so as to be the means of inducing his unconverted friends to seek that preparation of heart that is necessary for entrance into a better life.

He told his wife the manner in which he should probably die, and endeavored to prepare her mind for it.  He had distressing turns of suffocation, so that they were obliged to open all the windows and doors for the benefit of the air, and he long expected every turn would be the last.

A few days before his death, his aged mother and a sister visited him.  He conversed with them cheerfully upon the arrangements of his funeral; told them he was ready to be offered, and should meet the appointment as cheerfully as ever he met any in his life.  He consulted them about the propriety of the hour of the funeral, and some other things in connection with the coming event, as he would were he making preparations for a journey.  When the aged mother pressed the hand of her son for the last time on earth, she said with a smile,

“I can only wish the presence of your Saviour, to go with you, and lighten the ‘dark valley of the shadow of death.’”

He looked fondly in her face, while a smile of ineffable sweetness beamed upon his countenance.  “You could not wish me a better wish, mother.”

“I shall soon follow you, my son; I do not think I shall live the winter out,” said the mother, as she unclasped her hand from the son’s, that she had taken, for the last time.

That mother’s hand had been extended, to guide him through the wayward paths of childhood and youth, to strengthen and comfort him, and smooth many rough places in the pathway of manhood; but now it was withdrawn upon the brink of the grave—­it could not assist, could not support him; but she committed him to that arm that is mighty to save.