On the 16th of May, "Aunt Tamson" (Mrs. Tamson Cuff, her oldest sister) passed away from earth. At the time of her death mother was absent; coming to look upon her lifeless form, she talked pleasantly with those around of the reality and glory of heaven, and came home singing:
"I know not the hour when my Lord shall come,
To take me away to His own dear home,
But I know that His presence will lighten my gloom;
And that will be glory for me."
Taking off her bonnet, she said: "Alice, attend to the work, I must indulge myself a little now"; and lying down on the sofa, she wept freely for some time. She lay there till evening and then rousing herself, passed the evening in conversation with the daughters of the deceased. On the next day, May 17th, she worked very hard intending to spend all the next day with her mother. About 5 o'clock that afternoon word was brought that her mother was dead. Throwing up both hands, she uttered a wail of horror, such as none had ever heard from her before, saying quickly: "Oh! My mother gone; and I so selfish as to be about my work and not with her!" We replied: "But mother you were preparing to spend to-morrow with her." She added immediately: "I could have gone to day. It was my selfishness. Mother said she would die on the 18th and I intended to be with her on that day; but I ought not to have left her, I ought not to have left her," she repeated.
As quickly as possible she was at her mother's bedside and to her inexpressible joy found her still alive. She had sunk so low that life was thought extinct, but the Lord had revived her again and she still lived, and recognized her daughter. She lived through the night and waited until the sun had sent his first beams to bless the earth on the 18th, when her happy spirit fled to its eternal home. She had known it would appear for some days, the day and very hour when she should go away. It was the same day of the month and the same hour at which her husband died. Side by side their ashes sleep in the old family graveyard at Gouldtown, awaiting the clarion call of the resurrection trump.
My mother turned not away from the corpse of her mother until she had seen it all prepared for the grave. It was a work, she said, she could leave no stranger to do, and made the same request for herself. "Never allow my body to pass into the hands of strangers," was her request.
On Saturday, the 19th of May, 1877, her sister, Mrs. Cuff, was buried, and Monday following, (May 21st,) her mother's corpse was laid in the grave. After the funeral of the mother, at her suggestion, all the remaining members of the family went back to the old homestead and ate dinner together, she saying it would perhaps be their last time. From these sad days she went direct into hard work, and when gently remonstrated with and fears were expressed that she would get sick, she replied: "Oh! I will get over it, I guess; and if I do not, it is in the end life everlasting."
On the 28th of the month she was taken seriously ill and medical aid was summoned. From the first she expressed but little hope, saying: "I never was sick this way before." She talked freely with her children and would not be satisfied until she had made them say that they had forgiven her for persisting to work against their wish.
During the last Sabbath she spent on earth, she fell into a gentle doze when suddenly waking, she said: "What do you think I saw?" and then musingly she added: "It might have been a dream; I think it was, but I saw the Lord holding Theoph and Cethe, in his arms, and I know He is going to keep them safe."
That night being taken worse, the family watched with her and she remarked: "Ah, children, I shall not be here in the morning." Morning came, however, and she was still spared. In conversation that day she said: "I thought I was dying, but I felt comfortable in mind and had no fear." As her daughter, Mrs. Felts, was obliged to leave, she urged her to watch with great care over her little girl, saying: "As you mould her so will she grow. I never could think my children were only for my pleasure, I did not dare make playthings of them, I thought the training of my children was part of the work God gave me to do."
"I may get well," said she, "but anyhow my life is hid with Christ in God and to be where there is no more pain, where all tears are wiped away,—Ah, you need not wonder that I do not care to stay here. I have been sick so much—and in that land no one says 'I am sick,' I have thought with 'Aunt Tamson' and 'Grandmother' that it was hard to open the gates, but then there's glory on the other side."