“The 5th of June, 1817. This, my beloved children, was the last day in which your mother ever took a pen in her hand, unless it were to endorse her papers, which she requested me to destroy after reading them; but that became impossible until I had transcribed them for you. I come now to that period, which awful and affecting as it was, was full of mercy, full of goodness, and full of the most salutary influence to us. May we, my dearest children, ever keep it before us, and cherish it in our hearts, for our affectionate remembrance, our admiration, and our imitation. From the day on which the last memorandum was written, until that on which Lord Amherst sailed, the 11th, the angelic sufferer, though weak and frequently in pain (indeed I fear constantly) was still cheerful, and appeared to enjoy the society with which we were surrounded, in consequence of the Ambassador being with us, who was waiting for a wind. We also felt cheered and comforted at the observations which were made by some, that her health did not appear in a worse state than when they saw her the preceding year. On the 13th she went out with me in the phaeton, but I had not gone many yards before I felt convinced that her nerves were not equal to the fatigue, that everything alarmed her, and I proposed returning, to which she gladly consented. She soon after went to her room; never again to leave it alive. On the following day I became alarmed, and sent for Dr. Barry. This extraordinary young man, at the age of fourteen, had undergone a most rigid examination before the College of Physicians, and had, by the correctness of his answers, and the extent of his abilities, extorted from them his diploma, with which he had practised with the most extraordinary success. Had not a firm conviction taken place in my mind, that the nature of my beloved Isabella’s disorder, was beyond the reach of human skill, I should have derived the most sanguine hopes from his advice; but with such an impression upon my mind, I knew that Omnipotence alone could restore her; and although I never had the presumption to hope that a miracle would be performed in my favour, yet to the last hours of her life, the faint glimmering hope of her being spared to me, never wholly abandoned me. On this day he pronounced the case to be very alarming, and declared strong measures to be necessary. Her state was soon pronounced hopeless. To me she did not appear sensible of her danger; but I have since found that she knew it, and had cheerfully resigned herself to it. She did not hesitate to converse upon it with my sister, but could not bring herself to give me the afflicting tidings. I became very anxious that she should receive the sacrament, but was fearful of exciting alarm by my mentioning my wishes. This was a state of mind which can easily be imagined, but which it is difficult to describe. This complicated anxiety dwelt very strongly upon my mind, and gave rise to a circumstance, which I shall ever consider a dispensation of Divine Providence. I was lying on the sofa in her room, and dreamed that I was receiving the sacrament with her. I awoke with a very strong impression of the dream upon my mind, but soon after fell asleep again, and the dream was renewed. I considered this as an imperative warning, which I dared no longer slight, and seating myself by her side, I took the earliest opportunity of speaking upon religious subjects. I then mentioned my dream and consequent anxiety. She heard me, not with dismay, but with delight; assured me she had long wished for it, and expressed her earnest desire that it should be administered. She regretted the absence of Mr. Hough, the clergyman, with whom we had long been on the most friendly terms. His worthy successor she had only had an opportunity of seeing, the preference was consequently natural. Providentially Mr. Hough came down that very morning; and as far as I can now recollect he was quite unexpected. I lost no time in calling upon him to administer the sacred rite, which he immediately did, going through the Service for the Visitation of the Sick. With what calmness and resignation, and at the same time with what angelic fervour, did she make her responses to the questions which he put to her upon the state of her mind and conscience. Her eyes alone were dry upon this trying occasion; they were lifted up in humble and holy confidence to her Creator and Redeemer. Never will the remembrance of this scene be erased from my mind. She appeared as tranquil and collected as though in perfect health. Mr. Hough called upon us the two succeeding days, and upon each occasion we had in her presence a most interesting and most comforting conversation, in which the dear sufferer frequently joined; but our sentiments were so entirely in unison upon every subject, that I can now remember with a feeling not to be expressed, how her eyes glistened with delight, as I suggested, from time to time, those sources of consolation to which we had ever looked, during the whole of our happy union, and which had now become our sole support in this trying hour. After the holy sacrament had thus been administered, I felt no longer any restraint upon religious subjects, and thenceforth they occupied nearly all our conversation. I read to her every day one of the chapters of St. John’s Gospel, so admirably calculated to quicken faith, and to render real and sensible the hidden things of the world to come. I also frequently read over to her the 23rd, 34th, 46th, 103rd, and 107th Psalms, with all of which she was greatly delighted, but more particularly with the 23rd, verses of which she frequently repeated. On the 13th of July she had become so weak as to cease to be able to walk; previous to this she had had intervals of ease, and had even been removed into another room, for change of air and scene. She now wished to receive the sacrament again, and it was administered by Mr. Dennis. From this time a lively faith seems to have taken an entire possession of this angelic mind. The words of our blessed Lord and Saviour, ‘Whosoever cometh unto me, I will in nowise cast out,’ were constantly upon her lips. Thursday night previous to her departure, upon going into her room, I found her in a state of delirium; she knew no one, but repeated with a voice perfectly distinct, and with the harmony of a seraph, the Lord’s Prayer, and the 23rd Psalm. She soon after recovered her recollection. A paroxysm came on which threatened instant suffocation. As soon as she could speak, she requested Dr. Duke and Mr. Dennis might be sent for. In the course of a short time she was quite composed, and at three in the morning received the sacrament, with the same calmness and enchanting resignation she had manifested upon previous occasions. She appeared to be greatly comforted, and soon after fell into a peaceful slumber, which continued without interruption for nearly twelve hours; but previous to falling asleep, and immediately after receiving the sacrament, she said, ‘Remove that light,’ (a candle being placed in such a manner as to incommode her) ‘I shall soon see a much brighter.’ ‘Do you feel that, Lady Brenton?’ said Mr. Dennis. ‘Yes, I do, indeed,’ she rejoined, ‘but I hope I am not presumptuous. I am going to sleep; I think I shall awake in a celestial light.’ She dozed a little; then opening her eyes exclaimed to my sister, ‘O! Mary, am I still here! The hope of meeting my Saviour face to face—I trust I am not impatient.’ She then slept again in the most perfect composure. She continued in the last state of languor until Sunday night, which she passed in constant pain, with extreme difficulty of breathing, and on Monday the fatal symptoms became very apparent, in reduction of the pulse, and coldness of the extremities. At two o’clock on Tuesday morning the paroxysms became so quick and so severe as to threaten instant dissolution. We surrounded her bed, in momentary expectations of her being delivered from her sufferings. At nine she was most severely convulsed, but her countenance instantly resuming that angelic sweetness, which it had ever worne through life, she resigned her soul (spotless through His blood) into the hands of her Redeemer!
“I have thus, my darling children, gone through the painful task of recording the last sufferings of your inestimable mother. Let us endeavour to resign ourselves to the Divine Will, under the truly awful dispensations which befell us in the course of that year. Let us remember that all our trials are sent in mercy; and I fervently and sincerely assure myself, that at some future period (perhaps the close of our lives) we shall look back to these afflicting scenes, with heartfelt gratitude and adoration, for having lifted our hearts above the things of this world, and for having furnished us with so bright an example in the object of our fondest affection, to stimulate us in the practice of piety, gratitude, and peaceful resignation; for all which she was so truly eminent. Let it be the study of our lives to contemplate her virtues, whilst we most affectionately cherish her memory. It will evermore prevent our looking with idolatrous fondness on the things of this world, and keep our hearts fixed on Him, in whose presence is the fulness of joy.
“There is no work of human composition, which has afforded me more comfort under this trying affliction, or seemed more applicable than ‘Young’s Night Thoughts.’ I have frequently quoted to you such passages as have from time made the most forcible impression. The following possesses great force, beauty, and consolation.
‘But why more woe? more comfort let it be,
Nothing is dead, but that which wished to die;
Nothing is dead, but wretchedness and pain;
Nothing is dead, but what incumbered, galled,
Blocked up the pass and barred from real life!’”
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