"My dear Hephzibah was taken ill on the fifth of November, and though I have not many sayings of hers to record, I nevertheless believe that there was 'some good thing in her toward the Lord God of Israel,' and therefore, in solemn pleasure, rehearse the memorials of His grace.
"On the fourth day of her illness she said, 'Mother, I am very ill, but I am not afraid to die, mother. No; I should like to die, and be with the Lord, for I do love Him, mother, that I do, better than every one besides.' 'But do you not love your father and mother best?' I inquired. Her answer was, 'I do love you both very dearly, but I love the Lord most. Ought I not to love Him most, mother?' I said, 'Yes, my dear.' She replied, 'And so I do. I want to go to heaven, to be with Him. And I should like my dear father, and mother, and Ann Jane, and George, and Rhoda to go with me. Would not that be happy, to meet and never part again? There we should have all we want.' I replied, 'Yes, my dear, "for the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of water, and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." "And there shall be no night there."' 'Oh, will not that be happy, mother?' she exclaimed. 'I want to die, that I may see the Lord. He is so good and kind to me.' I asked, 'Would you not like to get well again?' and her reply was, 'I would rather die and go to Jesus.'
"The frequency of her expressed desires to 'depart and be with Christ' excited a trembling apprehension in my mind of her speedy dissolution, an apprehension fully verified by the event.
"She now sunk into a state of unconsciousness, in which she continued for more than a week, suffering very much, indicating the speedy disrupture of all earthly ties, and inducing a perpetual vigil.
"To my surprise she suddenly rallied, seemed to get better, and 'hope told a flattering tale'; but it disappointed us, and rendered the separation more trying.
"The sensitive vigilance of my child's conscience was very remarkable. For instance, when any little delicacy had been declined, she remained inflexible, remarking that to alter her decision would be to 'tell a story,' which, she said, 'would be very wicked.'
"On the day she died, she said, 'Mother, I am very ill. I think I shall die. My throat is so bad.' Shortly after, she said, 'Mother,' and was silent. A few minutes after that, she lifted up her dear eyes and hands to heaven three times, clasping her hands and letting them down again.
"None but a mother knows a mother's heart. I saw the stroke, clasped my loved Hephzibah, and impressed the farewell kiss on her dying cheek. She looked at me, gave up the ghost, and was 'carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom' on November 28th, 1851, in the sixth year of her age."
"One gentle sigh their fetters breaks,
We scarce can say, 'They're gone!'
Before the willing spirit takes
Her mansion near the throne.
"Faith strives, but all its efforts fail
To trace her in her flight;
No eye can pierce within the veil
Which hides that world of light.
"Thus much (and this is all) we know—
They are completely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Saviour rest."
[The memoir of the third child, Ann Jane, will appear next month.]