The Life And Testimony Of Phebe Gadsby (Hamer)

Gospel Standard 1858:

Phebe Hamer was the youngest daughter of the late William Gadsby. She was born at Hinckley, Leicestershire, February 26th, 1804. She received only a moderate education, being early required to assist in the house.

She was but young when the Lord first laid his hand upon her, convincing her of her sin; and so heavily did this press upon her that, to use her own words, and as is well remembered, she was unable to attend to anything as she ought to have done. She had been one Lord’s Day morning standing a long time before the looking-glass, until she was thrown so late that service had commenced before she reached the chapel. Her father’s sermon that morning was upon the vanity of this world; and she said she thought he must have been watching her, as he told her what she had been doing, adding that the poor sinful body would soon be under the clods of the valley, and then what would it all amount to? He spoke much against the vanity of this world, until Phebe felt as though she were sinking through the seat. Still she kept the exercises of her mind within her own bosom, not mentioning them to any one. not even to her father.

She continued in this state for about two years, sometimes fearing, as she walked along the road, that the earth would open and swallow her up alive. It is true that when she heard the exercises of the Lord’s people described, a gleam of hope might spring up; but it was instantly dashed away from her, as it were, by the thought that her convictions were only natural, the result of being brought up under the sound of the Gospel, as preached by her father; for she often said there never was a time when she did not believe in the doctrine of election; but she used to say to herself, “If I am to be saved, I shall be saved.” But the Lord did not suffer her to rest here, but sent his law home with power to her conscience. At one time she appeared to have been driven almost to despair, believing that she had committed the unpardonable sin, and that she had better know the worst of her state at once. She hurried from the chapel, fully determined to put an end to her life, a carving-knife being, I believe, the instrument she purposed using; but either upon that occasion or a subsequent one the following verse (Hymn 232) was made the means of affording a little relief, and arresting her hand:

“Determined to save, he watch’d o’er my path, 

When, Satan’s blind slave, I sported with death;

And can he have taught me to trust in his name, 

And thus far have brought me to put me to shame?”

At times she experienced a little hope under the hearing of the word, especially from the lips of the late Mr. Nunn, of St. Clement’s Church, Manchester, whom she regularly went to hear on the Wednesday evening.

And thus she went on, as I have already stated, for nearly two years, sometimes full of fears and at others having a little hope, until one night the Lord was pleased to set her soul at liberty. Well do I remember the time, though I was not then more than about thirteen or fourteen years of age; but unhappily, as she did not reside in England for more than twenty-eight years prior to her death, and as nearly all who knew much of her have either passed away or been removed, I am not able to state by what particular means she was set at liberty, excepting that it was one Wednesday evening, while hearing Mr. Nunn, from the text, “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Yea, Lord, thou knowest I love thee.” And often was she heard to speak of the blessedness of that sermon; for she was enabled to say, “Thou knowest I love thee.” Well do I remember, how for days afterwards she went about the house singing continually, her song usually being Hymn 330: “Your harps, ye trembling saints;” especially the fourth verse: “The time of love will come.” And well also do I remember with shame how I and my brother, or brothers, used to tease her, imitating her in her singing, which, as far as voice and tune went, was not particularly harmonious.

In the morning after her deliverance, not having courage to speak to her father, she went to one of the deacons, Mr. George Greenhough, and told him all about it, which was the first time she had unbosomed her heart. Mr. G. lost no time in telling her father; and he, as may readily be conceived by those who know anything about the matter, was as full of joy as she was.

In a little time afterwards, Mr. Greenhough proposed her to the church; but the thought of going before them became, before the time arrived, a great terror to her; so much so that, as she afterwards said, had not her dear father waited for her, to go along with her, she dared not have gone. [The rule at Manchester is, or was, that persons wishing to join the church were proposed at one monthly church meeting, and, if no objections were raised by the members, went before them at the next, the deacons having visited them in the meantime, and, if strangers, made the necessary inquiries respecting them. Of course this rule was varied in many cases, as, for instance, persons from a distance.] When called upon to state a little of the reason of the hope that was in her, she was seized with such fear and trembling that, for some time, she was unable to utter a word; but the Lord the Spirit at last broke into her heart, bringing all things to her remembrance in such a way, and shining so powerfully upon his own work within her, that her fear instantly vanished, her tongue was loosed, and she spoke most blessedly of what the Lord had done for her soul; so that the members present said they had never heard a clearer testimony. This was the more remarkable, as she was naturally of a very reserved and close disposition.

In the church book is the following:

“Church meeting held Nov. 1st, 1822, Phebe Gadsby proposed to be visited by the deacons. On Christmas Day related her experience to the satisfaction of all present.”

She was baptized by her father on the following Lord’s Day.

I have nothing more particular to relate of her until November, 1823, when she married. Her dear father had often viewed her with delight, and, perhaps, had given way too much to his feelings; but now she proved a great trial to him. She married a fellow-member of the church, but, unhappily, her husband was unable to obtain even the common necessaries of life, not earning more than a few shillings a week; and they were married some time before any one but themselves knew it. At first, in his grief, her father said her husband, James Hamer, should not come near the house; but he soon relented, and eventually had husband, wife, and three children under his roof. [A person who lived in the country once went to Mr. Gadsby, to remonstrate with him, and, as he said, correct him, because he had forbidden James Hamer his house. While talking very largely to Mr. G., he happened to turn his eye to the sofa, upon which a young man was sitting. “Who is this?” asked the man with the drawn sword in his mouth. “Why,” replied Mr. G., “the very man that you say is forbidden my house.”] Though she did not, perhaps, act wisely in this, no one can say she acted sinfully, as she married “in the Lord;” and she certainly never repented, though she suffered enough to have made her repent, had not her attachment been very strong. Phebe knew that her husband was a God-fearing young man, and that to her was worth a good deal.

In a few years, as there was no prospect of the husband doing much good in England, they began to talk of going to America, and asked Mr. G.’s opinion about it; but his reply was, “I will not advise you either way. You must judge for yourselves. If you decide upon going, I will find you the necessary means; and there I leave it.” The result was, they went, leaving Liverpool on July 8th, 1829, and being six weeks on the way. They encountered several severe storms, and, as they expressed it in a letter, were “knocked about like a shittle-cock.” All their crockery was smashed, and most of their other goods greatly damaged.

Not being able to find employment in New York, they speedily went to Taunton, where some friends from Manchester had commenced in the calico printing business, to which business James belonged, at least to the dyeing part. There they were kindly received, and remained until Mr. C., the manager of the works, removed; and they then removed with him to Sandford, in the State of Maine. Writing to Mr. Gadsby upon the subject, Mr. C. said, “I just begin to feel a little selfish. Let me beg an interest in your prayers at a throne of grace, that the Lord would grant his presence to go with us all; for I expect my going will be the cause of six families going, in all thirty-two persons.” This was in 1830. Some time afterwards the firm failed, and professed friends turned bitter enemies; which caused Phebe and her family much trouble both in mind and circumstances. The letter in the “Gospel Standard,” for 1839, page 115, signed “Phebe H.,” was written by her some time after this occurrence. On the 12th of July, 1831, she wrote as follows:

“July 12^th, 1831.—I can assure you, my dear parents, if I did not believe I had an interest in better things, I think I could not live. ‘Tis true I have a father and mother, but where are they? In England, and I in America. Just so, I cannot help believing that I have a Father in God, but he appears to be in one land and I in another. He keeps at a distance, I am in darkness. I well recollect, when under his first teachings, times and times again I promised the Lord if he would convince me I had an interest in him, I should be content to be in darkness all my life, but now find it hard work. Sometimes he will give me a little humbling or a little comfort in prayer, but oftener when I am hearing friends singing our hymns; but it is soon over, and I remain in darkness still, though I can often say with David, ‘Although my house be not so with God, yet hath he made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and sure.’”

And a few years later the following: “My dear Brother, It is impossible for me to state my feelings, for I seem not to have any, or, as the poet says,

‘If ought is felt, ’tis only pain 

To find I cannot feel.’

If I have the least liberty in prayer, I have to thank the Lord for that liberty. I am mostly shut up, and cannot come forth. You have many privileges we are denied. I hope you will prize, and long enjoy them.”

They ultimately removed to Fall River; and there the Lord was pleased for a time to prosper them, so that they were able to lay by a little of this world’s good; but having lent their money to the employer, and he subsequently failing, they lost nearly all they had. But this was not the worst of it, for the works being stopped, or nearly so, there were but few means of obtaining employment, until they were glad to receive assistance from some in England whom the Lord had more highly favored in a providential way. Upon receiving a remittance a short time before her death, Phebe exclaimed, “The Lord provides for me to the last. This has come to bury me with.”

For some years, indeed, prior to her death she was greatly tried. Even so far back as 1841, we find her writing:

“Dec. 31st, 1841. I wish I could leave everything in the hands of the Lord, who careth for his own children, and who will take care that their troubles shall prove a blessing. Will they not drive them nearer to their best Friend? I cannot, dare not, wish to be left at ease. O no—

‘More the treacherous calm I dread 

Than tempests bursting o’er my head.’

If I am left to sit at ease a short time, I know there is a storm coming. I have hitherto found as my day so has my strength been. I have at times great uneasiness about some branches of my family. At other times I can leave all in the hands of the Lord. Then, again, I murmur, and wonder why I have such trials; but I am often blessed with moments of sweet intercourse with my Heavenly Father, which lifts me up by the way.”

And again, in 1849:

“June 28, 1849. I have been waiting to see if anything would transpire to enable me to send you a little better news; but we are still without any prospect before us. What the will of the Lord concerning us is, remains a mystery yet to be unfolded in his own time.

‘I know what he appoints is best, 

Yet murmur at it still.’

If I could only have more faith in his promises, and trust more to his wisdom, I should be more content. Sometimes, for a few moments, I feel and know that all things are working together for the best. At other times I am so full of unbelief, I am ready to despair.

“I am very much in need of my ‘Gospel Standards.’ The last I received was August, 1848. I often find comfort in them.

“Last year was a perplexing year, but this is worse.

“I cannot believe the Lord will forsake us now grey hairs are upon our heads. I must say, notwithstanding all the trouble I had last year, I had very often some sweet moments of prayer when I could feel all was well. I little thought I was being prepared for more trouble, but that I should not live long. I felt the most of my time that I did not value anything half so much as to have sweet prayer and communion with the Saviour. But, alas! I do not feel so now. I am afraid Satan has buffeted me. Do not forget me in your prayers, that I may enjoy the Saviour’s presence, whatever else he withholds.”

In 1851 things appear to have been a little brighter:

“July 14, 1851. When I wrote last to brother John, I was almost despairing; it seemed impossible we could live any longer as we were then situated. As is always the case, man’s extremity is God’s opportunity. Part of the family have, since then, had work enough to keep us holding and creeping along; and though very different to former days, yet I have been led to see more of the Lord’s hand in trying circumstances than in prosperous ones. In prosperity everything came too easy, and we forgot to be thankful. In trying times, when lover and friend are put far from us, and our acquaintance into darkness, at the same time our enemies rejoicing, then is the time to know whence cometh our help. And though I often felt (if not said) I did well to be angry for the Lord hath taken away my gourds at other times I have felt that everything was ordered by a wise and loving Father for our good, and I would not order things for myself if I could, for everything I attempted to do made it worse. I have gone through a variety of exercises of mind the last three and a half years. Sometimes up and sometimes down. At times humbled at the feet of Jesus, then kicking and rebelling, thinking my case hard to be fixed far away from all friends; no Church to unite with, no preached Gospel to hear; over head in debt, seeing plenty who would take the advantage and ruin us if they could, to answer their own ends; yet, astonishing as it may appear to you, I would not (if I could) be where I was four years ago. Although I had at times sweet communion with the Saviour, and felt loth to leave my closet to enter again into the world, I was well persuaded trouble was near at hand, which has proved to be the case. Trials I needed, for it seemed then I had only to get alone to pour out my heart unto the Saviour. But I know (at least I hope so) it was the Spirit’s power prompting me to secret prayer. I have been taught by painful experience I cannot pray when I have a mind, nor even think for one moment. I am so confused with wandering thoughts, that I often forget I am upon my knees; and I then feel so ashamed of myself, I think there never could possibly be such a hypocrite in the world. I believe I have sinned tenfold more since I knew the Lord (if ever I had that privilege) than I did before. I have seen more of my deceitful, rebellious, idolizing heart the last few years than I have ever done; and though it is cutting work, and I would fain have it otherwise, yet the more I strive, the worse I get. I sometimes wonder where I have been, and what I have been doing since I first professed to know the name of the Lord. If I recollect right, it was twenty-eight years last January since I made a public profession; and though I have been kept from outwardly running with the world, where has my heart been? Buried in the concerns of a large family. I am not intending to say religion has been entirely discarded from my thoughts. No! Thanks be to God, the Giver of all good gifts, I trust he has kept alive his own work in my soul, and led me again and again to see and feel when I have done with the cares and troubles of this world, ‘I have a house not made with. hands, eternal in the heavens.’

“The greatest part of my time has been taken up in worldly business, and I now see where I should have been had I not been kept by the power of God. The Lord’s Day has often been a means of bringing to my remembrance days of old, when I could meet with the people of God. But all this has a long time been denied me. Yet I can with pleasure think of those days, and sometimes long for the time when I shall unite with the Church above in giving glory to God, who has kept me by his power.

“I cannot express to you, my dear Sister, how rejoiced I feel when I think of our poor afflicted mother being safely landed above the reach of Satan’s temptations. Is it not plain she was kept by the power of God? Who else could have kept her so many years in the state she was?”

But this temporal prosperity was only of brief duration:

“January 5th, 1852. I have thought of no plan or scheme for a long time that has prospered; but, my dear Sarah, I am at times enabled to leave all my affairs in the hands of the Lord, and believe I shall some time know all these trials are for my good. These feelings are very short, and l am as discontented as ever, and think everything is wrong, and that I shall at one time or other be the laughing- stock of my enemies, for plenty there are who would rejoice at our downfall. Why should I say downfall? It is rather a rising in our feelings above this world, and clinging nearer to the dear Saviour, who is indeed our only refuge in every storm, and friend in every need. I hope both you and I shall be favored with much of his presence while in this wilderness world; and oh! what a joyful time it will be, if we are permitted to sing his praises in Heaven for ever and ever!”

“March 23rd, 1852. At times I am astonished when I think how I have been provided for all my life, and how unthankful I have been, that when it pleased my dear Lord to take away some of my gourds, I like Jonah have been ready to say, ‘I do well to be angry even unto death;’ and have at times sat in sullen silence and thought it was of no use praying, for the more I prayed the more trouble came upon me; and yet I found it impossible to give it up; for ‘Trials gave new life to prayer.’ What a blessed thing the Lord has kept alive his own work in my heart, for if he had not, it would long since have withered and died away. If we had everything we wished in this world, we should forget it was not our rest; but one thing or other makes us willing to depart and be with Christ, which is far better. The coward flesh may start at the prospect of death. We cannot expect dying grace given to us now, but the Lord has promised to be with us always, even to the end; and when dying grace is needed, then will be the time for our loving Jesus to grant it.”

Phebe well knew the value of a preached Gospel, and what, during her exile, it was to be without it; as will appear from the following letters:

“Taunton, Sept. 28th, 1835.—Through the kind providence of God, we are, my dear parents, still in the land of the living, and all, with the exception of one of the children, in tolerably good health. Several of them have been ill, but have recovered. I sometimes feel almost distracted, and think if I could only have comfort at chapel on the Sunday, I should care for nothing else. Who knows but the Lord will, when our captivity is ended, bring us from Babylon, and set us once more in our own nation, where we can hear the sound of the Gospel? No one can imagine how great the loss of the preached Gospel till removed from it. These passages are at times very precious to my soul when everything else goes wrong. I would not give up my hope for all the world calls good or great. What a mercy it is, my dear parents, to have such a hope! I am often lost in astonishment, and exclaim, ‘Why me unworthy, undeserving me? Why not any one before me?’ When I get safely landed (though I cannot sing here), I feel I shall sing, Grace, free grace alone!”

“Aug. 13th, 1838. I have a great deal I should like to say to my dear parents, but am very low and dejected, and sometimes discontented comparing myself to a sparrow alone upon the house-top, and think I have not one friend. When Lord’s Day comes, I am worse than ever. Every nest I build is pulled to pieces. I was once determined to build a substantial one; but no sooner was it about to be settled, than I was taken ill of the last sickness. How soon did it vanish out of my sight, and all worldly comforts with it, and I was made to kiss the rod. I feel glad the Lord has in any measure subdued the pride of my heart, that will lift up its head in some form or other. I think I could put up with anything better if it were not for the preaching we have in this dark corner; I cannot hear the cries of one real watchman. It is a good thing I can sometimes read them. I do not always feel discontented; no, thanks to my Everlasting Friend, I have some sweet moments. One Sunday evening, after being at meeting, I took up the Bible, which opened at the 7th chapter of Micah. Every word comforted me; I was melted down at the footstool of my Lord, satisfied for him to work in his own way and in his own time. I felt as though my sorrows were all gone. It was a time of refreshing to my soul I cannot describe.”

“May 29th, 1841. I find Sunday an uneasy day, I think so much about home. I have never felt at home since I left England, nor never shall on this side the grave; but then I hope to find l a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. I cannot give up that hope. Though faint, yet pursuing. May the Lord bless you all with the same hope.” 

“I generally go to meeting in a morning for the sake of taking the two youngest girls. I would much rather stay at home, and read a sermon. It would be more for my comfort and consolation than a thousand sermons preached in Fall River. I often feel glad to think the “Gospel Ministry” sermons were ever published, though some of Mr. Philpot’s shake me much, and I fear my religion will all fall to pieces; yet I love his faithful preaching, for I would not settle on a sand-bank. I long for a brighter deliverance than I have ever had. My path seems covered with clouds, both spiritual and temporal, and Satan takes advantage of my trials to keep my mind and affections too much on the things of this world. The longer I live, the greater sinner I find myself to be. If I could only keep my wandering mind fixed on better things, and not run after idols, I should be much happier. In the place of this, my whole time is spent in planning and scheming; but the Lord upsets all my plans, and brings me to see my folly and own my idolatry and sin; and then I think I shall never do so again. But, alas! I am soon at the old trade.”

“Aug. 28th, 1856. I was truly rejoiced to receive the “Gospel Ministry” and brother John’s “Wanderings.” We have no such preaching here. I shall always think we did wrong in leaving a preached Gospel. It is now of no use to fret and murmur, but try to be thankful that we can occasionally read sermons from our beloved, and, in my opinion, highly-favored country. I have no doubt but sermons are published by the divine appointment of God, who knows what is needed for his children’s good. Some of us may have rested too much upon doctrines, willing to take ease and comfort in the world, resting on past experience; not running with the world outwardly, yet forgetting from whence all our comforts come, standing upon Presumption Hill; not pressing forward, determined to know nothing but Christ and him crucified, thinking we know enough experimentally to get to Heaven a cold, stupid state to be in, and in reality an awful backsliding, one known only to God and ourselves; to have trials brought upon us, and to be certain we have been hewing out cisterns that can hold no water, the very things we thought to take comfort in, to cause us the most trouble; to know we have taken wrong steps, leaving undone what we ought to have done; looking more after the bodies of our children than their eternal welfare. This, my dear Sarah, I am afraid has been too much my case in years gone by. Mr. Philpot’s sermons have often been a good meal to me, not only in pulling to pieces my presumption and self-righteousness, but in encouraging such a wretch to still trust in the Lord. I hope you will continue to send them, as they are of unspeakable value to me.”

She felt her dear father’s death deeply, as the following remarks will show:

“Feb. 28th, 1844. O dear, what can I say? Your hearts are stricken with sorrow. What must I do? I cannot say, ‘Thy will be done,’ but feel very rebellious. Our dear father’s death was so unlooked for such a fool was I that I thought he was so useful he would at least live to be eighty. After I read the painful intelligence, I walked the house like one distracted. I sought comfort, but could find none. I went upon my knees, but what could I say? I could not say, ‘Thy will be done.’ I wish I could.

“The Sunday previously to receiving the letter, I was reading in the ‘Standard’ that a child of God was never long without some trial. A fear crept over me, but I put it off, saying I knew I had been favored a long time, and thought perhaps the Lord would let me be at ease a little longer. My attention was then called to two of the children, who were repeating to each other the first and second commandments. The thought crossed my mind, ‘I have no idols; I worship nothing but the living God;’ and I felt so confident of this, that I said in my heart, ‘Search me, O Lord, and see if this sin and evil is in my heart.’ But O, when the letter came the Tuesday following, where was my idol? How quickly I felt I had in my heart idolized my dear father! In every company his name was first and last, and not my Saviour’s. I feel I have lost all my comfort. When you pray for yourself, don’t forget me. I cannot pray for myself. I now feel as though I had only just begun the world, my earthly hope being gone. I knew in every trouble he had a share. What dependence on an arm of flesh! I am loaded; I am oppressed and bowed down. All I can say is, ‘Help, Lord, for the godly man ceaseth; the faithful fail from among the children of men.’ I hope and trust the Lord will keep his Church together, and find them a pastor after his own heart. What a trial it must be to them!”

“May, 1846. I hope, my dear mother, although you have had a hard path to travel, you at times feel the presence of the Lord to bless and comfort you, and may you often be able to say, ‘He hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and sure;’ and though affliction may surround and the temptations of Satan assault you, still victory is sure. Your sorrows must soon end, then you will join my dear father in singing, ‘Victory for ever.’”

Even as a woman she loved her country, and had often misgivings as to whether or not she had done right in leaving home, frequently comparing herself to Jonah. “I am a true Englishwoman,” she once said. “There is no place like home. I agree with Mr. P., in his remarks on Emigration: ‘Where the Lord fixed your first and second birth, there stay.’”

And now we draw near to her last days. On Sept. 9th, 1857, she wrote:

“Sept. 9th, 1857. I would not on any account go through the same trials I have had the last ten years, unless it was for my spiritual good, which I hope is the case. The Lord has showed me hard things. He has made me to drink the wine of astonishment. I was not aware how unthankful I was for his providential mercies, nor how much pride and self-righteousness were rooted in me; but I have seen some of it pulled to pieces, and I do hope it will never rise again. O, how I have felt those chapters in the word of God, speaking of backsliders clothed and decked with the doctrines of God’s discriminating grace, and yet wantonly playing the harlot. I have been trying to take comfort in the things of this world, forsaking the company of a dear Saviour for mere trash. I do not mean neglecting prayer, but I had not that earnest desire nor watchfulness which I hope the Lord has since made me feel. I am not now content with what I have enjoyed, but am thirsting for more; not satisfied to pray, unless I find the Lord hears, and feel truly humbled at his feet.

“Is it not a wonder I am still in the land of the living? If I had had my just deserts, I should long ago have been where hope never comes: for notwithstanding I have been taught so much, I again find myself at my old trade, thinking, planning, and scheming, burying my whole heart in the things of this world. What a wretch I am!

‘Prone to wander, 

Lord, I feel it; 

Prone to leave the God I love.’

“I have been very poorly since I last wrote, and very much troubled with my breathing, but am now a little better, and the palpitation of my heart is not quite so bad.”

For above a year before her death, she felt that she was going, and said to her husband, “I am not going suddenly, but link by link.”

Just four days before her death, when acknowledging a remittance from some of her relatives in England, she wrote as follows:

“I have not been able to lie down for four months, but am propped up with pillows; nor can I walk across the floor. This morning, whilst being dressed, I thought I should never recover my breath. I know not how long this affliction will last, but believe it will end in death. As it respects the state of my mind, I wish to feel the love of Christ shed abroad in my heart, but he does not appear to my full satisfaction. He has promised that, as our day, so shall our strength be. I know in whom I have believed, and though I have wandered and backslidden times and again, my heart being buried in the cares and business of the world, yet he has brought me with weeping and supplication to his dear feet to confess my sins.

“To die deceived would be awful! to be for ever in that company who hate the lovely name of Jesus. No! this would be despair indeed! for I love the Lord and his people, but find so few of them here that I have been like a swallow alone upon a house-top. I have been enabled to leave my family in the hands of a merciful God, feeling he can do better for them than I can.

“I am so swollen, that if I stoop down I cannot get up again.”

“She had a great deal of bondage,” writes her husband. “It was indeed through much tribulation she entered the kingdom. I often told her to remember what dear father used to say: ‘Come life, come death, come what will, all is well, if Jesus is ours,’ ‘Yes,’ she would sometimes reply, ‘ all is well, and I soon shall be.’ For three months before her death she seemed as if she could not breathe; but would still sometimes feel very comfortable. ‘I was just thinking,’ she once said after I had been helping her up, ‘that if it were possible for me to go to hell, they would be glad to get me out again; for I know I love my dear Lord!’ The day before she died she said, ‘What a mercy it is that salvation is free!’ She rested well during the night, but in the morning she could not speak. About 6 o’clock, I took her up, and gave her a cup of tea, which she drank, and put out her hand for more. She then lay down again till the moment before her spirit departed; when she raised her head, and, with a heavenly smile, fixed her eyes upon me; but before I could utter a word, her happy soul had fled into the arms of her dear Saviour. And now what can I say? or rather what can I not say! I have lost a loving and affectionate wife; and she was a loving mother; but our loss is her gain.”

She died on the 16th of February, 1858, the immediate cause of her death being an affection of the heart.

London, Sept., 1858

John