them exceedingly terrific, threatening the entire and speedy destruction of the vessel. But amid the confusion on deck, I remained calmly upon my seat. From the first moment of danger my mind reverted to the long boat, and some desolate shore; while hope predominated that we should escape with our lives. Presently Mr. Smith again appeared at the cabin door, and called me above. The tossing of the poor broken vessel upon the rocks interfered with the lowering of the boat, while a wave broke over the deck just as I reached it. I spoke not a word; but as I turned towards the place where they were lowering the boat, supported by my anxious husband, the mild rays of the evening star caught my eye, as it was just about to descend below the horizon; and it seemed like the star of hope." p. 337.

The scene of escape from the vessel, the perils and hardships which succeeded, must be read in her own simple and touching language to be fully understood. We cannot withhold the following passage.

"The gentlemen went in search of a resting place for the day, and soon returned, saying that they had found a habitation, to which they invited me to resort. It was a ruined stone building, which appeared to have been used for a stable, by the nomadic Turkmans, during the winter. We had the floor, which was earth, swept and covered with the fresh branches of trees. My bed was spread in the most comfortable part; and as I entered, I can assure you it seemed as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land. This was my birth-day; and although in every respect the most sorrowful of any that I had passed, perhaps none ever found me with so many causes for gratitude." p. 342.

Her feelings of kindness to a poor, dissipated, sick, young Englishman, who subjected her, in the boat, and in their rude shelter, to much inconvenience, her attempts to soothe his irritated and despairing mind, her enjoyment of the reli gious service on the Sabbath in their poor hut, with her black shawl spread on some stones for their common seat, are interesting illustrations of her character under suffering.

Thirty three days after her embarkation at Beyroot, and twenty eight from the time of her shipwreck, she arrived at Smyrna. The morning after her arrival she found herself very weak, and retired to her bed. Her husband describes this as a sad hour; the hope of recovery and of further usefulness seemed ready to leave her. The scene between them as they wept together at the thought of her decline, and her feelings towards home, will be read with the deepest sympathy and interest.

Many things in her last sickness, and in her dying scene,

afford unusually fruitful themes of meditation and instruction. A practical English writer and divine, says, “Tell me not how a man dies; show me how he lived." We doubt the truth of this feeling;-the life and the death of the good are to be considered together, according to that scripture, "Mark the perfect man and behold the upright: for the end of that man is peace." It is extremely interesting to know how this truly pious and devoted woman felt when she came to die. Her husband says, in a letter to her parents,

"Her feelings, when she came now to look at her course as inevitably tending downward to the grave, were far from being such as she wished. The same trait of character, that made the thought of leaving you so painful, made also the anticipation of being taken from her other numerous friends, a source of the most sorrowful feelings. You know how ardent, and how many were the friendships she cherished. When she came to think of their all being rent asunder, she said, much as had been the pleasure she had derived from them, it were almost better to have no friends. But having given you up, the severest pang was over, and as she drew near eternity, other feelings threw a shade over these. She did not love the world in a bad sense; and yet it was evident that death was to a degree taking her unawares; and was occasioning her a most trying disappointment. p. 348.

Two things were forcibly impressed upon our mind in reading this part of Mr. Smith's letter, viz. The perfect naturalness of this grief, and the Christian simplicity and ingenuousness in the narration of it. We are not sure that some would not have chosen to hide this part of our friend's history, preferring to give us only the account of those feelings and remarks which indicate the triumph of faith. It was a strange satisfaction, we must confess, to know that an individual of the undoubted piety and exalted worth of this beloved woman, had sorrow of heart, when, in spirit, she began to say, "Mine age hast thou removed like a shepherd's tent thou wilt cut me off with pining sickness." It comes to us like the gentleness of Christ, to know that as all the children are partakers of flesh and blood,' eminent Christians likewise take part in the same, and that we are permitted, by their experience, to feel, that moderated sorrow, (not murmuring or complaining,) at disappointed hope and the prospect of premature death, may consist with evident tokens of acceptance with God. Is not one book of

the Bible a book of Lamentations? We are always happy to hear that the first intimation of dying is received, by the Christian patient, with composure, much more with pleasure; but we cannot properly regard reluctance at the sacrifice and suffering incident to early death as unfavorable to Christian character. It should be remarked here, that all which is said of Mrs. Smith's first feelings in view of her probable decline and death, make the impression of truth and faithfulness in the whole narration of her life and character.

When she had given up the hope of final recovery, a further trial awaited her. Notwithstanding her past eminent devotedness to the cause of Christ, and her sincere religious principles and feelings, and her frequent seasons of high religious enjoyment, the beginning of her last sickness and her expectation of its fatal issue were cheered with no religious comfort. Such facts as these, and they are not unfrequent, show how entirely religious frames are beyond the control of the will, and that, when we may seem to have ensured religious consolation in sickness, by a good life, God is as much a sovereign in bestowing it, as in any of his gifts. We know of nothing which abases man and exalts God more than this, that spiritual comfort is often withheld from the best of Christians in times of need, without an apparent reason. We may say, indeed, as in the case before us, that the violent shock upon the nervous sensibilities, occasioned by the sudden discovery that death is inevitable, prevents that calm and quiet state of mind which is necessary to faith and hope. Some proximate cause, no doubt, there always is, in every such case; but the permission of it, and the prevalence of doubt and fear for a season, compels the acknowledgment that God's ways are not as our ways. The individual, as in the present case, may be able to answer every question relating to evidences of piety, in a satisfactory manner, and yet have no ray of hope. One incident is worthy of notice in this connection. Mrs. Smith was interested, at this time, to know how far she might be justified in depending upon past experience for evidence of being a Christian. A remark which fell from her upon this point deserves consideration. She said that ministers were in the habit of warning Christians not to trust to past experience for evidence of personal religion,

but when they spoke of departed Christians, they would refer to their lives for evidence of their piety. Perhaps it may be said that the reason is this: In speaking of the departed, we refer to their life as completed, their earlier evidences of piety as confirmed by death:-while, with regard to the living, it is necessary to impress this truth, that he that endureth to the end, shall be saved.'

Another point of great practical importance is suggested by the effort which we are told Mrs. S. made to recollect particular sins, and to repent of them one by one. Mr. Smith judiciously endeavored to dissuade her from it.

"I dissuaded her from pursuing far such an attempt to recall particular transgressions, as calculated at the present time unnecessarily to distress her. God would be better pleased, I assured her, with her passing them over as forgiven and blotted out, through his abounding mercy. She would not err by contenting herself with a more general repentance of her past life, feeling that it had been all imperfection and sin, and abhorring herself on account of it; which, with a great deal of earnestness, she assured me, she most heartily did.”—p. 353.

One day she called for the Pilgrim's Progress,' and began to read the account of the river of death, but was unable to pursue it. Some time after, her husband, at her request, resumed the narrative, but she was obliged to ask him to stop. She said that it seemed to be a great excellence of the Bible that it was so little exciting; that not only could the most common minds understand it, but the most sensitive nerves could bear its representations, better than those of any other book. She accordingly read, after this, almost wholly in the Bible.

She finally obtained peace and comfort in view of death, and the ground of it seemed to be, entire submission to the will of God. But she drew her evidence of acceptance with Him, chiefly from what she had previously felt. She said that, on the whole, it was her choice to die. Freedom in heaven from imperfection, made her wish to be there, and the expected pleasure of meeting departed friends gave her much satisfaction. She thought it absurd to suppose that departed friends in heaven would not recognize each other, and enjoy each other's love.

The few last days of her life were perfectly happy. Having listened to a part of 2 Cor. v. "For we know that if this earthly house," etc. she said that it removed all her

and

darkness and fears, that she wished for nothing more, that she was going to be with her Saviour. She said that she had no ecstacies, but that her mind was composed and quiet. "I believe all that is written in the word of God, and upon the strength of this faith, I am going into eternity." Sublime and glorious words!

Two years and four months ago, she had embarked from Boston as a missionary. How much she left behind! How short her missionary life, how great the disappointment at the early interruption of her work by death! "THOU destroyest the hope of man!" And yet

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Sept. 22.-In the afternoon, she said to me with much earnestness, When you write to my friends after all is over, one thing I wish you would make prominent. It is, that I feel satisfied with the course I have taken, and that all has been ordered by God.' [Meaning in her becoming a missionary.] I have no disposition to boast of my labors; but I feel that I have not left my friends and my country in vain. I never have regretted having done so, nor do I now. This is my dying testimony.' p. 358.

"Tell my friends, I would not for all the world lay my remains any where but here, on missionary ground.' After a good many remarks, showing the brightness of her views of spiritual things, some of which could be but indistinctly heard, she exclaimed, What a goodly company of ancestors shall I meet there! Yes, and the holy angels, and the Son of God! Oh, the Almighty God! You know nothing of his glorious majesty. I cannot express it; but I wanted to speak of it, that you may think that yourselves are nothing. I have thought too much of myself. In this sickness I have thought it too important that my ease and wants should be consulted. We all think that we are of more importance than we are. Beware of pride." "

"We sung that beautiful hymn of Doddridge on the eternal Sabbath, commencing,

'Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love.'

"To my surprise, her voice, which she had so long been unable to use for singing, was occasionally heard mingling with ours. Her face beamed with a smile of ecstasy; and so intense was the feeling expressed in her whole aspect, that we stopped after the first verse, lest she should even expire while drinking the cup of joy we had presented to her. But she said to us, 'Go on;' and though all were bathed in tears, and hardly able to articulate, we proceeded. I was sitting with her hand in mine. While singing the second verse, she pressed it, and turned to me at the same time such a heavenly smile as stopped my utterance. Before we reached the end, she raised both her hands above her head, and gave vent to her feelings in tears of pleasure, and almost in shouting. After prayer, she said, 'I have had a little glimpse of what I am going to see. It was but a glimpse, and perhaps it was imagination. But it seemed a glorious sight." p. 360, 1.