bolstered up in bed, to write some little message to go with the gift, precious love tokens, which coming from her failing hand must be ever dear to those who received them. The last letter which she wrote, bearing date of May 25th, was addressed to her old and valued friend, the Rev. Charles Cleveland, of Boston, a few lines to enclose a sum of money for a person in need. The chirography, usually so fair, betrayed the feebleness of the hand that strove to guide the pen; but the heart was still strong in its love of doing good. "Always remember," she said more than once, "always remember there is no pleasure in this life so great as that of doing good."
And surely no one was ever better fitted to give such counsel. There is a little, old-fashioned account-book still in existence, commenced in 1811, when, from her engagement as a teacher, she first had an income of her own. There the plan was marked out, that one-tenth of all that she received should be given in charity—a plan from which she never deviated throughout her life, except to enlarge the measure of her gifts. She had proved what Goldsmith calls "the luxury of doing good;" and desired, with her last words, to commend it to others.
On Sunday, May 28th, the Sunday after Ascension, she received for the last time, greatly to her comfort, the Holy Communion from the hands of her rector, the Rev. Dr. George Clark. At the close of the day we knelt around her bed, knowing that on earth we should drink of that cup together no more. As we joined in the hymn "Trisagion," it seemed almost as if we could hear the voice of the heavenly host, with whom the beloved one was so soon to worship. Blessed communion of saints! which becomes more and more dear as those