Sundays to assemble under the trees, and have a regular church service of their own in the open air, at which one of the ministerial sons generally preached. The last Sunday of her life was a perfectly lovely day, and, as usual, this open-air service was very delightful to her. She greatly enjoyed the reading by her husband of a sermon by Spurgeon, who was a great favorite of both. In the afternoon, she attended the usual family Sunday school, and through the day there was much singing of her favorite hymns. She spoke of it in the evening as a perfectly happy Sabbath.
The next day she was not very well, and kept her bed, but was quietly happy. No one entered her room but received some word of tenderness. Afterwards many of the loving speeches that were habitual with her, but would not have been remembered if they had not been her last, were treasured up as a sacred legacy by those to whom they were spoken.
When her husband awoke on Tuesday morning, he said that his heart went up in thankfulness to God that she had had an unusually good night, for ill health often made her wakeful. He dressed quietly that he might not disturb her, and then noticed that her head had sunk into an uncomfortable position. He attempted to raise it, and saw that there was something wrong, and called for assistance. A doctor was hastily summoned, and said that she had had a stroke of apoplexy. She lay in an unconscious state, looking as if asleep, and breathing softly as a little child, until about two o’clock, when gently, without a struggle, she went home. After she had passed away, her husband took up her lifeless hand, saying, “I am alone now.”
His grief was pathetic in its gentleness and tenderness and submission. He said over and over again, “I
