acknowledged, by the unremitting attentions of those kind and lovely families in Philadelphia, whose virtues bound them to us by better ties than those of earthly kindred—as "Zion's friends, and ours;" whose reward we will not attempt to take out of a Saviour's hands by our poor praises; and whose displeasure we shall only then be sure of incurring, when we attempt to unveil to the public eye, the authors of so much disinterested and untiring goodness. The same reference is due to very many families in the city of New York, in which, for several successive years, she passed the winters with her husband. He who thus imperfectly attempts to record his gratitude, knew her worth so well, that he cannot wonder that such friends should love her; and he feels it his duty here to say, that any portion of success in the work herein referred to, is under God, largely owing, not only to her influence on his labours, but to the charm which she threw upon every circle with which she mingled, and the interest she kindled in all the persons and objects which interested her. When, at the end of two years, he felt overwhelmed with the review of her domestic trials, and was strongly moved to abandon a work which made them inevitable, she earnestly resisted the thought of change; and with generous self-devotion urged her husband forward in a work which, though painful to her feelings, was in her view useful to the Church, and pleasing to its glorious Head. As her impressions were those of all her friends, and apparently of the Church at large, and as the Board itself kindly relaxed some of the severer features of our trials, we were confirmed in the conviction that it was our duty to persevere, lest we should incur the divine displeasure, "by being weary in well-doing."

When, however, the indications of divine Providence in the spring of 1835 seemed plainly to say, that our work for the Board of Education was done, and that we ought to enter the door opened for us at Princeton, she was the last to see the duty of a removal; and though her parental home was there, and though her heart and her wearied nature cried aloud for rest, she would not allow any reasons for the change, to be drawn from her wishes or her sacrifices, and to the last, rather submitted to, than heartily approved of, the new relation.

But how deep are the ways of God! Scarcely had she time to establish herself in her new home at Princeton,[4] when another and loud call to an agency, directly in behalf of Foreign Missions, was pressed upon us. Though at this period her health had become evidently far more delicate, she heard and heeded again the voice of her Saviour; and still recalling the Missionary vow, offered herself again a willing sacrifice on the altar of God. In deciding this momentous question (in the winter of 1838, after having spent but eighteen months in Princeton, nearly half of which was occupied by her husband in active agency in behalf of the funds, library, &c. of the Theological Seminary,) we found ourselves incapable of being instrumental in recalling her still again to the commotion, desertion at home, and incessant cares, of another agency. Three months therefore were given to the important work, and the offer of the office finally declined. Even here however, she persisted in referring the decision to public relations alone, leaving all personal considerations out of view. And though fast approaching her end (what at that time none of us knew) she spontaneously put herself at the disposal of the friends of the Board of Foreign Missions, for her part of any service which might be required of her husband, whether it was in extensive journeys with him, or separation from him, or a winter's sojourn with him and her children in the city of New York. For the first, hoping it might invigorate her health, she was actually furnished; and when that was abandoned for the last, she repaired, with the spirit of her Master in her heart, to meet the trials it induced. It was in the fresh recollection of the parting scene, on her way thither, that the following sentences were addressed to the writer by the Rev. Dr. Alexander.

"I cannot conclude, without a word to dear Mrs. Breckinridge. I admire her ready submission to the calls of Providence. For although she cannot help dropping the silent tear, she makes no complaint, but shuts up her comfortable house, leaves her home and her friends, and as cheerfully as she can, goes to live in a hotel, and among strangers. Well, she shall not lose her reward. For these sacrifices she shall have rich compensation: and our sweetest earthly pleasure is in doing the will of our Heavenly Father." (Dated Princeton, December 17th, 1837.)

At the close of the winter we returned to Princeton, hoping that now God would grant us a little rest in that quiet village and that delightful home, where not "unaware we entertained an angel." But ah! this blessedness was not long intended for us. Having done her work, (though still we did not fear it,) she was soon to be taken to her rest and her reward on high.

HER LAST SICKNESS AND DEATH.

Her last sickness was of a protracted and very interesting character. When she returned from New York, she was delicate and her state of health was mysterious, but not yet alarming even to her physicians. Very soon after this, she had a violent attack, which in a short season prostrated her frame, and, disclosing a peculiar complication of diseases, overwhelmed every mind in the family, but her own, (she was calm,) with the most gloomy apprehensions of her danger.

At the close of the winter term of the Theological Seminary, (May first,) it was our anxious desire to take her to the Red Sulphur Springs in Virginia. But it was too early in the season; and being yet doubtful, whether this or that place would be useful or hurtful, it was agreed by her physicians to indulge her strongly expressed wish to try the waters of Saratoga. Thither therefore we went, pausing only a short time in the city of New York for medical consultation.

At this time, she was a most interesting object to all who saw her. Her debility was so extreme that she was borne from place to place in the arms of her husband, which, from her delicate frame, it was easy to do. The gentleness and patience with which she endured her sickness, the inimitable moral beauty of her countenance, and the general expression of frailty mingled with grace, excited the deepest interest wherever she passed.[5]

At Saratoga we spent a very quiet season of three weeks, (before the great hotels were opened, or the crowds had arrived) at the house of a most kind and deserving Christian woman, Mrs. Taylor, whose unceasing attentions greatly conduced to soothe sufferings which God had pleased should not be arrested. During this visit she used the waters freely, as a beverage, and in the bath, with no apparent injury, except that it evidently disclosed the fatal symptoms of her malady. She was able almost every day, to take gentle rides in the open air, and frequently to mingle with the family. But her chamber was her sanctuary. There she reclined, feeding on the Word of God. She was especially delighted with Clarke on the Promises. During that season of seclusion, she seemed to grow in grace with a progress which surprised (while it delighted) us; for we knew