During the winter as she was very low, I was informed of her state, and came to see her, bringing her some nourishment, which I induced her to take, and there was soon a gradual change for the better. During her former illness her hair had all turned grey, and fallen out; during the period of health from the spring of '74 to the autumn of '75 it had grown in again black, and now this terrible typhoid fever leaves her reduced to little more than a skeleton, and her hair all grey and falling out again.

On the 13th of February 1876, having recovered sufficiently, she wrote to her daughter as follows, writing with her own hand: "Dear Alice. The cloud indeed passed away, and I am much better; I am sorry I troubled you, and made you sad (alluding to a previous letter in which she expressed no hope of recovery), but I thought it best then. I guess I will get well now, if nothing else happens. Father will not let me go out of the room yet; he is very well; he went to a donation party to Mr. Faucett's last night. You need not be uneasy about me, I am well cared for and do not wish you to come to me. I think it would be out of your duty and you know I always say 'duty before pleasure;' and besides, 'Aunt Lydia' has been with me and will come again if I need her. * * * * The people like Mr. Faucett better than they did. I cannot advise you about coming East. * * * You must both make it a subject of prayer, but don't come for my sake; I am not worth a sacrifice; and besides I have sacrificed you all to the Lord. (See February 6th 1876.) I have laid all of you, with all that I have, on the altar; all my dearest affections, and you among the dearest; so you see I can't take you back." And in this letter she adds "here is the last bit of my hair."

The same date she wrote to her son-in-law, Rev. C. C. Felts as follows:

Dear Cethe:—I like to forgot, I had something to say to you. I must answer your grumbling as best I can, for I don't like grumblers any way. (Mr. Felts had written, that his room was so small that he could not walk across without moving things out of the way to make a passage, etc., and otherwise alluding to his poverty. Of course the correspondence was rather jocosely conducted.) She continued:

1st. You forget how much larger your room is than the cross was; and how many things the Saviour had to move out of the way; you forget also how much larger those mansions in glory will appear.

2d. You forget, too, that your bread shall be given and water sure; and having food and raiment, therewith to be content.

3d. You forget, too, that he that goeth forth weeping, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless return again, bringing his sheaves with him. Sow thy seed in the morning, in the evening withhold not thy hand, for thou knowest not which shall prosper, this or that. The other side looks so bright, I have no comments.

Mother.

The summer of '76 passed slowly away, she regaining health slowly. Her hair, which all came out with the typhoid fever, grew in rapidly, and again black. In August of that year she wrote as follows: "We are all well as usual. Theoph is here, and Lizzie is coming to day, and Bishop Payne Saturday. We had the finest pic-nic yesterday we have had for a long time. * * * I shall be to see you week after next, if I don't go home with Theoph; and if I do, I will be there the week after. I am going to Campmeeting now."

She went home with "Theoph," passing a week in Brooklyn and going from there to Philadelphia. Her deep interest in the welfare of her children, and her complete resignation to the will of God are so apparent in these letters, as scarcely to need a hint. She has laid all on the altar and dare not take it off. She counts not herself "worth a sacrifice." What further self-denial can be asked? What further consecration possible?

From her visit to Brooklyn she went to Philadelphia, stopping a week at the latter place with her daughter, Mrs. Felts, and remarked while there, that she was taking a rest after her severe summer's labor, and was also visiting her children for the last time, unless called to them by sickness. While in Philadelphia she visited the great Centennial Exposition, and called on many of her friends in the city. On the Sabbath, it was her intention to visit "Old Bethel" once more, but the day being stormy, she was disappointed. Her two weeks vacation, she said, saved her from an attack of sickness, and she passed the following winter in quite good health. She wrote me towards spring, saying she was rapidly gaining in flesh and had not been sick a day since her visit.

During the month of January her oldest sister was taken very sick, requiring much of her attention; simultaneously word came that her daughter, Mrs. Felts, was also seriously ill. She divided her time between these two afflicted ones, again visiting the city. As she left home to go to the city, the weather was so bad, she had doubts about reaching it; but she said, "My duty is to start." Staying two weeks with her daughter, she availed herself of only one pleasure, and that was to hear Dr. Lord's classic lecture on Gothic Architecture. This was to her a great treat; and her perception was at that time so clear, and her memory so retentive, that after coming home she repeated almost the entire substance of the lecture. During the month of March my brother Stephen and his wife moved into the homestead, to take charge of the farm. My mother felt sad as she brought her domestic arrangements within closer quarters, and remarked that it seemed to her "like having gone to the top of the hill and now going down again." Although she was delighted with her daughter-in-law and heartily acquiesced in the arrangement, in fact it was in accord with her own wish, yet she expressed a feeling of sadness as she relinquished her hold upon active and responsible life. What with the labor of caring for the sick daughter, her sick mother, and her sick sister, during the winter, when spring came she was very much worn down. The last letter she wrote is dated May 7th, 1877, and is addressed to her oldest son. It reads:

Dear Will:—Yours kindly received. We were glad to be remembered, and glad to know you had got so well; we are all as usual except colds. I have not seen your family since you were here. Steve is almost done planting corn; but the weather is so cold, he gets along slow with his work. "Aunt Tamson" is very low;—not expected to live from day to day. Tell Alice, we can't—any one of us—come to the opening of the Exhibition; but she can come home any day she gets ready.

We are getting along very peacably and nice with our two families together. Our new preacher was with us yesterday and kindly received. You will wonder why I have not written better; but I am in a hurry for "Grandmother" and "Aunt Prude" are both sick, and I am going there as soon as I can; "Aunt Tamson's" family are all with her; you see we have trouble all around us; it was the news of "Ike's" death that threw her back. Father is working right on for four weeks, which is wonderful.

With much love, from your

Mother.

So far as I know this is the last letter she ever wrote. On the 11th of May, Mrs. Felts went home and took charge of her work, while she gave her time fully to the care of the sick. Every day and every night she would visit one or the other, often going from one directly to the other, taking but very little rest. One day she remarked to Mrs.