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ABOUT the Martinmas of 1811, my

mother took a bad illness—she had been

quite strong, and in her usual health up to the term, but just after it, she grew very bad. She had gotten some new maidens, and they did not, at first, get on so well, in the house and with the cows as she wanted, so she had to put to her own hand, and she



hurt herself, for she got cold, and became very ill. They did not let me know till she was really in great danger--she herself would not let my father send down word, for fear I should be alarmed, country folk always making people worse than they are

-so that it was only when the doctor was beginning to be dubious of her recovery that I was told of the loss that awaited me. I did not stay long in Crookston after I heard that. I set off to the Black Hill at once, and to be near her, I got Mr. Wood to exchange with me for a few Sabbaths, which he did willingly, going to live with his daughter Jane at Wark, and preaching at Crookston every Sabbath, while I lived at home, and preached at the Craig. Alas ! I had not long to wait. The time that my dear mother was to have in this world was drawing very near an end. On the evening of the second Sabbath-she had been as well as usual in the morning, and nobody thought the end would come for weeks—the silver cord was loosed, the golden bowl was broken, and my dear mother passed away to her rest, a saint ripe for glory and blessedness.

It was a great distress to my father and me; but we had good hope that our precious one was not lost, but gone before us, into that land where there is no more death, nor separation, nor sorrow. It was, notwithstanding, a sad time for us both—a time of great affliction, though much lightened by that consolation, which only the righteous have. Natural sorrow will assert its power, and we who truly loved her, as truly owned the power of nature, and mourned the loss

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