ble nerves, and a heart prone to forebode evil, what should I do without religion? This, I often feel, is the only anchor that holds me from drifting into the gulf of despair. Oh! if the religion of Christ were false, as the infidel tries to make us think, what would become of me? Now, when labouring with grief, and at times ready to sink, the precious truths of the Gospel are sometimes sent to my mind, for my relief, with an efficacy altogether superior to any other sources of consolation. I pillow my aching head on its precious promises, and I find rest. Oh, my God! why dost thou thus fly to my relief? am I not left to my idols? stony heart, at the long-suffering of thy God."

Why, wretch that I am!
Break, oh break, hard,

Though the sphere in which Mrs. Huntington's character shone in its brightest lustre was the domestic circle, she felt a sincere delight in doing "good to all as she had opportunity." She visited the humble dwellings of the poor, ministered to their wants, sympathised with them in their distresses, and directed their minds to the " balm in Gilead, and the physician there." An interesting case of this kind, she thus

narrates:

"I called in, by accident, as we say, to-day, at a miserable looking house, where I found a poor afflicted woman, of twenty or twenty-three years of age, whose case affected me much. She has one child three months old, and one eighteen months old; is in miserable health herself; and has an intemperate, unkind husband. She appeared broken-hearted, and almost bereft of reason. She was born in attended

Mr. M.'s ministry, and was once the subject of serious

impressions. But an imprudent marriage has ruined her, at least for this world. She is in a wretched dirty hovel, with her husband's father and mother, and a flock of miserable children. All of them are addicted to drink; quarrels among parents and children till midnight, are frequent. I saw only the mother-inlaw. But the scene I witnessed was an emblem of hell. The poor young woman is in a state little short of despair. She says it is impossible for her to have a moment alone, and that her husband and mother-inlaw will not let her read the Bible. She said to me, Oh! If I could go up and stay at your house but one night!' It seemed as if God had directed us to the place; I hope for good. I cannot keep this poor young creature out of my mind. If God sent us there to be the instruments of saving this soul from death, what a mercy it will be! Oh that the Redeemer would pluck this helpless one out of the jaws of the lion !"

The period was now fast approaching which was destined, more than all the other sorrows with which Mrs. Huntington had been visited, to try her faith, and patience, and Christian resignation. Her husband's health, which had for some time been feeble, at length began to yield under the pressure of his ministerial labours. His physicians recommended a cessation from his wonted exertions, and a change of air. He accordingly set out on a journey as far as Montreal, and, for a time, felt himself considerably improved. But, in the inscrutable providence of God, he was never permitted to reach home, but died at Groton, on Saturday, September 11, 1819.

Thus was this amiable and pious lady suddenly, and by an unexpected stroke, written widow and desolate. Her submissive and exemplary patience under the painful stroke, is thus noticed by a friend :

"There was, in her whole deportment, the most convincing and pleasing evidence of humble, child-like submission to the divine will. Most of her conversation with me at that time, worthy of being recorded as I felt it to be, I regret that I am compelled to say, has escaped my memory. I will, however, add a few particulars, in the unconnected manner in which they occur to my recollection.

6

"I remember asking her, on the day succeeding the death of Mr. Huntington, if it required an effort to be submissive. She answered, I am enabled to bless God, that I have not had to contend with an unbelieving thought. I would rather have endured the agony of separation, than that my dear husband should have borne it. I can truly say, ''Tis the surviver dies.

"On another occasion she said to me, 'The bitterness of my grief can be known only to God and my own soul. But I think I can say, 'Though He slay me, yet will I trust in him,' and can lay hold on the hand that smites, for support. But, oh, the loneliness of widowhood! I am as Peter sinking in deep waters.'

"The resignation and calmness she was enabled to feel, she ascribed to the mercy of God, in answer to the prayers of his dear people,' many of whom, she knew, constantly remembered her in their supplications."

Her own feelings are thus recorded in her Journal "The desolating stroke my soul was dreading, when

Yes,

I last wrote in this journal, has fallen upon me. it has fallen upon me; and I live. What shall I say? -The right hand of the Lord doeth valiantly, or I should now have dwelt in silence. Wonderful grace! He that hath loved me bore me through. His everlasting arm was under me. He taught and enabled

To him be glory. The

me to say, Thy will be done. being I loved better than myself, has left me in this wilderness. He on whom I leaned has gone over Jordan. But another arm, mightier than his, sustains me. I can say, I humbly believe with truth,-Nevertheless, I am not alone, for God is with me. And I must again cry, Grace! grace! I am a wonder to myself. Oh! the infinite grace of God! A worm is in the furnace, and is not consumed! And must I not love this strong Deliverer' better than all? Shall I not cheerfully give up my comforts at his com

mand?"

And again in a similar strain :—

“ No more shall this bosom, when heaving with anguish, In the kind breast of sympathy seek for relief,

While helpless I wander, or hopeless I languish ;

Ah, cold is the heart that would share all my grief!"

Consuming thought! Who shall ever more wipe the tear of sorrow from these weeping eyes, or lend the ear of undissembled sympathy to the complainings of this broken heart? Who shall bend, with the smile of tenderness, over my bed of suffering, and cheer me with the voice of affection ? Alas, alas, no change can ever restore him to these widowed arms! And I should go down to the grave in sorrow, were it not that God is my helper."

And some time after we find her giving vent to her feelings, in contemplating her desolate state.

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Surely I have reason, if any one has, to feel like a stranger and a pilgrim on the earth. All the ties of near relationship, my children excepted, by which I was bound to this world, have been, one after another, sundered. And now I wish never to have any of these earthly ties renewed. My relationships are in heaven; I feel a peculiar, peaceful, melancholy satisfaction in this consciousness daily. It seems like a still small voice from the world of spirits, admonishing me to be girding myself to my journey, and setting my face homeward. It is well, Father, it is well. Only help me to cling to thee for ever; only remember me, in life, and in death; and I ask no other portion. Thou knowest best. Do with me as seemeth good unto thee."

The details of her husband's last illness and death, are recorded with great simplicity and beauty, in her Diary. They are deeply affecting and interesting.

"I have long intended, for the sake of my children, to describe some of the exercises of my mind at the time of my blessed husband's sickness and death; but have not before felt able to do so.

"The last part of my stay at Bridgewater, I experienced, at times, a peculiar flagging of my animal spirits, and a sense of horror which can never be described. There was no particular cause for this that I am aware of. On Saturday, August 28, 1819, I heard that Mr. Huntington had stopped at Groton, fatigued; and was not much alarmed, supposing that he did not come into Boston so late in the week, to avoid the la