"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] [5] There is poetic beauty in the Stanza of Southey's on the portrait of Bishop Heber, written after his decease; and though fanciful it is striking. Blessed be God our Redeemer, we have surer marks of recognition in the heavenly world. "They too, will gaze Upon his effigy With reverential love, Till they shall grow familiar with its lines And know him when they see his face in heaven."