In the presence of an almost innumerable company of people, John, with faltering voice, conducted her funeral ceremonies. As soon as the service was over, he stood up and preached a sermon over her open grave, selecting as his text Rev. xx. 11, 12. That sermon was never published. “But,” says the preacher, “it was one of the most solemn assemblies I ever saw, or expect to see on this side eternity.” “Forsaking nonconformity in early life,” says her biographer, “and maintaining for many years a devout and earnest discipleship in the Established Church, which, in theory she never renounces, in the two last years of her life she becomes a practical nonconformist, in attending the ministry and services of her sons in a separate and unconsecrated ‘conventicle.’ The two ends of her earthly life, separated by so wide an interval, in a certain sense embrace and kiss each other. Rocked in a nonconformist cradle, she now sleeps in a nonconformist grave.” There, in Bunhillfields burying-ground, near the dust of Bunyan, the immortal dreamer; of Watts, the poet of the sanctuary; De Foe, the champion of nonconformity; and of many of her father’s associates, her mortal remains await the “times of the restitution of all things.” A plain stone with a suitable inscription stands at the head of her grave. _A NOBLE WIFE._ A true wife, like the grace of God, is given, not bought. “Her price is far above rubies;” and, “the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her.” Such a wife was Mrs. Wesley. In early life she did not disdain to study the minute details of domestic economy, hence she took her proper place at once in the parsonage at Epworth—managed a large household on very inadequate means—while her love for her husband, and regard for the welfare of her children, constrained her to use wisely and well the income entrusted to her control. Her husband laid his purse in her lap, assured that the comfort and responsibility of his house and the interest of his property were in safe keeping. After the disastrous fire, in regard to everything save their eight children, Mr. and Mrs. Wesley were about as poor as Adam and Eve when they first set up housekeeping. Thirteen years after that sad event, a wealthy relative was “strangely scandalised at the poverty of the furniture, and much more so at the meanness of the children’s habit.” The rector’s incarceration for a paltry debt of less than £30, before his friends could come to his rescue, was the heaviest trial of the heroic Mrs. Wesley. What little jewellery she had, including her marriage ring, she sent for his relief; but God provided for him in another way. “Tell me, Mrs. Wesley,” said good Archbishop Sharp, “whether you ever really wanted bread.” “My lord,” replied the noble woman, “I will freely own to your Grace that, strictly speaking, I never did want bread. But then, I had so much care to get it before it was eat, and to pay for it