My dearest friend Joshua Harrison, who was to her as a brother, preached a funeral sermon, in which he said, “The strength of her life was her faith in the Son of God. Her path, though the sun shone brightly upon it, was often a thorny one. Her own health was liable to frequent interruptions, and her heart was pierced again and again by the loss of children, whom she loved better than herself. Oh, the unmurmuring resignation with which seven several times, she saw her dear ones carried to the grave! Oh, the courage with which she bore the shock! She never wavered in the conviction, ‘He loved me and gave Himself for me,’ but felt that these sad sorrows must be only the obscurer manifestations of His love. And hence she could write, ‘Here we shall never be exempt from trial and sorrow, but when we reach that changeless home above, there will be no need of sanctifying us there. All that is needful to make us meet for that holy place must be done here; and oh, how much pruning and purging, how much of grace and strength we need to help us to walk more closely with Him.’ “She has reached that changeless abode now, and has left all sorrow behind. Long, long had she been waiting, but the message came so suddenly at last, that, without knowing she was dying, she found herself at home. The words discovered in her desk, which by copying she had made her own, received sweet and exact fulfilment: ‘The way is long, my Father, and my soul Longs for the rest and quiet of the goal; While yet I journey through this weary land, Keep me from wandering; Father, take my hand, Quickly and straight, Lead to Heaven’s gate Thy child. ‘The way is long, my child, but it shall be Not one step longer than is best for thee, And thou shalt know, at last, when thou shalt stand Close by the gate, how I did take thy hand, And quick and straight, Lead to Heaven’s gate My child.’” CHAPTER XIII 1879–1883 NEED was felt for some change after my sad bereavement; so in March, 1880, my daughter and I started for Italy. We tarried on our way a week at Cannes with my friend, Mr. Prust, of Northampton, an old fellow-student, who had a villa in the Riviera. I greatly enjoyed the climate and scenery, and felt soothed by walks and drives on the shores, through the cork groves, and round about to more distant places of interest. Old affections sprang up anew between my friend and myself as we talked of auld lang syne. Nothing could exceed the kindness shown by him and his two interesting nieces.