To return to my Kensington flock. In the year 1857, one Sunday night, after I had retired to rest, I heard a loud ringing at the door-bell, and immediately rose. On opening the window, there stood a carriage; and the coachman, as soon as by gaslight he saw my face, cried out, “Oh, sir, my mistress is dead!” His mistress was Mrs. Jacomb, residing with her husband and family at Notting Hill. They had all been at Divine worship that morning in their usual health. The carriage had been sent to take me back to the mourners. I immediately rose and went. On reaching the house I witnessed a scene of domestic distress such as I never witnessed before. My deceased friend had in the morning worshipped with us, in her usual delicate health, and, as I learned, in more than her usual cheerfulness. She was preparing for evening service, when she was suddenly seized with illness, and in a short time expired. The husband and family were in deep distress, but they had a blessed knowledge of Him who brought life and immortality to light. She was a woman rich in spiritual sympathy, and had been no ordinary friend to me and mine, in our early married life. We had a large family, and, though favoured above many, had our domestic trials. How often I thought of what Paul said of “Phœbe, our sister”: “She has been a succourer of many, and of myself also.” I never knew any one who had more tender sympathy in trouble than Mrs. Jacomb, or was more swift in expressing it. Her husband was worthy of her, and her children “rise up to call her blessed.” Those who survive are cherished friends. He was of an old Puritan stock, descendant of Dr. Jacomb, a renowned ejected clergyman after the Commonwealth; and the family genealogy is rich in noted names and memories. In this chapter I cannot refrain from recording my own domestic sorrows. In 1853 a sweet child had died—little Catherine, born shortly after we left Windsor; and in 1858 another, more advanced in life, a boy named Arnold, full of energy and promise, was taken from us by our Heavenly Father. His illness was brief; but beforehand my dear wife had been anxious for his spiritual welfare, and her conversations were followed by the Divine blessing. His joyous, winning ways had won the hearts of visitors, and his death widely affected my congregation, awakening sympathy to a degree which inspired my liveliest gratitude. Our friend Joshua Harrison preached a funeral sermon for the dear boy, full of pathos and power.