"I should perish! But I have a Saviour whose blood cleanseth from all sin." "His blood," he said, "is of more value than a thousand worlds." She replied, "_It is inestimable! It is inestimable!_" We all knelt down, and this man of God devoutly prayed that she might have "an entrance ministered unto her abundantly into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." As the cottage was not large enough for our accommodation, the pious rector invited us to his hospitable home, but Mrs. Stevens resolved not to leave her sister. There was grief over the whole village as the rumour spread that she was dying. Her benevolence had added lustre to her piety, and such was the veneration and attachment in which her character was held, that many a hand knocked softly at the door of her cottage, and many a low voice inquired how God was dealing with her. About noon she fell into a sweet sleep, and slept for several hours; she awoke refreshed, animated; a heavenly serenity beamed on her countenance, as she exclaimed, "Oh! the bliss of dying!" "You are happy, mother, in the prospect of death." "Happy, my child, yes, my joy is unspeakable." Her voice suddenly faltered, yet she gently whispered "Farewell" as her son caught her in his arms, and with her eyes fixed on him, after one strong convulsive struggle, she expired. Mrs. Lewellin had generally attended the village church in the morning of the Sabbath, and in the evening she usually heard an excellent minister of Christ who preached in a Dissenting chapel, and when reproached for her liberality by the more bigoted, she used to say, "_I have no objection to go where I can hold communion with the Saviour_." Adjoining the chapel there was a burying-ground, to which she had long been accustomed to resort, as favourable to meditation, and on returning from an evening walk with the pious rector, we passed near it, and were induced to visit the spot which she had selected as the place of her burial; it was overshadowed by a large oak tree, and partially inclosed with some evergreens, which she had transplanted from her own garden. [Illustration: THE DARK VALE ILLUMINED. Vol. i. page 300.] "You see," he said, "how instinctively we love immortality, and as we cannot live here always, we wish life to flourish over the tomb in which our body is decaying. This is simple and beautiful. She was a woman of great taste, and a Christian of high principle. Her knowledge of the gospel was clear, comprehensive, and profound; and she displayed, during her residence with us, a spirit as free from the ordinary imperfections of the human character as I have ever beheld." I told him that I had been requested to ask if he would attend her funeral.