an evidence of her faith and joy, and passed home at the age of seventy-three years. Thus lived and died one of the most beautiful spirits to be found on the pages of religious biography, gentle in manners, firm in action, with a chaste reserve, a noble type of heroic womanhood. With the passing of his beloved companion, William Black felt keenly the vacancy in his home where ill-health kept him confined, and to ensure comfort and relieve the tedium, he was induced to marry Martha, the widow of Elisha Calkin of Liverpool, Nova Scotia, in the year 1828. This marriage was highly congenial, as the lady was possessed of an amiable disposition, and she ministered to his needs and together they enjoyed good fellowship, to his death, after which event, she returned to Liverpool, where she resided till she died. The father of William Black walked through all the years of a long life in the ways of peace, and the son rejoiced that he had been honored in leading him to Christ. For the greater part of his life he lived on his farm at Dorchester, New Brunswick, dying there in 1820, at the age of ninety-three years. He was held in much esteem in the community being appointed in 1779, Judge of the Common Pleas, and in his old age he retained so much of his vigor, that when he was eighty-eight years old, he rode on horseback a distance of thirty miles to visit some members of his family residing at Amherst. "The world may not like our Methodists, but the world cannot deny that they die well," wrote John Wesley, and this sentence has been transformed into the well-known maxim, "Our people die well." William Black knew the art of dying well, as he always stood on the threshold of eternity, and there was no need in his closing days to make special preparation, for with heroic gladness he had fronted the foe, all through the strenuous years, and was ever ready to cross the bar. In the autumn of 1834, the cholera was prevalent in Halifax, and he was deeply concerned for the people, though he was suffering from dropsy, and his end was near. The Rev. Richard Knight who was stationed in Halifax, and had Matthew Richey as his colleague, was with him in his last hours, and he gives an account of the closing scene. "'I trust sir,' said I, 'You now feel that Saviour to be precious whom you have so long held forth to others.' He said, 'All is well. All is peace, no fear, no doubt, let Him do as He will, He knows what is best.' I referred to his long and useful life. He said very impressively, 'Leave all that, say no more. All is well.' We joined in prayer, and his spirit was evidently very much engaged in the solemn exercise. On leaving the room I said, 'You will soon be in the glory of which you have so often spoken in the course of your long ministry.' 'I shall soon be there,' he said, 'where Christ is gone before me.' After which he sank very fast, and spoke little, and that with considerable difficulty. His last words were, 'Give my farewell blessing to your