In the early part of June, 1876, she had an attack of bronchitis, and though medical treatment subdued this speedily, it exhausted her strength greatly. From about the 14th of that month--two days after her seventy-fourth birthday--she was confined to her room, but still rose from bed. On the 24th she was too ill to get up. Then drowsiness gradually increased and in a little while she sank quietly into a dreamy state, in which she seemed to retain consciousness when aroused, but was too weak to either take food or to speak. At last, on the 27th of June, 1876, just as the summer sunset was gilding the hills that she knew and loved so well, she quietly and peacefully drew her last breath, and entered into eternal rest. Truly her death--not only the last moments, but the long ordeal--might stand for an illustration of the saying of the wise men of old--"Keep innocency, and take heed unto the thing that is right, for _that_ shall bring a man peace at the last." She was buried amidst her kindred, in the old cemetery of Birmingham; and upon the tombstone, where it stands amidst the smoke, there is no inscription beyond her name and age, and the places of birth and death. More was, perhaps, needless. Her works, and a yet more precious possession, her character remain. Faults she had, of course--the necessary defects of her virtues. Let it be said that she held her own opinions too confidently--the uncertain cannot be teachers. Let it be said that her personal dislikes were many and strong--it is the necessary antithesis of powerful attachments. Let it be said that her powers of antagonism at times were not sufficiently restrained--how, without such oppugnancy, could she have stood forth for unpopular truths? Let all that detractors can say be said, and how much remains untouched!