236 John Bochman. 



When I closed my letter on Monday evening, neither 

 Dr. Burke, her kind physician, nor myself, believed 

 that our beloved Julia had strength remaining to 

 survive through the night. T was more than satis- 

 fied with her state of preparation for the approach- 

 ing event, and prayed for her removal in the same 

 peaceful, hopeful and confiding frame of mind. 



Her paroxysms of pain were frequent, but she 

 would rest afterwards with her eyes closed. At day- 

 light, as I sat by her bedside, she breathed so softly 

 that for an hour I listened, expecting to hear her 

 last sigh. She opened her eyes. " Father, ' she said, 

 " I am ready now for the morning prayer ; " and as 

 we prayed, she repeated my words. When I had 

 concluded, she begged me to lie down and rest. To 

 please her I left the room. An hour later she called 

 for me. " Father," she whispered, " You remember 

 Miss C. S., who was so kind to me at Aiken ; who 

 came every day to comfort me, and, by her words 

 and example, to remind me of my duty to God ? 

 AYhen you return to Charleston, tell her how grate- 

 fully I remember her kindness, and tell her that the 

 friend with whom she sympathized so deeply, is 

 more happy on her deathbed than she can find 

 words to describe." She asked for her dear sister L., 

 and the scene of tenderness and love exhibited was 

 overpowering. She detailed in language appro- 

 priate, her convictions from time to time ; her sub- 

 sequent coldness of heart ; her prayers and her fears, 

 amounting almost to despair. She told of the grad- 

 ual steps by which the Almighty hand had led her 

 to see her need of a Saviour, and the light that broke 

 in upon her mind ; the assurances of pardon and 

 the bright hopes that raised her above the fear of 

 death. She called down upon her sister L., her 

 watchful nurse and companion, the choicest mercies 

 of heaven. She spoke of the joyful meeting with 



