After their arrival at the Isle of France she faded very perceptibly . . . . and was once again borne back to the ship. And now we have the tender watching, the grateful smile, the bitter anguish of anticipated separation, and the soothing voice of love, winged for a flight to heaven, and above, and around, and closely blent with all-- mingling in dreams, in prayers, in hourly thoughts and spirit-crushing anticipations, the sweet, beautiful resignation which none but the disciple of Christ can ever understand. --Miss Emily Judson.

Dr. Judson remarks, "After her prostration at the Isle of France, where we spent three weeks, there remained but little expectation of her recovery. Her hope had long been fixed on the Rock of Ages, and she had been in the habit of contemplating death as neither distant nor undesirable. As it drew near she remained perfectly tranquil. No shade of doubt, or fear, or anxiety ever passed over her mind. She had a prevailing preference to depart and be with Christ: 'I am longing to depart,' and 'what can I want besides?' quoting the language of a familiar hymn, were the expressions which revealed the spiritual peace and joy of her mind; yet, at times, the thought of her native land, to which she was approaching after an absence of twenty years, and longing desire to see her son George, her parents and the friends of her youth, drew down her ascending soul, and constrained her to say, 'I am in a strait betwixt two, let the will of God be done.'

" In regard to her children she ever manifested the most surprising composure and resignation, so much so that I was once induced to say: 'You seem to have forgotten the dear little ones we have left behind.' 'Can a mother forget?' she replied and was unable to proceed. During her last days she spent most of her time in praying for the early conversion of her children. * * *

"On our passage homeward as the strength of Mrs. J. gradually declined, I expected to be under the painful necessity of burying her in the sea. But it was so ordered in Divine Providence, that when the indications of approaching death had become strongly marked, the ship came to anchor in the port of St. Helena. For three days she continued to sink rapidly, though her bodily sufferings were not severe. Her mind became liable to wander, but a single word was sufficient to recall and steady her recollections. On the evening of the thirty-first of August she appeared to be drawing near to the end of her earthly pilgrimage. The children took leave of her and retired to rest.

I sat alone by the side of her bed, endeavouring to administer relief to the distressed body and consolation to the departing soul. At two o'clock in the morning, wishing to obtain one more token of recognition, I roused her attention and said, 'Do you still love the Saviour?' 'Oh, yes,' she replied, 'I ever love the Lord Jesus.' I said again, 'Do you still love me?' She replied in the affirmative, by a peculiar expression of her own. Another hour passed-- life continued to recede, and she ceased to breathe. For a moment I traced her upward flight, and thought of the wonders that were opening to her view."