CT 
 
 275 
 
 B5852 
 
 B5 :

 
 <^v^/
 
 
 OF 
 
 ANN L. BOUTELLE 
 
 sustained and soothed 
 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, aud lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
 Bbyakt. 
 
 •***^^^^y*^* 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 BENJAMIN H. GREENE 
 
 1836. 
 
 ^'
 
 Entered according lo Act of Congress, ifi tFie year 1836, by 
 
 B. H. Greeke, 
 in the Ckrk's office of the District CouTt of MasBrichuselts/ 
 
 of John Putnam
 
 The following simple sketch was originally writtea 
 for the gratification of a few friends, by one who had 
 the privilege of an intimate friendi^hip with the subject 
 of it. It is printed in compliance with the request of 
 several individuals, who had seen Ann frequently during 
 her sickness, and judged from the effect which her state 
 of mind produced upon themselves, that a more extensive 
 circulation of these recollections, than was convenient 
 for a manuscript, might be of advantage to those of her 
 age. 
 
 Plymouth, January, 1S36.
 
 ANN L. BO U TELLE. 
 
 When the gifted and the full of promise 
 are called from us in the morning of their 
 existence, we feel that God intends that we 
 shall derive that benefit from their death, 
 which we had promised ourselves from their 
 life. The influence they exert upon us, 
 ceases not when they cease from among us, 
 for the love we bear the dead is refining, and' 
 exalting, and redeeming in its tendency. We 
 have resigned one whom we dearly loved — 
 not to death — for, over such, death has no 
 power — but to Him, whose existence and 
 goodness she constantly recognized; and we 
 would contemplate the last hours of her life, 
 that her memory may inspire us with princi- 
 ples of action, rather than with feelings of 
 sadne=;'=. It is appointed unto all once to 
 1*
 
 die; and believing, as we do, that every ap- 
 pointment of Providence has a direct view 
 to the happiness of his creatures, we dwell 
 with a deep interest on the character of one 
 who realized this truth in its fulness. The 
 change is to come to us all, and we are grate-" 
 ful to those who teach us that it is a happy 
 change; that the anticipation, the approach 
 of it may sanctify, without clouding, each 
 event of life, and so the enjoyments of the 
 present, be made beautifully to harmonize 
 with the prospects of the future. 
 
 Ann Lincoln Boutelle was the only 
 daughter of the late Dr. Boutelle, a gentle- 
 man, whose high moral worth, professional 
 skill and courteous manners, have endeared 
 his memory to many among us. She was 
 born in Plymouth, on the 11th October, 
 1819; a few weeks after the death of her 
 father. 
 
 Ann's life was unmarked by any striking 
 events: it was a life of simple action, of de- 
 vout thought, of kind affections. They who 
 knew and loved her as the light-hearted 
 school girl, hardly realized the strength of
 
 character which was growing up under an 
 exterior, peculiarly delicate and gentle. But 
 her sickness developed it all; and they, who 
 were her seniors in age, and over whom the 
 severer discipline of life had passed, went to 
 her roonn, not as we usually go to the sick 
 chamber, to comfort the suffering body and 
 to strengthen the fainting spirit, but to be 
 themselves refreshed and strengthened by 
 the faith and piety and patience which there 
 shone so conspicuously. Her whole appear- 
 ance was so feminine, even frail, her heart 
 was so full of exquisite susceptibilities and 
 ready sympathies, that w^e feared lest the 
 storm should overwhelm her; but it came, and 
 we saw her bracing herself to meet it with 
 unwavering firmness; we found ourselves her 
 pupils, her admirers, and not her teachers 
 and protectors. 
 
 At an age when we look upon life's prom- 
 ises without any distrust; when we first re- 
 alize the value of our individual, independent 
 existence; when the treasures of intellect 
 and taste are poured out before us; the ten- 
 dencies to an hereditary and fatal disorder
 
 became manifest in our young friend, and it 
 was soon evident that disease had gained a 
 firm hold. There was a momentary strug- 
 gle. Life was pleasant to her, and she loved 
 it; she enjoyed the beauties of Nature and 
 the charms of social intercourse; she felt her 
 importance to her widowed mother; she 
 doubted her fitness for the change; and for 
 a little time she shrank from the prospect 
 before her. Her self-distrust never took the 
 form of exaggerated self-blame; it was the 
 natural workings of a soul, incited by the 
 approach of death to the contemplation of 
 its duties and its destiny. She had studied 
 God in his works; and while they teach that 
 God is love, they carry to the reflecting 
 mind a still deeper lesson; teaching, that He 
 who has made his outward creation so fault- 
 less, will demand from that inward creation 
 with which he has enriched his children, a 
 corresponding harmony and perfection. She 
 had studied God in his word: and who is 
 there that reads " Be ye perfect as your Fa- 
 ther is perfect," but will shrink with the deep 
 conviction that that which is required is not
 
 attained? She almost doubted whether, in 
 that state of unwillingness, she ought to 
 pray for resignation — she probably felt as 
 if the attainment of it were not possible, 
 and as if the promise made to those who 
 '' ask^ believing,'' did not apply to her. But 
 she was encouraged to pray — and she did 
 pray, earnestly, sincerely; and He who " will 
 not quench the smoking flax," imparted to 
 her the strength she needed. The struggle 
 was but momentary; the peace which arises 
 from perfect submission soon came, and it 
 was more valuable from having been pre- 
 ceded by this conflict; for it proved that the 
 resignation she afterwards unchangingly felt, 
 the willingness to depart, which soon grew 
 into a desire, arose not from weariness of 
 life. Earth was to her an Eden of kind 
 hearts and bright prospects ; but every joy- 
 ous, lovely thing was seized as a type of the 
 blissfulness of the future state. Life had been 
 bright and happy ; but the brilliancy and 
 blessedness of immortality was revealed to 
 her self-sacrificing spirit. Not a cloud 
 dimmed the prospect before her: her own
 
 10 
 
 purity and affectionateness imaged forth a 
 God of holiness and love, and the interest 
 she had excited among a large circle of 
 friends, was a pledge to her of the ministries 
 of love which the spirits above would exer- 
 cise. 
 
 The peculiar circumstances under which 
 Ann was born, might have contributed to 
 stamp upon her character the filial devoted- 
 ness which was so strongly impressed there. 
 Amid the gaiety of childhood, as amid the 
 privations and sufferings of sickness, she 
 seemed to realize that she had been sent in 
 an hour of deep desolation, by Him, who 
 " will not leave us comfortless," to cheer the 
 heart which had been so severely tried; and 
 faithfully was her mission performed. Dur- 
 ing any illness of her mother, she was the 
 ever watchful, self-forgetting nurse; and 
 when her own sickness came, her desire to 
 relieve her mother from all solicitude on her 
 account, her watchfulness lest her rest 
 should be disturbed, made her seem at times 
 the attendant of the sick, rather than the 
 sufferer herself. And the deep delight she
 
 11 
 
 exhibited when she found her efforts success^ 
 ful to reconcile her mother to the event which 
 she felt to be so near, proved that the only 
 cloud which had rested upon her happiness 
 was withdrawn. 
 
 " I have never been blessed by the love 
 of an earthly father," she once said, "but 
 perhaps for this very reason, my Heavenly 
 Father has seemed nearer to me." Her 
 sense of his nearness, of his continual pres- 
 ence and action, was peculiarlyvivid; every- 
 thing was referred to Him; the kindness of 
 her friends, the relief which medicines af- 
 forded her, were causes of gratefulness to 
 Him; while in the pain she endured, she 
 saw a new reason for thankfulness. " I feel 
 grateful to God for every hour of suffering, 
 for they have brought me nearer to himself." 
 " Don't think of these sufferings," she would 
 say, in answer to an expression of sympathy, 
 *' think only to what they have brought me: 
 could I have ever felt as I feel now if I had 
 not suffered so.-^ " To her devout spirit there 
 was no chance, no accident; in everything 
 she discerned a Providence, a Father.
 
 12 
 
 The infrequency of any allusion to her 
 bodily feelings was very remarkable; she 
 seemed to be looking at the release of the 
 spirit, not at the wearing out of the body. 
 '' Father, strengthen me; " — " / will trust." 
 Such expressions were the only evidence 
 of increased suffering, and the first moment 
 of relief was invariably consecrated to a 
 thanksgiving to Him in whom she had not 
 trusted in vain. 
 
 The example of the Saviour, in whose 
 steps she had determined to walk, was an 
 unfailing source of her resignation and for- 
 titude. " Shall I repine at this little suffer- 
 ing, when he, the perfect One, endured so 
 much? " " I do not know how I could have 
 borne that dreadful pain to-day, if that beau- 
 tiful piece by Mrs. Heraans, ' The Lord's 
 Agony,' had not been constantly in my mind. 
 When I had no power to make any thoughts 
 for myself, that would pass through my mind 
 and strengthen me." 
 
 She often expressed her gladness that she 
 had committed to memory so much devo- 
 tional poetry. The beautiful images with
 
 13 
 
 which she had stored her mind, were called 
 up with great readhiess and pecuhar appro- 
 priateness; and as she repeated thoughts 
 which ahuost seemed to have been written 
 for the m.oment, her rich voice and clear 
 enunciation seemed to lend them new mean- 
 ing. Pieces which she had long since learn- 
 ed, and whicli she supposed herself to have 
 forgotten, came, uncalled, to her recollection J 
 as if all which had been beautiful in her 
 earlier days was to minister to the enjoyment 
 of her last hours. 
 
 After a period of severe illness she regain-' 
 ed her strength for a time. Amidst the plea-* 
 sure she expressed at this partial recovery, 
 there was the same submission which had 
 characterized her when she lay patiently 
 waiting for the summons to depart. *' I do 
 enjoy this," slie said, "this riding out and 
 going below — I know it will last but a little 
 while, but that is no reason why I should not 
 enjoy it." It seemed as if this little time of 
 relief and strength was granted to show that 
 her resignation did not arise from debility; 
 that her submission was not the submission of
 
 14 
 
 a soul bowed down by infirmity and distres^» 
 And wlien feebleness again returned, she 
 met it with the same unvarying sweetness 
 with which she had before yielded to it. 
 The hours of renewed strength she devoted 
 10 preparing herself for the suffering which 
 awaited her, to reading, and making little 
 articles, which she thought might please her 
 friends. 
 
 It soon became evident that she was fast 
 tending towards the Heaven she so earnestly 
 contemplated; but while the powers of her' 
 body gradually failed, her soul seemed to 
 gain new vigor. The elements of beauty 
 and strength, which were developed in 
 her character, were daily matured; and at 
 times there was a thought of the salutary 
 influence which such a character would 
 exert as it grew " from the tender blade to 
 the full ear; " but the prevailing feeling was, 
 that it was fitting it should be ripened to its 
 perfectness'in the immediate presence of its 
 Father. 
 
 She had, in the early part of her sickness, 
 given up her own will to the will of her God,
 
 15 
 
 and in that her Heaven began.' " Not my 
 will, but thine,'' was her unceasing prayer. 
 "When I was in such pain to-dav," she said, 
 a few days before her death, " I could not be 
 as happy as I am now, — I did try, — but I 
 could not." " But you were not unhappy — 
 were you? " said I. " Oil no, not inihappy, 
 I am sure, for I could always say ' Thy will 
 be done.' " 
 
 One Sunday evening, about three weeks 
 before her departure, she was exceedingly 
 feeble and silent — we sat in quietness around 
 her, thinking her sleeping; suddenly she ex- 
 claimed, " What a glorious thought! that we 
 may roam from one star to another, constantly 
 growing wiser and better, and gaining at each 
 one new ideas of God's goodness! Oh, how- 
 happy the soul must be, when its prison 
 doors are unlocked and it comes forth into 
 Heaven. ^Vhat a moment! I c^n realize 
 being with God, for I feel that he has been 
 with me many, many times; an'd sometimes 
 I feel his presence more entirely than I feel 
 the presence of any one of you. And then 
 to be always with my dear Saviour, who has
 
 trodden the same path, and drank of the 
 same cup. Mother, sweet mother, you will 
 be happy — will you not? " When answer- 
 ed that it was difficult for her who remained 
 to feel just as she did, she said, " I know 
 that — I know you cannot help weeping — 
 Jesus wept — but God will strengthen you; 
 and when you are here alone and weeping I 
 will come and comfort you. I shall not be 
 dead. God may, I trust he will, employ me 
 on messages of love, and in a little while we 
 shall all be united in one happy home." The 
 moral sublitnity of this scene will never be 
 forgotten; in that hour of exaltation, when 
 the joy of the future world shone forth upon 
 her spirit, and the glory of the sun of righte- 
 ousness fell upon her vision, the lesser light 
 which had so cheeringly beamed upon her 
 path was not quenched nor forgotten. Like 
 her perfect model, her eye was steadfastly 
 fixed upon her Heavenly Parent, while her 
 heart beat with affection and sympathy for 
 her earthly parent. 
 
 Her sympathy with others grew more in- 
 tense under circumstances which sometimes
 
 17 
 
 induce selfishness. The acuteness of her 
 own sufferings was learned only by lier being 
 so much moved by any indisposition in those 
 around her: as you saw how highly she ap- 
 preciated the daily pleasures of which she 
 was deprived, by her earnest desire that her 
 young friends should participate in them. 
 Durins; all her own trials her eve was raised 
 to Heaven in calm, cheerful trust; it was 
 suffused wiih tears when she heard of the 
 bereavement of a friend whom she valued 
 and loved. 
 
 I v.as with her about twilight on ^Vednes- 
 •day, Nov. 18th; she was very feeble and in 
 great distress; knowing what charms nature 
 had for her, I spoke to her of the serene sky 
 and the calm, new moon. She turned ber 
 head feebly around, but in a voice of great 
 cheerfulness said, *' Oh, how beautiful! It is 
 my father's kind eye, looking upon his suf- 
 fering child, and in love too. I wish I could 
 go to rest' with that sun — but His will be 
 done — I shall soon sec brighter scenes than 
 these." As Heaven had been so near to her 
 during her earthly pilgrimage, so she believ-
 
 IS 
 
 ed that earth would not be obscured to her 
 when she had passed from it. " Think of 
 me at twilight, my spirit will be with you at 
 that hour." " I can do nothing for you 
 now, but sometimes when you are sad I will 
 come and comfort you. Think of me then." 
 We read that " His angels are ministering 
 spirits," and why should not our Father shed 
 his influence upon us, in our hours of strug- 
 gling and suffering, through the agency of a 
 being so pure and sympathizing.'^ 
 
 " I try not to cough," she said, " till dear 
 mother gets asleep; then my coughing does 
 not disturb her, and by the time she w^akes I 
 am asleep, and then she thinks I have had a^ 
 nice, quiet nap; this makes her more easy,, 
 and is just as well, you know." 
 
 On Friday, Nov. 27th, she took leave of 
 her young friends with the same calmness 
 and cheerfulness as if she were going a short 
 journey to some w^ll-known place, giving to 
 each of them some token of her love and 
 some appropriate expression of her interest 
 and advice. They could not always repress 
 the rising emotion, but she was entirely calm
 
 19 
 
 — self-possessed. " Religion is a cheerful 
 thing, you know," she said to one who was 
 much overcome wiih the thought of separa- 
 tion. From this day she did not ask for them 
 again; she " felt as if her work with them 
 was accomplished." 
 
 In answer to an offer to pass the next 
 night witli her, she said *' 1 should admire to 
 have you, if I don't have better care." But 
 she expressed her belief thnt her service on 
 earth was finished, and that she should pass 
 lier Sabbath in heaven. 
 
 She continued in a state of great weak- 
 ness for several days. When something w^as 
 to be done to her which she doubted her abil- 
 ity to bear, she said, " Stand by me and put 
 your hand on my head, that I may know you 
 are praying for me." 
 
 She appeared, occasionally, utterly uncon- 
 scious; I was holding her head, " Poor lit- 
 tle girl," said some one. "Not poor^'' 
 said I, " the happitsloi us all." She pressed 
 my hand with great fervor. AVe had believ- 
 ed her to be entirely insensible, and it seemer' 
 as if any expression of trust in the happi-
 
 20 
 
 ness she so much vakied, had power to call 
 back her fainting spirit. 
 
 The Tuesday before her death her mother 
 asked her if her brother should read to her 
 some of the promises of our Gospel; she 
 put her hand upon her heart and answered, 
 " They are all /lere." During that day she 
 lay speechless, with her eyes closed, giv^ing 
 no sign of consciousness, except that an oc- 
 casional pressure of her mother's hand told 
 that her spirit was still active and awake to 
 surrounding objects, though the organs by 
 which its activity were usually manifested 
 were too feeble to permit its developement. 
 We watched around her bed, thinking that 
 she was just passing into the heavens; when 
 in the latter part of the afternoon, she sud- 
 denly aroused, repeated a long piece of po- 
 etry, entitled " The Three Homes," and ap- 
 plied the different sentiments to three of her 
 friends with peculiar appropriateness. When 
 asked if she had had a happy day, she said, 
 "Oh, most happy, most happy." In reply 
 to the question of what she had been think- 
 ing, she said, " Of friends (naming them) and
 
 21 
 
 blessing them ; of pure waters, bright skies^ 
 clear air." "Did you think of your Sa- 
 viour? " " Leaning on his bosom," was the 
 beautiful reply ; and those who had seen the 
 bright expression of her countenance as she 
 lay calm and peaceful, with no shade of suf- 
 fering or passion passing over the serenity 
 of her face, could realize that she had indeed 
 been leaning on her Saviour's bosom. "If 
 I sink away so again, do not speak to me; 
 leave me with my Father! " 
 
 The next day she appeared more strong, 
 though it was evident that her sun had near- 
 ly set. That evening she sang a hymn in a 
 low, but sustained voice. She had never 
 sung before, and when asked why she did 
 then, she said, " Oh, the spirit moved me.'* 
 It was as if the beautiful harmony within, 
 must find utterance in outward harmony; as 
 if her bright spirit was bearing itself upon the 
 wings of its own melody to the throne of the 
 Eternal. 
 
 She had expressed a wish to Wve until 
 Thanksgiving, that the day might be a pleas- 
 anter one to her mother. When told that
 
 22 
 
 her wish was answered, siie said, " Yes, and 
 now my only prayer is to go down with that 
 sun." Her fortitude and patience did not 
 fail, though she suffered from severe headache 
 and intense thirst. " My Heavenly Father 
 would not have made me so very dry if it 
 had not been for the best ; would he? " she 
 said, as I handed her the cup, which she 
 often drained without seeming to alleviate her 
 thirst. " I have one more favor to ask of 
 you," she sr.id in the midst of her agony, " I 
 am in great pain and very restless; tell me if 
 I am impatient, for I am fearful of becoming 
 so." She had often requested, during her 
 sickness, that any instance of impatience or 
 error might not be passed over in silence. 
 
 Friday, at twilight, tlie shutters of her 
 room were opened that she might once more 
 enjoy her favorite hour, — " Oh beautiful ! 
 how beautiful! it is the same kind eye look- 
 ing upon the sufferer." She lay for a long 
 time with her beautiful eyes raised to Heaven, 
 as if -she were drinking in its light and 
 love; and then her lips moved, and her sweet, 
 silvery voice was heard, ^' Father, shed the
 
 23 
 
 game calmness over the heart of ihy chilcl^ 
 which ihoLi hast spread abroad over the face 
 of the earth." Then she seemed to be con- 
 trasting earth and heaven ; '•'■ eartli's troubled 
 streams, heaven's pure waters ; earth's dar- 
 kened sky, heaven's pure light." The sound 
 of a bell was heard ; " Is that a funeral bell.'*" 
 and being answered in the affirmative, she 
 said with enipl.asis, ^^ delightful sound." She 
 had before said that " every thing connected 
 with death had become pleasant to her, even 
 the burying hill." 
 
 Then the boys passed on their way from 
 school, and she expressed her sympathy with 
 their manifest joyousness. Her voice grew 
 feeble and indistinct, but the cheerful smile 
 did not vanish ; that came from a source over 
 which death does not hold sway. The same 
 thoughtfulness of others which had marked 
 her whole sickness, was still evinced ; the 
 countenance still lighted up with an atfec- 
 lionate look of welcome to those who ap- 
 proached her. 
 
 During the pain and disquiet of the night 
 she frequently said, '' iMy Saviour suffered;
 
 24 
 
 my Saviour suffered." A few hours before 
 light, she fell quietly asleep; and just after 
 the sun had risen on Saturday morning, De- 
 cember 5th, 1835, the pure spirit which had 
 served its God so faithfully at his footstool, 
 was permitted to ascend to his throne. 
 
 A few weeks before her death, she com- 
 pleted her 16th year. She often referred to 
 this birth-day as the happiest she had ever 
 known. About three years previous, she- 
 had lost her uncle, the Rev. Mr. Goodwin, of 
 Sandwich. He had been her judicious coun-- 
 sellor and affectionate friend, endeavoring by 
 his wise and .kindly counsels, to supply to 
 her the place of that parent whom she had 
 never known. The event made a deep im- 
 pression on her mind, and doubtless contrib- 
 uted to strengthen the ties which bound her 
 to the spiritual world. She never felt as if 
 the connexion between them were severed: 
 it was her delight to think that his spirit still 
 acted upon hers, not through memory alone, 
 but by direct influence. 
 
 The deep, earnest piety, which formed so 
 distinguishing a feature in the character of
 
 Jo 
 
 this estimable girl, became more beautiful 
 from its being blended with the simplicity 
 and playfulness of a little child. Thoughts 
 of the most elevated character, such as be- 
 long to minds matured by discipline and ex- 
 perience, borrowed a new charm from her 
 perfect artlessness. Her manner of alluding 
 to herself, was the farthest possible removed 
 from egotism; she never seemed to think 
 that her firm trust in her Heavenly Father, 
 her sense of His continual presence, her ex- 
 perience of the comfort which He imparts to 
 those who put their trust in Him, the multi- 
 tude of thoughts which crowd upon the mind 
 when the action of life is passing away and 
 the soul is left to itself, might not find a cor- 
 respondence in the experience of those 
 whom she addressed. 
 
 She had always loved truth, and her per- 
 ceptions of the true were very correct. In 
 giving an account of her earlier days, she 
 spoke of a book in which she had become 
 much interested. " I wanted very much 
 to read that book," she said, " and was afraid 
 mother would not let me; so when I went 
 
 3
 
 56 
 
 out, I hid it; but I could not be easy till I had 
 gone home and told her."' 
 
 The requirements and the promises of 
 Christianity, and not its speculative dogmas, 
 were the favorite theme of her meditation. 
 God was her father and Christ her friend, 
 and her faith was the implicit confidence 
 which a child places in its parent and friend. 
 
 The same buoyancy of spirit and love of 
 seeing others happy which had made her 
 enjoy the dance and the frolic and all the 
 activity of life, gave happiness to its passive 
 hours. Her heart was ready to receive every 
 pleasant impression, and her expressive eye 
 shone with new lustre, as it rested upon 
 a beautiful sky or a lovely flower or an es- 
 teemed friend. That setting sun! does it 
 not seem like the smile of some good spirit.'"' 
 " How pleasant this rainy day is! It seems 
 so social and happy." This is a kind 
 little fever," she would say, as the hectic 
 returned, " it gives me strength to talk with 
 my dear friends; when I feel so weak as if 
 1 should never speak again, this little friend 
 comes and helps me." Solitude was never 
 irksome to her; she would frequently urge
 
 27 
 
 her mother to go out, saying, You need not 
 be troubled about leaving me alone — for it 
 is a good lime to think; and then I do not 
 feel lonely, for my Heavenly Father is with 
 me." She observed, a little time before her 
 death, when very feeble, " I have had a fine 
 frolic tonight. I was alone here and a party 
 of boys were playing beneath the windows. 
 I could hear them distinctly, and my heart 
 went along with all their fun." It seemed 
 as if she had laid her mind open to every ray 
 of brightness and beauty, and had the power 
 to exclude everything dark and depressing. 
 It is the tendency of any deep-felt emo- 
 tion to call forth a corresponding one in those 
 around, and thus her sick-room became the 
 centre of a true and chastened happiness. — 
 That fearful conflict within, which takes 
 place when we are striving to impart a hope 
 which we do not ourselves feel, and to clothe 
 the countenance with a serenity which does 
 not find its home in the heart, was not there. 
 It were well if all who are accustomed to look 
 upon death as the king of terrors, could 
 witness a scene like this; where the love of
 
 28 
 
 God was constantly recognized and his in- 
 dwelling spirit made manifest; where the 
 earthly and the heavenly life were alike 
 acknowledged as his good gifts, and the 
 transition from one to the other viewed but 
 as a change from glory to glory. 
 
 In a little book of hers we find the follow- 
 ing beautiful tlioughts which she wrote there, 
 " hoping some day to be able to put it in 
 rhyme." The sentiment it expresses was a 
 favorite one with her, and it does not need 
 rhyme nor measure to make it poetry. 
 
 ' Twilight I love' tiiee — for tliy still and placid hour 
 Seems fraught with thoughts of holiness and love 
 That fain would bear our sjiirit up to that high world 
 Where centre all our hopes of happiness; and where 
 The spirits of our dear departed friends have gone; 
 And, as I gaze upon thy parting light, 
 Methinks they smile upon us from their blissful home, 
 And seem to whisper hope and peace to our fond hearts. 
 
 On another leaf is written: 
 
 " Take my yoke upon you, and learn of nic; for 
 I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find 
 rest unto your souls. Dear Saviour, grant that it 
 may be my chief aim to follow thy divine example. 
 May I feel that every moment is precious, and that
 
 the short lime I liave to spend here must every mo- 
 ment be improved. Oh, may 1 every day learn more 
 of my dear Saviour, and try with my whole heart to be 
 his disciple." 
 
 This simple prayer was one of the last 
 things she ever wrote ; and she probably 
 recorded it, from a feelins; which she once 
 expressed, tliat she ought to make the feelings 
 she had in her hours of ease very distinct to 
 herself, that they might recur to her when 
 pain and weakness rendered it less easy to 
 regulate her thoufrhts. 
 
 She had had a strong desire to talk to her 
 young friends, those who had been her asso- 
 ciates in the Sabbath School * and in the 
 daily intercourse of life; but she had hesitated, 
 " lest they should think she thought herself 
 better than they were, and she was sure she 
 did not." She finally overcome her scru- 
 ples and talked to them frequently and freely 
 of her happiness and her hopes — entering 
 heartily into all tlieir joys, and desiring that 
 they might into hers. She also suggested to 
 
 *Ann was a member of the Sabbath School connected 
 with the Rev. Dr. Kendall's society. 
 
 3*
 
 30 
 
 those with whom she was most Intimate, a 
 plan for occasionally meeting for the purpo- 
 ses of moral and religious improvement. A 
 few nights before her death, she dictated to 
 a friend who was with her, the following note, 
 addressed to them, and to be delivered after 
 she should have departed: 
 
 " When you receive this, my dear young friends and 
 companions, with whom I have enjoyed so many 
 hours of happiness, I shall have gone to that bright 
 world, where all my hopes of happiness are centred. 
 I wish, before my spirit takes its flight, to tell ray young 
 companions it was Religion alone which made that 
 world so happy to me; and I pray that my last words 
 may sink deep into your young hearts. You may 
 think the path of duty, at first, perhaps, too difficult 
 but you will find that each step you proceed will give 
 more and more happiness. If you really resolve, from 
 the inmost recesses of your hearts, to give yourselves 
 to your Saviour and to your God — then oifer up a prayer 
 of heartfelt supplication to the Father of your spirits, 
 and if that prayer be truly sincere, if it come from 
 the depth of a heart resolved to choose God for your 
 Almighty Father and constant Friend, that prayer will 
 be accepted by Him, to whom it is offered, and you 
 will then first begin to know real happiness. And 
 jf, at any time, you feel tempted to stray from the path 
 of duty, remember that a Heavenly Father's eye is upon
 
 31 
 
 you, and he will give you strength to overcome the 
 temptation. 
 
 * Earth will forsake — oh happy to have given 
 The unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven.' 
 
 Anne." 
 
 These are but a (eAV of the many thoughts 
 which she expressed, and of those which 
 suggest themselves from the contemplation 
 of her life and death. But they will serve 
 to show the prevailing feelings of her mind, 
 her prayerful, confiding spirit, and her afFec- 
 tionate, cheerful disposition. 
 
 We have laid her fair form upon the con- 
 secrated hill ; to be shielded by the gentle 
 snows of winter and the tender grass of sum- 
 mer; but the spirit which made that form so 
 dear to us, still lives in the depths of our 
 hearts. Our duties to her have not ceased, 
 though we can no longer contribute to her 
 comfort, nor gratify ourselves and her by the 
 interchange of kindly offices. But we have 
 still to ask ourselves what she can do for us, 
 and to listen to every thing in her character 
 which speaks to us of life's duties, of immor- 
 tal hopes.
 
 32 
 
 Ann was, as has been said, a delicate, gen- 
 tle girl, with a heart full of ready sympathy 
 and exquisite sensibility. What was it, 
 then, which enabled her to endure severe 
 suffering with perfect fortitude, and to retain 
 her self-possession and calmness, while those 
 she loved were sorrowing that they should 
 so soon see her face no more ? It was not 
 that those delicate sensibilities and sympa- 
 thies were repressed ; they were ready to 
 flow out upon every human being, every cre- 
 ated' thing; she cultivated, encouraged those 
 feelings; but she looked for the guidance of 
 them to the source whence they had emanat- 
 ed. Alive as she was to everything around 
 her, she was yet more alive to everything 
 above her ; and while her interest in her 
 friends never grew dim, it was ever increas- 
 ing with the hopes and promises of her 
 Father through her Saviour. 
 
 The motto of her path was '' Onward and 
 upward;" and whether it led through scenes 
 of activity and gaiety, or of privation and 
 sickness — she pursued it with a light heart 
 and a firm step. Let this motto be ours also,
 
 33 
 
 and whether clouds overshadow the path of 
 our pilgrimage or the full sunlight fall upon 
 it, we will never forget the radiance of that 
 gentle star which has beamed so mildly upon 
 this portion of it : as its kind light shines 
 into our souls, it shall guide them to the 
 Father and Friend, whose perfections it 
 reflected. 
 
 Farewell, gentle and beloved friend! Thine 
 image is associated with all that is bright in 
 life and beautiful in death. And in those 
 hours of suffering with which God shall see 
 fit to purify us, the remembrance of thy faith 
 and fortitude, of thy piety and purity, of 
 thy unfailing cheerfulness, and thy affection- 
 ate sympathy, " will come and comfort " us. 
 
 I am indebted to a friend for the following lines: — 
 
 We knew her when life's early morn 
 
 Scarce tinged her cheek with its flame; 
 When she seemed a fail y spirit seni. 
 To turn our thoughts that on earth were bent, 
 To the bright world whence she came. 
 
 She chased in joy the butterfly, 
 
 With his coal of many dyes; 
 Not a creature lived in God's fair world, 
 Not a flower its tiny leaves unfurled. 
 
 But wakened her sympailiies.
 
 84 
 
 And time went by on butterfly wings. 
 And broDght to her form new grace; — 
 
 But sickness came, and set his seal; 
 
 Art vainly tried his power to heal; 
 Earth was not her dwelling-place. 
 
 We stood by her couch, but not one tear 
 
 Swelled up, her eye to dim; 
 The light of Religion was in that eye, 
 It showed her a God of love on high. 
 
 And she longed to go to him. 
 
 The voice that whispered to us there 
 Was like that which one may hear 
 Throughout the wood in the gladsoHie spring. 
 When the flower spirits all their music bring, 
 To charm the listening ear. 
 
 That was to us a hallowed spot; 
 
 We went at morn and even ; 
 And left the haunts of the yonng and gay» 
 There lingered still, still loved to stay; 
 
 There was the gate of heaven. 
 
 And when death's shades stole o'er her face. 
 
 We mourned not; for we knew 
 'Twas death alone that kept from her sight. 
 That living sun, whose glorious light 
 Gave these 'shades a darker hue. 
 
 This light her spirit's eye hath met. 
 
 She is praising her God above; 
 But those she loved to her soul are dear. 
 She looks on us now, our prayer will hear^ 
 And bless this labor of love.
 
 35 
 
 Hymti referred to on page 21 of this Memoir :- 
 
 Why weep for those, frail chilfl of wo, 
 Who 've fled and left thee mourning here 1 
 
 Triumphant o'er their latest foe, 
 They glory in a brighter sphere. 
 
 Weep not for them; — beside thee now 
 Perhaps they watch wiih guardian care, 
 
 And witness tears that idly flow 
 
 O'er those who bliss of angels share. 
 
 Or round their Father's throne, above, 
 With raptured voice his praise they singj 
 
 Or on his messages of love 
 
 They journey with unwearied wing. 
 
 Space cannot check, thought cannot bound 
 The high exulting souls, whom he, 
 
 Who formed these million worlds around, 
 Takes to his own eternity. 
 
 Weep, v/eep no more; their voices raise 
 The song of triumph high to God; 
 
 And, wouldet thou join their song of praise> 
 Walk humbly in the path they trod.
 
 CT 
 
 275 
 
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 B5 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALI 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
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