and I shall be whiter than snow:" and also
the words of our Saviour,--"If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with
me."

Being in great pain, he said,--"You must pray for me, that my patience
may hold out; I have indeed need of your prayers, for my sufferings are
very great; but, bye and bye, perhaps I may be able to say, I have not
had one pang too many." At another time, he supplicated thus: "Merciful
Father, be pleased to grant me a little ease, O! Thou that makest the
storm a calm, and sayest to the waves, Peace be still." Soon after which
he lay quiet; and whilst tears of gratitude flowed down his cheeks, he
said, "Do not disturb me; all is stillness,--what a mercy!"

On one occasion, when feeling exceedingly depressed, he remarked, that
the vessels he had visited, and the poor sailors were brought mentally to
view, one after another, with much sweetness, and whilst he took no merit
to himself, he desired to encourage others to do what they could for the
good of the poor. At another time, after giving instructions to one of
his sisters, to make some selection of tracts for the sailors on board a
German vessel, then lying in the harbour, he observed: "Oh, what a field
of labour there is! how I do wish that some one would take this up, for I
feel as though I should be able to do very little more in it."

His mind, during his illness, seemed filled with love and gratitude. He
remarked, "I never felt so much love before, both to my family and
friends; I do believe this illness will bind us more closely together
than ever." And again: "Oh, how kind you are to wait upon me so; the
Lord will reward you!" At another time, he said, "I had not thought to
have been taken at this time of my life, but I am in such a critical
state, that life hangs on a thread;--the pains of the body are what I
seem most to dread."

On inquiring one day, where that line was to be found, "At ease in his
possessions," he remarked, "I do not think I have been at ease in mine, I
have endeavoured to live loose to them." A hope being expressed that his
illness would be sanctified to him, he quickly replied, "Yes, and not to
me only, but to all of you." He gave some directions, in the event of
his death, with much composure, observing: "It seems an awful thing for
me to say thus much, but a great favour to be so free from anxiety." In
the night he was heard to say: "No merit of mine, it is all of mercy,
free unmerited mercy!" On a young ma