ough. Her limbs seemed to stiffen, and the body was like a
leaden weight pressing on the bed. To change her position, even to
touch her hair, caused her great pain; and it required four or even
five persons to move her with the minimum of pain."

This sad condition lasted through the autumn of 1884, but she improved
wonderfully about Christmas time, and there was alleviation and relief
for herself and all around her. On Christmas day, however, a fresh
sorrow befel her. Her brother-in-law, Mr. Bowles, died suddenly, and all
her old grief at the loss of her sister Mary, of her father, and of dear
friends, was reopened. She had a serious relapse, and before long the
condition of her throat made it desirable to seek further advice. Dr.
Semon was consulted, and he examined her throat by the help of the
electric light. She was greatly interested in this examination, in the
explanation of the apparatus used, and in the fact that hers was the
first throat so examined since Dr. Semon's apparatus had been perfected.

Shortly afterwards her condition was aggravated by slight bronchitis,
and for four days and nights she had no sleep. On the 7th of February
1885 Dr. Sibley saw her between 12 and 12.30, and anticipated no
immediate danger. But he was again hastily summoned, and at 1.15 she
died; conscious to the last moment.

"She had been so tired the night before," writes her sister. "About
midnight she said: 'Art thou weary, art thou weary?' and we repeated the
beautiful hymn, which seemed to soothe her. Even that last night she was
full of thought for others. 'Mind you have some tea; do make yourselves
some tea,' she said. She evidently followed the prayers that we said,
and indeed her death was a falling asleep, so peaceful, with no pain or
struggle whatever."

The farewell of two old friends was by her bedside at Ascension Tide,
May 1884, when Bessie received the Holy Communion.

Such a radiant light, such ineffable peace rested on her face when she
lay back in silence on her pillow, that the writer thought "so will she
look when at last her eyes are open to the eternal day." A kiss, a
pressure of the hand, a word of farewell, and there was no other place
of meeting in this life.

Undaunted by suffering and privation, patient, heroic, she lived and
died. No murmur escaped her lips from early youth to age. She stood
trembling with awestruck face when, after she had said, "Oh how I should
like to see the su