dread too distinct a form; and if this last darling yearned for
the change to Scarborough, go she should, however Charlotte's
heart might be wrung by impending fear. The lady who accompanied
them, Charlotte's beloved friend of more than twenty years, has
kindly written out for me the following account of the
journey--and of the end.

"She left her home May 24th, 1849--died May 28th. Her life was
calm, quiet, spiritual: SUCH was her end. Through the trials and
fatigues of the journey, she evinced the pious courage and
fortitude of a martyr. Dependence and helplessness were ever with
her a far sorer trial than hard, racking pain.

"The first stage of our journey was to York; and here the dear
invalid was so revived, so cheerful, and so happy, we drew
consolation, and trusted that at least temporary improvement was
to be derived from the change which SHE had so longed for, and
her friends had so dreaded for her.

"By her request we went to the Minster, and to her it was an
overpowering pleasure; not for its own imposing and impressive
grandeur only, but because it brought to her susceptible nature a
vital and overwhelming sense of omnipotence. She said, while
gazing at the structure, 'If finite power can do this, what is
the . . . ?' and here emotion stayed her speech, and she was
hastened to a less exciting scene.

"Her weakness of body was great, but her gratitude for every
mercy was greater. After such an exertion as walking to her
bed-room, she would clasp her hands and raise her eyes in silent