"As it seems to be the opinion of the medical men, who have examined my dearest C's chest, that there is more cause to fear than to hope, as regards her recovery, I feel inclined to make a few memoranda, respecting one who is so very near and dear to me.

Second month, 3rd, 1851. "To-day, I talked to my dearest C. about going for three months to Jersey, that having been recommended; but finding that she is unwilling, I mean to leave it, and try to be resigned to the close trial of seeing her going, almost imperceptibly, yet steadily, before my eyes. I could wish to profit, more than I do, by her bright example of cheerfulness, under this very deep affliction.

6

Eleventh month, 1851. "After nearly two years illness, many times during which, I thought my dear Caroline on the brink of the grave, she seems at last sinking. On the evening of the 5th day of this month, when I came from business, she said to me. Yesterday, my dear, was my birth day, Thirty-One!' (That was the last day she was down stairs.) Last evening, in allusion to something that was to be done 'next week,' she said, 'If I am living-perhaps I shall be at rest; then I shall be praising the Lord. I feel my Saviour very near; He seems to say 'only have patience,

and I will come and take thee to myself.' She then added, 'my soul doth magnify the Lord, and I rejoice in God my Saviour.'

Eleventh month, 9th, 1851. "This morning when I came to dear Caroline, I said, 'my dearest, it seems very hard to part ;' and she answered, "The nearer it comes, (meaning her end) the closer we are united in spirit, and that is how we shall be united at last.'"'

15th. "She said, 'I want the bread of life; our Saviour said, I am the bread of life; the bread that I shall give is my body, which I will give for the life of the world.'"

16th. "She said, 'I long to be going.'"

Twelfth month, 12th. "About one o'clock, I was called up; dearest Caroline appeared to be dying. I stood by her side for some time, she said, 'I feel different to what I ever did before.' I asked, 'dost thou feel happy?' She answered, 'Yes, quite happy!' After taking leave of her attendants, &c., she said, 'What a favour to have nearly done with the things of time.' breathing continued, at this time, very laborious, but on being asked if it was painful, she answered, "No!' She continued till about a quarter past two o'clock, when, with very little convulsive effort, she quietly breathed her last. 'Precious

Her

in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.""

THOMAS SANDERS CAPPER, 27 8mo. 7 1852 Bristol. Son of Samuel and Elizabeth Capper, and husband of Caroline Capper.

His childhood was chiefly remarkable for a peculiar tenderness of disposition, combined with a continual, and unusually high and exuberant flow of spirits.

In his fifteenth year, he went to reside, as an apprentice, with a friend at Melksham, of whose judicious and watchful care he often afterwards spoke, with grateful affection. It was during the early part of his apprenticeship, that his mind was powerfully awakened to the necessity of submission to the yoke of Christ, in order to become a disciple of Him, who was himself meek and lowly of heart. The change which followed was striking, and was evinced by great watchfulness over his words and actions. It was instructive also to observe, how the prominent failings in his natural temperament, gradually gave way, before the all powerful influence of Divine Grace, and a character was produced, lovely in its childlike simplicity, and unreserved dedication of heart to the Lord.

He early believed it would be required of him to speak as a minister of the Gospel. This he

did for the first time, soon after the completion of his 19th year, in a meeting at Bristol, on the occasion of the interment of his eldest brother, using the following words; "Work while it is called day, for the night cometh when no man can work ;" an injunction which vividly arrests our minds, when we remember how earnestly he strove to fulfil it himself, shewing to all around, a striking example of diligence, not only in seeking first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, but also, in every thing of lesser importance, which his hand found to do. Thus, though the last summons was sudden, and at an unexpected moment, so that he had hardly time to recognize the hand of death, it is cause for humble thankfulness, that he was not found unprepared.

T. S. Capper enjoyed good health, without any material interruption, till the spring of 1849, when he had a severe cold which affected his chest, and caused a slight hemorrhage; but as he soon appeared completely to recover, his case did not occasion much solicitude, and the hope was entertained, that a life of usefulness was before him.

In the summer of the same year, he married Caroline Merryweather, of Melksham, and thus, for a short time, greatly increased his happiness.

This interesting union had been formed only a few months, when his beloved wife, as we have seen above, became seriously ill, and sunk into a slow decline, which eventually terminated her life.

Before we proceed more particularly to notice the brief interval which elapsed between her removal and his own death, it may be both interesting and instructive, to revert a little to some of T. S. C's earlier memoranda, evincing, as they do, the gradual development of the work of grace in his heart, after he had attained to the maturity of early manhood.

Seventh month, 16th, 1847. "In seasons of great depression and doubt, when there seems no freedom to open the state of the mind to any man, it is consolatory to believe that there is One who is touched with a feeling of our infirmities, who sees how far we are desirous of doing right, and will help us accordingly.

“Last night, when bathing, it came with force over my mind, as it frequently does, what danger we are in, whilst performing such exercises, (which I believe to be healthful,) unless we are under the protecting care of Him, without whom not a sparrow can fall to the ground. I was led to raise my heart in prayer to God, whilst swimming in the water. Should these memoranda ever fall