me things he is a better Christian than I am. _May God
make him so in every thing._"

Thus was the Lord preparing his servant for what was so soon
to follow--not his dismission from the regiment, which he so
ardently desired, but from this world and its temptations and snares.
Mrs. Graham's prayers were answered, but "by terrible things
in righteousness."

She added a request that her mother would receive her eldest
daughter, who, though at the early age of _five years_, she
feared would receive injurious influences from the corrupt state of
society around her, and accordingly, not long after, sent her to
Scotland; but before her arrival, her grandmother had been called to a
better world. In reference to this event Mrs. Graham wrote to her
bereaved father as follows:

"ANTIGUA, August 21, 1773.

"MY DEAREST PAPA--The heart-rending tidings of my dear, my
tender, my affectionate mother's death reached me yesterday. I am so
distressed that I can scarcely write, and no wonder, for never was
there such a mother. My loss is indeed great; but O, my dear, my
afflicted father, how my heart bleeds for you. Father of mercies,
support my aged parent, and enable him to place his hopes of happiness
beyond this transitory world, and to follow the footsteps of the
dear departed saint till he joins her in glory, never, never more to
be separated.

"My dearest father, we may indeed mourn for ourselves; but she
is happy--that is beyond all doubt. Her delight was with God while
she was here; her closet was a Bethel; her Bible was her heart's
treasure, and His people were her loved companions. She has now
joined the innumerable company above, where she continues the same
services without human frailty, and the enjoyment heightened beyond
our highest conceptions.

"O then, my dear father, be comforted; let us now try to follow
her; let her Saviour now be ours, and then shall we be blest with
like consolations.

"My dearest father, I cannot tell you how much I feel for you; my
tears will not allow me, they flow so fast that I cannot write; what
would I give to be with you. But these are vain words.

"The doctor, however, fully expects that next summer will bring
him leave to go home; then, I trust, we shall be in some fixed place
of abode, and, my dear papa, you will come and live with us. I shall
feel it to be a privilege beyond what I can tell, to perform e