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inspired the strongest attachments； she was a finely sympathetic woman；
with a great accordant heart and a sterling noble nature。 No claim can be
set up for her； thank God； to the possession of any of the conventional
poetical qualities。 She never by any means held the opinion that she was
among the greatest of human beings； she never suspected the existence of
a conspiracy on the part of mankind against her； she never recognised in
her best friends； her worst enemies； she never cultivated the luxury of
being misunderstood and unappreciated； she would far rather have died
without seeing a line of her composition in print； than that I should have
maundered about her； here； as 〃the Poet〃； or 〃the Poetess〃。
With the recollection of Miss Procter as a mere child and as a woman；
fresh upon me； it is natural that I should linger on my way to the close of
this brief record； avoiding its end。 But； even as the close came upon her；
so must it come here。
Always impelled by an intense conviction that her life must not be
dreamed away； and that her indulgence in her favourite pursuits must be
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balanced by action in the real world around her； she was indefatigable in
her endeavours to do some good。 Naturally enthusiastic； and
conscientiously impressed with a deep sense of her Christian duty to her
neighbour； she devoted herself to a variety of benevolent objects。 Now； it
was the visitation of the sick； that had possession of her； now； it was the
sheltering of the houseless； now； it was the elementary teaching of the
densely ignorant； now； it was the raising up of those who had wandered
and got trodden under foot； now； it was the wider employment of her own
sex in the general business of life； now； it was all these things at once。
Perfectly unselfish； swift to sympathise and eager to relieve； she wrought
at such designs with a flushed earnestness that disregarded season；
weather； time of day or night； food； rest。 Under such a hurry of the spirits；
and such incessant occupation； the strongest constitution will commonly
go down。 Hers； neither of the strongest nor the weakest； yielded to the
burden； and began to sink。
To have saved her life； then； by taking action on the warning that
shone in her eyes and sounded in her voice； would have been impossible；
without changing her nature。 As long as the power of moving about in
the old way was left to her； she must exercise it； or be killed by the
restraint。 And so the time came when she could move about no longer；
and took to her bed。
All the restlessness gone then； and all the sweet patience of her natural
disposition purified by the resignation of her soul； she lay upon her bed
through the whole round of changes of the seasons。 She lay upon her bed
through fifteen months。 In all that time； her old cheerfulness never
quitted her。 In all that time； not an impatient or a querulous minute can
be remembered。
At length； at midnight on the second of February； 1864； she turned
down a leaf of a little book she was reading； and shut it up。
The ministering hand that had copied the verses into the tiny album
was soon around her neck； and she quietly asked； as the clock was on the
stroke of one：
〃Do you think I am dying； mamma？〃
〃I think you are very； very ill to…night； my dear！〃
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〃Send for my sister。 My feet are so cold。 Lift me up？〃
Her sister entering as they raised her； she said： 〃It has come at last！〃
And with a bright and happy smile； looked upward； and departed。
Well had she written：
Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful angel； Death； Who waits thee at
the portals of the skies； Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath； Ready
with gentle hand to close thine eyes？
Oh what were life； if life were all？ Thine eyes Are blinded by their
tears； or thou wouldst see Thy treasures wait thee in the far…off skies； And
Death； thy friend； will give them all to thee。
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VERSE： THE ANGEL'S STORY
Through the blue and frosty heavens Christmas stars were shining
bright； Glistening lamps throughout the City Almost matched their
gleaming light； While the winter snow was lying； And the winter winds
were sighing； Long ago； one Christmas night。
While； from every tower and steeple； Pealing bells were sounding
clear； （Never with such tones of gladness； Save when Christmas time is
near；） Many a one that night was merry Who had toiled through all the
year。 That night saw old wrongs forgiven； Friends； long parted；
reconciled； Voices all unused to laughter； Mournful eyes that rarely smiled；
Trembling hearts that feared the morrow； From their anxious thoughts
beguiled。
Rich and poor felt love and blessing From the gracious season fall； Joy
and plenty in the cottage； Peace and feasting in the hall； And the voices of
the children Ringing clear above it all！
Yet one house was dim and darkened； Gloom； and sickness； and
despair； Dwelling in the gilded chambers。 Creeping up the marble stair；
Even stilled the voice of mourning … For a child lay dying there。
Silken curtains fell around him； Velvet carpets hushed the tread。 Many
costly toys were lying； All unheeded； by his bed； And his tangled golden
ringlets Were on downy pillows spread。
The skill of all that mighty City To save one little life was vain； One
little thread from being broken； One fatal word from being spoken； Nay；
his very mother's pain； And the mighty love within her； Could not give
him health again。
So she knelt there still beside him； She alone with strength to smile；
Promising that he should suffer No more in a little while； Murmuring
tender song and story Weary hours to beguile。
Suddenly an unseen Presence Checked those constant moaning cries；
Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering； Raised those blue and wondering
eyes； Fixed on some mysterious vision； With a startled sweet surprise。
For a radiant angel hovered； Smiling； o'er the little bed； White his
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raiment； from his shoulders Snowy dove…like pinions spread； And a
starlike light was shining In a Glory round his head。
While； with tender love； the angel； Leaning o'er the little nest； In his
arms the sick child folding； Laid him gently on his breast； Sobs and
wailings told the mother That her darling was at rest。
So the angel； slowing rising； Spread his wings； and； through the air；
Bore the child； and while he held him To his heart with loving care； Placed
a branch of crimson roses Tenderly beside him there。
While the child； thus clinging； floated Towards the mansions of the
Blest； Gazing from his shining guardian To the flowers upon his breast；
Thus the angel spake； still smiling On the little heavenly guest：
〃Know； dear little one； that Heaven Does no earthly thing disdain；
Man's poor joys find there an echo Just as surely as his pain； Love； on
earth so feebly striving； Lives divine in Heaven again！
〃Once in that great town below us； In a poor and narrow street； Dwelt
a little sickly orphan； Gentle aid； or pity sweet； Never in life's rugged
pathway Guided his poor tottering feet。
〃All the striving anxious forethought That should only come with age；
Weighed upon his baby spirit； Showed him soon life's sternest page； Grim
Want was his nurse； and Sorrow Was his only heritage。