It was my privilege to spend the summer of 1830 with my beloved mother. Till I had this opportunity of watching her in a great variety of circumstances, and of observing her silent and continual renunciation of self, I had formed no adequate idea of the brightness and devotedness of her Christian character. Every walk, every meal, every visit bore a testimony to her deep religious feeling, which to this day speaks more powerfully to my heart than words can express. Quietly and sedulously she pursued her occupations, and accomplished more than many who had far more opportunities than herself. In whatever she felt her duty she would persevere, notwithstanding she might in its performance have to encounter hunger, cold, fatigue, and want of rest. Whilst she took a deep interest in the exertions of others, she was remarkable for silence on her own labours, unless she saw some good end likely to be answered by relating them.

When it drew near the time of sailing to Sierra-Leone, I accompanied her to see the vessel in which her place was likely to be taken. Part of the river we had to cross in a boat, and while she was in it her natural fear of water so strongly showed itself, that I could not but contrast the great timidity which almost overcame her at that moment, with the constraining love of Jesus which caused her to anticipate, without dismay, a voyage to Sierra-Leone, in order to make known to a benighted people the unsearchable riches of Christ.