Chapter M: E. S (2)

He said, "After you had given us your last benediction, when on board the ship that was to take us to Botany Bay, the first thing I did was, to open the New Testament you had given me.... It was the first time I had had that Book in my hands. You were the only priest in Canada who would put it in the hands of the common people....

"The only good I derived from the first reading was, that I clearly saw why the priests of Rome fear and hate that Book. In vain I looked for Mass, indulgences, purgatory, confession, the worship of Mary, &c., ... and for some weeks I became more of a sceptic than anything else.

"But, if my first reading did me little or no good, I cannot say the same of the second. I remembered, when handing us the Book, you told us to read it with prayer to God for light to understand it. I was tired of my former wicked life. I felt the need of a change.

"You often, when speaking to us, used the words of the Saviour, 'Come unto Me, all ye who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest'; but, like all the other priests, you mixed with them the invocation of Mary, confidence in signs of the cross, and confession, so that your sublime appeals to the words of Christ were drowned by absurd and impious superstitions.

"One morning, after a sleepless night, and feeling so pressed down with the weight of my sins, I opened my Gospel Book, after praying for light and guidance, and my eyes fell on the words, 'The Lamb of God, that takes away the sin of the world.' These words fell on my poor guilty soul with a divine power. I spent the day in crying to the Lamb of God to take away my sins. Before the day was over I felt and knew that my cries had been heard. The Lamb of God had taken away my sins. He had changed my heart, and made quite a new man of me.

"From that day the reading of the Gospel was to my soul what bread is to the poor, hungry man, and what pure and refreshing waters are to the thirsty traveller. My unspeakable joy was, to read the Holy Book, and speak to my companions in chains of the dear Saviour's love for poor sinners; and, thanks be to God, a good number have found Him altogether precious, and have been sincerely converted in the dark holes of that convict ship.

"When at work in Sydney with the other culprits, I felt my chains to be light when I was sure the heavy chains of sin were gone; and, though working hard beneath a burning sun from morning till night, my heart was full of joy when I was sure my Saviour had prepared a throne for me in His heavenly kingdom.

"About a year afterwards, a minister of the Gospel and another gentleman came to me and told me I was pardoned, at the same time handing me a document signed by the Governor, and a hundred dollars, adding, 'Go and be a faithful follower of the Lord Jesus, and God Almighty will bless you in all your ways.'

"All this seemed like a dream, but it was a reality, and I spent several days and nights weeping for joy, and blessing the God of my salvation.

"Some years after that, we heard of the gold mines, and I started, in company with several others; but I separated from the others, for I wanted to be alone, and pray to my God as I walked along.

"After a long march, I came to a beautiful spot between three small hills, whence a brook was running to the plain below. I sat down to eat my dinner, and, while doing so, my eyes fell on a stone by the brook about the size of a goose's egg. The rays of the sun shone on it like a mirror. I picked it up, and found it was nearly all gold of the purest kind....

"With the money I gained from that place I afterwards bought a piece of land, and became one of the wealthy men of Australia. I married and settled here; ... and it is to you, after God, I owe my life and all the privileges I now enjoy."

They wept and praised God together in the beautiful language of the 103rd Psalm. Both could say, with a full heart, "Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless His holy name."

The next day Pastor Chiniquy dined at the house of his unexpected visitor, and felt warmly interested in the family and all that he saw and heard, and the two separated, not expecting to meet again on earth, but confidently hoping to meet around the throne of God, to praise the wonders of redeeming love for ever.

May we also be glad, and rejoice in His salvation, and join to sing the heavenly song with heart and voice, even now--

"Till sweeter notes our bosoms swell,
In yonder world above."

WISE work is cheerful as a child's work is.

A BROTHER'S DREAM.

"_God speaketh ... in a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, in slumberings on the bed; then He openeth the ears of men, and sealeth their instruction._"--JOB xxxiii. 14-16.

Superstition attaches much importance to the night wanderings of a disturbed mind, and augurs good or ill, according to the nature of the dreamy imaginings. Thousands have dreamed themselves to ruin, by following the empty speculations of a fervid imagination, and neglecting the path of prudent industry.

The text above does not teach that God speaketh in _all_ dreams, but that He is pleased _sometimes_ (and the writer believes very occasionally) to communicate instruction by such means. He that made the soul can approach it by any avenue He pleases, and is shut out from none.

Winters and summers, as many as fourteen, have rolled over my head since the night made memorable by "a brother's dream." Thirteen years have likewise passed since my arms were placed beneath this dying brother--since the glad angels conveyed his sweet spirit to the paradise of God.

Oh, the heavenly smile--oh, the beaming eye he cast upon me--as he gently subsided into endless rest! Never shall I forget that scene. Never will be erased from memory's tablet that chamber, and all that there I felt, and saw, and heard.

"Friend after friend departs;
Who has not lost a friend?"

Come, then, all sympathizing hearts; come, ye who know what sorrow is; come, all who

"feel an aching void,
The world can never fill,"

and listen to "a brother's dream."

Brought up to attend public worship, and under religious instruction, the period when spiritual life first animated his soul is not known to any survivors; nor, also, what were the peculiar exercises of his mind during the first year or two of his Christian life.

Up to the time of his dream, he was associated with many of those whose religion consists chiefly in name and show, carnal excitement, and flesh-pleasing formality; and, being of a very cheerful disposition, and generally beloved by all who knew him, it needed no small effort--nothing short of divine power--to sever the confederacy.

As will always be the case where the life of God is, his soul began to languish and starve under the "Yea and nay," "Do and live," orations to which he from time to time listened. He could not feed on husks. Distressed, hungry, and thirsty, his soul at last fainted. Then he cried unto God in his trouble. Full of vexation and perplexity, not knowing where to go or what to do, he dreamed.

He saw, as he thought, an old woman with a cross-handled basket crying her saleables. "Who wants to buy any religion? Who wants to buy any religion?" she repeated again and again. Gladly, _eagerly_ he vociferated, "I do! I do!"

He bought a large supply. It consisted of a great number of props, which supported him all around, and on each prop was written something which he was to do--some deed or good work he was to perform.

Almost as soon as he was in possession of his purchased religion, he saw, at a great distance, a fire raging, which soon increased, so that it seemed to compass the whole sensible horizon. But what was more fearful, it burned still nearer and nearer to the spot where he stood, consuming everything as it approached. Alarmed, amazed, terrified, his horror was increased as he beheld his props already on fire.

Everything had been destroyed as the burning ocean approached, and could he escape? Alone and helpless, how could deliverance be effected? Power and hope were alike gone, and into the infinite fire he was just sinking, when, lo! the mighty Jesus, before unseen, stretched out His gracious arm, and with words of promise, instantaneously performed, said, "I'll hold you up!"

Forthwith the fire was quenched, and he sang delivering grace.

These solemn scenes, so visibly portrayed in his imagination while asleep, became a subject of serious consideration when awake. Who could explain the matter to him?

Not long he lacked a teacher. The Gracious Interpreter sent a messenger to blow the Gospel trumpet in the neighbourhood. He went; he heard. Oh, what a sermon! Never had such statements fallen upon his ears; never had such light shone into his mind. And what a text!--"The hail shall sweep away your refuge of lies, and the waters shall overflow the hiding-place."

One after another, the preacher described the vain hopes on which he had rested, and showed their frailty and destruction, in the way he had felt. And then his refuge, his hiding-place, his _props_, away, away they go, just as he saw, exactly as he felt. In short, the preacher's sermon was a map of the path--a verbal unfolding of the secrets of his heart.

What was the consequence? The meshes of the devil's fishing-net were broken; free-will, creature-dependency, were gone; and hope--Gospel hope--"good hope through grace"--filled his anxious bosom. He had been down in the horrible pit; he had been sinking in the miry clay. Now he is brought to the verge of deliverance. Now he sees, he hopes in, the boundless prospects of covenant grace.

Not many miles distant in another direction, lived and preached a servant of the Lord, lately taken to his everlasting home. He bent his steps to hear the words of truth and grace from his lips. "Wonderful! Astonishing! Was it an angel I heard before--one who had assumed a bodily shape, to bear those joyful tidings to my soul, and now appears again with other features and with another voice? No; he was a man; and this is a human voice I hear. But how astonishing! He seems to know all the other told me, and to begin where the other left off. Their sermons seem like two following pages of a book, in which I read the secrets of my life, and behold in legible lines those things I never breathed to human friends. 'This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in my eyes.'"

It _was_ the Lord's doing; for not only was his whole Christian pathway mapped out, but his soul sweetly delivered from legal entanglements, from slavish fear and anxious doubt, and brought into that liberty with which God makes His people free. He was made "wise unto salvation, through faith in Jesus Christ." Moreover, by continuance in that Word, he gave unequivocal demonstration that he was a disciple indeed; one who was a learner and follower of Jesus; and so, knowing "the truth as it is in Jesus," he rejoiced in hope of the glory of God. Nor did he have long to wait, for, sinking under the merciless hand of pale consumption, in a little more than a year he was suddenly removed to that land of peace and love where

"Jesus sheds the brightest beams
Of His o'erflowing grace."

Reader, the dream was instructive to the dear departed; but was it given for him alone? It can no longer benefit him, for with him all is reality--no shadowy emblem, but everything substantial. May not we therefore derive instruction?

Let us look at some of its prominences. Standing out with towering majesty and grandeur, like a cloud-capped mountain, appears

_Divine sovereignty_--the sovereign mercy of the Lord, who "hath mercy on whom He will have mercy." You will not see this through reason's misty glass (which perverts and confuses all things beheld through it), no more than the loftiest eminence is discernible in the darkness of midnight. But in the light of God's truth it is clearly visible. There are many with whom he was associated when he "sought the living among the dead"--when he was entangled in the carnal schemes of a false religion--who remain where he could not stay, and seem contented, too. There have been but comparatively very few brought to seek what he sought, and to know what he was taught. "Who hath saved us, and called us with an holy calling, not according to our works, but according to His own purpose and grace, which was given us in Christ Jesus before the world began."

We also discover _the danger of false religion_. Behold that burning flame! Thus burns God's wrath against sin. No human efforts can quench it or check its progress. All creature performances, like the PROPS, will be consumed by it. The best of human works are but as stubble to the fire of wrath divine. Indeed, when God tells of that dreadful day which shall burn as an oven, the self-righteous, or proud, are put before "those that do wickedly," as objects of God's displeasure, and doomed to that dreadful burning.

Oh, could I make my words thunder and lightning, to peal and flash this solemn truth from hill to hill and from vale to vale!

All false religion begins on the outside, and attempts to alter principles by renovating practice; but all true religion commences within. The Spirit produces a change in the practice by implanting new life and holy principles. "Ye must be born again." Religion is not a new patch on an old garment, but a new fabric entirely. "If any man be in Christ Jesus, he is a new creature."

We see, likewise, the trouble and anxiety which are felt when one is soundly convinced of his sinful life and state. Salvation is then a matter of life and death. "Life, life, eternal life!" is the earnest cry. Conviction of sin, when it merely penetrates the skin, is soon soothed and forgotten; but when the arrows from the bow of God's Word pierce the heart, no hand can withdraw them but His who directed them, and no balm can heal those painful wounds but that administered by Jehovah-Jesus.

It may be seen also that, till He who is "the Way, the Truth, and the Life," was proclaimed to his eager soul, he found no solid satisfaction, no stable peace.

"In vain the trembling conscience seeks
Some solid ground to rest upon;
With long despair the spirit breaks,
Till we apply to Christ alone."

He is the only Antidote to our sin, ruin, and disease; and He is freely set forth in the Gospel as the gracious, willing, almighty, and everlasting Saviour of the lost and undone. Until we are brought sensibly to feel our sin and destitution, we are ready and willing to try everything but that which God has provided; but when we are brought before His infinite holiness, and see the "filthy garments" in which we are clad, no arm is long and powerful enough to reach our case but His, who is "able to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him." The blessed Spirit will always glorify Jesus by His teaching, and will lead the soul to Him as the All in all of salvation.

Here are exhibited, likewise, the gracious operations of His power and wisdom who says, "The ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion, with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads." Had his soul's salvation rested on his believing, as some would tell us, he had not have been where he is. Grace begins, grace carries on, grace performs, and finally completes, the grand work of eternal redemption.

In this brief narrative appears, moreover, the peace and joy a knowledge of sin forgiven and peace secured produces in the soul. Oh, the blissful truth, "Redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace." To taste this, to know this, exceeds ten thousand worlds of sordid treasure--transcends the highest delights of this terrestrial sphere. How did his happy soul rejoice "with joy unspeakable and full of glory"!

But he has long entered his rest. He has forgotten to mourn, and loudly sings the praises of the Lamb.

Where is my reader? Is he pursuing the wind, and hunting after the shadowy trifles of earth? Is he attempting by creature works to make his peace with God?

Doomed to total disappointment and eternal condemnation are all those who die in such hostility to the way of peace and Heaven's declared will! Oh, delusion! worse than madness! "He that _believeth not_ shall be damned!" No salvation but by a living faith in the Lamb of God and His all-perfect work.

PROMPT KINDNESS.

The fact that we are too apt to suppress our kindest emotions for loved ones, and withhold our words of approbation, is but too frequently apparent. This is often done with the best intent, fearing that more cordial expression and warmer approval may savour of flattery, and very frequently it is the outcome of pure carelessness or indifference. In this connection it is well to consider the words of Horace Mann. Says he:--

"Do not keep the alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up until your friends are dead. Fill their lives with sweetness. Speak approving, cheering words while their hearts can be thrilled and made happier by them. The kind things you mean to say when they are gone, say before they go. The flowers you mean to send for their coffins, send to brighten their homes before they leave them. If my friends have alabaster boxes laid away, full of fragrant perfumes of sympathy and affection, which they mean to break over my dead body, I would rather they bring them out in my weary and troubled hours, and open them, that I may be refreshed and cheered by them while I need them. I would rather have a plain coffin without flowers, a funeral without eulogy, than life without the sweetness of love and tenderness and sympathy. Let us learn to anoint our friends beforehand for their burial. Post-mortem kindness does not cheer the burdened spirit. Flowers on the coffin cast no fragrance backward over the weary way."

BIBLE ENIGMA.

An unknown king.

A place from which the Canaanites were not driven.

One of the dukes of Edom.

A Shuhite.

A place built by the sons of Elpaal.

Where were they once who are now made nigh to God?

The Hebrew name for "pavement."

A name which means "the tower."

Something which God used to give a sign to encourage a king.

The initials and finals form two titles of Christ.

CLARA ELLIS
(Aged 14 years).

A FUGITIVE IN THE HIMALAYA MOUNTAINS.

In the summer of 1852 Colonel B----, on an excursion to the snowy range of the Himalayas, had proceeded into the mountains some twenty miles beyond any known habitation of civilized man, when the natives told him that, in a village near by, a white man was living in concealment.

Incredible as it appeared, Colonel B---- followed his guides to a little native hut with mud walls and roof of grass. Taking a peep in at the low entrance, sure enough, there he spied an elderly person with a white face, but in the most shabby dress of the natives, who, on catching a glance of the intruder, rushed into a dark corner of his miserable hovel, out of which the most earnest entreaties and assurances of good intentions scarcely brought him.

He was the son of an English gentleman who, like thousands of the high-bred youths of England, had come to India to procure a title to a Government pension, and, after remaining here ten or twenty years, return home and live in ease. Like not a few who come to this land, supposing he could scarcely avoid becoming rich, he had run recklessly into debt, until he was threatened with a term of years in close confinement unless he should immediately cancel his liabilities, to do which he was totally incapable. He fled beyond the limits of the British territory to the place where Colonel B---- found him, where he had subsisted for some fifteen years, in the manner of the wild natives around him, not excepting their revolting vices.

Colonel B---- told him of a debt he owed, which, if not discharged, might consign him to chains and darkness, not for a term of years, but for eternity; begged him earnestly to seek to escape that everlasting imprisonment in the dungeons of the unutterably miserable; prayed with him, and gave him a few tracts, which, like many good men, Colonel B---- is in the habit of taking with him wherever he goes.

Two years after, he again visited him, and found that the seed he had been permitted to sow was springing up. On reading the tract, "_It is the Last Time_," he could have no peace of mind until he found assurance of his greatest debt being cancelled by the blood of Christ.

His brother, who was receiving a large salary in India, was delighted to be permitted to meet his earthly liabilities, and requested him to return to England and live the remainder of his days in comfortable ease. But no; he said he had opposed and reviled the Christian religion in India, and here he wished to do what he could to counteract his past evil influence.

He is now at S----, daily assisting a missionary in proclaiming to the heathen the only way of eternal life. May He whose grace has raised him thus far out of the loathsome den, lead him still onward, and make him an eminent aid and ornament to the faith which he so long despised and reproached.

In what various ways does God enable him to do good whose heart is set upon it! The author of that tract probably never thought of its floating over the waves fifteen thousand miles, fluttering on the breeze another thousand miles into the heart of a heathen country, amidst the bears and wolves and wild men of the Himalayas, lighting upon a poor degraded immortal, "twice dead and plucked up by the roots," and proving him a son and heir of the Lord God Almighty, a being to reign on the throne of the universe for ever with the King of kings. "O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!"

A FEW WORDS FROM THE DUMB.

It is the glory of Englishmen to stand up for the defenceless, and to scorn the cowardly oppression of the weak. Surely, then, those who own and those who use ponies and donkeys will be willing to give a fair hearing to a pleader for the helpless, dumb creatures.

If they could speak for themselves, would they not say--"Give us some rest one day in the week, and we will do all the more for you the other six, and last the longer for it. You yourself work the better, and live the longer, for one day's rest.

"Don't beat our sore sides so hard and so often, and we shall be stronger and better servants to you. You know how oppression only makes _you_ set up your back, but you will do anything for a kind master.

"Don't ride and race us about till we are ready to drop, and our wind is almost broken, and we are reeking with heat and rough usage.

"Pray let us have a little more water when we stand weary and thirsty, with our poor dry tongues unable to ask for it. _You_ have felt the suffering of thirst.

"And for pity's sake," the ponies would say, "loosen this torturing bearing-rein. We toss and shake our heads, or we try to keep them still, and nothing gives us a moment's ease. You, master, would suffer severely if _your_ head were held in such a position, and we could do more work, and much better, without it.

"Please remember that we can always hear your voice, and shall understand what you want us to do so much more quickly, if you speak to us quietly, than if you roar at us, and drag our tender, worn mouths about. We get so puzzled and frightened when you're in a rage with us, that we only flounder and plunge, and make you more and more angry.

"Our last entreaty is that, when we get old and past our work, you will not let our poor, wasted bodies stagger along under some load, when our lives have been spent in your service, but that you will reward us by having us immediately put out of our pain."

Think how much you owe to mercy yourself, and remember, "The merciful man doeth good to his beast."

ONE LINK GONE.

Take the pillows from the cradle
Where the little sufferer lay;
Draw the curtain, close the shutters,
Shut out every beam of day.

Spread the pall upon the table;
Place the lifeless body there;
Back from off the marble features
Lay the auburn curls with care.

With its little blue-veined fingers
Crossed upon its painless breast,
Free from care, and pain, and anguish,
Let the infant beauty rest.

Smooth its little shroud about it;
Pick its toys from off the floor;
They, with all their sparkling beauty,
Ne'er can charm their owner more.

Take the little shoes and stockings
From the doting mother's sight;
Pattering feet no more will need them,
In and out with such delight.

Parents faint and worn with watching
Through the long, dark night of grief,
Dry your tears, and soothe your sighing;
Gain a respite of relief.

Mother's care no more is needed
To allay the rising moan;
And though you perchance may leave it,
It can never be alone.

Thus a golden link is broken
In a chain of earthly bliss--
Thus the distance shorter making
'Twixt another world and this.

A GATHERED ONE.

A SHORT ACCOUNT OF EMMA BEESLEY, OF LEICESTER, WHO DIED ON LORD'S DAY MORNING, JANUARY 1ST, 1888, AGED TWENTY-ONE YEARS.

Our earliest recollection of Emma was as a child in our Sunday School, which she was led, in a very marked way, to attend. Her sister was persuaded by a companion to go with her to our school just for one afternoon, and she was so interested that she became a regular scholar. Emma was at that time attending a school in connection with a General Baptist cause, but hearing her sister speak in such high terms of the school at Zion Chapel, she was soon persuaded to go with her. Like her sister, she felt so at home that she also became a scholar. They each became so very much attached to both school and chapel, that they had no desire whatever to leave it; and we have good reason to believe the Word was made a blessing, and that the seed of divine grace was sown in each of their hearts by God the Eternal Spirit.

Emma was of a very quiet turn of mind, and for the last two years was the subject of great soul-trouble. All who knew her could testify to the deep sense she had of her sinnership before God. Her great fear was, that she was too great a sinner for the Lord to look upon; but her whole desire was, to be found right with Him.

To a friend she said, "Oh, I should not mind waiting, if only I knew I should obtain the blessing; but I am so afraid I shall never have what I am seeking after."

Her love for the house of God was so great that no weather would prevent her from attending the means. Being of a delicate constitution, her mother often reproved her for going so much; but she could say, with the poet--

"I love to meet amongst them now,
Before Thy gracious feet to bow,
Though vilest of them all."

Truly, she prized the company of the Lord's people, and looked upon them as the excellent of the earth; and many times has said, "I want the Lord to assure me that I am one of His family, redeemed by precious blood."

For the most part she was very dark in her mind, but had rays of light, being often encouraged under the preached Word.

It was about a month before her last illness that the Lord seemed to completely wean her from the world. She seemed like one that was indeed taking the kingdom of heaven by violence. The things that belonged to her soul's happiness were eagerly sought after, while the things of the world were only a plague and a burden.

She said to a friend, "Oh, how I long for the Christmas holidays--not for the mere holiday, but that I may get away from my work, and be with the dear people of God."

About a fortnight before her illness, our dear minister spoke from the words, "My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me." It seemed to completely cut her up, as she feared she was only a hypocrite, and not a true follower, which caused her great sorrow of heart. But during the week the Lord was pleased to shine upon her once more with these words--"I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with loving-kindness have I drawn thee." But the words were so great she feared to take them, and yet she could not put them away.

On the following Sunday, our dear pastor took for his text, "Even to Him shall men come" (Isa. xlv. 24). That day was indeed a Sabbath to her; for, as the character was described, the Lord sweetly made it plain to her that she was no longer to cut herself off, and she felt sure that she was the character described. She earnestly begged of the Lord that day that Mr. Hazlerigg might be led to take the same text in the evening. To her great joy the same words were again given out, and the sermon was attended with the same sweetness to her. She was indeed full. A friend who walked with her from chapel said afterwards, that she seemed in a most heavenly frame of mind. She could do nothing but speak of the favoured times she had had in hearing.

The next, and indeed the last, time that she was permitted to meet with us on earth, was at our prayer-meeting on the Monday evening, and then she seemed again to be much favoured.

She was taken ill on the Wednesday evening. On the following Friday, the writer, being sent for, went and found her very ill, but her mind seemed stayed upon eternal things. I said, "Do you think you shall get better, Emma?" to which she replied, "I do not know. If the complaint is not stayed, I must sink; but I do not mind." I asked her if she feared death. She replied, "No; I only want the Lord to reveal Himself to me more, and then I do not mind whether it is life or death." She said, "I have only one wish, and that is, that the affliction may be sanctified." She said that verse had been so blessed to her--

"Fenced with Jehovah's 'shalls' and 'wills,'
Firm as the everlasting hills."

I said, "Oh, Emma, how good of the Lord to give you those words. He knows how full of fears you are, and how Satan would cast his 'buts' and 'ifs' at you; but the Lord has given you those words to quench Satan's darts with." I told her I believed the Lord was either preparing her for His Church below, or His Church above. She smiled, and said, "I hope it is so."

A friend, to whom she was much attached, called to see her, and said, "Emma, should you like me to read to you? I am afraid you are too ill." She said, "Oh, do! I should so much like you to do so." The twenty-third Psalm was read, and a few words of prayer offered; and to a friend, who afterwards went in, she said how very much she enjoyed it.

We did indeed feel it good to be with her; but the affliction was of such a painful nature that she could not talk much. The doctor said that all that could be done for her was to keep her very quiet, and give her support, so that we often refrained from conversing with her, hoping very much that it might be the Lord's will to restore her.

On Saturday morning our hopes were raised very high. She was quiet in her mind, Satan not being permitted to harass her. Her only fear seemed to be that she was ungrateful. She said, "I have so many friends, and they are all so kind." But we always found her to be truly grateful for every little act of kindness shown to her.

Towards evening a change for the worse took place. Convulsions seized her, and, for about twelve hours, it was most painful to witness her struggle with the last enemy--so much so that her dear sister, who was devoted to her, was led to beg of the Lord to release her.

About six o'clock on Lord's Day morning her spirit took its flight, to be "for ever with the Lord." Truly, we could say it was her gain, though we felt the loss most keenly. The Lord had been so good in supporting her through her painful affliction, that we felt we could justly say, with the poet--

"Her mind was tranquil and serene;
No terror in her look was seen;
Her Saviour's smile dispelled the gloom,
And smoothed her passage to the tomb."