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In the spring of 1840, a beloved relative died, and a brother became seriously ill. Her distress at leaving him for school is well remembered, and her letters are a record of the effect produced on her mind by the two events. "The death of my dear uncle Morell led me afresh to a throne of grace; that impression was wearing off, when the Easter holidays came, and I parted from a brother, as I thought, for ever; I did not expect to meet him on earth, much less in heaven; for some weeks I dare not pray." The communication of her feelings to the lady under whose care she was placed, relieved her distress; and she proceeds: "I then prayed to God; I then hoped for forgiveness, knowing that Christ died for sinners; I did not fear death, for the cross seemed to take away its gloom." To her sister she writes, "It is a little past five, a lovely May morning; all is joy and gladness; what a glorious world this is! How beautiful the freshness of spring! it reminds me of a Christian, one who has just learnt to love God, just left the cold winter for spring, which sends forth buds rapidly spreading to leaves, drawn out by that glorious sun who is their centre, watered by dews from heaven, or rather from the hand of God. Oh! to be always thus one living spring, more and more beautiful every day!"

In July 1841, she was admitted into the church at Denton, then under the care of her uncle, the Rev. Edward Hickman. Alluding to the fact in her diary, she says, "I cannot but rejoice that my beloved brothers, my sister, and my parents, are all united with me in Christ: how much thankfulness ought it to cause on my part that God has melted my hard heart by a sight of the cross of Jesus!" Here was no nominal profession of Christ; her Bible was diligently studied, and from its holy directions she drew the energy with which she discharged the active duties of religion. Numerous memoranda prove the extent of her preparation for her Sunday scholars, and her punctual visitation of her tract district only ceased when increasing illness rendered it necessary. To be useful to others was the desire of her heart, and this desire did not exhaust itself in vapid wishes, but in well-directed efforts for the salvation of souls.

In the month of October, she was called to mourn, with all who knew him, the death of her uncle, who, as she expresses it, "lived to admit her into the church and then died." Her warm affections had centred on one who had been the guide of her

youth, and she deeply felt his loss. Writing to her parents on the occasion, she says, "Though now we see not the reason for our losing one we so much loved, yet I cannot but think we shall afterwards, for all things work together for good;' may it not be to draw us nearer heaven? Is not heaven dearer now that he is kneeling at Jesus' feet? If any are saved from death by his death, we will not weep. We will raise another altar here, an altar of thanksgiving. Why do we call him dead? He is not dead: Sunday was the first day of his life! Oh! happy day on which to die! When I am called to depart, may it be on the Sabbath day." To her sister she writes, "I could not bear this trial, but for the extreme kindness of those I am with. Death has this time come nearer to us. Had he come yet nearer, and entered our unbroken circle, how could we have endured it? I will not anticipate such a dark future, the present is sufficiently painful. Oh! may I first be called to give up my account!" The last sentiment with regard to herself was frequently uttered; death had never desolated her beloved home, and no marvel that, as he fixed his resistless grasp on one friend after another, the question arose, who of us will die first? She shrank from the parting, and it was a natural desire that she expressed to leave, rather than be left, though no particular indication led herself or others to apprehend that such would be the result.

In the Christmas holidays of 1842 she became ill with fever, which prevented her return to the scene where her studies had been so happily pursued. As her health improved, she diligently cultivated her mind and actively visited the poor around her. Her diary tells of her interest in a Sabbath evening Bible class which she had formed, and of her regret at the young people's slow improvement.

A painful and touching record follows:-" Nov. 5th, 1843.— Rose early for a family prayer meeting." After enumerating the various members who led the devotions of that ever-to-beremembered hour, she says" and a delightful meeting it was: when shall we all meet again ? Tears of joy and gratitude were then plentifully shed as each heart retraced the bright pathway of past existence. Little did they imagine that over their next meeting would be shed the solemnities of a dying hour!

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At the close of the year she writes to her cousin, Dec. 31

1843" This day twelve months I was groaning on a bed of pain, my kind mother watching by my side, yet oh! how differently I felt then to now! I always thought I should have died this year, but I have been spared to speak of bleeding love. I have passed through many joys and sorrows, and I feel now unhappy: it is not a doubt in God's willingness to save-it is a fear that there may be a want of sincerity-that I only wish to go to heaven to avoid the sufferings of another world."

In the beginning of February she visited, with several members of her family, a distant part of the country; but many of the delightful scenes and occurrences of that visit proved too much for her strength, and, at the end of March, it was deemed advisable that she should return home.

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As the spring advanced, her health improved, and fears once entertained gave way to hopes of recovery. Writing to her cousin, in April, she says:- I don't think I shall die, the weather is so beautiful: I talk of death as if it were something of every-day occurrence, and I often think of it. I dare scarcely imagine myself there it is an awful valley: may Jesus guide me through, and then all will be well! Oh! I should love to be safely landed: Jesus has been very good to me-oh! to trust wholly in Christ!" Again, in May :-" I have wished to live to make others happy, and yet I have wished-felt the tears in my eyes when I remembered I was getting well. If I had gone to heaven it would all be over now: I should be happy-no more sin-at rest with Jesus it is too bright-it may not be-I am recovering."

She possessed a keen relish for all that was lovely in nature; and the contrast between the dark, cold grave, and the brilliancy and warmth of life, forcing itself on her mind, frequently caused the exclamation-"What! to die, and leave this beautiful world-to find that life really is what I have so often said it was-a dream!"

In reflections on the past six months, written only a month before her death, she says:-" While on one hand my cup of enjoyment has run over, in that our family love has remained untouched, how dark have been some of the mysterious providences! I have been ill; I have felt drawing to the grave; how strange the feelings then crowding into my mind! Dying! where was I going? Oh! for grace to live more fully to Jesus! Oh! to lose entirely the fear of death !"

Two days after this entry, she went to spend a week with her beloved friends at Wrentham, hastening home, that the yet unbroken family might be present to welcome a brother's return. A happy meeting it was, all circumstances and prospects conspiring to make life pleasant and desirable to every one of the youthful group, whose union thus far had been unbroken and unclouded. Soon was the brightness of the sunshine dimmed, and Elizabeth became ill with fever. Apprehensions were not,

at first, entertained of the issue. Had those who watched her expected what would have been the result, many a death-bed expression uttered by her would have been treasured by them, as soothing to memory, when the solemnity of that dying scene recurs to their minds, rather than as a proof of her preparation for death; for, living in the service of God, no dying testimony was needed from her to assure survivors that death to her is unspeakable gain.

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The Sabbath week evening before she died, she said to her cousin, "I cannot think how people become religious on a dying bed; I could not have attended to religion if I had to seek it I have too much pain to think long of anything." On being asked if she knew a favourite hymn, beginning "Breast the wave, Christian," she replied, "No, and I cannot ask you to repeat it. I cannot bear reading now; passages of scripture and verses of hymns come into my mind, and you cannot think what a comfort they are. If I get well, how much of the Bible I will learn. I am glad I have had this illness, however it ends." "You have no doubt how it will end ?" "No," she replied, "not now; but, when my brother carried me upstairs on Wednesday evening, I felt so ill I thought I was dying. I could only say to myself, I trust in Christ, and when he laid me on the bed, I repeated, I trust in Christ."

During the afternoon of Sunday, August 4th, her symptoms changed, and she began, unconsciously, to enter the "valley of the shadow of death." She lingered till the next day, when her redeemed spirit became "absent from the body and present with the Lord."

The following Saturday evening, her precious remains were conveyed to their long resting-place, a beautiful burial ground connected with the chapel at Denton. The scene was solemn and affecting; and, whilst an impressive address was given by her attached friend, the Rev. Andrew Ritchie, many wept that

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one so loved and lovely was cut down "like the flower of the field," and others shed bitter tears at the thought that they were not prepared for death as she was. To those who wept for her, the voice of God addresses strong consolation—“For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him." To those who wept for themselves, the same divine voice speaks with solemn urgency-" -"Now is the accepted time; behold! now is the day of salvation."

SABBATH SCHOOLS.

F.D.

A BOY attending a Sabbath evening school was brought to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and began to pray in his father's house. His father, being a very wicked man, became quite enraged when he heard of his boy praying; he took a whip and lashed him severely. The boy, not daring to continue his practice in his father's house, resorted to an adjoining field, or plantation, where he prayed to his Father who seeth in secret. The parent, hearing of this new haunt, took his whip one night and followed him. When he came within reach of the sound of the boy's voice, he thought, before he whipped him, he would listen to hear what he was saying. The boy at this moment was earnestly praying on behalf of his wicked father. The father's conscience smote him; he wept. The boy having concluded his supplications rose up, and, turning round, saw his father weeping. The trembling father, addressing his astonished son, said, "I came out to whip you, but you have whipped me." A short time after they both made application to a Baptist church for fellowship; and when, according to the custom, the father was publicly called upon to give an account of his views of Divine truth, and to state his experience of its power, he shrunk back and said, "No, no; let (naming his boy) do it first; for he is my spiritual father."-Life of Nasmith.

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DEAR MR EDITOR-Excitement is a word of daily occurrence in connexion with all matters of deep interest, whether public or private, general or particular. It is a convenient term employed to designate a feeling well understood, yet difficult to define when experienced in relation to religion and its manifold obligations. In the particular branch of Christian philanthropy

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