to my inquiry, which came from the window where Mary's sister had been silently sitting.

The performances which she stated, were so very inefficient, even in appearance, to meet the demand which, if we stood to be judged according to our merits, might be made upon us, that it seems almost incredible that they should be named as the preparation for a day which "shall burn as an oven;" but my memory faithfully retains them.

6

Mary looked at me with a smile full of pity and answered mildly, Our works will never save us, Kate, though our works will condemn us.'

'So you believe,' the girl replied with a movement which showed an already irritated temper.

'I do believe it; because the word of God declares it,' said Mary.

'You need not talk to me of such things,' was the answer, 'you cannot lead me as you have been led yourself; thank God I believe my clergy, and I tell you, Mary, if you do not repent in time, and turn back to the Church, and make satisfaction for what you have done-' I could not record the concluding sentence, it shocked me at the time; so plainly, so strongly did it express the opinion of Mary's lost state, which her sister entertained. But she smiled even at this; an involuntary exclamation from me, which her sister in the warmth of the moment, for she was evidently angry, replied to, induced her to make me a sign to keep up a conversation. Having brought her sister to some calmness, by a degree of conciliation, her natural good sense became more apparent, and we conversed for some time, much to the delight of poor Mary, whose animated looks and motions of approbation, or disapprobation, manifested

her interest; but at last bigotry and prejudice overcame this good sense. My antagonist descended again to the hollow, vapid and slippery arguments she had been accustomed to hear, and as I rose to go away, Mary pressed my hand, saying, I fear it is a forlorn hope, but the Lord may yet, by his Spirit, compel them to come in.'

I must not be too long, or diffuse in my recollections of this interesting young friend: passing over many a pleasing detail, I shall only record my last visit to her while she continued to tabernacle among us. She was alone, quite alone, supported in a large chair by pillows; her countenance still bore its usual animation, her manner, its characteristic cheerfulness; although an outcast from all who were dearest to her, without many of the necessary comforts which the sick require, although to look at her one would wonder how a form so worn, so emaciated, could be supported from sinking into nothingness, still a complaint was never made, a murmur never heard; she was always rejoicing, exceeding joyful in all her tribulation.

She asked me this day to read the description of the New Jerusalem, the heavenly city; well do I remember the glowing face that bowed to me, and the words of holy energy that fell from the lips that soon should close until they re-opened to sing the song of Moses and the Lamb. She commented as I went on from verse to verse of that beautiful chapter of the Revelations; her views seemed to expand, her faith to brighten, her thoughts to spiritualize, her comprehension to enlarge, as she drew nearer and nearer to that heavenly Jerusalem, whither her hopes and desires had long been tending. When I was

going away, she took my hand in both of hers, and looked long and earnestly in my face: it was a peculiar look-it was as if she was trying to impress it on her memory, so that she might know it again in a distant time and place. It did not occur to me at the moment, that she felt she should see it no more in the flesh. She said little, but there was something marked in her manner. Oh! if we could always tell what meetings here below-what partings would be the last! But it is well we can not.

The next day some slight occurrence prevented me from seeing Mary; the next morning, at six o'clock, I looked on her unbreathing form, from which the spirit had but just departed.

Her God was with her to the last, and her departure from this troublesome life strikingly evinced the tender love of Him who is with His people, when passing through the waters, even the cold waters of death. Mary's chief uneasiness, in the prospect of that hour, had arisen from a fear that when heart and flesh were failing, and she could no longer oppose the efforts which the mistaken love of her friends induced them to make, for what they supposed her spiritual good, that the peace of her soul would be disturbed by the religious ministrations to which Popery at such a time has recourse; and also that the cause of truth might be injured, even in the case of a retired individual, were it made to appear, by a priest anointing her dying body, that she had on her death-bed forsaken the faith for which she had given up all the promise of this life; and had died in the errors she had once abjured. But in this her God was better to her than all her fears; she glided gently out of the world, and her passage was unruffled by

a breath that ill-directed love could blow upon it: she passed, unnoticed by all on earth, into heaven; none of the terrors of death approached her.

Her sister, who slept beside her, thought she heard her say, 'Lord Jesus, relieve me!' Supposing her in pain, she spoke, but, not getting an answer, believed she was mistaken, as she had only just awaked, and soon sunk into a slumber again, for a few moments, when, awakening with a start and the impression that something bad occurred, she sprang towards Mary's bed, and saw she had that instant breathed her last. She afterwards felt that the words she had heard were, Lord Jesus, receive me!' A scream from her quickly brought in the landlady, who immediately sent to the house where I was, and, with the lady of that house, I soon entered the chamber of happy death-death in which there was not one cause for regret all causes for gratulation.

The appearance of that chamber was remarkable: Mary's figure was bolstered up in the bed, as, from difficulty of breathing, it generally had been her head reclined on her shoulder, and was in no respect moré death-like than it had been the day before. The morning light was coming in through the half-closed windows, and blending with the sickly light of the shrouded lamp; but one object drew our attention even from the solemn form of death: Mary's sister, after the first spasm of terror was over, passed into a state of deep and awful calmness; her appearance was the most remarkable I ever remember to have seen on such an occasion. She had seated herself entirely on the bed, exactly before the corpse; she had thrown a large crimson shawl on her shoulders, which was drawn in front tightly round her folded

arms, and her long thick black hair fell down it behind and at the sides of her face, unconfined in any way, for I suppose in her agitation she had thrown off her cap; her eyes were firmly fixed on her sister's face, with a watching inquiring gaze, as if she wished to await the appearance of that awful change which death soon effects on the lineaments. If her posture, her appearance altogether, had been studied for effect, nothing could have been better imagined; but there was something in the first glance you cast at her that spake of reality, deep, painful, heart-rending reality; it might have been the representation of romance or imagination that which I have given, but those who saw it with me would think the picture only very slightly sketched. Her fine figure and very handsome face formed a living representation of deep, warm, agonized feeling, held in for a space under the influence of awful suspense. She did not think her sister actually dead; she watched her face with an earnestness, an intensity which I cannot describe; but it was only for a few minutes after we entered, for visibly did that striking and appalling change creep over the features, which in general leaves no doubt that the dust is returning to that from which it was taken. Then starting with a convulsive tremour, she pressed her arms still more closely on her heart, ejaculating in a voice I cannot forget- Father of mercies! will you cast her off for ever?' She got off the bed, and threw herself on her knees beside it, but she seemed not to pray, she rested there with her face buried in her hands, her whole frame heaved and trembled with emotion; then she rose and pressed down Mary's eye-lids, and gazing on her countenance, she recollected probably