Revelations, and the eighth chapter of Romans, she most frequently wished to have read; of John's Gospel, the last discourse of our Saviour, and His prayer, she seemed to dwell upon with the deepest interest; though she frequently asked for other portions, particularly the sixth and eleventh chapters. The eighth chapter of Romans, I had often noticed, while in health was a favourite part of Scripture with her, and I find it marked in her Bible as possessing peculiar interest. There were some passages of the other Epistles that she loved to hear,-among these were the fifteenth chapter of 1st Cor., and the fourth and fifth of 2nd Cor.

When too feeble to bear reading, she loved much to have passages of Scripture recited to her; and more frequently than for others, she asked for the twenty-third Psalm. While reciting this to her on the afternoon of Friday, she repeated, after I had finished it, the fourth verse slowly, and then said,—" I do not understand why they should call the valley of the shadow of death dark; it is not dark to me, for Jesus is with me, and there is no darkness here." After a little, she said," I do not mean, mother, that I see anything. I have always supposed that, when I came to die, I should see something very bright and glorious. I suppose that I got this impression from reading 'Pilgrim's Progress,'

and such kind of books. But though I do mot see [anything! Inów [that why Saviburois with me feel that Heoisiwithsmelt 1Iqean béliévé His promise, and so alligalights build mot see anything and I do not want you to think when Idspeaks bfoitsspot being dark that? I sedeany! things" T 29 dovolɔ bas dtxia

Here spoke forth that truthfulness and pide cerity which even marked vher character a trait beguh by [nature and matured By gnacered Ever fearful of saying too much of her soul's experis ence, she perhaps omitted to speak of thoughts and feelings which interested her,ilest earthly! love would deem ber other than he felt herself to be. You say that her expressions indicate mateirity of mind which surprises you; it Wurprised salsa.She seemed upon that sield bed to have changed from the child into the womans and this all lifeW that approached her ofHert physicians remarked that they bould mot treat hen as a child; she appeared in alkishie ssaid, more like one of twice her ageob But her: there was noshefe prebodity of intellect, she was never what might have been called a precocious-cidd it was simply the elevating and expanding power of divind grace. It had been active fina her beautiful and brief life, and now, dsIthe.Heavens ly Gardener was about to transplant this Hid ehosen bud toithe more genial soiblprepared for itable first permitted us to see some beginnings

of that rare expanding beauty, which, in fuller luxuriance, shall eternally send up its fragrance in the presence of Him who redeemed her with His blood, and hath washed her from her sins. It was His work, who hat drdained praise from the mouths of babes, and to Him be all m to, omit et bas beroflo od of her won me I тo¶ "bed to ai ordreqəb

the glory.

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LETTER IX.

"For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand."

66

My home henceforth is in the skies,
Earth, seas, and sun, adieu!

All heaven unfolded to my eyes-
I have no sight for you."

MY DEAR MRS L.,

COWPER.

Our dear child now appeared to be fast losing her hold on life, and with this conviction she gradually laid aside her wish to recover, and sought to turn her thoughts to the joys set before her. On Saturday (22nd), when I returned to her room, after conversation with her physician, as I approached her bedside, she asked, "Mother, why do you look so sad?" I rather evaded the question, and she immediately said, with a cheerful tone, "I know why it isyou need not be afraid, dear mother, to tell me; I am ready, quite ready. I knew it, from the Dr.'s countenance, while he was sitting here, but I thought I would not pain him by asking about it."

This she said in allusion to something which had passed a few days before; she was in the

habit of asking the physician very particularly every day what he thought of her case, and complained on one occasion that his report to her had been more favourable than his opinion given to me; I had remarked that it pained him. to speak unfavourably to her of herself. "I suppose it is so," she replied, "I will not ask him again; you will tell me, mother, all the truth." She then inquired particularly how long she should probably last, spoke with calmness of her burial, the time and place, and said that she now had little desire to live, adding, "It is so pleasant to think of being with my Saviour."

As she thus talked, the thought of my own exceeding loneliness overcame me, and I said to her, "My precious child, what shall I do without you? I know not how to part with you."

"You will not be without me, dearest mother," she replied with the most lovely expression of countenance, it seemed almost seraphic, "I will be ever near you; I feel sure my Heavenly Father will permit me, so you must always feel, dear mother, that I am with you to comfort you. S is fast growing up too; when I am gone, tell her often from me, that she is now the oldest sister, and she must try and fill my and mother."

she would wish to choose