recall, she exclaimed with delight, "Oh, that is beautiful, so beautiful."

"Then Saviour, then my soul receive,
Transported from this vale to live
And reign with thee above;
Where faith is sweetly lost in sight,
And hope in full supreme delight,
And everlasting love."

She spoke again of her money and its appropriation, "I want it to do some good," she said faintly. We assured her we understood her wishes, and that they should be attended to; after which, she seemed to feel that she had no more to do with earth, having the day previous made such other arrangements of her books, etc., as she wished.

She knew us all perfectly, to the very last; she could not bear to have either of her parents out of her sight for a moment. About midnight, her father, at my urgent request, as he appeared exceedingly worn, left the room to rest for a few moments. She missed him almost instantly. Seeing she was distressed, I leaned over to catch the sound of her voice, which was becoming now very weak, and she inquired," Where is father?" I told her I had persuaded him to lie down; he would be back in a little while. "O send for him, mother," said she with stronger tone than she had used for some time; "I shall soon be gone, and then he will rest; you don't know how I

love to look at you both; I cannot have him away; do send for him." As we now look back, we see that our dear child's affections had for some time previous to this hour, been going out more strongly to all her beloved ones, especially to her parents. Indeed the intensity of this affection manifested in her watchful and tender attentions, we often noticed with almost a feeling of surprise; it seems now as if she anticipated how soon she was to leave us.

Some time after her father returned, she asked to have the first few verses of the 14th

His

chapter of John recited to her. He repeated the two first, but this did not satisfy her. memory failing him, I recited the third verse, -"And if I go to prepare a place for you I will come again, that I may receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also." She instantly exclaimed,-"that's it, receive you unto myself,' that's just what I wanted; ' receive you unto myself."" Here she became exhausted by her own energy, but we had no doubt that she meant to assure us that she was now experiencing the fulfilment of this sweet promise, "and Jesus is now with you, darling; He has come?" I whispered. Her lips moved -there was no sound, but her smile of peace gave sufficient answer.

Soon after this, she had such an insupportable sense of weariness, that she entreated us to

take her up. This we dared not do, and told her that it would only distress her, as she was so tall that no person could have held her so as to make her in any degree comfortable. She acquiesced, but said sadly, "I wish I were a little child, that I might die in your arms;" alluding we supposed to her little brothers, having both died in my arms. She said this several times, till I could endure it no longer, and with the assistance of her father, I raised her head upon my arm as I leaned over the chair on which she was lying; to which she had been removed by her own request early in the evening. "That's just right," she said as she opened her eyes and looked up into my face with such a loving, confiding look as I never before beheld, and which struck all who saw it as an expression of unearthly beauty. After we raised her thus, she appeared perfectly easy; she spoke no more, but lay, still with that beautiful, loving look, and breathed out life so gently that we scarce knew when she ceased to breathe. She did, indeed, as she had said she should,—“ pass away gently to her home;" and we were left to mourn and weep, without fear of disturbing the peaceful sleeper, who had but a little while before entreated us "for her sake to control our feelings."

"We watched her breathing thro' the night,

Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seemed to speak,
So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers,
To eke her being out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied;

We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,

Her quiet eyelids closed:-she had
Another morn than ours."

LETTER XI.

"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

"Affliction then is ours.

We are the trees whom shaking fastens more,
While blustering winds destroy the summer bowers,
And ruffle all their curious knots and store.

My God! so temper joy and woe,

That thy bright beams may tame thy bow."

MY DEAR MRS. L.,

I

HERBERT.

may not dwell upon our loss; it is too great for words to describe. As time passes on, we feel more and more the vacancy our dear departed one has left, in that home where she was ever a ministering angel unto all. Her absence has created a blank which none can ever fill. To our children, the loss is indeed irreparable. To her brothers, her gentle companionship, her sweet and holy influence, was of priceless worth; while to her little sisters, her example and gentle teachings, not even parental care can fully supply. May we not cherish the thought that her spirit is near us, and that her unseen ministry of love may compensate in some degree for the blessing lost. How fondly have we looked forward to the future, and how has this precious child