MEMORIALS.

THE papers contained in this volume are presented to the Church of Christ, because it seems to be for its advantage, and for its Master's honour, that His triumphs in the soul of man should not be hidden, especially when the individuals selected for the display of his grace, being unknown, there is nothing to turn away the eyes from his operations.

Had the circumstances of the writers' lives been as peculiar as they were common-place, those to whom their memories are dear, would have felt themselves at perfect liberty to confine the knowledge of them within their own circle; had they left behind them writings evidently designed to secure a posthumous reputation, they would have used their own discretion whether they should gratify or frustrate the wish. But, of papers not treating of family incidents; not containing ingenious theories, but faithfully exhibiting facts concerning the relations of man with his Father and Redeemer, they feel that they are not proprietors, but trustees for the use of all whom it may please God to comfort with the comfort wherewith these his children were comforted of Him.

The writers of these papers were two sisters; one of whom died at the age of twenty-six; the other of

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twenty-three. The lives of both were passed in their own families, and (with but little interruption) in sickness.

It may be supposed that discipline so similar, was intended for similar characters-but He who worketh all things by the counsel of his own will, is able to extract the ore from earths of the most opposite quality, by processes which, to a common observer, seem nearly alike; and so it was in this instance.

Anne C. M., the eldest of the two sisters, thus describes her character and early years.

'From my earliest childhood I was of a very thoughtful, reserved, timid, incommunicative temper; a bad state of health, and delicate constitution, contributed to promote the former; and being without a companion of a suitable age, nourished the latter qualities. When about five years old, I lost a sweet brother, who was next in age to me, so that I was altogether a solitary being. Though I had lost my playfellow, whom I loved dearly, I did not shed a tear, and afterwards told the person who had the care of me, that I could not cry over a good spirit who was gone to heaven. I wondered I did not cry, yet I could not. I always then thought that there was something solemn yet beautiful in death. From the false notions I had, I entertained no fear of my state, and used often to wish very much to die and go to heaven. I fancied it was a much happier place than this world, to which I felt no attachment, thinking it full of care and sorrow. I was remarkably fond of reading from the time I first learned, and used to pass many hours in this manner every day. The Cheap Repository Tracts, and Burder's Bible History, were my favourite books. I always passed for a serious sort of child, because I was quiet, and used to talk about God and heaven, and sometimes read the Bible; and also shewed great willingness to attend public worship. I also manifested no attachment to the world and

its forms, and shewed great reluctance to fine clothes or outward decorations. I had a strictly moral education, and was what is called a good child, but at this time my heart was as much in a state of enmity against God as a heathen's; not against the God I had formed in my imagination, for him I loved, but against the God of the Bible. I believed God to be a merciful God; too kind to punish for a long continuance any whom he had endowed with life, and ready to accept the prayers and good works of any of his creatures; and on this indulgent Deity I relied to save me. The thought of his justice never once entered my head, at least so as to excite the least uncomfortable feeling. I thought Christ was a great teacher; a very good man whom God enabled to perform various miracles, and that he had set us a perfect example, which we were to follow as far as we could, and trust to the mercy of God to forgive us what we could not attain: yet, I often felt a wish to know that God certainly did forgive us, and wished to have some token that I might be sure, he had forgiven me. This led me to ask those around me how I could know that God had forgiven me for such a sin; but I was always told, because he had said he would forgive those who are sorry, and ask him to do so.' Still I often used to think, when I had done any thing wrong, I wish God would somehow tell me, or let me know, that he has forgiven me this sin. I do not think I was ever altogether free from such thoughts, though they were more in my mind sometimes than others, till I was led to believe that we have "redemption in Christ's blood, even the forgiveness of sins."

'I was a very passionate, perverse, fretful child, but courageous; not afraid of any danger, patient in suffering, and able to bear a great deal of pain without complaining. My great pride of character (the strongest principle, perhaps, except divine grace, that influences the heart,) was the motive and support to me in all

this, so that even the virtues of patience, fortitude, and courage, partook of the nature of vices, because all was done to the glory of Satan, not of God. I used to think on every occasion, Shall I do so? no; I will not debase myself. I had a tender conscience which told me what was wrong as to outward action; this conscience, and pride of character together, led me to have a great regard for truth, so that I believe I seldom, if ever, told a lie, and was always believed. I was naturally generous, liking to give away things, and willing to share with others. I had also high notions of honour, and great aversion to any thing like tyranny, either towards myself or others: I always took part with the oppressed, and felt a disposition to plead their cause; yet all that appeared right was from false motives, the love of the true God having no place in my heart; my own righteousness was placed instead of Christ's righteousness; my own endeavours were relied upon, instead of the grace of God.'

A person of this character might be expected to endure severe conflicts in her passage from death unto life; nor were her difficulties only from internal causes. The faith of her childhood in a God of mere good nature, was not counteracted but perhaps strengthened by her education. Her eyes, as she hints, were too early turned inwards not to perceive many facts utterly at variance with the doctrines she received from without; and as ill health, combined with natural disposition, kept her from the distractions of the world around, the sense of this contradiction became more and more oppressive.

Some letters to a dear friend, written about the age of fifteen, exhibit the state of her mind at that time with great simplicity; for although those tender infantine views of the love of Christ, which engage the affections of pious children of that age were not to be