will only be the more This is death, indeed,

to be a very long way; but there cause for praise at the end of it. but I hope no one will be discouraged, or afraid of its approach, from what they have seen me suffer for the last few weeks. The way has been all smoothed for me, and I have no cause for any thing but praise. In a little while I shall look back on it all, and do nothing but praise for evermore.

'I feel that I have as much need of divine strength, and the gift of patience, to bear this extreme weakness, as to endure acute pain. I only trust it will be granted me to the very end. I am so afraid that I am sometimes impatient. He favours me with so much of his felt presence, that it makes up for every other want. But I am sometimes too feeble even to enjoy this; I want patience to be willing to wait his time, without desiring to go a moment before he bids me. There is often as much sin in longing to depart, and in saying, Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly," as in murmuring under pain and suffering: the will is not subdued to his will.

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"I hope you do not wish to keep me.'

Her sister said, that it would be such a blank!' 'Oh no,' replied she,' do not say so: it cannot be a blank, for the Father is with you; he is faithful, trust to him entirely: faithfulness is his girdle.

6

Oh, it is all mercy! What a mercy it is, that my breath is now so easy! You cannot think how delightful it is, after one of those dreadful attacks. There is one appointed chariot to convey me home; how glad-how very glad, I shall be, when it comes! But the Lord's time is the best.

'The Lord bless you, and keep you, and be to you as rivers of milk and wine, and make you an abundant blessing; and he will do so. I think the time must be very near now, of my going home, but he will more than make up to you my loss: you have nothing to do but

to praise him for all that he has done for me, ever since I was born to the last moment of my life. And so will it be with you-he will provide for you every moment, and, in the dying hour, give you strength for it. You will find him-as he has been to me-a sea of love.'

A violent attack came on whilst she was speaking. 'I see,' she said, 'I must not talk any more in this world.'

Then, in the midst of intense suffering, she clasped her hands, and said, ' Thy will, O God, be done!'

'He knows what death is, for he has tasted it for every man, and taken away all the bitter; it is a sweet draught now-nothing but sweet.'

A few days before her death, she said—

You can hardly think how wonderful God's dealings have been with me, during the past two weeks; but I hope they will be an encouragement to you to trust him at all times. They have been very humbling, to shew me what was in my heart, and to make me see the abyss of despondency into which I should sink, if Christ did not uphold me. Satan wanted to persuade me that my sins were too great to be pardoned, but he was not permitted to shake my faith, for Christ continued to sustain me, and to assure me that there was now no condemnation for me, because I was in him. His ways are very mysterious, but they are all wisdom and love. I only hope that you will derive encouragement, from my experience, to trust in him always, and never to give way to despondency. The Lord is your Shepherd, you shall not want. I am very anxious that you should all derive the full benefit from my sufferings, and from what you have seen him do for me. I think my life is so wonderfully prolonged, that you may do so, and may always have this to look back to. How very graciously he has appointed all our times! Trust him more-never doubt his love.'

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MEMORIALS OF TWO SISTERS.

Two or three days before her death, she said to one of her sisters

'We have spoken together of good things-of the best things; mind and do that always in your intercourse with Christians; then you will have nothing to regret. Do it always-do not serve God by halves; he does not bless you by halves, but in abundance.'

On the day of her departure, she said to another of them

'What a depth there is!'

'Of what?' asked her sister. 'Of mercy,' she replied.

Her weakness was too great to permit her to say more. She retained her consciousness to the last, and the same sweet spirit of love breathed in every word and action. She had long looked for the welcome messenger of rest; and it might be said of her, in the beautiful words of Jeremy Taylor, which she often quoted, She departed as one who was glad of the opportunity.'

6

Written on her Birthday, October 31, 1816.

AGED SEVENTEEN.

'I FREQUENTLY feel these walls shake, by some hard knocking at the door, and on opening it, see that it is death. I have heard this death represented as a ghastly monster; but, methinks, except when my beloved Lord visits me with his heavenly smiles, I never saw any one half so lovely as he is; and that sweet smile upon his face, and friendly out-stretched hand, which I would fain spring forward and clasp to my heart, seem to say, 'Surely you may trust me, that I will take you to no one but your dearest Saviour.'

'I have lately made an important discovery, which has both shocked and grieved me: while I have been imagining myself a great proficient in self-knowledge, I find that I know nothing of myself. I can say (for I believe it), that I am utterly depraved; but I have, alas! very faint conceptions wherein this depravity

consists. What can be a greater proof of depravity than this? Only one thing-that I am so unconcerned about it. I find likewise that I have a very slight knowledge of Christ, and that all the knowledge I have of God, deserves really to be called ignorance.

'Oh, Lord Jesus! look down with pity on thy weak member; thou hast shewn me these things-now teach me to profit by what thou hast shewn; enable me to see myself as I am, really—not as my self-love would make me believe I am. Remove the blinders that self-love and pride have formed. Shew me the intricacies of vileness within me-the twisted the serpentine folds of depravity. Take away every concealment: he who is afraid to see sin's utmost vileness, suspects thy merits, gracious Lord. I would not thus set thy blood at nought, and account it an unholy thing; yet I trust to thy compassion, to shew me only as much as I can bear.-July 18, 1818.'

'I used to wish I could live upon Jesus; but lately I have been forced to do so. I begin really to enjoy my emptiness, while I contemplate his fulness.—July 28, 1818.'

'The other night, it appeared very clear to me that the graces of the Christian were not in him, but the reflection of the all-perfect Jesus upon him. Therefore the more our faith apprehends of him, the greater the reflection from him will be. Thus if we lay a piece of paper in the sun, and hold a glass between it and the paper, the rays of the sun will cast a light on the paper, which it did not possess before. Now this light is not in the paper, for if I take away the glass, the sun is the same, but there is no light on the paper. If, likewise, I take away both the glass and the paper, still the sun is the same. So Christ, the Sun of Righteousness, remains always the same; but, in proportion as