CHAPTER II. RELIGIOUS DEVELOPMENT. THE spring of 1831, is remembered as an important era in her life. It was seen at this time that her mind was more than usually tender in reflecting on religious truths. Whenever such truths were presented, she felt that she had a personal interest in them. Many tender and deeply interesting seasons are here recalled, which gave intimamation that she had begun to realize her state as a sinner, needing pardon and peace with God. The impotency of the pen in describing such scenes, almost forbids the attempt; but one shall be briefly noticed here, which may serve as a feeble specimen of many others. Mary was sitting with her brother one Sabbath evening, when he asked her to sing one of his infant school songs. Turning to her mother, she said in a voice trembling and half suppressed by deep emotion-"I wish Thomas would like to have me sing, "A fallen creature I was born, And from the birth I've stray'd; Here her feelings overcame her, and she covered her face and wept. It was near the close of her tenth year, when the scarlet fever, which had been in the city for some time, entered the family, and prostrated the brother before alluded to. Mary was soon taken with the disease herself, and her mother being occupied with her two little sons who were ill at the same time, she was obliged to consign Mary to the care of others. Those who attended upon her, were surprised and gratified to see her so composed and peaceful, while she was very ill, and fully aware of the dangerous nature of the disease; and they soon learned from herself, that she had been endeavoring to prepare for the issue, should the disease prove fatal to her. But she was spared, and her brother was taken. A little previous to the death of this brother, an incident occurred which drew out her strong powers of sympathy, and very strikingly illustrated her forgetfulness of self, when she saw others in affliction, and also her very felicitous manner of imparting consolation. The disease had assumed a very alarming form, and the little sufferer was rent with convulsions, which it required no ordinary share of fortitude only to witness. The poor father, una. ble longer to endure the sight, turned away from the bed, and sought his room. Mary followed him. He threw himself upon the sofa, exclaiming, "I can't bear it, I can't bear it ;" and he seemed to be struggling with emotions too painful to be borne. He had already been bereaved of three children, and now a fourth was about to be taken, and in a very distressing manner. He again exclaimed, "The hand of God is upon me; I don't know but I am to be written childless." Mary drew her seat closer to his, and laying her hand gently on his knee to gain his attention, she looked up in his face and said, "Father, you told us that God always had a good reason for every thing he did. And has he not a good reason now? and is it not right for him to make my little brother suffer so?" Finding her arguments unavailing, as she supposed, to soothe him, because that now he wept more freely, she took down from the shelf a hymn-book, and opening it, said, "dear father, let me comfort you, let me read a hymn to you, shall I?" The father's heart was too full to speak, and she opened to that very appropriate hymn of Doddridge, commencing, "Peace, 'tis the Lord Jehovah's hand"— When she came to the verse, "Fair garlands of immortal bliss He weaves for every brow, And shall rebellious passions rise When he corrects us now ?" her countenance shone as if a beam from heaven had shed its light there, and her voice and manner were such as seemed better befitting an angel than a frail child. A relative of the family had followed Mary and her father to the study, and had been a silent, but almost unnoticed observer of the whole; so absorbed was the father in his grief, and Mary in her attempts to soothe him. She said the scene was more touching, on account of the state of Mary at the time, who having just risen from a sick bed, was still weak and pale. She seemed also to be overwhelmed with the consciousness of her little brother's sufferings, to whom she was tenderly attached, and to feel that she must not now lay her bursting heart upon her father's bosom, for he needed comfort and support himself. In the trying emergency, she looked away from human sympathy, and sought in God something which might meet the painful circumstances of the case; and she thus, meekly, though unintentionally, taught a lesson of submission to His perfect will. Her father, in speaking of it afterwards, remarked, that he "had never before been so dealt with that "she talked like an experienced Christian." Her brother's death took place soon after this, and she passed through the trying scene with a considerateness unusual for one of her tender age; and the result showed that it had been to her a season of rich spiritual improvement. About this time, there were many meetings in the place, where children were addressed on the subject of religion, in a manner suited to their years. Mary was unable to attend any of them, but God was evidently teaching her, although in a different manner, at home. She was told that several of her young companions, who attended these meetings, were becoming interested in religion. This information made her increasingly thoughtful and serious. Her father was expecting soon to go abroad, and her mother being occupied in making the necessary preparations, a little brother was committed to the care of Mary, and for a short time she was fully occupied in attending upon him. Though she never neglected her little charge, but always contrived to make him happy, still it was evident that her thoughts were on other things. A week or two had passed in this way, when one day she was seen to be more than usually tender and thoughtful. An invalid friend was in the family, and this, together with other things, so constantly occupied her mother's attention, that Mary was necessarily passed by, without even a word, or any other attempt to ascertain the cause of her deep solicitude. But God was not passing her by, as the result showed. Soon after tea, having requested permission to retire, she went to her room. It was late in the evening, when her mother, hearing a soft voice which seemed to proceed from her chamber, went up to see if she was needing any thing. On opening the door, she found Mary in the attitude of retiring, and singing forth her thoughts in a low, sweet voice. Her countenance was beaming as with heavenly light, and she exclaimed, with an expression wholly indescribable, "O, mamma, I am so happy, I have found God." Her mother stood in silence, her hand still upon the latch, having been arrested by the grateful surprise; when Mary, supposing that she waited for an explanation of her not having retired earlier, offered as a reason, that she "had been praying a long time, and that it made her so happy she could not leave off." She said, “While I was speaking, God seemed near. It seemed as if he heard me; and I felt that I was speaking to a dear friend, and that He was near as when I speak to dear father." "O, mamma, I am so happy! I can pray now!" "I have found God!" she again exclaimed; and her shining countenance bore testimony, that although she might not have seen God "face to face," yet that He had met her, and had blessed her. Some weeks after her father left home, she was visited with dangerous illness. Of the many remarks she made during this season, indicative of pleasant and profitable reflection, a few have been preserved in writing. An affectionate and valued friend,* in writing to her father, says, "Mary, as you have probably heard, has been ill. While suffering from fever, I was permitted to watch with her, and was delighted to find her mind in such a frame as was most desirable. The first thing she said to me was, 'O, Miss Chester, I have been thinking of the Saviour a great deal to-day; of his sufferings on the cross.' While looking at some beautiful flowers, she spoke of her own garden, and said she could not keep it free from weeds, without assistance; adding, it is just like our hearts,' and contin |