my calling there might be deemed an intrusion; but this thought ought not to have deterred me. So, month after month passed, and I never called at that neat little brick house.

I met

One morning, however, I set out to walk. I had not the slightest intention of going where I did when I left home the recollection of a very unimportant errand led me to go that way: I took, too, a different course from that I generally took, and in the lane near Ma woman whom I had not seen for years: she told me her daughter (Mrs. W.) lay extremely ill, and pointed to the little brick house: unasked, I proposed to visit her; the mother made no objection, but went with me, and showed me into a neat parlour: on a small bed lay the sufferer; she appeared still young; there was a beautiful but deceitful colour in her cheeks.

When her affliction was spoken of, "I would not be without it," she said, "for ten thousand worlds; it has been so greatly blessed to me." Having read a psalm and prayed, I was about to leave, fearing she would be fatigued; but she would not let me go till she had made an effort to say, "I wanted to tell you of the goodness of the Lord in sending you here to-day." She then told me, though with great difficulty, that a friend had been in the habit of visiting her daily, but that now she was gone from home. "The Lord sent you," she added, "to supply her place."

Six years had passed since this peaceful sufferer had set her face to travel heavenwards; yet it was but recently that she had been " filled with all joy and peace in believing" this unspeakable blessing had been imparted to her through the instrumentality of the daily visitor she mentioned; that lady had been long desiring to leave home, in order to visit an invalid friend at some distance; she had delayed, however, on account of Mrs. W., longing to see her partake of the present happiness which

she herself enjoyed: that time had come at length: the afflicted one could say of the Lord Jesus, "He is mine, and I am his:" her earthly friend left her, knowing that her heavenly friend would be ever with her.

And now I need not particularize all my subsequent visits; but remember some of the words of peace and composure, that fell from her lips. Two little children she had buried; and she said one day, that her only wish for recovery had been on account of her poor little surviving one; but that now she was brought to a state of resignation. Two earthly desires I think she had; one was to see once more the friend whose frequent visits had been so blessed to her: this wish was not granted, but the other was she greatly desired to see an aunt, with whom many of her early days had been spent, and whom she had visited some months before, in the vain hope that the change to that sweet country-home might be of benefit. The kind aunt came, brought with her all she could think of to cheer and comfort the invalid, and watched and waited upon her night and day, till the very moment when the spirit returned to God who gave it. I saw her frequently, and the sight of her took back my thoughts many years, for I had seen her once before in her pleasant home; and many recollections came of the little country church, near to which her farm-house stood, and the pleasant parsonage, where I had spent many weeks, and the school room, filled on a Thursday evening with attentive worshippers; and the dear gentle companion in my pleasures, whose place on earth knows her no more, but who is now at rest with her Saviour and her God. We are all strangers and sojourners; and one after another sinks to rest. Sometimes Mrs. W. was unable to speak much: " Oh, what should I do now," she exclaimed one day, "if I did not know Christ ?" And what should any of us do? I thought. What infirmities within! what temptations from without! but to each trusting one he

D

says, "My grace is sufficient for thee." He will give his Holy Spirit to them that ask him.

Once when my poor friend was very weak, and spoke but in a whisper, I just heard the name

then distinguished the word "mercy."

Jesus," and

I went to visit her one day, but the little parlour had lost its tenant; her husband, who supplied her with every thing for which she felt the slightest wish, and considered every thing that could in any way benefit her, had carried her up stairs into a large and more airy room; thence, I felt assured, she would come down alive no more: she was supported by pillows on a bed opposite the open window; the sky was deeply blue; the branches of cherry-trees in full blossom, were playing over it: she had the view of a large green field, at the further end of which stood the home of her former beloved visitor. I doubt not, when she looked upon it, she thought of the many mansions in her Father's house, and of the welcome that shall be given there to every believer. She was waiting in patient serenity for the call, "Come up higher." Again she expressed her gratitude to her Lord, for having directed me to go to her.

"The

On a later visit, she was better able to speak. Lord enables me to speak," she said, "that I may speak of him." Of death, she said, "I have no fear; the sting of death is taken away by the resurrection of Christ." She anticipated our meeting again, saying, "There is no I am near the end, and you are on the way; we must meet at last."

fear;

How gradually she altered! weaker and weaker from day to day; but hers was silent, patient suffering. I heard no complaint. I think I may say, that I never heard her mention the word pain. At none of my later visits did we kneel down to pray with her; the reason was, that she was so extremely ill, and death seemed so immediately at hand, that we could not cease from watch

ing her; but though we did not engage in the express act, there was the lifting of the heart to God, and the feeling that he was with us. I was told she could not bear to be spoken to but in a whisper; so in a low tone, I read a few verses: Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which, according to his abundant mercy, hath begotten us unto a lively hope, by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God, through faith, unto salvation, ready to be revealed in the last time." I watched her till she opened her bright hazel eyes, and then I said, "Do you know me?" She replied only by reaching out her hand to me, and pressing mine. Then I said.

"Jesus can make a dying bed

Feel soft as downy pillows are;
While on his breast I lean my head,

And breathe my life out sweetly there.

She evidently understood.

When I took, as I thought, my last farewell, she made a great effort, and said, “Thank you: God bless you." Another time, she did not attempt to speak; but I believe she knew me. I repeated, at intervals, a text, or a few lines of a hymn.

"A little while longer,

Keep Jesus in view;

His love than death stronger,

Will guide thee safe through."

"The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law; but thanks be to God who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ." She always shewed by a slight movement of her head, that she listened and understood.

She died a few hours after I last saw her she was

heard to name the Name of Jesus; and seemed to know that she was dying.

"Oh gird thy loins; set out for heaven,

Ere life's enjoyments wither:
And give not slumber to thine eyes,

Till thou art journeying thither."

"NARROW IS THE WAY WHICH LEADETH UNTO LIFE."

One from amongst a company of travellers, seeking enjoyment in a new and unknown country, unexpectedly appears to his companions, exalted upon some lofty eminence, presenting a steep and inaccessible front, he having gained this enviable post by a slow but regular ascent from behind, forwards. And now his eyes are feasted with the varied beauties spread before him, and his whole heart filled with wonder, joy, and admiration, as he calls aloud to his fellow-travellers and tells them of all he sees and feels, and how that the higher he ascends, so much the more enjoyment does he find. He shews to them a thorny, rugged, unfrequented path, leading from a lonely valley beneath, by a slow and regular ascent, to the much desired eminence upon which he stands, and from whence he enjoys so much; but they, however willing to share in his joy and happiness, are yet most unwilling to seek for it in the way which he has sought it, but remain inactive whilst uttering the vain and idle wish, that they might be exalted with their companion to share in all his joy and pleasure, without treading the same slow and toilsome way by which he has gone before them.

Is it not so in religion? How many from amongst men admire the exalted Christian character, and would willingly share in his peace and uninterrupted enjoyment, and comfort their souls in contemplating the Christian's bright and glorious prospect, if all that they admire and