her pillow, and kissed her beloved cheek, moist with the dews of death, and closed her eyes! Sweet child! How beautiful was thy countenance, even after the spirit had fled! It seemed to reflect a heavenly peace, and to assure us, "all is well!" As her face had always beamed with delight upon us whilst living, so also in death it retained its accustomed smile: and as long as it was proper to gaze on her mortal remains, we were saluted with as sweet an aspect as death, deprived of his sting, ever left on the countenance of the triumphant Christian it seemed to say, "Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory!"

She died at half past three o'clock on Friday, the ninth of May, after she had just entered her twenty-fourth year. As my dear wife, and two of the highly valued friends of my beloved daughter, had joined with me, in earnest prayer, about half an hour before her death, that the Father of mercies would graciously support her in her last conflict; and grant her an abundant entrance into the everlasting kingdom,—a

prayer which I doubt not he mercifully answered;—so we again retired, and humbly implored him to reconcile our minds to this sore visitation; to bow our wills in submission to his; to be with us in this furnace of affliction; to enable us to glorify him in the fire, and to sanctify the dispensation to our everlasting welfare. These prayers have, I trust, also been answered: for though the fountain of our tears seems inexhaustible; yet we have not been suffered to "charge God foolishly:" nor to contest with him his right to dispose both of us and ours, "as seemeth best to his godly wisdom.' 66 All we are sure is well," with our dear daughter and though our minds, in fond recollections, are constantly recurring to the beloved object; and the current of our affections, which have been flowing with a strong and constantly increasing tide, in this channel, for three and twenty years, has hitherto refused to take any other direction, yet ours is not a sorrow which has no hope; and it is not, I humbly trust, mixed with any portion of fretfulness and

repining. Whether the wound will be ever completely healed on this side the grave, I cannot as yet see; certain it is, that though I write this part of the memoir at the distance of five months from the departure of my beloved child, it still appears as far from being closed as it was at first; and we feel an instinctive propensity to get alone, and indulge our sorrows: yet our grief is not without its present advantages; and I trust, it will "yield the peaceable fruits of righteousness." Our minds naturally turn to the happy abode of our beloved child; and we acquire somewhat of the habit of contemplating the employments, as well as felicity of that blessed kingdom. Nor can we reflect on our dear daughter deriving her constant and transcendent joys from the overflowing kindness of the adorable Saviour, without feeling our hearts more strongly united to him than ever; and desiring to know more of him, that we may enjoy still richer communications of his grace. It affords us a high gratification to think that we shall soon be transformed

"into his likeness, for we shall see him as he is;" and that "our vile body will, ere long, be fashioned like unto his glorious body;" and we shall "be for ever with the Lord." In the mean time, it is no small honour and happiness to have trained up our daughter, as, "a tree of righteousness, the planting of the Lord." She was, it is true, taken from us, when full of bloom, and promising the choicest fruit; but then she has been safely transferred from an ungenial clime, where she would have been exposed to many a chilling blast, and deadly blight, to the paradise of God, where she is sheltered from every storm, and will blossom in unfading beauty, and bring forth fruit through everlasting ages. If she has been cut off in the midst of her days, yet she has reached the resting-place of the saints, without bearing much of " the heat and burden of the day;" and were the choice now given her, she would not exchange her present society, employments, joys, and prospects, for the cares, and sorrows, and dangers, and mortal conflict,

which are inseparably connected with the most favoured condition of human life. As we "shall go to her, but she will not return to us," be it our concern daily to ascend to that happy world in affection, and to become "meet to be partakers with the saints in light."

A few hours after the death of our daughter, we opened the pocket Bible which had been her constant companion; and found, on a blank leaf, the following admonitory and most seasonable lines, which she seemed to have recently copied with a pencil:

With peaceful mind, thy path of duty run;
God nothing does, nor suffers to be done,

But what thou wouldst thyself, couldst thou but

see

Through all events of things, as well as IIe.

I need not mention in what way they affected us. Our beloved daaghter seemed to speak to us from her exalted state of glory and felicity; and with a capacity vastly enlarged, and views extending far