Many instances of all this we think we have seen; and to the glory of "Him who worketh all in all," we would now attempt to trace His course in one of these cases. Born in Hackney-road, London, August 19th, 1834, the first lines of grace were drawn upon the heart of ELIZABETH HARRISON through paternal instruction; but her godly father, Mr. Thomas Harrison, an office-bearer in the City-road Circuit, was, on January 5th, 1839, taken from his precious charge to God. Transferred, in company with her two sisters and brother, to the home of her uncle, Mr. Colpitts Harrison, at Dalston, the religious influences which she had enjoyed in her father's house were happily continued and even multiplied. It was a preachers' home, where ministers and Richmond students were ever cheered by a hearty welcome and true Christian hospitality. Here the orphan children learned to love the messengers of Jesus, and often heard from them words whereby they might be saved. A letter written to the three eldest, in their very early youth, by one of the most loved and honoured of those guests, gives a pleasant insight into the character of that intercourse, while it shows the gentle and loving spirit of its writer. It is beautiful to find the accomplished minister who, for so many years, edited this Magazine, and over whose removal, amidst the cares and honours of the Presidency, the whole Connexion mourned, thus addressing little children who clung to him with affectionate confidence. Didsbury College, October 4th. "MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS,-Namely, Mary, Elizabeth, and John Colpitts, Thank you for your letters. The answers to your questions are these: 1. I am very well. 2. I like Didsbury; but I want to see you all, and your kind aunt and uncle. 3. I enjoyed Ramsgate very much. How glad I am to hear that you are good! May the Lord bless you now and always! Think of little Samuel and little Timothy; (pretty little fellows! I hope Johnny will be as holy as they were ;) and think of Jesus, who was the Matchless Child. Mary and Elizabeth must think of their namesakes in Scripture. And all of you, my dears, pray, love God, and He will love you. Give my kindest respects to uncle and aunt. Will you come and see me? When I come to Dalston, will you let me in ? "Your affectionate old Friend, "W. L. T." While residing at her uncle's, Elizabeth was brought into associa tion with the people of God in their weekly meetings for Christian fellowship; and one of her vivid and cherished memories was that of her first class-meeting. Mrs. Bowes was the leader; and when she addressed the child, she lovingly quoted and spoke upon the verse, "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, Look upon a little child; Pity my simplicity, Suffer me to come to Thee." Thus fresh lessons of grace were impressed upon her heart, and thankful reference was sometimes made in after years to the good then received by her. For some time her education was conducted at home, and subsequently, in company with her eldest sister, at Miss Slater's boardingschool at Margate,—a school which the venerable Richard Reece was accustomed to visit weekly, to give a Bible-lesson, and to lead the children to the throne of grace. Meeting the sisters in the street one day, he addressed them as two of the lambs which the Good Shepherd had commissioned him to feed, and holding his hands over their heads invoked on them God's blessing. On the 23d of August, 1853, she was united in marriage to the Rev. Edward Jewett Robinson. With strong mutual affection as the true bond of union, life gave promise of passing on pleasantly. Her transparency of character, her true warm-heartedness and cheerful spirit, and her vivacity of manner, rendered her presence as a gleam of sunshine on all within her new home. But trials came. The afflicted brother of her husband required a sister's care, and cheerfully she gave it, tenderly watching over him, and alleviating his sufferings, until death relieved him. A succession of depressing circumstances and exercises followed for a few years, but her buoyancy of spirit maintained itself and helped to sustain and cheer the ofttimes anxious heart beside her. All the while disease was slowly but surely developing itself in her frame; indicating, at intervals, its presence by a general sense of feebleness and by other symptoms. The unwearying, thoughtful kindness of the kind-hearted Glasgow friends failed to arrest its progress. The abounding liberality, the many acts of rare and loving attention, and the superior medical skill, furnished afterwards by the Bolton friends, were also unavailing. The disease made its way on towards the seat of life, gathering power as it advanced. At times she was active and cheerful as a bird in the time of singing; but, in a day, a strange lethargy would come upon her, and she would droop her wing as a bird shot by the archer. She became unable to walk long distances, excepting when change of air and place seemed to infuse fresh life and vigour into her, and then hope of recovery would spring up for a short season again. Now the neighbouring house of God was reached with difficulty, and even when carried there, her strength was becoming insufficient for the duration of the service, and she was at length compelled to submit to the seclusion of home. Hemorrhage and profuse perspirations ensued, laying her low by each attack; and, when she seemed to recover a little, they appeared again, and laid her still lower. Then followed a removal to Bath, in the hope that a milder and drier climate might at least retard the progress of the disease, and mitigate her sufferings. There also kind friends and a skilful physician lovingly ministered to her; but before this time the false flattering hopes characteristic of the disease had lost their power, and had passed away; and thankfully she received the kindnesses as helps, not to bring about her recovery, but to ease her passage to the tomb. The Divine Worker was with her all the time, carrying on His own processes for the perfecting of the work He had begun. The graces of her renewed character were to be "made perfect through sufferings." When able to gaze upon an extended landscape, "the blushing flowers, noble trees, smiling fields, and glorious sunshine charmed her," and spoke to her of the lovingkindness of her God. When "a prisoner of the Lord" in her room in Bolton, the tree which waved before her window was both a study for her instruction and an object of admiration. "She saw it put its spring dress on, sport its summer garment, cast its faded leaves, and sleep in winter. It was like herself," she said. Transparent and truthful, she grew increas ingly watchful against every temptation to insincerity and hypocrisy. "She dreaded appearing even to mortals, much more to God, what she was not, and assuming more than corresponded with what she deemed her true character." The great thought of her heart was, that it was with God she had to do. Her concern was a very different one from that of the dying Addison, saying to a profligate youth, "I have sent for you that you may see how a Christian can die;" with her rather it was how to die a Christian. And God gave her her desire; and, as she died the Christian's death, the living saw it, and laid it to heart, unwittingly to her. Her desire for the glory of God, and for the salvation of souls, now gathered strength. When, to a dear friend in Bath, she was lamenting her uselessness, that friend said, "Who best bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best." "Yes," was her reply; "but it is such a privilege to do something. It is only worth living for to be useful." The salvation of her children, and other kindred, was much upon her heart,-it became a great anxiety, and earnestly did she labour for it by conversation, and letter, and prayer. Ever appreciative of acts of kindness, her long illness was a growing display of gratitude and affection. She fre quently reflected on the pitiable condition of the afflicted poor who were without the comforts in which she abounded, and she wondered at the goodness which had made her "to differ." She was thankful for everything; thankful for those who ministered around her, and for those who lovingly ministered to her from a distance. The prayers of the people of God, too, were frequently referred to with gratitude, and she spoke of the benefit she was deriving "in sickness and solitude" from them. There also grew within her a strong love for Christian society. Ever jealous over her own heart, and watchful lest any expression should drop from her lips savouring of insincerity, she yet gladly and conscientiously availed herself of opportunities for Christian converse. Before her strength had utterly failed, we find her, with the prospect of being carried to a kind friend's house for the evening, in the interval going to her weekly class-meeting, moved by the thought, that, if affection and pleasure would draw her to the house of a friend, duty should much more draw her to the weekly, sacred converse with the Church of God. Christian fellowship was a true joy to her, and she spoke of the "sweetness" of communion with friends on earth. With a deep sense of personal unworthiness and shortcomings, and with her characteristic fear of self-deception, she was led through many soul-exercises to a surer and stronger trust in Christ than when she first believed. For a time, when a hymn describing a high state of grace was read to her, she would say, "That is beautiful; but it is too good for me: read a hymn for a poor sinner." At another time, when the hymn, "Would Jesus have the sinner die ?" was read at her request, she said impressively, "He is my Saviour: I will hold to Him." The hymns she had shrunk from as "too high" for her were gradually adopted, and at length repeated, as the testimony of her own heart. Still the sense of personal unworthiness continued. The stanza beginning, "There we shall see His face," was often repeated to or by her. Once, after its repetition, as she lay very ill, she asked, "How can I see God ?" "It is Jesus whom you will see," was the answer. "How can I see Jesus ?" she then exclaimed, and with tremulous voice she added, "I will cast myself at His feet." But her song rose higher. triumphant emotion she exclaimed once, "O, what a mighty change Shall Jesu's sufferers know! With At another time, she broke the silence by a quotation from Heber's Easter Hymn, "Roses bloom in the desert-tomb, For Jesus hath been there." When the verse, "There is my house and portion fair," was repeated to her, she said, "Yes; and I need not mind going: the others will come after me: I shall not leave them long behind." Subsequently, when she thought there was no one in the room, her sister overheard her saying, "All is love: I am going to Jesus: I am going to heaven: I am going home: this is not my home." Thus the work advanced from day to day towards beautiful com pleteness. The Word of God, too, was read, and heard, and meditated on with increasing faith, reverence, and gratitude, as the Word of Life and salvation to her, and she gloried in its truths as Divine and eternal. Communion with God Himself increased also in frequency and in hallowing efficacy, filling her with love, and peace, and joy, and rendering her countenance at times even radiant. And patience had its "perfect work." "If grace did not support you, you could not be so patient," said her kind and pious physician in Bath one day, as he witnessed the indications of her sufferings, and the spirit in which she bore them. "I am thankful that I never have a murmuring thought against God," she said with emphasis. On a certain day, her husband entered and found her spitting blood. "All right! all right!" she said to him; "I am as bad as ever again; it is all as it should be." On his continuing to pray for her recovery, she advised a better thing: "You must submit, and pray less for my recovery, and more that I may be quite prepared to die." When a friend referred to the greatness of her sufferings, her reply was, that they had all been needed, and had all been salutary. Thus was she made, under the hand of God, "perfect and entire, wanting nothing;" and then the end caine. "God hath been with me in six troubles; will He not "-she could only, after a pause, add -"in the seventh?" He was with her "in the seventh." On the forenoon of the day before the end, when her feet and her hands became numbed and swollen, she said to her husband, "I think, when I die it will be in a sleep. Now I want very much to sleep. If I die in my sleep, do not be troubled on that account. I am going to Jesus: I cannot doubt that I am going to Him. So kiss me, and let me say, Good-bye." As the day advanced, the pulse became imperceptible; then the face became chilled, not with a cold sweat, but a marble coldness. The vital force was retreating from the extremities, and her feebleness was extreme. Her flesh and her heart were failing, but God was "the strength of her heart, and her portion for ever." In the afternoon she quoted the line, "Will He not His help afford?" and added, "Tell me the verse; I cannot think of it." Her sister repeated it, and she seemed comforted by the words, "Will He not His help afford? Help, while yet I ask is given ; About eleven at night her husband bent down, and began to repeat, "My God, I am Thine." She added with a smile, "What a comfort divine!" And as he continued, "What a blessing to know that my Jesus is mine!” she pronounced the word "know," while in her mind she evidently |