oppressed, and she could not speak for some time. On being raised up, she said, "Thank God for being able to rise up. Said, did not mind what was on her body, if her soul was safe. Said she would not swop with any one. Would not change God for any thing that could be given her. Said she did not know fine words or much larning, but God would put a new song in her mouth, and lead her to the fountain. I repeated Rev. 7, and "They sung a new song," &c. She said. "the world was roomy enough, but we must find a narrow path. Bless God," she said, "I have pleasures now; not as I used to have--in nothing but the world-but God gives me pleasures. But I mun leave it to him to take me." I was reminded of this sentence: "There is a holy quiet experienced now by the heirs of the heavenly kingdom, which the busy, fretting, restless world can scarcely imagine."

Dec. 16.-Saw Matty in bed. I asked her if the Lord was with her still. She looked up at me, and smiled. "Aye, aye," she said; "oh! yes, he's with me. This text has come into my mind,When I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, he is with me.' Such a number of precious promises come into my mind!" She said how much she wished to be tacken; so I said, "You're not afraid, then, of dying?" "No, no," shaking her head; "I'm not afearedafeared-afeared." I repeated 1 Cor. xv. 55, 56. "Yes, yes," she said, "I was afeared once; but I prayed to the Lord, and he took it away. I have prayed to the Lord that he wouldn't suffer Satan not to delude me with no delusions, and that I mightn't think I was safe, if I wasn't safe; and, bless him, he has shewn me all's right." I repeated to her 1 Tim. i. 12. "I have bad bouts, and I'm like Job, my bones come through my flesh, but I wouldn't go back into the world for any thing. I have had my pleasures, and it's all vanity. I think of that verse (Luke xii. 32.) To think of a kingdom being prepared for sinners who have fought agen him! I have seen Mr. H. I love to see holy men: I'd rather see those who can tell me more

of Christ than if they brought a present with them." "Yes," I said, "because in him all fulness dwells."

December 30th.-Found Matty just getting up, and poorly. She said she was longing to go. "I am in a howling wilderness. The Israelites stayed therecould not enter in because of unbelief-but I hope it will not be so with me. God has given me grace to believe; and whatever he lays upon me is, I hope, for his glory."

January 3rd, 1837.-D. saw Matty, who told her she had had some tempting, doubting thoughts. She thought she was too vile a sinner to be saved; but that verse had been brought to her mind: "Fear not; I am thy salvation;" and she was comforted.

"Let the world see that God will make a palace of the lowest heart, when he chooses it for the place of his own abode." (Old Prayer-Book.)

Feb. 28th.-Saw Matty, after a long absence, owing to illness and anxiety at home. She said she was very weak in body, but quite happy and peaceful in soul. "I have been very ill; but I'm not afeared." "Why are you not?" I asked. Such a smile came over her face, as she answered, "Oh, I can easily tell you why. Didn't Christ suffer for me? didn't he die for me? and why should I be afeared? I lived a long time in folly and wickedness; and now he's called me; and why should I be feared? My peace, and strength, and all is laid atop of Jesus Christ for me. Sin often comes

into my heart, and temptations, such as that I need not pray any more, &c. Then I begin to pray directly, and I find the differ-the disciples were ignorant; but Jesus said to them"-and she repeated great part of verses 2, 16, 17, and 26 of John xiv.

April 9th.-Saw Matty to take leave, before leaving my dear home for an indefinitely long period. She said, "I have nothing to give to him but sin. What a mercy that I have such a Saviour." I thought of those lines: "Nothing but sin to thee I give,

Nothing but love from thee receive."

I can only say, "Lord, if thou wilt, thou can'st make me clean."

Heard from Miss W. that she had read Jowett's "Exposition of Matt." xi. 28-30. to Matty. She writes, "I shall never forget the fervency of her devotion, nor the expression of sweet resignation spread over her aged countenance. She begged her dear love to

, who had not only been a friend to her poor frail body, but to her immortal soul. In my Father's house are many mansions,' murmured this dear old woman. I inwardly repeated the same words, with a silent prayer, that all who are dear to me might find admittance." Heard again that dear Miss W. asked Matty if she had any message to send to She melted into tears, and said, "Tell that blessed creature that my strength is wearing away, but I pray that my soul may daily be renewed and strengthened in faith." "Dear old woman," adds Miss W. "I never close her door without feeling a pang at my own coldness of heart, and want of true piety."

Dec. 27th, 1839.-After a very long absence, went to see Matty, whose life has thus been prolonged beyond all expectation; found her in a most happy state of mind, though nearly confined to her bed, and often suffering much from pain in stomach, breathlessness, &c.; said she thought no one ever had such a God as she had; her body was much afflicted, but her soul(looking upwards with a smile of peace and joy)-her soul was happy. How well it was for her, she said, that at the beginning of her illness she did not know how long she was to be kept; "but what are we that we should say to God, 'Why do you do this, and why do you do that?' I submit to his will, and then all is right. I am thankful he didn't call me years ago, when I was not prepared; but he hasn't left the dry boneshe sent his Spirit to them."

1840.-Many, many wearisome days were appointed to Matty after this, thus lingering on months after months-indeed, years after years-beyond all expectation. She said, one day, speaking of a visit from

"Oh, he's a blessed mon-his prayer went to my heart. I'd rather lie on this bed of languishing for ever than give up my love of God." Mentioned what a comfort those promises were to her: "My grace is sufficient, &c.; and "Fear not, little flock, it is my Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom."

Poor Matty lingered on many a wearisome month after this, and was much tried, and became a trial to those with whom she lived, (quite confined to her bed,) from the irksomeness of the lengthened trial, and the irritation which it at times produced. For this she expressed her regret; and we may well believe, (and it is perhaps well to judge so in such cases of others, though not of ourselves,) that in her "the flesh was indeed weak, though the spirit was willing." She had no increase of pain, and was quite herself to the last. "I cannot speak to you," she said to some about her, "but God can hear a whisper."

I was not on the spot when she died, (October, 1844, aged 90,) and took no last leave of her; but I believe, when her poor weak body is raised in power, and that which is sown in corruption shall be raised in incorruption, that, through the abounding grace of God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, we shall partake of the same glorious inheritance, and rejoice as members of the same blessed family for ever.

C.

THE WIDOW AND HER IDIOT.

WHEN we entered upon our new parish, the inmates of one cottage, in particular, engaged our attention. In a damp, small room, close up against a wall, sat a poor young woman of 26 years of age. Around her body was a chain, which was secured at a door behind her. The poor creature sat in a kind of rocking-chair, and kept moving about in it as well as she could. She looked wretchedly ill, and quite alarmed me by the horrible moans which she made, as if she were in agonies of pain. By her side was an immense cradle, large enough to hold a grown-up person; this cradle (I afterwards found) was her bed.

She was a widow,
She was

I soon saw this poor creature could not speak, nor had she her senses; in fact, she was an idiot. And who was upstairs? A miserable set of steps led to a little room, only just big enough to hold one bed, and a box to sit down upon. In this bed was a poor woman, the mother of the idiot below. and had been left alone with this one daughter, an idiot. very ill herself; so ill that she could not get out of bed. Her daughter often kept her awake by her dreadful moanings. They were miserably poor, and had hardly any clothes on their bed. The sight to strangers was so dreadful that one young person, who went to see them, could not muster courage to go into the cottage, but put a gift she had for them in at the window, and by this means escaped seeing the afflicted daughter.

Poor widow! solitary, indeed, thy lot; and (to nature's eye) miserable thy condition. Bereft of thy partner, now thou hast no earthly comforter; poverty, sickness, heavy trial, has fallen upon thee; what, then, can keep thee from the extremity of woe!

Reader, listen, and I will tell tell you, while speaking to this poor woman, not a murmur escaped her lips. Her earthly com

forter had been snatched from her; but she had been blessed with the presence of her heavenly Bridegroom. Poverty, indeed, was her lot; but her soul was blest with those riches which would never fail her.

Sickness threatened to destroy her body; but she had flown to the Good Physician for the healing of her soul's disease; and so, while her outward man was perishing, her inward man was being renewed day by day. Family trial had fallen on her; but along with it came a secret voice, which said, "Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth," and thus she felt sweet peace.

I constantly visited this afflicted widow, and at last the poor daughter was entirely confined to her bed by sickness and pain; but never did I hear a word of repining from the mother. On the contrary, she felt the presence of her Saviour, and seemed always cheerful. She was not at her home: she was travelling to a better

one;

"And while she walked her thorny way,
We often heard her sigh and say,

'Come, gracious Lord, oh! quickly come,
And take thy mourning pilgrim home.""

My reader, how are you situated? Are you a lonely widow, or