"A few days before she died, after one of those distressing turns of coughing and raising phlegm, which so rapidly wasted her strength, she called me to come and sit on the bed beside her, and receive her dying message to her friends. She observed, that her strength was quite exhausted, and she could say only a few words, but feared she should not have another opportunity. Tell my dear mother,' said she, 'how much Harriet loved her. Tell her to look to God and keep near to him, and he will support and comfort her in all her trials. I shall meet her in heaven, for surely she is one of the dear children of God.' She then turned to her brothers and sisters. Tell them,' said she, 'from the lips of their dying sister, that there is nothing but religion worth living for. O exhort them to attend immediately to the care of their precious, immortal souls. Tell them not to delay repentance. The eldest of them will be anxious to know how I now feel with respect to missions. Tell them, and also my dear mother, that I have never regretted leaving my native land for the cause of Christ. Let my dear brothers and sisters know that I love them to the last. I hope to meet them in heaven; but O! if I should not.' Here the tears burst from her eyes, and her sobs of grief at the thought of an eternal separation, expressed the feelings that were too big for utterance. After she had recovered a little from the shock which these strong emotions had given to her whole frame, she attempted to speak of several other friends, but was obliged to sum up all she had to say in, 'Love and an affectionate farewell to them all.' Within a day or two of her death, such conversation as the following passed between us : Should you not be willing to recover, and live a while longer here?” On some accounts it would be desirable. I wish to do something for God before I die. But the experience I have had of the deceitfulness of my heart, leads me to expect, that, if I should recover, my future life would be much the same as my past has been, and I long to be perfectly free from sin. God has called me away before we have entered on the work of the mission, but the case of David affords me comfort; I have had it in my heart to do what I can for the heathen, and I hope God will accept me." "But what shall I do when you are gone? How can I bear the separation ?" Jesus will be your best friend, and our separation will be short. We shall soon, very soon, meet in a better world; if I thought we should not, it would be painful indeed to part with you." 66 How does your past life appear to you now?" "Bad enough; but that only makes the grace of Christ appear the more glorious." 66 'Jesus, thy blood and righteousness 6 "When I told her that she could not live through the next day, she replied, ‘O joyful news! I long to depart.' Some time after, I asked her, 'How does death appear to you now?' She replied, Glorious; truly welcome.' During Sabbath night she seemed to be a little wandering; but the next morning she had her recollection perfectly. As I stood by her, I asked her if she knew me. At first she made no answer. I said to her again, 'My dear Harriet, do you know who I am?' "My dear Mr. Newell, my husband," was her reply; but in broken accents, and a voice faltering in death. "The last words which I remember, and which I think were the last she uttered relative to her departure, were these: The pains, the groans, the dying strife! How 6 long, O Lord, how long? But I must stop, for I have already exceeded the bounds of a letter, though I have come far short of doing justice to the dying deportment of this dear friend. O may my last end be like hers!" In a letter to another friend, Mr. Newell wrote: "Mary, my dear sister, do not grieve too much for Harriet; she is well now. O may we be counted worthy to meet her in the mansions of the blessed! Dear creature, she comforted me with this hope on her dying bed; and this blessed hope is worth more to me than all the wealth of India." 2. HANNAH MORE. "The eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in eternal peace."-BRYANT. HANNAH MORE was the eldest of five sisters, all of whom lived unmarried, and devoted themselves to the education of young persons. Her early life manifested too strong an inclination for worldly conformity—a fact which, considering the caresses lavished upon her, was more lamentable than astonishing. But as time rolled on, her mind and heart were brought under the full power of Divine truth. She was one of the early patronesses of Sunday schools, a persevering opponent of negro-slavery, and an upholder of Christianity, through the press, in various publications which our space will not allow us to specify. In 1820, she was visited by a succession of severe and alarming fits of sickness, from which she herself supposed that she should never recover. Her expressions on this occasion have all the weight of a dying testimony. One of her friends having said, "I trust you will be better to-morrow;" she replied, "If it be God's will, I hope so; when, where, and as thou wilt, O Lord! I, who have written so much upon submission to the will of God, ought now to practise it." When a part of the forty-first Psalm was repeated to her, she remarked: "A beautiful psalm! but all my trust is through grace, all my hope is for mercy, and all I ask is acceptance through Jesus Christ. What should I do now if the work were to be begun ?" "O, what will it be," said she at another time, "when our eyes close on this scene, and open upon the world of spirits? I have often thought, since I have been lying here, of poor Thistlewood's expression, 'We shall soon know the grand secret.' A Christian may say the same; it is a secret equally to him; but he says it with a firm faith and a well-grounded assurance, that 'there is a reward for the righteous,'—that 'there is a God that judgeth in the earth."" From this attack, however, she recovered, and lived to extreme old age. In 1832, she began to sink under the weight of infirmities and of years. Yet her mind was clear and calm. Her exclamations were: 'Jesus is all in all; God of grace, God of light, God of love, whom have I in heaven but thee?" When very sick, she said, "What can I do? What can I not do with Christ? I know that my Redeemer liveth." Speaking of heaven, she said: "The thought of that world lifts the mind. above itself. My God, my God, I bless thy holy name. O, the love of Christ, the love of Christ! Mercy, Lord, is all I ask!" At another time she said: "It pleases God to afflict me, not for his pleasure, but to do me good, to make me humble and thankful. Lord, I believe; I do believe with all the power of my weak sinful heart! Lord Jesus, look down upon me from thy holy habitation, strengthen my faith, and quicken me in my preparation! Support me in that trying hour when I most need it! It is a glorious thing to die!' When one talked to her of her good deeds, she said, 'Talk not so vainly-I utterly cast them from me, and fall low at the foot of the cross.' During this illness of ten months, the time was passed in a series of alternations between restlessness and composure, long sleeps and long wakefulness, with occasional great excitement, elevated and sunken spirits. At length, nature seemed to shrink from further conflict, and the time of her deliverance drew nigh. On Friday, September 6, 1833, we offered up the morning family devotions by her bed-side. She was silent, and apparently attentive, with her hands devoutly lifted up. From eight in the evening of this day till nearly nine, I was watching her. Her face was smooth and glowing. There was an unusual brightness in the expression. She smiled, and, endeavouring to raise herself a little from her pillow, she reached out her arms as if catching at something; and while making this effort, she once called 'Patty' (the name of her last and dearest sister) very plainly, and exclaimed Joy!' In this state of quietness and inward peace she remained for about an hour. At half-past nine o'clock Dr. Carrick came. The pulse had become extremely quick and weak. At about ten, the symptoms of speedy departure could not be doubted. She fell into a dozing sleep, and slight convulsions succeeded, which seemed to be attended. by no pain. She breathed softly, and looked serene. The pulse became fainter and fainter, and as quick as lightning. With the exception of a sigh or groan, there was nothing but the gentle breathing of infant sleep. Contrary to expectation, she survived the night. At six o'clock on Saturday morning I sent in for Miss Roberts. She lasted out till ten minutes after one, when I saw the last gentle breath escape; and one |