The change that had taken place in her was manifested also in the intense anxiety she felt regarding the spiritual welfare of her family. At her earnest request, almost all of them were assembled round her bed, and Mr. H. spoke to them in Lizzie's name, entreating them to turn unto God. They were all in tears. She begged them not to fret for her; she was very happy,-she could say death had no sting. She longed to go to the dear Saviour, and wished them to know him, that they might have the same comfort she possessed, and that she might hope to meet them hereafter,

She frequently urged her younger sisters to go always to the Sundayschool, not just now and then. One day, shortly after she had been speaking to her father, she said to the doctor who visited her, that she felt almost sure that what she had said would be of use to him. She could not tell why, but she felt that it would.

During her illness she sent at different times for all her young companions, exhorting and entreating them to seek the Lord. A very few days before her death three young girls, her cousins, had come to see her, and were standing near

the bed weeping, as Mr. H. entered the room. Lizzie was too ill to speak aloud, but she whispered to her kind visitor, "Oh, Mr. H., I am so weak, I want to speak to these cousins, and I cannot. Just think! they all think they can do it (meaning repent and turn to God) in an hour, or in a few days; they are so ignorant. Is it not dreadful? it makes my heart ache to think of them. Do exhort them, exhort them -exhort everybody!"

She spoke again to Mr. H. one day of the hymn, "Just as I am, without one plea," &c., saying, "You asked me once whether I understood the meaning of the words 'without one plea'; I then replied, Yes, but I ought to have said, No; for now I look upon it quite in a different light." "Just think!" she remarked at another time, "that it is so short a time since I have learnt all this." The 51st Psalm was read to her, by her desire, so often, that she knew it by heart. "It is my favourite psalm," she would remark; " every word is just what I want to say." A friend referring once to God's mercy in snatching her from hell, her mother interposed, saying, "She has always been a good girl." "You don't know, mother," she quickly replied; "I have been a vile, wicked sinner."

The patience which she manifested in the midst of her sufferings was very great. If at any time she was inclined to be fretful or impatient, a few words of Scripture, or merely uttering the name Jesus, would at once restore serenity, and bring a smile to her wasted countenance. When she had been able to bear her

pain well, she gave the glory to her Saviour.

One day, when Mr. H. was leaving her, she said, "I hope when you call again, my mother will say to you, She is gone." He made a remark concerning a desire to be gone, which arose in some people from a wish to get rid of pain. "Oh, don't say so," she broke in; "that is not my case. No, it is God's dear love that sent me this pain. I know it is His love and mercy that has done it; and why should I not suffer, a wicked old sinner as I have been? No, no, it is not my pain that makes me wish to be gone. I long to see my dear, dear Saviour. Oh, when I think of His being nailed to the cross for me, I think nothing of my pain."

Three or four days before her death she was so alarmingly ill, that her kind doctor was sent for to see her late at night. When she was a little restored, he read to her the 14th and 15th chapters of the Gospel of St. John. She asked that the leaf might be turned down, so that if alive in the morning, she might read them again, and then, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, but with a countenance expressive of intense joy, she exclaimed, “I love Mr. H. for all his kindness to me, and I love you too, but oh, I do

love my Saviour so much, I do indeed." She appeared so excited that her mother trembled for her, and entreated her to leave off speaking, but she said, "Oh, mother, don't hinder me; you never saw me so before, did you? but I cannot help myself, I must speak, my heart is so full, that if I do not speak it will burst; I never felt as I do now, I never loved my Saviour so much before; oh, I do love Him so!"

She knew when the final call came to her, and very early in the morning begged, in the most earnest manner, that her mother would arouse the rest of the household. When all were assembled she kissed her father, and said, "Father, be a better man." She kissed each member of the family. "My mother," she said, "send my brothers and sisters regularly to the Sundayschool, will you?" On receiving the promise, she added, "Kiss me, mother," and died.

"Perfect peace may indeed be inscribed upon her gravestone. What a wondrous, glorious change, when her spirit, freed from all the trammels of earth, ascended into the presence of that Saviour who had redeemed her, and entered on all those joys which "eye hath not seen nor ear heard."

D. A. H.

of his own heart; but when he became ill, he sent to beg I would visit him: and when I went, I found in him a precious soul before God. He lay with closed eyes upon his

sick bed. His mother, as I entered the room, related to me what a dear son he was, and what an impression all the religious instruction I had given him had made upon him. had upon one occasion told him, that before the hours appointed for these lessons he should not play about, but sit still in his place and pray. This he had never neglected, and since had been seriously impressed with God's word.

At home he had repeated all he had heard. In the evenings, he had explained to his parents the passages in the Bible I had explained in the school. On these, occasions, his father was accustomed to fasten the door, that no one might come in. He had daily warned his parents and his only sister, that they must be converted, or they could not be saved. This had caused them to shed many tears, now he was very ill and likely to die.

I went to his bedside; he lay in great pain, and had heard nothing of his mother's conversation. "Hermann," said I, "do you hear my voice?" He bowed his head a little. "You are indeed in great pain," I continued. He repeated the movement. "Are you willing to go to your Saviour?" Now he opened his eyes, and looked at me cheerfully, and said, "Yes." "Are you not a sinner?" "Yes: but I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and shall go to heaven." Then he closed his eyes again. I said, “I believe, too, that you will be saved, as you are in Christ. Persevere but a little longer, and he will take you to himself."

This, or very like it, was our conversation. It is too long since for me to relate the whole, word for word, that passed. I had not much time, but prayed with him, and returned to the school. Before I could again visit him I was informed of his death; but being anxious to see all that remained of him, I once more went to his dwelling, and beheld his calm and peaceful counte

nance.

His mother related to me his blessed end. It was thus. He had

once more opened his eyes, and called his father, mother, and sister to his bedside. He first addressed his father, and caressing him, said, "Dear father, I thank you for all the goodness you have shown to me. You hoped I should have been your support in age, and now I die; but weep not, I die blessed. If I had remained in the world, perhaps I should have become weak in faith, and have been lost. Oh, dear father, turn you also to the Lord."

He then had a pair of scissors and some paper brought him, and cut out a coffin; and this he gave to his sister, with the prayer that she might always think of death, and be prepared for it. He cut one out for his mother also; and had scarcely laid down the scissors and paper, than with a cheerful smile he lay down, saying, "Now come, Lord Jesus; "and was gently released from all his sufferings.

On the day of the funeral, all his schoolfellows followed the body to

the grave. Notwithstanding the

weather was rainy, many grown persons also came to the ceremony. After the coffin was let down into the earth I related simply the holy death of the child, and exhorted the weeping assemblage around me to repentance, that they might die as happy as this little Hermann; and the Lord was pleased to bless this word unto their souls.

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As we returned, there were two boys before me and the under-master, whom we had not remarked. One of them was the often mentioned little Henry. The other said, “I cannot believe that Hermann will rise again; his body will decay." Henry answered, You know not the power of God. Shall not he who has already once created the body out of nothing, be able to restore it?" "But where is the soul in the mean time?" said the other. "Oh," replied Henry, "do not be uneasy about that, the good God will appoint us a place; think only of repenting, and having faith, that you may be saved."

Most of the children went home weeping. One said, "I will never

again curse and swear-I will repent, like Hermann.' Many said, "We will become like Hermann, that we may be saved like him." Also some grown-up persons at this funeral were struck with a sense of their sins, and began to lead a new life.

But what will you do, my dear readers of all ages? Oh! let us consider the covenant made in our youth with God. Oh! let us die unto the world, and live to Jesus, until the grave closes upon us. Then shall we also, when the time of our departure is at hand, be able to say with the apostle, I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day and not to me only, but to all them also that love his appearing." Amen. (2 Tim. iv. 7.)

fellow who took you in exchange, and he would soon find out, that he had given fourteen or fifteen-pence for what was only worth twelvepence.

Shilling.-Aye, that is all very well, Mr. Half-Crown, I allow; but why did my maker make me worth only twelve-pence, when at the same time he made youworth thirty-pence?

Half-Crown. That I don't know; neither have I any right to ask; my duty is, to do what my maker intended me to do, and not try to persuade myself I am worth five shillings, when I am only worth two shillings and sixpence.

Shilling. But come now, Mr. Half-Crown, don't you wish you were a sovereign, worth twenty times as much as I am, and eight times as much as you are? Eh, now, come, don't you wish that? Confess.

Half-Crown--No, I don't, because on that principle, if I were a sovereign, I should be in great distress, at times, to think I was not a five pound note; and if I were a five pound note, I should sigh very often to think I was not a Bank of England Twenty.

Shilling. But, hold! my good half-crown, that's philosophy, and you can't expect shillings to understand philosophy.

Half-Crown.-Neither do we expect shillings to grumble, but they do, it seems, sometimes, as you are doing now.

Shilling.-Well, the fact is, I felt so very small, and especially when you jostled against me just now, and disturbed my dreams and slumbers. It seems, as though you halfcrowns were made to make way, and we shillings to give way in the world. Half-Crown.-Then, grumbling makes you better, I suppose?

Shilling.-No, I don't say that, exactly but don't you think, that one is thought more of, if he grumbles just a little now and then?

Half-Crown.-What! and makes the world believe he is somebody when he is nobody?

Shilling.-No, no, I don't mean

Half-Crown.-On this ground: that we are both stamped with the image of our beloved Queen, who is the greatest monarch in the world; that we both bear the royal arms of England, which is the greatest nation in the world; that we are both protected by the English laws, which are the wisest laws in the world; for you must know, brother shilling, that no man in these realms dare maliciously injure, deface, or destroy us, under a penalty of a heavy fine. And the golden guinea yonder in the heavy cash-box can boast of no more.

Shilling.-Well, I like that; I begin to feel myself of some importance in the world, although I am only a shilling, especially as I bear the image of our beloved Queen, whom may God long bless, and all good men long esteem. I think I may possibly get over my trouble

now.

Half-Crown.-But don't be proud my young friend, yet; remember that the poor farthing may boast of the same thing.

Shilling.-Now don't make me. uneasy, my dear half-crown, by comparing me with farthings, and especially after comparing me with golden guineas. Your philosophy cuts two ways.

Half-Crown.-Exactly so: true philosophy always does: it looks both below and above itself. But

there's another point you have overlooked, young twelve-pence, viz., that shilling as you are, you are worth more than a bad sovereign, or a bad five pound note, or a Bank of England Twenty, if it is a forged one'; and besides all this, you shillings may chance to get into a poor fellow's hands, and make his heart glad, who does'nt see a half-crown every day.

Shilling. Well, that is some consolation truly: I begin to feel myself quite charitably disposed.

Half-Crown.-Again, there's the poor penny; you are worth twelve times as much as he is. What would you say if you had to wear a coarse common brown jacket like the poor penny, instead of that nice neat white coat of yours, which I am sure is just as good as mine? What would you do in that case ?

Shilling.-Well, I declare, I don't know what I should do.

Half-Crown.-Then I will tell you what you ought to do. You ought, in that case, to feel grateful you were not a farthing.

Shilling.-Good, good! but what should the poor farthing do?

Half-Crown.-Why he should do his duty; he should feel thankful that far things are of some value, and that men who love sovereigns, and five pound notes very much (and Bank of England Twenties too when they can get them) don't always despise farthings.

Shilling.-Well I like that. But I say, Mr. Half-Crown, I did'nt know that you half-crowns were philosophers. I have been in company and conversation with many of your family in my time, but I am sure I never learnt so much in all my days from them, about the philosophy of living as I have done in these few minutes from you. Half-Crown. Be it so, dear shilling you have lived to learn, I hope now you have learned to live.

Shilling.-Yes, yes, I intend now to. But good bye, brother, I feel master's hand coming to fetch me; perhaps he's going to give me away. Well, well, I have learned in whatever state I am, therewith