I was desirous of ascertaining the real state of her feelings, in view of that event which appeared to be now fast approaching; I spoke to her upon the subject, and she assured me that she felt no fear, not the least apprehension; adding, “I think if I were dying now, I should not be in the least alarmed. I have a firm abiding confidence, that it will be well with me, that He will be with me, and grant me a safe passage. Sometimes I think it is wonderful, but then again

"Why should I fear the trying hour,

Or tremble at the tempter's power?

Jesus vouchsafes to be my tower."

I asked her what she thought of herself; she replied, "I should think I cannot last much longer." And then after pausing some minutes, as if warned and animated by the contemplation of her eternal inheritance, and her nearness to it, she broke out in the following verse

"Musing on my habitation,

Musing on my heavenly home,
Fills my soul with holy longing,
Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come.
Vanity is all I see,

Lord, I long to be with thee."

When I told her that I hoped she would be favored with an easy dismission, she answered me with some earnestness, "I am not anxious about that, I can leave that." Her father coming into the room soon after this, addressed her affectionately, as "his poor dear creature ;" but he added, "I should not call you poor, but rich." One who was present immediately said, "rich in faith, and an heir of the kingdom; going to an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you." To which she replied, with great animation, "I'm rich indeed. It is almost too much to think of."

On Wednesday, the 21st an evident change had taken place. For some time her cough was almost incessant, and she said, in broken accents to her mother, who was supporting her, "How shall I bear this?" O for five-minutes'-respite." Her mother directed her to look to Him on whom the Christian is commanded to cast his burden, and who was both able and willing to sustain her. This seemed to afford comfort. When her medical attendant left the room, she said, "tell me all;" and on being informed that he thought a few hours must decide it, she said distinctly, "Precious news!" She now attempted

to repeat the hymn

"Jesus, lover of my soul!"

but for want of breath could not proceed; her mother finished it for her, while she bore a lively part in it, by look and gesture. It is rather remarkable, this was the last hymn she ever played.

As soon as I went into her room, and approached her bed-side, she kissed me very fervently, a thing she had not done for some time; fearing that to receive her breath so immediately might prove prejudicial to me. I said, "my dear creature, I find you are about to leave us.”. With an expression of countenance which I can never forget, and a smile, which, though deathly, at once denoted surprise and triumph, she replied, "I believe-I am." "We dare not desire to detain you here." "No, that would be cruel." Her mother observed, "She has been so sweetly smiling at me (alluding to the way in which she had received the intelligence of her departure being at hand,) on which she remarked, "I have good cause to smile?" I asked, "if her confidence continued firm?" She answered, "Yes-I have-no fear?" She then tried to repeat these lines,

"See the kind angels at the gates

Inviting me to come;

There Jesus the forerunner waits,

To welcome travellers home!".

She got through the two first lines, but for want of breath could not finish the verse: her mother, in repeating the rest, by mistake, substituted the word strangers for travellers. Interrupting her, with great difficulty, and much earnestness, she said, "No, mother-I am no stranger, welcome travellers home. The room being dark, I asked if 1 should draw the blinds up? "Yes," she replied, "but I am going to the full beams of light and glory."

Her mother then said, "My dear, you will see such and such dear friends there." To which she answered, "Mother, I shall see Jesusand that's better." A little after, alluding to what had passed in the early part of the morning, she observed, "Mother, I said, how shall I bear this? but I find I can." Indeed, the idea that she was so soon to enter that heavenly home, to which she had so long and so ardently aspired, made her welcome those sufferings which brought her to it: and we remarked, that after she was made acquainted with her real state, she might literally be said, to lay herself down to die. From that moment the most entire composure was visible, though before she had been rather restless. She never uttered the least complaint, but described with clearness the gradual approach of death, in a way that surprised us all.

Our beloved Mary Ann was sensible to the last; and in about a quarter of an hour after she had ceased to speak, she quietly resigned her peaceful spirit into the arms of her God, without a groan or struggle. Mark the perfect, and behold the upright; for the end of such an one is peace.

THE FIELDMOUSE OF THE AFRICAN DESERTS,
THE sand of the desert with heat is glowing,
No cooling and sparkling stream is flowing,
No green spots shew the springs are near,
O the rush of the waters if I might hear.
Wearily plod I the drear waste o'er,

Man and beast are seen now no more,

And nothing, O nothing of life breathes around;
Yes, here are the lizard and fieldmouse found.
Tell me, thou only breathing thing,

Where hast thou found thy unfailing spring,
Where slak'st thou thy burning thirst, O tell
Where is thy ever springing well?

Dost thou seek in the arid and scorching dust
That which allays thy burning thirst;
For now it is many a weary day

That the streams and the fountains have dried

away?

So the Traveller looked with a searching eye
What the drought of the wilderness could supply,
And beautiful was the provision descried,
He saw in the desert the Lord could provide.
For the dry rock a berry was made to produce,
The clearest waters, its precious juice,

So the full sweet draught the fieldmouse found,
While with thirst all nature was languishing round.

And furnished was he for the future day,

For stowed in his nest his water casks lay;

In this wilderness sad 'twas a pleasant sight,

And the traveller pass'd on with a heart more light.

*

E. L. A.

* In these deserts, Mr. Campbell observes, "animals become as scarce as men, not a living inhabitant being visible. In some places, however, the lizard and fieldmouse were found in great numbers. The curiosity of the traveller was excited to know how these creatures could live in a country from which want of water had banished every other living thing; he found, that by the beneficent provision of nature, certain bulbous plants and water berries were made to grow in abundance, even in this parched land, by which these animals easily quenched their thirst. Mr. Campbell observed a little fieldmouse rolling into his hole a species of large berry, out of one of which he obtained about a tea spoonful of clear water.

HANNAH MORE'S OWN PLACE.

The following lines were composed a few years ago, on seeing a portrait of Mrs. More, in a picture shop, surrounded with those of the Duke of Wellington, Lord Byron, several actresses, and other public characters; and directly after seeing her portrait in another shopwindow, placed close to a picture of the Saviour.

MIX'D with the heroes of the day

The learned, noble, and the gay
I saw thy portrait shine;

The beam that glow'd upon thy face
Seem'd to reflect on them a grace-
And yet, methought the splendid place
Was not entirely thine.

For thou didst never claim the wreath
Impurpled with the touch of Death,
Nor garlands gay assume,

Where, amongst blossoms sweet and rare
Lurks many a secret deadly snare—
No-the bright chaplets thou dost wear,
Shed like a soft perfume.

Nor thine the giddy flippant way

Where syren pleasure leads the gay

To gilded haunts of sin;
To thrill with rapture at her voice,
To taste her soul-polluting joys
She never could engage thy choice,
Nor lure thy footsteps in.

And though nobility is thine,
'Tis not derived from mortal line

Of ancestry and blood;

Whate'er their titles, rank, and worth,

These round thee owe their claim to earth-
But "born again" of heavenly birth,
Thou art an "heir of God!"

Beneath thy Master's sacred face
I see thee in thy proper place,
Where joy and peace are known;
Yes, set before His beams divine,
Thine aged features doubly shine
With rays ineffably benign-
That place is quite Thine Own!

A. B.B.B.