Yesterday I expected her; but H. came on horseback to say that

she was unable to proceed for the present.

At five o'clock I left

She was however so

home to see her, and returned again at twelve. weak, and so much affected, that I could spend very little time with her. Her pulse yesterday beat 144 strokes in a minute, from hectic fever; and when Dr. R. visited her in the evening, during my stay, from 120 to 130. Dr. R. has no expectation of her recovery beyond a sort of forlorn hope, arising from the circumstance that diseases sometimes take a turn contrary to expectation. There is likewise one favourable circumstance, that she does not cough much by day.

O may God preserve her life! If not, however, he will take her to heaven, and our judgment convinces us that this is every thing. Her mind has of late been much distressed; but she is now more comfortable. ***

"May God be with us, and support and comfort you.

Lydia had hitherto been too much wearied by the fatigue of travelling to converse much with the sister who was privileged to attend her throughout these scenes of solemn interest, "quite to the verge of heaven." Though she had several times intimated an anxious desire to communicate her feelings, weakness obliged her to desist from the attempt. But on the Sunday morning she was somewhat revived, and she spoke of her fears, doubts, and temptations. Her christian experience had been for the most part peculiarly marked by hope and joy—a calm, pure, humble rapture. But for some short time past it had been far otherwise. Her sins were called to remembrance, and her spirit was wounded within her. It was extremely affecting to hear expressions of the deepest humiliation and self-abhorrence, from one so remarkable for simplicity of character, elevation

of temper, and purity of life. But she had looked into the perfect law of God, and become acquainted with the length and breadth of its requirements. She saw herself about to appear before One in whose sight the heavens are not clean, and she knew herself guilty and helpless. And for a moment she (like Christian) lost her roll of sacred promise; the assurance of the unutterable love of God, who knows all our sins, "yet loves us better than he knows," even for His sake, whose blood made a perfect atonement, and continually speaks for the penitent "better things than that of Abel." Her mind was, through the divine blessing, much relieved by this conversation; and she expressed her gratitude to God for the comfort she had received. In the afternoon, overcome

by the effort of the morning, she was so much exhausted, that the afflicted party at Northampton sent again to their father, who immediately after the evening service at Olney hastened to them. The succeeding day he again wrote to his eldest daughter.

"MY DEAR *

"Northampton, Monday Morning, 10 o'clock.

"I am here for the purpose of getting your dear sister home to day. Dr. R. said last night he thought this might be effected. He has not seen her this morning; but I expect him at eleven o'clock, when I shall be determined by his judgment. I intended to have come here to-day; but your brother and sister sent for me last evening, under the apprehension that I might not see dear Lydia alive. Successive faintings, occasioned by exhaustion and debility, caused the alarm. She is, however, revived this morning, and is now dressing. You will imagine how weak she is, when I tell you that during the whole time I have been here, Saturday, last night, and this morning, I have not conversed with her more than

twelve or fifteen minutes.

You know, my love, I act on the principle of telling you the whole truth. Dr. R. has scarcely a distant hope of her recovery. He does not, however, think there is any prospect of her immediate departure. How she could have been brought into this state of extreme debility from hectic fever, and have concealed it till within the last three weeks or month, which appears to have been the case, Dr. R. says is a problem which he cannot solve. The circumstance is now a cause of distress to dear Lydia's own mind, and she reflects on herself for not having mentioned the increasing weakness she felt, and made use of some means for her recovery. She is, however, on the whole comfortable with respect to the great concern, and said yesterday to C. that she cannot doubt but Jesus will receive her. She sends you her kindest love, and hopes you will be able to come and see her. She cannot speak without difficulty, and then only in a very low whisper. Jesus bless, comfort, and support you, my dear child. Let us be thankful that the soul is secure, and submit without a murmur to the holy will of our Saviour.

"Your affectionate father,"

After Lydia's arrival at home, the violence of the hectic fever which had attended her very rapid decline, was in some measure abated; and she was able at intervals to converse a little with her relatives. It was beautiful to observe her humility, contrition, and tenderness of conscience; while patience appeared to have in her its perfect work. She would entreat her friends to pray for her, not as one who had obtained mercy; but that she might be saved at "the eleventh hour." When questioned respecting the state of her mind, her usual answers were, "I am afraid I have been deceiving myself. My faith is so weak.-Looking to Jesus; I want to love him more." And when so weak as to be almost unable to articuate, she would faintly utter-" Hope." The last

evening before her death, she observed that she had not felt that agony of spirit since she had left M. as she previously experienced; and gratefully attributed the relief to the many prayers which were offered for her. On Wednesday, the 9th of June, just before ten o'clock in the morning, she fell asleep, and found eternal rest in the bosom of her Redeemer.

Two days afterwards her afflicted father wrote to his sister.

"MY DEAR SISTER,

"I received your letter of the 8th, this morning, and sit down to write you a few lines, though I scarcely know on what part of our painful subject to begin. But why should I say painful, when my judgment tells me that my beloved child is out of the reach of all pain for ever? She is gone to the land of rest, and peace, and joy, where, for the last two years, she has longed to be. Her christian race has been short, but it has been glorious; if its glory consists in looking to Jesus, in patient continuance in well-doing, and cordial submission to the will of God. C. has, I suppose, told you something of the last close. The struggle lasted about two hours, from eight o'clock to a quarter before ten on Wednesday morning. It was a gasping for breath, which increased from its commencement, till her happy spirit took its flight to that state of glory, honour, and immortality, which Jesus has purchased and prepared for her. During this period she was unable to speak, or to attend to any thing that might have been spoken to her. We could, therefore, only unite in prayer by her bed-side. The state of her mind during her illness, was rather depressed. She could, however, speak in the

With the tear running down

language of humble hope and trust. her cheek, she would say, in a whisper that could only be heard by applying the ear to her mouth, "I hope Jesus will receive me." But I trust I shall have an opportunity of giving you some further particulars. The corpse of my sweet girl is now lying in a shell, and I think is the most beautiful upon which I ever fixed my eyes.

Every one who looks at the remains of the lovely child, immediately exclaims- How beautiful!'

"I am making a vault in the church-yard, where my own body will probably lie with hers; and where there will be sufficient room for others of the family, if any of them should remain in this place or neighbourhood. We propose to bury her next Tuesday. Mr. Fry will officiate, and Mr. Richmond will preach on the following Sunday (the 20th) in the evening.

"The children unite in love; and I am, my dear sister, "Yours very affectionately,

"H. GAUNTLETT."

While tracing the passage of this young christian through the deep valley of humiliation and the shadow of death, where she was sometimes ready to exclaim, with the Psalmist, "My God! why hast thou forsaken me?" it may be observed that the recollection of having, as she feared, impatiently desired to leave a world of sin and grief, that she might enter a state of holiness and peace, was a source of much disquietude; and the extreme weakness of her frame made every impression painful to her. With many tears she acknowledged having made it her prayer to be fitted for, and early called into, the presence of her Saviour; although indeed not without adding to the petition-if it were the will of God. Perhaps she might have too earnestly longed for her dismission. Alas! how often might we be addressed, in answer to our supplications, "Ye know not what ye ask. Can ye drink of the cup? Can ye be baptized with the baptism?" Few per