THE AGED SISTERS, OR A WORD TO THE POOR AND TO THE RICH. WHILE the pages of philosophy abound with recommendations to submit to "the things that are," however afflictive, they offer no motives sufficient to produce this state of mind; but the religion of the Gospel furnishes a principle which can render the possessor of it not only patient in tribulation, but even joyful in hope. Often does the experience of the lowly follower of the Saviour elucidate, and his example exhibit to the world, the truth of this remark, under the most distressing and appalling circumstances of sickness, poverty, and old age, with all its concomitant infirmities. One striking and very affecting exemplification of this truth has lately been brought to the knowledge of the writer of this memoir; and in order that so bright a display of the power of godliness might not bloom and send forth its fragrance in its native soil only, it is thought right to give it to the public in the pre sent form. On a barren down in the parish of B- not twenty miles from the Land's-End in Cornwall, lived two aged sisters, whose whole income did not amount to more than five pounds per annum-that is, about eleven-pence half-penny per week for each sister. This small pittance, without any parochial relief, formed the sole means of their support. One of the sisters had attained her ninetieth year, and the other had reached the age of eighty-four. Many were their infirmities, as might be expected from this advanced period of their lives. One of them was blind; the other had an inveterate and incurable disease in one of her legs-and under these circumstances they had no one to attend them. They lived alone; and had it not been for the kindness of their neighbours, they would have often wanted the daily supply of water and other common necessaries of life. Yet, under these circumstances, these poor and aged women enjoyed blessings which the rich and the great, who know not the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, are entire strangers to. Though their fig-tree did not blossom, neither was there fruit in their vine, yet, being partakers of the faith of the Gospel, they could rejoice in the Lord, and in no ordinary way joy in the God of their salvation. Their life being hid with Christ in God, their hopes and pleasures were derived from him alone. They were content and happy under the decrepitude of age, and under the privations of extreme po-, verty. They walked humbly with their God, thinking little of themselves, and expressing grateful surprise when they received any trifling assistance from others. In a friendly visit once paid to these sisters, by a lady who wished to afford them some little relief, they were asked what they wanted most? One of them replied, "the help of God, to be more thankful for what I have ;"—thus exhibiting at once the deep sense she entertained of her dependence on God for the exercise of the grace of contentment, and the elevation of that mind which has God for its portion. The age and many infirmities of these sisters, and their great distance from the parish church, prevented their attendance on public worship; but this loss was in some measure supplied by the stated visits of some of their pious neighbours, who met under their humble roof for the purpose of reading the Scriptures, of prayer, and praise; relying on that promise of the Saviour, that "where two or three are met together in his name, there is He in the midst of them," and that to bless them. These were seasons of peculiar delight to these aged saints. They spoke of them with a kind of holy rapture, and described them as "lively meetings." Thus did the Lord feed and nourish these "hidden ones" with water in the wilderness and streams in the desert. In the month of February 1825 the younger sister became increasingly ill, and a very few days of pain and sorrow wafted her happy spirit to the bosom of her God and Saviour; where she will hunger no more, neither thirst any more, but where she is led to fountains of living water, the streams of which cherished and gladdened her soul as she traversed this wilderness state. The surviving sister, like Simeon of old, having seen the salvation of God, is waiting and longing to depart to that city which God has prepared for them that love him; where shortly her praises will mingle with those of her now happy sister, unto Him who loved them, and gave Himself for them. I subjoin a few short extracts of letters, giving an account of these aged saints, addressed to the writer of this memoir. 66 January 12, 1825. "I went to see the two sisters, whose sufferings are increased greatly this winter; the younger having such a leg as I never saw. Poor old creatures! I have seldom felt more compassion, and yet combined with feelings of pleasure. So near their end! and so soon to leave, besides their burden of sins, so many infirmities and animal sufferings! The cottage in which they live, you have heard described. It is poor and bleak beyond what I expected to find it; every thing, like themselves, worn out-no one to take care of them in age and feebleness extreme.' They are both so deaf, that, added to the dulness of apprehension from their advanced age, it was difficult to communicate any thing to them: but they spoke spontaneously what I wished to hear, of their hope and joy in God their Saviour. It was edifying to notice the affection of the elder towards "January 15, 1825. "I called on the two old women, and found them sad sufferers. Both are so weak as to be unable to help each other. A most dreadful sore leg afflicts the younger, who is eighty-four I mean years of age. to try if they will allow me to apply for parochial relief, that a person helpless state. Their house is tummay attend on them in their present bling down, and, with an old blind dog, the whole appearance is deplorable. Five pounds a year is their whole income: yet still they speak of their bright prospects, and of the kindness of their neighbours." Feb. 3, 1825. "One of the dear old pilgrims on the down is departed. I saw her a fortnight ago. She was then, as to worldly circumstances, most forlorn, with such a wound in her leg as I never beheld! The other sister, at ninety-one, was her sole attendant. They wondered at the kindnesses bestowed on them, and seemed only to lament their want of gratitude and patience. She sent me word on Saturday, that she was waiting the Lord's leisure-and on the Monday she was received into rest.” July 1825. "I have never yet been able to get to the almost inaccessible residence of the surviving sister, though I plan it now the roads are better. It was a most affecting sight, when she was removed in a cart two miles off, the day after the funeral of her sister; all the neighbours surrounding her, and she bidding adieu for ever to the wretched hovel which had so statedly been the place of prayer and praise to the God of her mercies. It is now in other hands, repaired and beautified without, but no longer the resort of the poor and pious couple within. I never can forget its pristine appearance, or the aged sisters who once inhabited it." This brief memoir teaches us the value of the grace of God in the heart; which enables the possessor of it to bow submissively to the Divine will under the most painful circumstances, and even to sing in this valley of tears the song of praise and joy. Surely such a principle ought to be prized and sought for above all other possessions. It is the one thing needful—that good part, which shall never be taken away from those whose hearts have been inclined to choose it; and by which alone any are enabled to do and to suffer the whole will of God. What was it that supported the holy martyrs, and enabled them to triumph even in the flames, but faith in the Lord Jesus Christ? And, as faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God, let the poor read the Holy Scriptures, and pray for the Divine Spirit, that they may be enabled to mix faith with the word, and glorify God their Saviour in every fiery trial of poverty, sickness, neglect, persecution, and death; and at length may be admitted, through the atonement and righteousness of the Redeemer, into those mansions where sin and sorrow and sickness shall be known no more. But, whilst this little history addresses itself to the Poor, and demonstrates that "godliness with contentment is great gain," it reminds the Rich in this world's goods, that the poor are left in the land to afford them occasions of relieving their wants out of that abundance with which it has pleased God to entrust them. Hence the numerous scriptural exhortations to the exercise of this grace. They are commanded to be “ready to distribute, willing to communicate,” and not to wait till cases of distress are brought before them, but to "search out the cause that they know not.” Who would not have rejoiced to have been the instrument of conveying some little assistance to these poor and destitute members of Christ's body? and yet that gratification could not have been enjoyed by any but those who sought them out in their mean abode; for it was with these aged saints, as with the poor of Christ's flock in general, that they were retired, not obtrusive; patient, not clamorous; more anxious to spread their distresses before their gracious God and Saviour, than to pour them into the ears of their fellow-creatures. Had there not been some persons in the neighbourhood of these sisters, who felt it a privilege as well as a duty to visit the abodes of want, this aged couple would have been deprived of the supply they needed, and those benevolent persons would have lost the high gratification of being the honoured instruments of imparting it; and thus a large revenue of praise would have been withheld from that God from whom cometh every good and perfect gift, and to whom must be ascribed the glory of all we are enabled to do or to suffer for His Name's sake. H. G. E. ACCOUNT OF THE DEATH OF MISS HANNAH B IN A LETTER FROM HER SISTER. ALLOW me, my dear friend, in behalf of my dear mother and self, to acknowledge with grateful feelings the favour of your kind letter; and ост. 1825. imagine not for a moment that you have been deemed at all too officious, in endeavouring to soothe griefs. No: we feel obliged to 3 E our "His purposes are ripening fast, The bud may have a bitter taste, you, as to the many sympathizing things." She replied, "Oh, yes! friends who have offered to us the I know he is: balm of consolation: and if it be pleasing to us to know that we are remembered in the day of trial by our earthly friends, what exquisite bliss is administered to us in the idea that we are not forgotten by that Friend who reigns on high! He has poured into our souls a heavenly, healing balm! He made the dear relative, for whom we weep, an instrument to diffuse peace and comfort into the mind of each drooping friend that watched around her dying bed. We weep, it is true; but " we sorrow not as those who are without hope." Oh, no! We have not only bright hope to cheer our souls; but full confidence that our dear Hannah is now before the throne of God; and will join with the saints of light, in singing praises to Him, and to the Lamb, for ever!-Is this, then, my friend, a cause of mourning, or of rejoicing? Truly, the latter: and we feel thankful to our Heavenly Father, that he has enabled us to look upon this bereavement in a proper point of view; and in some measure to cast aside selfish feelings, and rejoice that "our loss is her gain." I flatter myself, that to you, who so very kindly sympathize with us in our troubles, some little account of the death of my dear sister may not prove entirely uninteresting. I will therefore endeavour to give you a short sketch of it. We had, a little while ago, entertained hopes of her recovery; but, a few days before her death, we perceived a great change for the worse-not only in her appearance, but she experienced much difficulty in breathing; which she bore with Christian patience, as she had all her illness. The morning of the day before she died, she seemed in pain, and said, she thought she should not be long. My sister Martha, who was standing by her bed-side, said, "The Lord will support you: He is sufficient for all She then expressed herself as being very happy in her mind. She had too much difficulty and shortness of breathing to allow her to talk much; but several times in the course of the day said, "I am ready to take my departure"." If I die, I know I shall be happy." I sat up with her the following night; and, the next morning, thinking it necessary to go out, I told her my intention; but said, that I would return immediately. Upon which she reached her dear arms out of bed, and, clasping them round my neck, said, "No; do not go! do not leave me! I love you dearly. Never leave me-never leave me!no,no-never, never."-The feelings of that moment I shall not attempt to describe: they were such as I never experienced before. I assured her, that, while she remained here, I never would leave her. My dear mother then came in, and, embracing her affectionately, she said, "My dear mother, I love you dearlyDo not grieve after me-I am very happy-You have been a kind, an affectionate mother, to me-one in a thousand. I have often said that you have exerted yourself, and done far more for me than you ought to have done." As each of my dear brothers and sisters came into the room, she embraced them tenderly; expressing her affection for them, and her hope that she should meet them in glory. On seeing us much affected, she said, "Do not grieve for me: I shall soon be better!" She expressed her thankfulness that her breath was now easy, that she could talk to us; and said, "If it be the will of God, he can raise me up yet; but if I die, I know I shall be happy."-She then said, "Where is my dear father?" He came to her, and she, clasping her arms me. about his neck, said, "My dear father, I love you dearly-you have been a kind, tender father to meyou have been very anxious about I have long seen your anxiety for the good of my soul; and it will be a consolation to you to know, that you have been the cause of my happiness now. You have often talked to me, and I might have seemed inattentive; but 'bread cast upon the waters shall be found after many days.' We have a very faint idea of eternity; but I know, that, if I die, I shall be happyand not for any thing that I have done, but for what Jesus Christ has done for me: He has died for me." She then said, "I should like to see dear William, and Ann, and Thomas" (alluding to my two brothers and sister, who were in London), "but it is not worth their while to come-but, give my kind, my dying, love to them." She expressed a wish to see Mr. M(our brother-in-law) but said she did not wish to see any strangers. Soon after this she made an effort to raise herself up. I raised her up; and then, stretching out her arms, as though she had been going to fly, and casting her eyes up to heaven, she exclaimed, " Õh, take me, take me to glory! Come Lord Jesus! come quickly."-This appeared to all around her a kind of death-struggle ; but, sinking back again a little, she said, "I fear the stroke of death is not over." She then for some time appeared quite easy; only once, stretching out her arms, she exclaimed, "Oh! let me go to glory!-it will be a glorious change!" Mr. M at length came. She said, "I am glad to see you;" and, on his expressing his hopes that she was happy in her mind, she said, "Oh yes, I am very happy! I am ready to take my departure. I hope none of my dear friends will grieve after me, for I shall be happy. I long to depart and be with Christ, which is far better.' He will receive my soul into his kingdom." And then, clasping her dear hands together, in ecstasy exclaimed, "Oh, then— I shall be happy!" After this she never unclasped her hands, nor moved them, though she lived for nearly an hour. She only spoke once more, and said, "Oh that this moment may be my last!" After this she seemed quite easy; and about half past five o'clock in the afternoon, without a struggle or a sigh, her disencumbered spirit took its flight to realms of everlasting bliss; leaving her dear remains in my arms, with her head reclining on my bosom, and a heavenly smile on her countenance. This, my dear friend, was a shock such as we had never felt beforea moment of inexpressible anguish --yet there was one feeling, surmounting every other, which bid us all rejoice, and acknowledge, that for worlds we would not call her back to earth again. I recollect, my friend, when once contending a little with you on certain doctrinal points, you said, "This may do to live by, but how will it do to die by?" and surely now I can answer with more confidence than ever. My dear sister's was the same faith, the same hope; and how did she live-how did she die?-never doubting, never wavering; but clinging closely, with the fullest confidence to the last, to that "hope which was set before her of God in Christ Jesus." She knew, that, while she trusted in him, he would never leave her nor forsake her; and had I, my friend, but one more prayer to offer up to the Throne of Heaven, it should be, That my last end may be like hers. Your very sincere and respectful Friend, M B |