the mother is just on the brink, looking across the river which has no bridge. But how is it with her now? Does she still trust in the God of her childhood? Is that Saviour near who, years ago, in her little chamber, spoke peace to her soul? Yes, he is near, very near; her refuge and strength in this her "time of trouble." She is looking back with gratitude to the time when she made God her choice in her early days. Her feeble voice is fast sinking to the grave; but her earnest desire and prayer for the young is, that they may seek God early, and serve him in the strength and vigor of their days. She often says, What should I have done if I had put off preparation for death until now? Her mind is weak and confused. But all is well. The precious truths upon which her soul had been

dwelling for years, now stand forth clear and distinct before her mind, while the transient things of earth are fast receding from her view. She says she never had such clear views of the great plan of salvation, or of the fullness of redemption until now.

I have just returned from her dying room. As we talked of the joys of redeeming love, and of the holy and sainted spirits who have gone before to glory, it seemed almost as if the mortal vail was removed, and we could catch the distant echoes of the blending harps and voices 66 beyond the river." I stooped to catch a farewell word from her faltering lips. She threw her arms around my neck, and whispered she was almost there. "Almost there!" my heart still bounds with the thrilling import of those whispered words. Again and again

they come swelling through the chambers of my soul, like the far-off strains of twilight music, when the melody breathes of home. "Almost there," departing one; my soul mounts upward and onward, as on eagle's wings, until, with thee, I gaze upon the endless glories of the celestial city. And while we survey its jasper walls, its golden streets, its gates of pearl, together we bathe in its spirit, and taste its sacred delights. Mingling by faith with the countless host who are crowned with the victor's wreath, we join in the songs of praise, and the ascriptions of glory to the Lamb, who sitteth in the midst of the throne, till heaven, and Jesus, and God, seem all in all, and almost I forget that I am yet in the midst of life's conflict, with armor just burnished for the battle. "Almost there!" thou

loved one; the last I shall ever see or hear from thee; for here we part. Thou art entering thy rest: I must return to my labors.

CHAPTER VII.

CONCLUSION.

"O where shall rest be found,
Rest for the weary soul?
'Twere vain the ocean's depths to sound,
Or pierce to either pole.

"The world can never give

The bliss for which we sigh;
'Tis not the whole of life to live,
Nor all of death to die.

"There is a death whose pang,
Outlasts this fleeting breath;
O, what appalling horrors hang
Around the second death!"

AND now let me talk with the dear reader, who has been tracing with me the workings of grace in the hearts of my earliest friends. We have seen that one was brought to Jesus when toiling for her support among strangers, and then