turn. The little preparations required for the occasion in view, accordingly, claimed some attention for the present; but although Matilda seemed pleased with the prospect of being my travelling companion, and of the happy meeting of friends to which we looked forward, she exhi bited none of that eagerness or impatience which might have been expected in one of her age. When we recollected her lively expression of warmth of heart on ordinary occasions, her present composure could not but affect us. Alas! had the veil been lifted off futurity but for a short moment, what a season of sorrow should we have beheld at the very threshold-contrasting so strongly with present anticipations!

To prepare Matilda for the journey which we contemplated, it was thought proper to accustom her to the open air. She was, therefore, on two or three occasions, taken out when the weather permitted; and her general health seemed to benefit by the exercise. As the time drew nigh for our departure, we ceased to fear any interruption of our project; and as we were assured that change of scene was all, under Providence, that was required for her perfect recovery, our hopes were high that her usual health would soon be restored. But, a few days before the time fixed

for setting out, she caught a fresh cold, by what means we could never ascertain, and a return of the fever ensued. At first, we hoped that the attack, which appeared by no means formidable, would speedily pass; but the fever lingered beyond all our calculations, and it soon became evident that poor Matilda could not, with safety, be exposed to the fatigue and risks of the purposed journey, and that, for a little longer, she must be confined to her room.

In ordinary circumstances, such a disappointment was calculated to be severely felt by a child of twelve. The mild composure which she exhibited under it, accordingly, deeply interested and delighted our hearts, while it excited all our sympathy. No murmur was heard, no regret expressed; and though at that time she had not revealed to us the state of her mind, nor had we discovered the holy principle by which she was animated, we now know that her patience was the fruit of that saving grace which renews the will, and brings it into conformity to the perfect will of God.

This relapse distressed us much in the circumstances in which it occurred; but we felt no alarm for her safety. The solemn duty on which I was called from home could alone reconcile us to the

temporary absence which it demanded; and the few days of separation from my family which were required, appeared a trial which no former separation ever had. But as I had the private opinion of the medical attendant, giving assurance that nothing serious appeared in Matilda's case, and that every symptom indicated a speedy recovery, a sense of duty overcame my feelings of affection; and, urged both by our dear child and her mother, I left home, in the expectation that, at farthest, in a fortnight, I should rejoin them all in happier circumstances. Alas! how little do we know what so short a period may bring forth; and how slow of heart are we to believe that we cannot boast of to-morrow!

"Oh! what is life! "Tis like the bow

That glistens in the sky:

We love to see its colours glow

But while we look they die.

Life fails as soon: to-day 'tis here-
Tomorrow it may disappear."

CHAPTER IT.

"O Grave! where is thy triumph now?
And where, O Death! thy sting?"

It was a day or two after I had left home, that Matilda disclosed, for the first time, the whole state of her feelings. Occasional expressions had fallen from her to myself before, which, with her intelligence, and the general tenor of her conduct, had produced in my mind the happiest an-ticipations; but the unreserved avowal of her experience had not been made till now.

Her mother had concluded their usual exercise of reading the Scriptures, and had sat down beside her. Matilda began by saying, that she had for some time back been anxious to open her mind to her, but that she could never find resolution to do it. This she deeply regretted; and particularly, that she had not spoken to me before I left home. She stated, that she had now

made up her mind not to defer it, as she considered it sinful to have concealed the state of her feelings from her parents so long. She then lamented, in bitter terms, her being a sinner, and that she could not keep from sinning.

"When I think," she exclaimed, "that God cannot look upon sin but with horror, is it not dreadful that I cannot keep from sinning; and when I think of God's love towards me, in not sparing his own Son, it grieves me sorely, and wounds my feelings, that I can so sin.-Doesn't it hurt your feelings, mama ?"

"It ought certainly to do so," was her mother's reply; "but I am afraid it does not enough."

She then said, "We are poor, weak, sinful creatures; but Christ will do all for us."

Her mother remarked, that it was through Christ alone the pardon of sin could be obtained; to which she replied, "O yes; and I am constantly praying that my sins may be washed away in the fountain of His blood. I have often had convictions before, but they were not permanent -now, I cannot avoid having before my eyes, day and night, what a sinner I am. I am so ignorant, I require a great deal of teaching; and I hope you will every day be speaking to me on these subjects. I will be praying that the Spirit