even profligate character, went into the church through mere curiosity, and with no better purpose than that of vacantly gazing at the ceremony.  He came likewise to the grave, and, during the reading of those prayers which are appointed for that part of the service, his mind received a deep, serious conviction of his sin and spiritual danger.  It was an impression that never wore off, but gradually

ripened into the most satisfactory evidence of an entire change, of which I had many and long-continued proofs.  He always referred to the burial service, and to some particular sentences of it, as the clearly ascertained instrument of bringing him, through grace, to the knowledge of the truth.

The day was therefore one to be remembered.  Remembered let it be by those who love to hear

“The short and simple annals of the poor.”

Was there not a manifest and happy connection between the circumstances that providentially brought the serious and the careless to the same grave on that day together?  How much do they lose who neglect to trace the leadings of God in providence, as links in the chain of his eternal purpose of redemption and grace!

“While infidels may scoff, let us adore.”

After the service was concluded, I had a short conversation with the good old couple and their daughter.  She had told me that she intended to remain a week or two at the gentleman’s house where her sister died, till another servant should arrive and take her sister’s place.

“I shall be truly obliged,” said she, “by an

opportunity of conversing with you, either there or at my father’s, when I return home, which will be in the course of a fortnight at the farthest.  I shall be glad to talk to you about my sister, whom you have just buried.”

Her aspect and address were highly interesting.  I promised to see her very soon; and then returned home, quietly reflecting on the circumstances of the funeral at which I had been engaged.  I blessed the God of the poor; and prayed that the poor might become rich in faith, and the rich be made poor in spirit.

CHAPTER II.

A sweet solemnity often possesses the mind, whilst retracing past intercourse with departed friends.  How much is this increased, when they were such as lived and died in the Lord!  The remembrance of former scenes and conversations with those who, we believe, are now enjoying the uninterrupted happiness of a better world, fills the heart with pleasing sadness, and animates the soul with the

hopeful anticipation of a day when the glory of the Lord shall be revealed in the assembling of all his children together, never more to be separated.  Whether they were rich or poor while on earth, is a matter of trifling consequence; the valuable part of their character is, that they are kings and priests unto God, and this is their true nobility.  In the number of now departed believers, with whom I once loved to converse on the grace and glory of the kingdom of God, was the Dairyman’s daughter.

About a week after the funeral I went to visit the family at ---, in whose service the youngest sister had lived and died, and where Elizabeth was requested to remain for a short time in her stead.

The house was a large and venerable mansion.  It stood in a beautiful valley at the foot of a high hill.  It was embowered in fine woods, which were interspersed in every direction with rising, falling, and swelling grounds.  The manor-house had evidently descended through a long line of ancestry, from a distant period of time.  The Gothic character of its original architecture was still preserved in the latticed windows, adorned with carved divisions and pillars of stone-work.  Several pointed terminations also, in the construction of the roof, according to the

custom of our forefathers, fully corresponded with the general features of the building.

One end of the house was entirely clothed with the thick foliage of an immense ivy, which climbed beyond customary limits, and embraced a lofty chimney up to its very summit.  Such a tree seemed congenial to the walls that supported it, and conspired with the antique fashion of the place to carry imagination back to the days of our ancestors.

As I approached, I was led to reflect on the lapse of ages, and the successive generations of men, each in their turn occupying lands, houses, and domains; each in their turn also disappearing, and leaving their inheritance to be enjoyed by others.  David once observed the same, and cried out, “Behold, thou hast made my days as an hand-breadth, and mine age is as nothing before thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity.  Surely every man walketh in a vain show; surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them” (Psal. xxxix. 5, 6).

Happy would it be for the rich, if they more frequently meditated on the uncertainty of all their possessions, and the frail nature of every earthly tenure.  “Their inward thought is, that their houses shall continue for ever, and their

dwelling-places to all generations: they call their lands after their own names.  Nevertheless, man being in honour abideth not: he is like the beasts that perish.  This their way is their folly; yet their posterity approve their sayings.  Like sheep they are laid in the grave; death shall feed on them; and their beauty shall consume in the grave from their dwelling” (Psal. xlix. 11-14).

As I advanced to the mansion, a pleasing kind of gloom overspread the front: it was occasioned by the shade of trees, and gave a characteristic effect to the ancient fabric.  I instantly recollected that death had very recently visited the house, and that one of its present inhabitants was an affectionate mourner for a departed sister.

There is a solemnity in the thought of a recent death which will associate itself with the very walls, from whence we are conscious that a soul has just taken its flight to eternity.

After passing some time in conversation with the superiors of the family, in the course of which I was much gratified by hearing of the unremitted attention which the elder sister had paid to the younger during the illness of the latter.  I received likewise other testimonies of the excellency of her general character and conduct in

the house.  I then took leave, requesting permission to see her, agreeably to the promise I had made at the funeral, not many days before.

I was shown into a parlour, where I found her alone.  She was in deep mourning.  She had a calmness and serenity in her countenance, which exceedingly struck me, and impressed some idea of those attainments which a further acquaintance with her afterwards so much increased.

She spoke of her sister.  I had the satisfaction of finding that she had given very hopeful proofs of a change of heart before she died.  The prayers and earnest exhortations of Elizabeth had been blessed to a happy effect.  She described what had passed with such a mixture of sisterly affection and pious dependence on the mercy of God to sinners, as convinced me that her own heart was under the influence of “pure and undefiled religion.”

She requested leave occasionally to correspond with me on serious subjects, stating that she needed much instruction.  She hoped I would pardon the liberty which she had taken by introducing herself