a babe at the breast of its mother, fastened themselves upon the affections of the good man's heart, and touched, most painfully touched, the tenderest sympathies of his soul. He felt their love, he heard their lamentations, he saw their necessities, he anticipated their helplessness and griefs; and then, in the anguish of his heart, he looked up to heaven, and cried, "O my God! for their sakes, spare me that I may recover my strength, before I go hence to be no more." But no it was the will of God that his wife should be a widow, that his children should be fatherless, and that their fireside should be changed into a scene of bereavement and darkness and tears. It was hard to submit, but he heard God say, "My grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is perfect in weakness." "Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widow trust in me." The bitterness of death was now past, the struggle of life was over. He had the victory, and he could then say, "It is the Lord; let him do what seemeth good in his sight." After this there was entire resignation to the will of God. He gave all up, and waited in suffering and in weakness the coming of the Lord. His affliction was painful, he had a most distressing affection in his throat, and to eat or speak were extremely painful to him. But no murmur escaped his lips, a calm placid smile rested upon his countenance. There was evidently a great effort to conceal his sufferings from his sympathizing wife, whose tears would cause him to say, "Now, then, this makes me worse; thou must not cry for me ;" and then he would try to comfort her, and would charge her to train up their children for heaven; he was going there, and the longings of his fond heart were that they might follow him to that happy place. Let them never forget that the last wishes and prayers of their dying father were that they might be with him for ever.

On Wednesday, July 15th, two days before he died, he chose the bidders and bearers for his funeral, and gave other general directions respecting it. His choice fell upon his old companions in church fellowship. He had had no fellowship with the world in life; his associates were the children of God, and now he would "be carried by devout men to his burial." In his

dying moments he motioned for a drink: this having been given him, he closed his eyes, and seemed to cling to the pillow. His wife dropped on her knees, and commended his spirit to God, and in the solemnity and agony of that moment her prayer was heard. There was no cloud in that bright and solemn scene. The angel of peace was there; the God of salvation was there. She was assured that her dying husband in walking through the valley of the shadow of death feared no evil, for God was with him-his rod and his staff they comforted him. Nay! she seemed to realize his final triumph; her ears were enraptured with his shout of victory. A. T.

September, 1857.

DIED at her residence, Newtonstreet, October 24, aged seventy-nine years and ten months, Mary, widow of the late Mr. John Fowler, of Liverpool. For many years she had been a consistent follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, and could rejoice in a consciousness of sins forgiven, and an anticipation of future glory. Her last affliction was both unexpected and brief. Having lived in the enjoyment of religion, she died without any fear of the last enemy. Her mind was graciously supported by that Saviour she had so long loved and served. often expressed her confidence in the atonement of Christ, saying, "It is all Jesus, it is all Jesus." Her end was peace. She has left

"A suffering church beneath, For a reigning church above."

She

"Be ye also ready, for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of Man cometh.'

T. T. RUSHWORTH.