February 11th, To several friends she said, Jesus is very precious. I have no anxiety. Every thing is settled. My drawers, my house, my treasurer's books, my children, my all-I have nothing to do, but to die, and go home.

February 13. She said to a friend "Surely all this cannot be delusion." To another " I am not gone yet. The dross is not all taken away; I shall not go till it is." The last friend who saw her on that day, witnessed her very much enfeebled indeed, but putting his ear towards her, he distinctly heard the whisper "All is heaven and While her husband and within." peace servant were turning her in the bed, she remarked "Ah, my dear, it is hard work," and recollecting, caught up her words, " Hard did I say? no, I'll recall that word, it looks like repining; it is not hard, but requires more than nature to acquiesce in."

Frebruary 14. To a friend she observed," It seems as if there were no enemy.

He is, as

I

good Bunyan says, "as still as a stone.' scarcely think of him. My Jesus is all my salvation, and all my desire."

February 16th, "My Jesus is very precious to me. "Had I had breath, oh how could I have sung of him in the night." On a kind friend's leaving her, she said "Tell your dear sister what I enjoy; it is not like a death bed-it is sleeping in my Jesus's arms."

February 17th. When it was thought she was actually going, she was heard to say "It is sweet to die in Jesus--Bless God" my dear I am so happy-Though I walk through the valley," &c. About a quarter past eleven o'clock that evening, while profound silence was kept, she broke it, and with seemingly more than human voice she uttered

"There shall we see his face,

And never, never sin,

There from the rivers of his grace

Drink endless pleasures in."

Pausing, as though every word seemed a feast to her soul, she added

"For ever his dear sacred name

Shall dwell upon my tongue,

And Jesus and salvation be

The close of every song."

Her breath scarcely allowing her to reach the last word, she lay quietly meditating, but after waiting perhaps more than a minute, with seraphic accents she burst forth again—

"Yes thou art precious to my soul

My transport and my trust,
Jewels to thee are gaudy toys,
And gold is sordid dust."

Her arms falling, her husband attempted to

put the one next him into bed.

Speaking of her being much reduced, she said "Worms will not feast much on me.-Blessed be God I am not afraid of worms,

"Though greedy worms devour my skin

And gnaw my wasting flesh,

When God shall build my bones again,
He clothes them all afresh."

In the night, she begged her husband to pray once more with her. He did it: but when it was over she said "My dear, you have forgotten to pray for one thing." He asked "What is that?" "Why, that we may be prepared for and supported, in the parting hour." When he intimated the difficulty of doing it, she pleasingly and firmly replied, "Well, I can do it; and much as I love my Joseph, I can leave him to go to my Jesus." And then taking his hand, she prayed, acknowledging the kindness of God in uniting them, the happiness they had proved in each other, &c. After this she dosed and enjoyed some calm hours. Abont ten minutes past seven in the morning she was evidently seized for death. During her illness she had frequently requested Christian friends to pray for an easy dismissal, and God, her gracious God, answered prayer. While the perspiration was breaking forth in all directions, and every oozing drop seemed larger and larger, she inarticulately ut

tered, in broken accents—“ Valley-Shadow-Home-Jesus-Peace."

She seemed free from pain. Without a struggle she lay for nearly twenty minutes, and at twelve minutes before eight o'clock her head gently dropped on the left side of her pillow; her last pulse was felt by the hand of her anguished husband, and her disembodied spirit soared to the presence of her God.

MRS. BROOKER.

Mrs. Brooker was born the 6th of November, 1764, and married on the 9th of March, 1785. She was blessed with a truly pious mother, and, from her own statement, received her first impressions at a very early period from reading that invaluable work, "Doddridge's Rise and Progress," &c. She attended the Countess of Huntingdon's Chapel at Brighton, where she felt the deep convictions of sin, and where also she enjoyed the sublime consolations of mercy.

She had a deep sense of the depravity of her own heart, which often bowed her down; and the glorious truths of free and sovereign grace to lost and perishing sinners, through the blood and righteousness of a crucified Redeemer, were her only refuge and support. Not long before her death, she acknowledged with gratitude to God, that she had been preserved from outward gross sins, still her prayers were expressive of deep penitensial sorrow, and her highest boast was-" A sinner saved by grace!"

She was often greatly distressed at hearing of