give you all up to Him who is the orphan's stay, and the helper of all them that are in distress.” In the course of the day, several persons called to see her when they were gone, she said, "I am sorry that so many inquire after my body, without making any inquiry after the welfare of my soul, which is of so much more value. O that they knew how much I feel for them!" From this time till her death, her sufferings were great, and she got but little sleep either night or day. One morning, it being observed to her, "You have had a hard night;" she said, very painful night, indeed; but it is over, and will no more return."

"A

The evening before her decease, she said to her husband-I leave this world without a murmur." "When you go,” he replied, "you will leave me those good qualities which I have so much admired in you for many years." She said, "I have nothing to leave you that is good; and, if there be any good quality about me, I wish the Lord may give you a double portion of it; and what is bad, O bury it with my body, that it may never be heard of." About five in the morning, she desired something to wet her mouth. When she got a little wine and water, which was all the support she had taken the day before, she said, "Blessed be the Lord, for this and all his mereies: he is kind and merciful to me; while many of his dear children have scarcely the necessaries

of life, I have its luxuries. and kind people to attend me." "I wonder," she continued (addressing herself to her husband) "that you can be so attentive to me now, that I am nothing but a burden upon the earth." "I could be content, my dear," said he, "to have you, as you are, all my life, were it not for what you suffer, rather than live without you." "One of us," said she, "must go first, and it is better that I should be the person." "Yes, my dear," he rejoined, "and you will welcome me to the celestial city." "If it be God's will," she replied, "I shall be glad to do it." One of her most intimate friends said, "You are near to glory: do you feel Jesus precious?" "Yes," said she, "He is my all in all." These were amongst the last words she uttered; for soon her happy spirit took its flight to the regions of eternal day, in the thirty-second year of her age, on the 30th of December, 1813.*

* Entire resignation to the divine will, is one of the highest attainments of personal religion; but it is an attainment which we cannot easily or suddenly acquire. It requires a peculiar degree of grace from on high, and as that grace is usually conveyed in a gradual and 'imperceptible manner, it requires a preparatory dispensation of affliction to bring it to perfection. Hence we often find, in watching the developement of the principles of the human mind, that when troubles rush in upon it with a sudden violence, there is sometimes a sullen resistance made to the will of God, instead of a spontaneous submission—a secret rebellion of the passions, instead of a complacent acquiescence: and what is the consequence? The loss of spiritual

enjoyment-that holy and ineffible delight, which arises from an intimate fellowship with God, which is necessarily interrupted when there is any opposition raised against the order of his procedure. When this opposition is fixed and uniform, it bespeaks a mind in a state of entire alienation from him, but its casual and momentary resistance, is not incompatible with the possession of the principle of general submission: and though it may please the Holy One of Israel to suspend the gracious manifestations of his love during the period it is in a state of action, yet he will soften down all the murmuring dispositions, and after having induced the resignation which he requires, will again lift up the light of his countenance and give joy and peace. And though the Writer does not wish to record a sentence which shall have a tendeney to reconcile his readers to the slightest expression of dissatisfaction with the will of God, or diminish in their estimation the magnitude of its guilt; yet he may be permitted to remark, that there may be a momentary resistance, without any impeachment of the principle of general acquiescence. To expect a wife, who is young in years, and ardent in attachment: or a mother, whose bosom is glowing with all the warmth of maternal affection, to hear the heavy tidings of her approaching dissolution, without feeling a momentary shock, and the vibration of that shock, agitating and convulsing her whole frame, would be to betray our ignorance of the laws by which the human mind is governed; yet we see, when it has spent its violence, the mind recovering its original state of composure, and under the influence of that grace, which "helps our infirmities," very often displaying a high degree of complacency in the mysterious dispensation,

Miss J. D. OFFTY.

It appears from the diary of Miss Jane DeIT borah Offty, that she was called by divine grace about the year 1783, under the ministry of the Rev. Richard Cecil: the sermon she dates her first lasting impressions from was founded on Matt. xii. 43, 44. On that occasion she thus writes: "I have reason in particular to bless God for that sermon; it led me to examine the matter over and over again, and to seek that grace which bringeth salvation, and teaches its subject to deny all ungodliness, and to live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present evil world."

From that time to her death, though she did not enjoy so much of that appropriating faith which leads its possessor to say, "He is my beloved and my friend," yet she could always say, "Jesus Christ was the chief among ten thousand, and altogether lovely."

She was a timid, fearful Christian; but she was not a wavering one: the uniform language of her heart was-" If I perish it shall be at the feet of Christ." She waited the fulfilment of his promises, and believed, that none who trust in him shall be confounded." What honour the Lord put upon this determined faith will appear by the closing scene of her life.

At the commencement of her long affliction, nothing remarkable appeared, except the patience and resignation with which she met the alarming progress of the disease. To a friend who said to her, "Your sufferings must have been very heavy!" she replied, "Not one too many; I have committed my way to the Lord for thirty years, and he has always chosen what, was best for me."

Hitherto she enjoyed but little of his smiles, which constitute the bliss of heaven. She said one morning, "If it is but light through the valley, O what a mercy! but if not, what shall I do?" It was observed in answer, she would be equally safe if it was dark all the way; "Yes," she replied," but I wish it much, for the sake of those who see me die, as well as for my own comfort."

On one occasion she said, "How superior are my accommodations to what my dear Saviour had; I have not only every comfort, but every