THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 AGNES C. WIRT, 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 BOOKS FOR CHILDREN AND YOUTH. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE 
 AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 
 
 150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK.
 
 A 27 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 65. AGNES C. WIET. 
 
 66. ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 67. ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 68. SELF-CONTROL.
 
 AGNES C. WIRT. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE 
 AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 
 
 150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. 
 139
 
 AGNES C, WIRT, 
 
 
 "This lovely bud, so young and fair. 
 
 Called hence by early doom, 
 Just came to show how sweet a flower 
 In paradise should bloom/' 
 
 AGXES C. WIRT was the youngest daughter of 
 the Hon. William Wirt, and almost the youngest 
 member of a large and happy band of affection- 
 
 447282
 
 4 AGNES C. WIRT. 
 
 ate sisters and brothers. Her peculiarly lovely 
 disposition, and the natural delicacy of her con- 
 stitution, combined to render her an object of 
 especial love and tender solicitude with all the 
 household. Mr. AVirt took great pains with the 
 education of his children, giving them every ad- 
 vantage which the best instructors, aided by his 
 own personal supervision, could afford ; and in 
 their hours of recreation he often joined in their 
 youthful sports, which he possessed the happiest 
 faculty of rendering instructive as well as amus- 
 ing. His presence was therefore always hailed 
 with eager delight by the youthful group, and 
 their young companions coveted no higher en- 
 joyment than the privilege of spending an even- 
 ing at his cheerful fireside. 
 
 In^this happy and well-ordered household the 
 children felt for their parents the highest vener- 
 ation, mingled with the most ardent and devoted 
 affection ; and towards each other that unselfish 
 love which makes us prefer another's happiness 
 before our own, and causes an atmosphere of 
 peace and joy to surround every family circle 
 in which it exists. Under these refining and 
 elevating influences, few could fail to be improv- 
 ed ; and certainly they were not lost upon Ag- 
 nes, whoso mind early displayed a wonderful
 
 AG-NES C. WIRT. 5 
 
 maturity and power, which made her no less an 
 object of parental admiration than she had ever 
 been of devoted affection. Her face too was 
 extremely interesting, for to the beauty of her 
 delicate features was added the charm of a love- 
 ly and intelligent expression of countenance. 
 
 Her parents resided during the greater part of 
 her life in the city of Washington, where they 
 mingled with the most refined, polished, and in- 
 tellectual society. Mr. Wirt's talents and repu- 
 tation attracted continually a large number of 
 visitors to his house, among whom Agnes was 
 caressed and flattered, being admired for her 
 superior talents, graceful manners, and pleasing 
 appearance. Still she preserved to a remarka- 
 ble degree her natural modesty and simplicity of 
 character. Grateful to friends who showed her 
 kindness, her heart went forth in perpetual offi- 
 ces of love to those around her, while she re- 
 mained apparently unconscious of possessing in 
 herself any peculiar charm or attraction. The 
 bright, cheering, animated smile which lighted 
 up her amiable and intelligent face, was like a 
 ray of sunshine to the sac\ and weary ; and her 
 softly spoken words of love were treasured up 
 long after her fair young form had passed out of 
 sight. With her school-fellows and playmates
 
 6 AG-NES C. W1RT. 
 
 she was gay and joyous, and full of innocent 
 mirth, her ringing laugh and read}* wit ever mak- 
 ing their childish sports merrier and brighter. 
 
 But though the pleasing qualities of the heart 
 and mind which have been described were well 
 calculated to render her a favorite companion, 
 there was a still higher grace, which beautified 
 every other, and elevated her whole character, 
 without which she could not have produced such 
 strong and abiding impressions, nor so command- 
 ed the respect as well as the affection of all who 
 knew her. This was the grace of religion. The 
 kind parent who was so carefully cultivating her 
 mental powers, and seeking to secure her hap- 
 piness in this life, was yet more earnest in his 
 efforts to bring the heart of his little daughter 
 under the influence of the best and wisest teach- 
 ing, namely, that of our blessed Saviour and his 
 divine precepts. She was "instructed in the 
 holy Scriptures which make wise unto salva- 
 tion," through faith in Christ and the renewal of 
 the heart b^ the Holy Spirit ; and in the exam- 
 ple of Christian parents, she saw religion in some 
 of its most attractive and pleasing lights. The 
 Holy Spirit was pleased to bless these means of 
 grace, so that at an early age little Agnes gave 
 evidence that her heart was changed, and that
 
 AG-NES C. W1RT. 7 
 
 she had become a truly pious child. This was 
 the principle which preserved her purity of heart, 
 and kept her humble and unpretending in the 
 midst of flattery and temptation. 
 
 Mr. Kennedy says of her, in his interesting 
 Life of Wirt, " From earliest childhood an object 
 of extraordinary attraction to all who were famil- 
 iar with Mr. Wirt's household, she possessed a 
 remarkable intelligence and aptitude of mind, 
 which was developed in a devotion to study 
 very unusual to her years and sex. It was not 
 less expressed in. her face, which sparkled with 
 physical and intellectual beauty. Her manners 
 won all hearts by their gentleness and grace. 
 The cast of her mind was thoughtful arid de- 
 voutly religious. These qualities had so plant- 
 ed her in the affections of her family, that she 
 seemed to lead and instruct that little domestic 
 circle of which she was almost the youngest 
 member. 
 
 The influence of her Christian character was 
 also felt by all her 3*011 ng associates. Never did 
 her sprightliness and love of amusement lead her 
 to disregard the feelings of the least one among 
 them, or knowingly to violate the rules of her 
 parents and teachers ; while the slightest ap- 
 proach to deceit or falsehood was most repulsive
 
 8 AG-NES C. W1RT. 
 
 to her. If ever the proposition was made to her 
 by a young friend to seek some forbidden pleas- 
 ure and conceal it from their parents, it was not 
 easy to forget the look of shocked surprise with 
 which it was instantly rejected, nor the gentle 
 and conciliating tone with which she would after- 
 wards add, a little playfully, as if unwilling to 
 believe the suggestion seriously made, "That 
 would be deceiving our parents, you know ; and 
 I would n't for the Avorld do that, would you ?" 
 
 No wonder that each year this dutiful, affec- 
 tionate, and winning child became more and 
 more endeared to her parents and friends, and 
 that they looked forward with pleased anticipa- 
 tion and the highest hopes to the ripening and 
 maturing of the tenderly cherished plant, so full 
 of beauty and promise. Between her father 
 and herself especially the bond of affection was 
 daily becoming stronger. Congeniality of taste 
 upon literary subjects, as well as many other 
 points of sympathy, mutually attracted towards 
 each other the gifted parent and child. " It is to 
 her influence," says Mr. Wirt ? s biographer, " we 
 may trace some of the strongest religious im- 
 pressions of her father while she lived ; and in 
 still greater distinctness (he devout contrition 
 and fervid piety which, after her death, became
 
 AG-NES-C. WiRT. 9 
 
 so engrossing and conspicuous in his character 
 during the remainder of his life. Many beautiful 
 letters addressed by him to this child for several 
 years, attest the estimate he made of her under- 
 standing, and his reverence for the purity of her 
 character. From the topics discussed in them, 
 and the grave tenor of the style in many which 
 have fallen under my inspection, the reader of 
 them would never suppose the correspondent to 
 be a little girl scarcely emancipated from the 
 nursery. But the precocity of her mind seems 
 fully to have warranted the tone of these letters. 
 She was her father's constant companion in his 
 study ; arranged and endorsed his papers for 
 him; collected .his books of authority when he 
 was studying his cases ; made notes for him ; 
 and by a thousand affectionate assiduities, so 
 associated herself with his happiest hours, as to 
 render her presence one of his highest delights, 
 and frequent letters to her, when absent, almost 
 indispensable to his content." Kennedy's Life 
 of Wirt. 
 
 The same author gives us an extract from a 
 memoir of this beloved daughter, prepared by 
 her father not long after her death. 
 
 "Young as she was," says her father, "she 
 seemed to be the seal and connecting bond of
 
 10 AGNES C. \V1RT. 
 
 the whole family. Her voice, her smile, her ani- 
 mated, graceful movements, her countless little 
 acts and expressions of kindness and love, those 
 'small sweet courtesies of life' which she was so 
 continually rendering to all around her, and with 
 such exquisite grace of manner, had made her 
 necessary to every individual member of the 
 household. When she was lost to us, it was as 
 if the keystone of the arch had been removed. 
 There was a healthfulness in the glow of her 
 fresh and young affections, which animated the 
 rigid nerves of age ; and a pleasantness and 
 beauty in the play of her innocent thoughts and 
 feelings, which could soothe the brow of care, 
 and light up a smile even on the face of sorrow. 
 To me she was not only the companion of my 
 studies, but the sweetener of my toils. The 
 painter, it is said, relieved his aching eyes by 
 looking on a curtain of green. My mind in its 
 hour of deepest fatigue required no other refresh- 
 ment than one glance at my beloved child as she 
 sat beside me." 
 
 In the month of April, 1829, Mr. Wirt remov- 
 ed to Baltimore ; and Agnes' affectionate heart 
 felt keenly the separation which ensued between 
 many dearly loved friends of her earl)* childhood, 
 by whom the loss of her society was deeply de-
 
 AONES C. WiRT. 11 
 
 plored, and her memory cherished with admira- 
 tion and affection. In November of the year 
 1830, her health became increasingly delicate ; 
 and before many months elapsed, having scarce- 
 ly attained her sixteenth year, she was received 
 into the heavenly mansion prepared for her by 
 that Saviour who had so gently drawn her 
 young heart to himself by the cords of his ever- 
 lasting love. 
 
 Her mother says, in a record kept of her ill- 
 ness and death, from which in substance the 
 following facts are taken, "It was about the 
 middle of November that she began to complain 
 of palpitation of the heart, which confined her to 
 the house, and prevented her exercising in any 
 way. She was of course denied the privilege of 
 going to church, which was to her a very hard 
 trial ; and as soon as she began somewhat to 
 recover from this distressing affection, she would 
 constantly beg the doctor's permission to go, 
 saying, ' Oh, doctor, if I wrap myself up warm, 
 wear thick shoes, and walk very slowly, can't I 
 go next Sunday, if it is a good day?' And when 
 at last he held out a prospect of her being short- 
 ly indulged in her wish, her joy was so great 
 that she could not keep it to herself, but told it 
 to every one. ' The doctor says, in two more
 
 12 AGNES C. \V1RT. 
 
 Sundays he hopes I may be able to go to 
 church.'" With the Psalmist she could say, 
 "My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the 
 courts of the Lord : my heart and my flesh cri- 
 eth out for the living God." But these thirsting 
 aspirations of her spiritual nature were to be 
 satisfied in no earthly temple, and through no 
 human means. Angels were waiting to wel- 
 cfhie her into the upper sanctuaiy, and to the 
 "pure river of the water of life, clear as crys- 
 tal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of 
 the Lamb." 
 
 She became extremely ill, her disease assum- 
 ing another form. "For the first two days," 
 says her mother, "the physician pronounced it 
 scarlet-fever ; but in this he proved to be mis- 
 taken. Upon the two following days she had a 
 violent dysentery. During this time her suffer- 
 ings were extreme ; and the disease not yield- 
 ing to the remedies administered, I called in an- 
 other physician, and finally two others ; but all 
 in vain. The Lord saw it to be wise and best 
 to refuse her to our prayers. Oh may he ena- 
 ble us to say, 
 
 " ' Thy will, thy holy will be done, 
 Howe'er it cross our own.' *' 
 
 From the beginning of her illness, which lasted
 
 AGNES C. W1RT. 13 
 
 only ten days, she appeared to have a persua- 
 sion that she should never recover, and exhibited 
 throughout the same lovely characteristics which 
 made her so attractive in health ; proving to all 
 about her the power of that Saviour whom she 
 had chosen as the guide of her youth, to cheer, 
 comfort, and sustain when heart and flesh fail. 
 
 With the same love of truth for which she had 
 always been distinguished, she would say of dje 
 
 of her physicians, "I love Dr. B . I love 
 
 him because he does not try to deceive me. He 
 tells me that I am very ill." 
 
 When told by her friends that her symptoms 
 were thought more favorable, she would reply 
 that she felt herself to be worse ; yet she show- 
 ed no agitation, but evinced a calm serenity and 
 resignation. An attendant, one day upon hand- 
 ing her a dose of nauseous medicine, asked if 
 she was not tired of taking so much physic. 
 " Yes ; but I must do every thing that the doc- 
 tor and dear mother wish," she replied, with 
 touching patience. 
 
 Feeling at another time a sense of suffocation, 
 owing, as the physician said, to some nervous 
 
 affection, she called Mrs. W , a kind friend 
 
 who was with her, to the bedside, and whis- 
 pered, "I am dying. Send dear ma out of the
 
 14 AGNES C. WIRT. 
 
 room, if possible ; she will be so distressed ;" 
 showing even at such a moment her character- 
 istic thoughtfulness and consideration for others, 
 as well as a calmness and self-possession truly 
 wonderful, under such circumstances, for a child 
 of her age. 
 
 Sometimes well-meaning but mistaken friends 
 would try to cheer and comfort her in the possi- 
 lj^ prospect of death, by saying that it could 
 have no terrors for her, because she had passed 
 a youth of so much innocence and loveliness, 
 such freedom from sin, such perfect sweetness 
 and goodness as made every body love her, and 
 that God must love her too. But to such re- 
 marks she would reply with gentle and heartfelt 
 humility, " You do irt know me; you do not know 
 my secret heart ; but God knows all my secret 
 sins, my lukewarmness, my coldness ; and if he 
 saves me," raising her eyes to heaven with an 
 expression of mingled humility, hope, and love, 
 "it is for Christ's sake, for his own mercy's sake, 
 and not for my merits. Oh no. He knows that 
 I am very sinful and unworthy." Upon one 
 occasion after such a conversation, thinking her- 
 self alone, she clasped her delicate hands and 
 murmured the following prayer : 
 
 " God, I know that I have been very sinful :
 
 AGNES C. WIRT. 15 
 
 but thou hast said In thy Holy Bible that unto 
 whom much is forgiven, that one shall love thee 
 much. Thou seest my heart ; thou knowest 
 how I love thee. If thou sparest me now, I 
 will serve thee and be thine on earth. If thou 
 takest me away, I will love thee and glorify thee 
 in heaven." Her mother, who was standing by 
 her bedside, remarked, "That is a sweet prayer, 
 my beloved child." She, sighing, answered ii^p 
 low voice, "I did not know that any one was 
 listening to me." 
 
 At another time, when alone with one of her 
 sisters, whom she playfully designated by the 
 title of her "preacher," she several times re- 
 quested her to kneel and pray for her, saying, 
 " I can pray in my heart, but I feel too weak to 
 pray long. I want you to read the Bible to me 
 also, dear sister, for I cannot read it myself." 
 Her sufferings soon became too violent to admit 
 of sufficient composure to listen to reading at 
 this time." 
 
 Two days before her death she fell into a 
 short slumber, and upon awaking asked the doc- 
 tor what day of the month it was. When he 
 answered, "The twenty-eighth," she said, "I am 
 so glad, for I thought in my dream just now that 
 I re%d these words : ' Departed this life, on the
 
 16 AGNES C. WIRT. 
 
 twenty-second of December, after a short but 
 severe illness, Agnes Cabell Wirt ;' but," with 
 a faint smile to her mother, who stood near the 
 bed, she added, "the day is passed by." She 
 then asked, " Did you hear any music just now ?" 
 and being answered in the negative, said, "I 
 never heard such sweet, such heavenly music 
 in my life as I heard in my sleep just now." 
 ^Per pastor, the Rev. Dr. Nevins, visited her 
 upon the same day, carrying with him a volume 
 of the "Village Hymns," not knowing that she 
 had a copy of her own. "He drew her atten- 
 tion to one which had long been a favorite with 
 her," says her mother, ".and after he left, I re- 
 quested her sister Catharine to read it to her, 
 which she did on her knees. It was that beau- 
 tiful hymn, 
 
 '"Jesus, lover of my soul, 
 Let me to thy bosom fly.' 
 
 Agnes kept her eyes, which beamed with super- 
 natural brilliancy and dovelike softness, fixed as 
 if upon Him whom this hymn supplicates, moving 
 her lips in broken exclamations of love and faith, 
 and sometimes repeating words of the hymn. 
 She retained the same expression for some mo- 
 ments after the reading ceased, and then exclaim- 
 ed, ' What a sweet, sweet hymn :
 
 AONES 0. WIRT. 17 
 
 " ' Jesus, lover of my soul, 
 Let me to thy bosom fly.' 
 
 Several other hymns were then read to her by 
 her sister, to all of which she listened with atten- 
 tive pleasure, particularly when they spoke of 
 God's tender love and support to those who put 
 their trust in him. 'Yes, yes, he will never 
 leave me, nor forsake me ;' and other similar ex- 
 clamations fell from her dear lips." 
 
 After her sister had offered a prayer for her, 
 the doctor advised that she should be left in 
 undisturbed quiet ; but she presently sent again 
 for Catharine, her " preacher," and said, " If you 
 will lie down by me and hold my hand, I will 
 try to sleep." By this time her hands had be- 
 come deadly cold, and never afterwards recov- 
 ered, even for a moment, the least sensible heat. 
 Her sister, kissing her, took her hand between 
 hers, and said, " Oh, my dear sister, if God raises 
 you up from this sickness, we shall be so happy 
 together, praising him, reading the Bible, and 
 praying together." 
 
 "Oh yes," she replied, "if he does spare me, 
 I will try to live entirely to his glory. Oh, I 
 will live a more Christian life than I have ever 
 done before. But," after a slight pause, "I 
 know I shall never recover from this sickness. 
 
 SEIL iv. 130
 
 18 AG-NES C. WIRT. 
 
 I hope you pray for me, my dear sister, and 
 that all my dear brothers and sisters pray for 
 me. I pray as much as I can ; but I am so very 
 sick that I cannot pray constantly, as I wish." 
 
 " After a consultation of the four physicians 
 on the day preceding her death," continues her 
 mother, "she called me to her, and said, 'Dear 
 ma, do the doctors think I am going T I replied, 
 *My sweet child, the doctors all assure me that 
 if your time has nearly come, it is not very near, 
 for you must be a great deal weaker first.' She 
 made no reply, but merely closed her eyes in 
 cairn resignation. I added, 'My child, Mr. Xev- 
 ins assures me that if you were to die this mo- 
 ment, he thinks you have an interest in Christ, 
 and are prepared for heaven/ She answered, 
 1 He does not know my secret sins ; he does not 
 see my heart." 
 
 During the illness of little Agnes, Mr. "Wirt 
 was absent from home, engaged in important 
 professional business, from which he was sum- 
 moned to attend the dying-bed of his beloved 
 child, and arrived only the night before her 
 death. But one interview was permitted them, 
 which by the direction of the physicians lasted 
 only a few moments. " During this," writes her 
 mother, "she spoke to him with her wonted
 
 AtfNES C. WIRT. 19 
 
 playful and endearing manner. Upon his leav- 
 ing the room, she turned to our neighbor, who 
 was sitting by her, and sighing deeply, said, ' I 
 shall never see him again.' ' Oh yes, my dear, 
 
 you will, if you wish it/ said Mrs. W . 'I 
 
 shall never be able to bear another interview,' 
 she replied. And truly she never saw him again, 
 for we were all so anxious to avoid any thing 
 which might disturb the quiet deemed necessary 
 for her, that her father was not allowed to see 
 her again until she was past all hope, and in the 
 insensibility of death." 
 
 About candlelight on the evening of her death, 
 she awoke from a disturbed slumber in a deliri- 
 um, asked to have her new wrapper put on, and 
 her clothes all smoothed down nicely, that she 
 might be ready to receive her father, insisting 
 that she was as well as she ever was in her 
 life, and that she wished to be nicely dressed to 
 see her dear father. The delirium continued, 
 with occasional intermissions, until her spirit 
 took its flight. 
 
 Dr. B , who had been called in only the 
 
 day before her death, and had no previous know- 
 ledge of her character, was selected to stay with 
 her during the night, the family physician being 
 obliged to leave on account of his own uncom-
 
 20 AGNES C. WIRT. 
 
 fortable feelings portending illness. Dr. B 
 
 remarked that he had never attended so inter- 
 esting and lovely a death-bed. The grateful affec- 
 tion and the sweet tenderness of her manner 
 were irresistibly winning ; while the purity and 
 beauty of her sentiments, uttered even in deliri- 
 um, was more touchingly lovely than any thing 
 he had ever heard. 
 
 During the night she often expressed herself 
 in French ; at other times she recited passages 
 of poetry with the most touching pathos, occa- 
 sionally raising her voice and speaking with 
 energy, and again whispering in melodious mur- 
 murs, when he could only observe from the 
 regular cadence of her voice, and the chiming of 
 the rhythm, that she was repeating poetry. He 
 inquired of her sisters if she ever composed in 
 rhyme, for that a great deal which she uttered 
 was new to him, and not to be found in any of 
 the standard poets. Her manuscripts show that 
 she did sometimes indulge in this style of writ- 
 ing. 
 
 During her delirium, she at one time seemed 
 strongly possessed with the idea that she was 
 at sea in a boat. She begged that the boat 
 might not be too much crowded, and that the 
 little children whom she imagined to be with her
 
 AGNES C. WIRT. 21 
 
 might be well taken care of. She would say, 
 "Light the lamp, and call the little children." 
 And as one of the servants passed through the 
 room, she asked, " Is John's father afraid to trust 
 himself in the little boat? I am not afraid to 
 trust myself/' murmuring something about Je- 
 sus being on the other shore waiting to receive 
 her. 
 
 Her mother, who had been exhausted by con- 
 tinued watching night and day, was persuaded 
 to lie down for a few hours, leaving her in the 
 
 care of the physician and Mrs. C , a kind 
 
 neighbor, her sisters stealing occasionally into 
 the room ; but they too were advised to lie 
 down, as perfect quiet was desirable, and hope 
 had not been abandoned. Elizabeth alone re- 
 mained, but was engaged a great part of the 
 time in another room, preparing nourishment 
 and drink for her by the doctor's direction. She 
 often called for her dear father and mother. At 
 
 length Mrs. C asked if she should send for 
 
 them. "Not now," she answered. Ever con- 
 siderate for others, she would not have them 
 disturbed even then. 
 
 Sometimes she fancied the doctor and Mrs. 
 
 C to be her father and mother, and would 
 
 exclaim, "Dear father; dear, dear father and
 
 22 AGNES C. WIRT. 
 
 mother, I love you so much." Suddenly, about 
 the middle of the night, there was a great change 
 for the worse. Her parents were then called, 
 but she was not conscious of their presence, 
 and soon calmly slept in the bosom of her Sav- 
 iour. 
 
 Thus closes the record kept by a tender moth- 
 er's hand, and preserved for many years by an 
 aged saint, one of Agnes' most valued Christian 
 friends, whom she loved with almost a daugh- 
 ter's affection, and by whom the memory of her 
 sweet childhood with all its hallowed influences 
 was fondly cherished until the day of her own 
 death, which occurred only a short time since. 
 
 The following account is given by the Rev. 
 Dr. Xevins, her pastor, of his interviews with 
 Agnes during her last illness. 
 
 " It was not until the Monday afternoon pre- 
 vious to the death of Agnes, that I was informed 
 of her illness. I immediately hastened to see 
 her, and had some conversation with her, chiefly 
 with regard to the plan and way of salvation, 
 and with particular reference to its infinite ful- 
 ness and entire freeness. After I had prayed 
 with her, and when about to retire, she exacted 
 of me a promise that I would come again the
 
 AGNES C. WJRT. 23 
 
 next morning. I accordingly visited her about 
 nine o'clock. When I entered the room, she 
 said in her sweet smiling manner, ' Oh, I am so 
 glad to see you ; I have been wanting to see 
 you ; I have been looking for you since six 
 o'clock.' I again sat by her, and conversed and 
 prayed with her ; but I do not now recollect the 
 particulars of what was said on either side. 
 
 "I saw her again for a few moments on 
 Wednesday morning ; but it was upon the after- 
 noon of that day that I had the conversation 
 with her upon which I look back with most 
 pleasure. I felt a painful anxiety as I approach- 
 ed her bed, for I had heard from an attending 
 friend that she had some hours before seemed 
 much alarmed at the prospect of death ; but I 
 was soon relieved. Never have I seen so in- 
 teresting and lovely a human countenance as 
 she exhibited on this occasion. It was not the 
 rose and the lily mingled as in health ; it was 
 the loveliness of the lily alone, that lowly flower 
 of the valley, that covered all the aspect, except 
 that from the midst of it looked forth an eye 
 bright beyond all its former lustre. I never 
 saw so much expression in a human face. I 
 did not suppose that any organization of matter 
 could express so much mind ; and yet the expres-
 
 24 AONES C. WJRT. 
 
 sion was not purely of intelligence, but of love 
 and intellect beautifully blended. 
 
 " I wish that I could remember all that passed 
 in the interview. I did not know that it was to 
 be our last conversation, though it was just 
 what I could have wished the last to be. I 
 asked if, provided it was God's will to take her 
 then, she was willing to go. She answered 
 without hesitation, and with an expression the 
 farthest removed from anguish, that she was 
 willing. She gave afterwards some reasons why 
 she was willing to go, and they were such as 
 became a Christian. If she continued longer on 
 earth, she would but sin more. This was the 
 idea, though not the very language. I told her 
 she must tell her parents and friends not to 
 grieve inordinately for her, should she be re- 
 moved from them. She signified that she would, 
 and turning to me, said, her sweetest smile ac- 
 companying her words, ' Wont you comfort them ?' 
 
 " She expressed, in the most distinct manner, 
 and in the most decided terms, her sole reliance 
 for salvation on the atoning blood of Christ ; and 
 several times said with much apparent affection, 
 1 1 do love Jesus j yes, / do love him. He loved 
 me, and gave himself for me.' When any thing 
 was said to her by others which seemed to im-
 
 AGNES C. WIRT. 25 
 
 ply that she had something in herself that she 
 might safely rely on, as that she had always 
 been a good girl, she disclaimed all such depend- 
 ence. 'Ah/ she would say, 'you don't know 
 me. 7 She manifestly felt that she needed a 
 Saviour ; and if she needed one, who does not ? 
 She said to me, ' Do you think that I have expe- 
 rienced a change of heart V 1 replied that if she 
 could sincerely say, as she had just said, that 
 she loved Jesus, she must have experienced 
 that change. I asked her then, if she thought 
 she had experienced a change of heart. She 
 said in answer, ' Sometimes I do think I have ; 
 but at other times I am so lukewarm that I 
 doubt it.' 
 
 " I think I clearly discerned in her the work- 
 ing of the Spirit of God. She had such a con- 
 viction of sin, and such a deep sense of personal 
 un worthiness, as could not have been derived 
 from any other source. Christ was evidently 
 her hope and her dependence. And riot only 
 then did she show this, but a long time before 
 she had manifested that she loved what the 
 Christian loves, and hated what he hates. My 
 soul reposes therefore in the sweet confidence 
 that to her to die was gain, and that she is now 
 where she will ever be with Jesus ; in a place
 
 26 AGNES C. WIRT. 
 
 she would not leave even for her own loved 
 home, and among those who love her far better 
 than even they did whom she has left behind 
 her. She has lost nothing ; she has gained 
 every thing." 
 
 So in the fair, bright morning of her young 
 life was this happy, highly favored Christian 
 child suffered to enter upon the full fruition of 
 those blessed hopes and cheering promises, by 
 whose attractive light the alluring joys of earth 
 had been stripped of their delusive brightness. 
 The gifts of intellect, beauty, and high social 
 position, together with the deepest and purest 
 source of earthly happiness, kindred love, were 
 all alike insufficient to awaken one sigh of regret 
 when but the foreshadowing of the " glory to be 
 revealed'' was presented to her spiritual eye. 
 "The King in his beauty" stood beckoning her 
 to join the white apparelled train who "follow 
 the Lamb whithersoever he goeth." No won- 
 der that there was no look of withdrawal upon 
 her face, who, having gladly performed her earth- 
 ly mission, "walking humbly with her God," 
 now felt the throbbings of her new immortal 
 nature, and the nameless bliss of entering into 
 the presence of Him whom her soul loved.
 
 AONES C. WIRT. 27 
 
 Her earthly work, however, was not yet all 
 ended, for as the young bud, which, though gath- 
 ered in its first fresh beauty, with its soft, ten- 
 der leaves still folded upon its half hidden treas- 
 ures, may leave a lingering fragrance in the air ; 
 and the "dying fall" of music waked by a mas- 
 ter's hand, may return again and again in melo- 
 dious echoes to the ravished ear ; so in the 
 hearts of those who loved her, lived the memory 
 of little Agnes' Christian graces ; her holy life 
 and happy death continuing to instruct, attract, 
 and encourage, long after her voice ceased to be 
 heard in the land of the living. 
 
 Her father in a letter to her mother thus 
 touchingly describes the sweet impression pro- 
 duced upon himself by her removal : 
 
 "My sweet angel visits me, by faith, many 
 times in the course of the day and night. I 
 want only my blessed Saviour's assurance of 
 pardon and acceptance to be at peace. I wisli 
 to find no rest short of rest in him." 
 
 "Dearest heart, let us both look up to that 
 heaven where our angel is, and from which she 
 is still permitted to observe us with interest 
 up to that heaven where our Saviour dwells, 
 and from which he is showing us the attractive 
 face of our blessed and happy child, and bidding
 
 28 AGNES C. WIRT. 
 
 us prepare to come to her, since she can no more 
 visibly come to us. 
 
 " I have no taste now for worldly business ; I 
 go to it reluctantly. I would keep company 
 only with my Saviour and his holy book. I 
 dread the world the strife, and contention, and 
 emulation of the bar. Yet I will do my duty ; 
 this is part of my religion." 
 
 Again, in the following letter to a friend, he 
 expresses the bitterness of his anguish at her 
 loss, with the same earnest Christian desire to 
 learn the heaven-appointed lesson of submissive 
 resignation, and a more entire surrender of his 
 heart to God. 
 
 To Judge Carr. 
 
 ;t BALTIMORE, March 23, 1831. 
 "I owe you several letters, my dear friend, 
 but you are kind, and can allow for my situa- 
 tion. I have had such a winter as I never had 
 before heavy causes to argue, with a broken 
 heart and exhausted strength, when at every 
 step I felt far more disposed to lie down in the 
 grave. It was not in such a frame that I could 
 address you. Even now I am unfit to write, 
 for to me the heavens are hung with mourning 
 and the earth covered with darkness. The 
 charm of life is gone. I look at my belovrd
 
 AGNES C. WIRT. 29 
 
 wife and my still remaining circle of affectionate 
 children, and my heart reproaches me with in- 
 gratitude to heaven. I have been too blessed 
 for rny deserts. The selection of the victim is too 
 striking to be misunderstood. There is a better 
 world, of which I have thought too little. To 
 that world she is gone, and thither my affections 
 have followed her. This was heaven's design. 
 I see and feel it as distinctly as if an angel had 
 revealed it. I often imagine that I can see her 
 beckoning me to the happy world to which she 
 has gone. She was my companion my office 
 companion, my librarian, my clerk. My papers 
 now bear her endorsement. She pursued her 
 studies in my office, by my side ; sat with me, 
 walked with me ; was my inexpressibly sweet 
 and inseparable companion ; never left me but to 
 go and sit with her mother. We knew all her 
 intelligence, all her pure and delicate sensibility, 
 the quickness and power of her perceptions, her 
 seraphic love. She was all love, and loved all 
 God's creation, even the animals, trees, and 
 plants. She loved her God and Saviour with an 
 angel's love, and died like a saint." Kenned3 7 's 
 Life of Wirt. 
 
 "From this period," says Mr. Kennedy, "we 
 date a very notable change in the aspect of Mr.
 
 30 AG-NES C. \VIRT. 
 
 Wirt's life. He lost, never entirely to recover 
 it, that buoyancy of spirit which heretofore, even 
 in his gravest moments, was wont to break forth 
 in irrepressible sallies. This sad event affected 
 his health, and secretly preyed upon his mind, 
 to a degree which is supposed to have hastened 
 the termination of his life. That religious rever- 
 ence which had long been a sentiment of his 
 heart, now grew into a pervading and almost 
 engrossing passion. It chastened his ambition, 
 sobered his views of temporal life, and led to 
 the abandonment of schemes and fancies which 
 for a long time had formed the staple of his 
 hopes in the pursuit of his profession. He be- 
 came more than ever a student in spiritual know- 
 ledge, and a most devout and assiduous Chris- 
 tian. I find among papers belonging to this 
 stage of his history much pious meditation and 
 religious discourse, preserved in essays and 
 other writings, which seem to have occupied a 
 large share of his time. Age advanced rapidly, 
 making its strong marks upon his frame, but 
 not subduing or even diminishing the ardor of 
 his industry, or blunting the edge of his facul- 
 ties. It made him wiser and better, without 
 abating the strength of his judgment or intellect. 
 Occasionally we may find his former playfulness
 
 AONES C. W1RT. 31 
 
 revived, but we cannot help seeing in it how 
 much it was tempered and abbreviated by the 
 ever-returning memory of his affliction." 
 
 May the youthful readers of this imperfect 
 sketch of little Agnes Wirt remember what it 
 was which gave such an irresistible charm to 
 her character in health, enabled her to be so 
 patient and uncomplaining throughout her sick- 
 ness, and in the hour of death to relinquish with- 
 out repining the brightest earthly prospects and 
 the most tenderly beloved relatives and friends. 
 Following her example, may many of them be 
 embraced within the fold of that "good Shep- 
 herd" who leads all his trusting lambs to the 
 same "still waters" of comfort, and to the same 
 "green pastures" of hope. And like her, hav- 
 ing kindled their lamps at the great Source and 
 Fountain of light and love, may they finally be 
 placed amid those "stars" in the firmament of 
 heaven which shall continue to shine through- 
 out eternity in ever-increasing lustre with the 
 reflected beams of the Sun of righteousness.
 
 32 AGNES C. WIRT. 
 
 AGNES' FAVORITE HYMN. 
 
 Jesus, lover of my soul, 
 Let me to thy bosom fly, 
 
 While the billows near me roll. 
 While the tempest still is high : 
 
 Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, 
 Till the storm of life is past ; 
 
 Safe into the haven guide ; 
 
 receive my soul at last. 
 
 Other refuge have I none, 
 
 Hangs my helpless soul on thee ; 
 Leave, ah, leave me not alone ; 
 
 Still support and comfort me. 
 All my trust on thee is stayed ; 
 
 All my help from thee I bring : 
 Cover my defenceless head 
 
 With the shadow of thy wing. 
 
 Thou. O Christ, art all I want ; 
 
 More than all in thee I find ; 
 Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, 
 
 Heal the sick, and lead the blind. 
 Just and holy is thy name ; 
 
 1 am all unrighteousness : 
 Vile and full of sin I am ; 
 
 Thou art full of truth and grace.
 
 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 CONVERSION OF JAMES LAING. 
 
 BY REV. ROBERT M. M'CHEYNE. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE 
 AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 
 
 ,150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. 
 131
 
 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED; 
 
 OK, 
 CONVERSION OF JAMES LAING. 
 
 BY REV. ROBERT M. M'CHEYNE. 
 Abridged. 
 
 
 ' My beloved is gone down into his garden to gather lilies." Sol. 
 Song 6: 2. 
 
 IN this little narrative we would raise up a 
 humble stone to the memory of a dear boy who 
 now sleeps in Jesus, and to the praise of that 
 
 447282
 
 4 ANOTHER LILY OATHERED. 
 
 God and Saviour who planted, watered, and 
 gathered his own lily. 
 
 James Laing was born on the 28th of July, 
 1828, and lost his mother before he was eight 
 years old. He was seized with the same fever 
 as that of which his mother died, and he never 
 was in good health afterwards. He was natu- 
 rally a very quiet and reserved boy not so 
 rough in his language as many of the boys 
 around. One day, when he was lying on his 
 dying bed, I was asking his sister what kind of 
 boy he had been. She said that he was as wick- 
 ed as other boys, only he did not swear. After 
 I was gone, he told his sister that she was 
 wrong. He never used to swear at home, be- 
 cause he was afraid he would be punished for 
 it ; but when among his companions he often 
 used to swear. "Ah," added he, "it is a won- 
 der God did not send me to hell when I was a 
 swearer." Another day, hearing some boys 
 swearing near his window, he said, "It is a 
 wonder God did not leave me to swear among 
 these boys yet." Such was the early life of 
 this boy. He did not know the God who guid- 
 ed him, and in whose hand his breath was : and 
 such is the life of most of our children ; they 
 "cast off fear, and restrain prayer before God."
 
 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 5 
 
 The Holy Spirit strives even with children ; 
 and when they grieve him, and resist his awak- 
 ening hand, he suffers long with them. The 
 autumn of 1839 was a solemn time in this place. 
 The divine ladder was set down in the midst of 
 our Bethel, and its top reached up to heaven ; 
 and even strangers were forced to say, " Surely 
 God is in this place." that these sweet days 
 would come back again. James' elder brother 
 Alexander, a sailor-boy, was at that time awak- 
 ened, arid the same glorious Spirit seemed to 
 visit James for a time. One evening their sis- 
 ter Margaret, returning home from a meeting, 
 found her two brothers on their knees earnestly 
 crying for mercy. She did not interrupt them, 
 but Alexander afterwards said to her, "Jamie 
 feels that he needs Christ too. We will easily 
 know if he be in earnest, for then he will not 
 need to be bidden to pray." The test was a 
 trying one ; James soon gave up secret prayer, 
 and proved that his goodness was like a morn- 
 ing cloud and the early dew which goeth away. 
 This is the mark of the hypocrite laid down by 
 Job : " Will he always call upon God ?" Job 
 27 : 10. 
 
 Another night Margaret observed James com- 
 ing from the prayer-meeting in the school in
 
 6 ANOTHER LILY OATHERED. 
 
 great distress. He kept close by the wall of 
 the church, that he might escape observation. 
 He was much concerned that night, and after 
 retiring to rest, said to his sister in his own 
 Scottish dialect, "There's me come awa' without 
 Christ to-night again." 
 
 One Thursday evening he attended the week- 
 ly meeting held in the church. The passage 
 explained was Romans 4 : 4-6, and sinners were 
 urged to receive the "righteousness without 
 works." Many were deeply affected, and would 
 not go away even after the blessing. James 
 was one of those who remained, and when I 
 came to him he was weeping bitterly. I asked 
 him if he cared for his soul. He said, "Whiles," 
 that is, sometimes. I asked if he prayed. He 
 said, "Yes." He was much concerned on his 
 return home that night both for others and for 
 his own soul But these dew-drops were soon 
 dried up again. 
 
 He attended the Sabbath-school in the lane 
 where their cottage stands. Often when the 
 teacher was reading the Bible, or some awaken- 
 ing anecdote, the tears flowed down his cheeks ; 
 but he tried to conceal his emotion from the 
 other boys, lest they should laugh at him. He 
 afterwards said, in his last illness, "Oh that I
 
 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 7 
 
 had just another night of the Sabbath-school. 
 I would not care though they should laugh at 
 me now." Sometimes during the reading and 
 prayer in the family, the word of God was like 
 a fire to him, so that he could not bear it ; and 
 after it was over he would run to his wild com- 
 panions, in order to drown the cries of his awak- 
 ened conscience. 
 
 In July, 1841, he went up to Glammis for his 
 health. I was preaching in the neighborhood, 
 and he wished much to go and hear, but was 
 not able to walk the distance. One night he 
 heard Mr. Cormick preach in a cottage on John 
 7 : 37. He felt it deeply, and wept bitterly, but 
 he remarked that none of the people wept. He 
 knew well when people showed any concern for 
 their soul ; and he often remarked that to be 
 anxious is not to be "in Christ." When he 
 came home, he spoke much of the carelessness 
 of the people where he had been. "Ah, Marga- 
 ret, there was no Bible read yonder. The peo- 
 ple a' went to their bed just as if there had not 
 been a God." What a faithful picture is this of 
 the state of many of our country parishes. 
 
 The day of Im manual's power, and the time 
 of love, was however near at hand. As the cold 
 winds of October set in, his sickly frame was
 
 8 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 much affected ; he became weak and breathless. 
 One Tuesday in the end of October, he turned 
 decidedly worse, and became intensely anxious 
 about the salvation of his soul. His lamentable 
 cry was, " Jesus, save me, save me 1" Mar- 
 garet asked if his concern was real, for he had 
 often deceived her hopes before. He wept, and 
 said, "Yes." His body was greatly pained, but 
 he forgot all in the intense anxiety for his pre- 
 cious never-dying soul. On the Saturday I paid 
 a visit to their humble cottage, and found the 
 little sufferer sitting by the fire. He began to 
 weep bitterly while I spoke to him of Jesus 
 having come into the world "to save sinners" I 
 was enabled in a simple manner to answer the 
 objections that sinners make to an immediate 
 closing with Christ. Margaret wondered ; for 
 I could not have spoken more aptly to the case 
 of her brother if I had known it ; and she in- 
 wardly thanked God, for she saw that he was 
 directing it. James spent the rest of the day on 
 his knees in evident distress of soul. Oh how 
 little the most of those called Christians know 
 what it is to pass through such deep waters. 
 Margaret asked him if he was seeking Jesus 
 He said, "Yes." She asked if he would like 
 any thing a bit of bread. He said, "No; but
 
 ANOTHER LILY G-ATHERED. 9 
 
 I would take a bit of the bread of life if you 
 would give it me." She replied, " I cannot give 
 you that ; but if you seek it, you will get it." 
 He remained alone till evening, and was never 
 off his knees. Towards night he came to the 
 other end of the cottage, and put this question : 
 "Have I only to believe that Jesus died for sin- 
 ners ; is that all ?" He was told, " Yes." " Well, 
 I believe that Jesus died for me, for I am a poor 
 hell-deserving sinner. I have been praying all 
 this afternoon, that as Jesus shed his blood for 
 sinners, he would sprinkle some of it upon me, 
 and he did it." He then turned to Romans 5 : 8, 
 and read these words: "While we were yet 
 sinners, Christ died for us." His sister wept 
 for joy, and James added, " I am not afraid to 
 die now, for Jesus has died for me." Often after 
 this he bade his sister read to him Romans 5, and 
 Psalms 103, 116. These were favorite portions 
 with him. 
 
 From that day it was a pleasant duty indeed 
 to visit the cottage of this youthful believer. 
 Many a happy hour have I spent beneath that 
 humble roof. Instead of dropping passing re- 
 marks, I used generally to explain a passage of 
 the Bible, that he might grow in knowledge. I 
 fear that, in general, we are not sufficiently care-
 
 10 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 ful in regularly instructing the sick and dying. A 
 pious expression and a fervent prayer are not 
 enough to feed the soul that is passing through 
 the dark valley. Surely if sound and spiritual 
 nourishment is needed by the soul at any time, 
 it is in such an hour, when Satan uses all his 
 arts to disturb and destroy. 
 
 One Thursday afternoon I spoke to him on 
 Matt. 23:37, "How often would I have gath- 
 ered your children." He was in great darkness 
 that day, and weeping bitterly, said, "I fear I 
 have never been gathered to Christ ; but if I 
 have never been gathered, that I were gath- 
 ered to Christ nowT After I was gone, he said, 
 "It would give me no peace, though the minis- 
 ter and every body said I was a Christian, if I 
 had not the, sense of it between God "and myself." 
 
 He was very fond of the Song of Solomon, 
 and many parts of it were expounded to him. 
 One day I spoke on Song 5 : 13, "His lips are 
 like lilies, dropping sweet-smelling myrrh" I 
 told him that these were some of the drops that 
 fell from the lips of Jesus : "If any man thirst, 
 let him come to me and drink." "I came to 
 seek and to save that which was lost." "Wilt 
 thou be made whole ?" " I give unto them eter- 
 nal life." He said solemnly, "That's fine."
 
 ANOTHER LILY G-ATHERED. . 11 
 
 Another day, "I am black, but comely," Song 
 1 : 5, was explained. He said, "I am black 
 even as hell in myself, but Pm all fair in Je- 
 sus." This was ever after a common expres- 
 sion of his. Another day I spoke on Song 5:15, 
 "His legs are like pillars of marble set upon 
 sockets of fine gold ;" and showed the almighty 
 strength of the Lord Jesus. The next day, 
 when I came in I asked him how he was ; but 
 without answering my question, he said, "I am 
 glad you told me that about Jesus' legs being 
 like pillars of marble, for now I see that he is 
 able to carry me and all my sins." 
 
 On one occasion, he said, "I am glad this 
 Psalm is in the Bible." "What Psalm?" He 
 answered, "'Yea, though I walk through the 
 valley of the shadow of death.' God has prom- 
 ised to be with me ; and He is as good as his 
 word." 
 
 At another time I read to him Isaiah 43 : 2, 
 "When thou passest through the waters, I will 
 be with thee ;" and explained that when he 
 came to the deep, deep waters, the Lord Jesus 
 would put his foot down beside his, and wade 
 with him. This often comforted him, for he be- 
 lieved it as firmly as if he had seen the pierced 
 foot of Jesus placed beside his own and he said
 
 12 ANOTHER LILY G-ATHERED. 
 
 to Margaret, " If Christ put down bis foot beside 
 mine, then I have nothing to fear." 
 
 One Sabbath I had been preaching on Caleb 
 following the Lord fully, Num. 14 : 24, and had 
 suggested that every sin committed after con- 
 version might take away something from the 
 believer's weight of eternal glory. Alexander, 
 his brother, was present, it being his only Sab- 
 bath on shore. He was much troubled, and 
 said, "Ah, I fear mine will be all lost." He re- 
 peated the statement to James, who was also 
 troubled. Alexander said, "You don't need to 
 be troubled, Jamie ; you are holy." James 
 wept, and said, "I wonder to hear 3*011 speak." 
 Alexander said, "Ah, but you are holier than 
 me." 
 
 In the same sermon I had said that if believ- 
 ers did nothing for Christ, they would get in at 
 the door of heaven, but nothing more. The 
 sailor-boy told this to his brother, who wept 
 again, saying, " I have done nothing for Christ." 
 Alexander said he had done less. James add- 
 ed, " I would like to be near Jesus. I could not 
 be happy unless I was near him." Speaking of 
 those who had gone to glory long ago, James 
 said that "those who died in Christ now, and 
 did most for him, Jesus would take them in by,"
 
 ANOTHER LILY OATHERED. 13 
 
 that is, near to himself, "though they were late 
 of coming." 
 
 How lovely this simple domestic scene. Hap- 
 py families, but ah, how few, where the children 
 fear the Lord, and speak often one to another. 
 Surely the Lord stands hearkening nigh, and he 
 will write their words in his book of remembrance. 
 "And they shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts, 
 in that day when I make up my jewels." 
 
 Some of my dear brethren in the ministry vis- 
 ited this little boy, to see God's wonderful works 
 in him, and to be helpers of his joy. Mr. Gum- 
 ming visiting him one day, asked if he suffered 
 much pain. 
 
 JAMES. Sometimes. 
 
 MR. C. When you are in much pain, can you 
 think on the sufferings of the Lord Jesus ? 
 
 JAMES. When I see what Jesus suffered for 
 me, it takes away my pain. Mine is nothing to 
 what he suffered. 
 
 He often repeated these words, "My light 
 affliction, which is but for a moment." 
 
 At another time Mr. Miller called with me, 
 and our little sufferer spoke very sweetly on 
 eternal things. 
 
 MR. M. Would you like to get better ? 
 
 JAMES. I would like the will of God.
 
 14 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 MR. M. But if you were getting better, would 
 you just live as you did before ? 
 
 JAMES. If God did not give me grace I would. 
 
 I never met with any boy who had so clear 
 a discovery of the way of pardon and acceptance 
 through the doing and dying of the Lord Jesus 
 laid to our account. He once said to his sister, 
 "Margaret, I have been thinking of a sweet 
 verse to-day : ' The Lord is well pleased for his 
 righteousness' sake.' Isa. 42: 21. It's no for 
 my righteousness' sake, but for Christ's right- 
 eousness' sake." 
 
 Mr. Bonar often visited him, and these were 
 sweet visits to little James. One day when Mr. 
 Bonar had been explaining some scripture to him, 
 he said. " Do you know what I am saying, Jamie ?" 
 
 JAMES. Yes, but I canna get at it, (that is, 
 I cannot feel its power ;) I see it all. 
 
 MR. B. I think there would be a pleasure in 
 seeing the people drink when Moses struck the 
 rock, even though one did not get a drink him- 
 self. 
 
 JAMES. Ah, but I would like a drink. 
 
 One of the. loveliest features in the character 
 of this little boy was his intense love to the 
 souls of men. He often spoke with me on the 
 folly of men living without Christ in the world.
 
 ANOTHER LILT GATHERED. 15 
 
 I shall never forget the compassionate glance of 
 his clear blue eye as he said, " What a pity it is 
 that they do not all come to Christ ; they would 
 be sae happy." He often reminded me of the 
 verse, "Love is of God ; and every one that lov- 
 eth is born of God." 1 John 4:7. 
 
 One Sabbath evening I spoke to the scholars 
 in the Sabbath-school about him. When the 
 school was over, they all came into his cottage 
 to see him. The little throng stood silent around 
 his bed, while he spoke to them with great so- 
 lemnity. "You all know what I was ; but the 
 Holy Spirit opened my eyes, and I saw that I 
 was on the very brink of hell. Then I cried to 
 Jesus to save me, and give me a new heart ; I 
 put my finger on the promise, and would not 
 come away without it ; and he gave me a new 
 heart ; and he is as willing to give you all a new 
 heart. I have sinned with you ; now I would 
 like you to come to Christ with me. You would 
 be far happier in Christ than you are now. 
 There are sweeter pleasures in Christ. Here 
 are two awful verses to me : 
 
 " ' There is a dreadful hell, 
 
 And everlasting pains ; 
 There sinners must with devils dwell 
 In darkness, fire, and chains.
 
 16 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 " ' Can such a wretch as I 
 
 Escape this cursed end? 
 And may I hope, whene'er I die, 
 I shall to heaven ascend?' -*' 
 
 Then pointing to the fire, he said, " You could 
 not keep your finger long there ; but remember, 
 hell is a ' lake of fire.' I will give you all a prayer 
 to pray to-night. Go and tell Jesus that you 
 are poor, lost, hell-deserving sinners, and beg 
 him to give you a new heart. Mind," remem- 
 ber, "he's willing; and 0, be earnest; ye '11 no 
 get it unless ye be earnest." 
 
 These were nearly his very words. His com- 
 panions were impressed for a time, but it soon 
 wore away. Several Sabbath evenings the same 
 scene was renewed. The substance of all his 
 warnings was, " Come to Christ and get a new 
 heart." He often told me afterwards that he 
 had been inviting them to Christ, "but they'll no 
 come" 
 
 One evening during the week a number of 
 the children came in. After speaking to them 
 in a very solemn manner, he took from under 
 his pillow a little book, called, " A Letter about 
 Jesus Christ." He turned to the part where it 
 tells of six boys laying their finger on the prom- 
 ise, Ezek. 36 : 26, and pleading for its fulfilment.
 
 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 17 
 
 He was not able to read it to them, but he said 
 he would give it to them ; and each boy should 
 keep it two days, and read it, and do the same. 
 The boys were much impressed, and agreed to 
 the proposal. 
 
 One day during his illness his sister found 
 him crying very bitterly. She asked him what 
 ailed him. He said, "Do you remember when I 
 was at the day-school at the time of the revival ? 
 One day when we were writing our copies, one 
 of the boys had been anxious about his soul. 
 He wrote a line to me on a slip of paper, ' Ezek. 
 36 : 26. To James Laing. Pray over it.' I 
 took the paper, read it, and tore it, and threw it 
 on the floor, and laughed at the boy. Oh, Mar- 
 garet, if I hadna laughed at him, maybe he 
 would have sought Christ until he had found 
 him. Maybe I have been the means of ruining 
 his soul to all eternity." In how touching a 
 manner this shows the tenderness of his care 
 for the souls of others ; and also how a rash 
 word or deed, little thought of at the time, may 
 plant a sting in the dying pillow. 
 
 One night I went with my little cousin to see 
 James. I said, "I have brought my Jamie to 
 see you." He took him kindly by the hand, 
 and said, "We're twa Jamies thegither. May 
 
 SER. iv. 132
 
 18 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 we both meet in heaven. Be earnest to get 
 Christ. You'll no get Christ unless you are 
 earnest." When we were gone, he said to his 
 sister, "Although Jamie bides with the minis- 
 ter, unless the Spirit open his eyes, he canna 
 get Christ." 
 
 His knowledge of the peculiar doctrines of the 
 gospel was very wonderful. It was not mere 
 head knowledge ; it came fresh and clear from 
 the heart, like spring water welling up from a 
 great depth. He felt the sovereignly of God very 
 deeply. Once I quoted to him the hymn, 
 
 " Chosen not for good in me." 
 
 He said, "I am sure it was for naething in me. 
 I am a hell-deserving sinner." Often, when 
 speaking of the great things God had done for 
 their family, he would say, "Ah, Margaret, I 
 -wonder that Christ would look in here and take 
 us." Once he said, "I wonder how Jesus died 
 for such a sinner as me. Why me, Lord, why 
 me?" 
 
 The greatest want in the religion of children 
 is generally a sense of sin. Artless simplicity and 
 confidence in what is told, are in some respects 
 natural to children ; and this is the reason why 
 we are so often deceived by promising appear-
 
 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 19 
 
 ances in childhood. The reality of grace in a 
 child is best known by his sense of sin. Little 
 James often wondered "how God sent his ser- 
 vant sac often to him, such a hell-deserving sin- 
 ner." This was a common expression of his. 
 On one occasion, he said, "I have a wicked, 
 wicked heart, and a tempting devil. He'll not 
 let me alone ; but this is all the hell that I '11 
 get. Jesus bore my hell already. Oh Marga- 
 ret, this wicked heart of mine would be hell 
 enough for me though there was no other. But 
 there are no wicked hearts in heaven." Often 
 he prayed, "Come, Holy Spirit, and make me 
 holy ; make me like Jesus." 
 
 The way of salvation through the. righteousness 
 of Christ was always sweet to him. He had an 
 uncommon grasp of it ; Christ crucified was all 
 his salvation, and all his desire. One day his 
 sister said to him, "You must meet death in 
 Jesus, and go to the judgment-seat in Jesus, and 
 spend eternity in Jesus. You will be as hell- 
 deserving in yourself when you stand before the 
 throne as now." He smiled sweetly, and said, 
 " Oh, Margaret, I see it must be all Jesus from 
 beginning to end." 
 
 Another time a little boy who was in concern 
 for his soul came to see James, and told him
 
 20 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 how many chapters he had read, and how often 
 lie had prayed. James did not answer at the 
 time, but a little after he said to his sister, "Da- 
 vid \vas here, and told me how many chapters 
 he had read, etc. I see he 's upon the working 
 plan ; but I must tell him that it's no his read- 
 ing, nor yet his praying, but Jesus alone that 
 must save him." 
 
 Another day he said, "The devil is letting 
 me see that this word and another word in my 
 prayer is sin ; but I just tell him it is all sin. I 
 bid him go to Jesus ; there is no sin in him ; 
 and I have taken him to be my Saviour." 
 
 He had a very clear discovery of the dead and 
 helpless condition of the carnal mind, and of the 
 need of the Holy Spirit to convert the soul. Tell- 
 ing me once of the boy under concern, and of 
 what he had been saying to him, he added, "But 
 it is all in vain to speak of these things without 
 the Holy Spirit." Often when he saw the family 
 preparing to go to church, he would pray that I 
 might be filled with the Holy Spirit in speaking, 
 so that some sinners might be converted. "I 
 mind," remember, "often sitting on the pulpit 
 stairs careless ; I would like if I had that place 
 again. If I might hear but one sermon, I would 
 not be so careless now." He often wished to
 
 I 
 
 ANOTHER. LILY GATHERED. 21 
 
 be carried to the church, but was never able to 
 bear the exertion. 
 
 He was no stranger to temptations from the 
 wicked one. I scarcely ever visited him but he 
 spoke to me of these. Once he said, " The devil 
 often tempts me to think upon good people, but 
 I tell him it is Christ I want." Another time, 
 "What do you think? The devil now tempts 
 me to believe that I'll never be saved, because 
 I repented on my death-bed." Often when 
 tempted he would cry, "If I perish, I'll perish 
 at Christ's feet." The last text I explained to 
 him was, "I have fought a good fight, I have 
 finished my course, I have kept the faith," 2 
 Tim. 4 : 7 ; showing him that, from conversion 
 to coronation, the life of a believer was one con- 
 tinued fight. He said, "Would you not think 
 that the devil would let a poor young creature 
 like me alone ? but he 's an awful tempter." 
 
 He had a mind that loved to think on the 
 "deep things of God." One day a believer call- 
 ed and prayed beside his bed, asking for him 
 that he might be "filled with all the fulness of 
 God." The same person came another day, and 
 before praying inquired, "What shall I ask for 
 you?" He said, "You mind what you sought 
 for me the last time. You prayed that I might be
 
 22 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 filled with all the fulness of God ; I canna get any 
 more than that, but dinna seek any less to-day." 
 
 A dear Christian lady used to bring him flow- 
 ers. She spoke to him of Christ being "the lily 
 of the valley," and on one occasion brought him 
 one. He asked her to pick it out from the rest, 
 and give it into his hand. Holding the gentle 
 flower in his pale wasted fingers, he looked at 
 it, and said, "This might convince the world 
 that there is a God, though there were nothing 
 else. Aye, there is a God, there is a heaven, 
 there is a hell, and there is a judgment-seat, 
 whether they will believe it or no." He said 
 this in a very solemn way, pausing after every 
 member of the sentence. 
 
 He loved singing praise to God, though not 
 able to join in it himself. He frequently made 
 us sing beside his bed, and often bade them sing 
 the twenty-third Psalm. "I have no strength 
 to sing here," he would say; "I have a heart, 
 but not strength ; when I get to heaven, I'll be 
 able to sing there." Sometimes he would bid 
 them sing these words : " I 'm not ashamed to 
 own my Lord." He often repeated that hymn, 
 and he left it in charge that it should be sung by 
 the scholars on the night of his death. 
 
 My sister once sent him a hymn, " The fulness
 
 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 23 
 
 of Jesus." He said he liked it all, but he liked 
 the last verse best : 
 
 " I long to be with Jesus, 
 
 Amid the heavenly throng, 
 
 To sing with saints his praises, 
 
 To learn the angels' song." 
 
 He delighted in secret prayer. In weakness 
 and pain, he spent hours upon his knees com- 
 muning with an unseen God. When too weak 
 for the outward part of the exercise, he said, 
 "Oh, Margaret, I prayed to Jesus as long as I 
 was able. But now Pm not able, and he does 
 not want it from me; but Pm just always giv- 
 ing him my heart" Many a night he got no 
 sleep. I asked him if he wearied during the silent 
 watches. He said, " No ; his left hand is under 
 my head, and his right hand doth embrace me." 
 
 God gave this dear boy a very calm and cheerful 
 spirit in the midst of all his trials. Neither bod- 
 ily pain nor the assaults of the devil could sour 
 his temper or ruffle his placid brow. At any 
 time when his pain increased, he would say, 
 " It is the Lord ; let him do what seemeth him 
 good." One time in deep darkness, he cried out, 
 "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him." 
 Again, when his soul was more in the light, he 
 would say, "'I long to depart, and to be with
 
 24 ANOTHER LILY OATHERED. 
 
 Christ, which is far better;' but then Pin will- 
 ing to wait the Lord's time ; good is the will of 
 the Lord." Again he would say, " I long to be 
 with Jesus. I long to see Jesus, that died for 
 me. If I am spared -to go out again, I must just 
 go leaning upon these words, 'My grace is suffi- 
 cient for thee.' They will be sure to mock me, 
 but they mocked Jesus before." Once he said 
 to me, "I have often wondered when I have 
 heard you say that Christ was sweet ; but now 
 I feel him to be sweet, sweet" 
 
 On the last day of 1841, he said to his sister, 
 "I will tell you what I would like for my New- 
 yeur's gift : I would like a praying heart, and a 
 heart to love Christ more." Next day a woman 
 came in, and said, "Poor Jamie, you'll get no 
 fun this New-year's-day." James said, "Poor 
 body, she thinks like as I care for the New-year. 
 I have far better than you have, though you had 
 the whole world. This is the happiest New- 
 year's-day that ever I had, for I have Christ." 
 She was very deaf, and did not hear what he 
 said ; but he often pitied that woman, and pray- 
 ed for her. At another time his father said, 
 "Poor Jamie." He replied, "Ah, father, don't 
 call me poor, I am rich ; they that have Christ 
 have all things." A little after the New-year, he
 
 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 25 
 
 said, " Margaret, I am not to die yet, for I have 
 mair to suffer ; but I am willing, though it should 
 be for years." On one occasion when he was 
 suffering much pain, he said, "Five minutes in 
 glory will make up for all this suffering." When 
 Margaret had to go out with her father's dinner, 
 she used to lock the door, leaving James alone 
 within. On returning, she asked, "Were you 
 wearying, Jamie?" His reply was, "Oh no; 
 Jesus takes care of me when you are out." 
 One of his country friends came in one day to 
 see him, and said, "I am sure you have a weary 
 time of it, Jamie." He said, "Oh no, I never 
 weary ; Christ keeps me from wearying." 
 
 After a very happy communion-season in 
 April, I went to visit him, and he spoke in a 
 most touching manner: "I was not sorry on 
 Sabbath that all the people were sitting at the 
 Lord's table, and I lying here, for I thought I 
 would soon be at the table above with Christ, 
 and then I would be far happier." 
 
 In a season of great darkness, he called for 
 his Dew-Drops, and sought out the verse, "The 
 Lord is a strong-hold in the day of trouble, and 
 he knoweth them that trust in him." He said, 
 "Margaret, I'll trust in him, though I cannot see 
 him. I will lie down upon that verse." When
 
 26 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 his bed was made at night, he would take anoth- 
 er verse "to lie down upon," as he called it ; so 
 he was fed by the dew and the word. 
 
 A young woman who lived in the same lane 
 was awakened to deep concern the same winter 
 that James was brought to Christ. Before her 
 concern she never came in to see James, though 
 her mother often advised her to do so. But 
 when she was brought to feel her sin and mis- 
 ery, she came in every Sabbath night, and was 
 always tenderly kind to* James. " How are you 
 to-night, Jamie ?" she would say ; "you are well 
 off when you can say, I have found Christ." 
 Early in spring this young woman evidently 
 found the true rest for her weary soul in Jesus. 
 She became a candidate for the Lord's table, and 
 was to have been admitted, but God called her 
 away to sit at the table that can never be with- 
 drawn. She died full of joy, with the praises of 
 God upon her lips. Margaret had been present 
 at this interesting death-bed, and when she re- 
 turned home she told James. He answered with 
 great composure, " I wish I had been away with 
 her ; but I must wait the Lord's time. Betsy is 
 singing now, and I will soon be there too." 
 
 James used to take the bitterest medicines 
 without any reluctance. He folded his hands,
 
 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 27 
 
 shut his eyes, and asked God to bless it to him. 
 "Ah, Margaret, if God do not bless it to me, it 
 will do me no good." Often she asked, "Is it 
 not bitter?" He would say, "Yes, but Jesus 
 had a bitterer cup to drink for me." 
 
 In the summer of 1841, another remarkable 
 boy, named James Wallace, had died in the 
 Lord. He was one whom God had taught in a 
 wonderful manner. He had a singular gift of 
 prayer, and was made useful to many, both old 
 and young. James Laing had known him well 
 in former days. In 1839, a younger brother of 
 James Laing, named Patrick, had died also, not 
 without pleasing marks of having undergone a 
 divine change. It is needful to know these 
 things, to understand the following dream of our 
 little pilgrim. 
 
 A short time after he believed, he said, " Mar- 
 garet, I will tell you my dream." Margaret was 
 afraid of some fancy leading him astray, and 
 asked what it was. 
 
 JAMES. I thought there was a ladder, the 
 foot of it on earth, and the top of it reaching to 
 heaven. I thought it was heaven I saw. There 
 was a great multitude of people, but I knew 
 none of them but Patrick and Jamie Wallace. 
 When I was standing on the first or second
 
 28 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 step of the ladder, Jamie Wallace looked down 
 and said, "Aye, here's another one coming step- 
 ping up." He explained it by referring to Ja- 
 cob's ladder, and that Jesus is the ladder. Mar- 
 garet said, " Aye, and you are just on the first 
 step." 
 
 In the latter part of his illness he was used 
 as an instrument in awakening another boy, 
 whose impressions I earnestly hope may never 
 
 wear away. David G had been a very wild 
 
 boy ; so much so, that he was expelled from the 
 Sabbath-school. He found his way into James' 
 cottage, and there saw exemplified the truths he 
 would not listen to in school. From that day 
 till James died, David regularly visited him, 
 and learned from him with deepest interest the 
 things that belonged to his peace. James often 
 prayed with him alone. Sometimes both prayed 
 at the same time for a new heart. Margaret 
 was always made to withdraw at these times. 
 He pleaded with this boy to seek Jesus when 
 young, "for it's easier to find Jesus when we 
 are young. Look at Annie," a grown-up per- 
 son, who had been long under concern, "she 
 has been long in seeking Christ, and she is long 
 in finding. Mind what I tell you, for I will 
 soon be in heaven."
 
 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 29 
 
 DAVID. Will you get to heaven ? 
 
 JAMES. Oh yes ; all that believe in Christ get 
 to heaven, and I believe that Jesus died for me. 
 Now, David, if I see you on the left hand, you 
 will mind that I often bade you come to Christ. 
 
 DAVID. I'll have naebody to pray with me, 
 and tell rne about my soul, when you are dead. 
 
 JAMES. I have bidden Margaret pray for you, 
 and I have told the minister ; and go you to our 
 kirk, and he will tell you the way to come to 
 Christ. 
 
 Three times a day did this anxious inquirer 
 seek the prayers and counsels of his youthful 
 instructor, till James' strength gave way, and he 
 could talk no more. The day before he died, 
 the boy came in ; James could hardly speak, but 
 he looked steadily at him, and said, "Seek on, 
 David." 
 
 The last visit I paid to this young Christian 
 was on the Tuesday before lie died, in company 
 with Mr. Miller and Mr. Smith, one of our Jew- 
 ish missionaries, who was that same day to sail 
 from his native land. After speaking a little 
 we prayed, and I asked him what I should pray 
 for. James said, "Dying grace." He shook 
 hands with us all. When the missionary held 
 his hand, he said, "God's people have much
 
 30 ANOTHER LILY GATHERED. 
 
 need to pray for you and for them there." 
 When we had gone out, he said, "Maybe I'll 
 never see the minister again." 
 
 On Thursday he said, "Ah, Margaret, mind 
 it's no easy to die. You know nothing about 
 it. Even though you have Christ, it is dark." 
 
 The same day he bade her give David G 
 
 his Sunday trowsers and new boots, that he 
 might go to the church. He gave his father 
 The Dying Thief, and said, "I am going to give 
 Alick my Bible," meaning Dew-drops. There 
 was a piece of money under his pillow. He said 
 it was to buy Bibles for them that never heard 
 of Jesus. 
 
 His aunt came in on Friday morning. He 
 said, " Oh, aunt, do n't put off seeking Christ to 
 a death-bed ; for if I had Christ to seek to-day, 
 what would have become of me ? but I have 
 given my heart to Christ." Margaret asked him, 
 "What shall I do? I shall miss your company 
 in the house." James answered, "You must 
 just go the more to Jesus. Do not be ill about 
 me now, when I am dead, Margaret. If I 
 thought that, I would be sorry ; and more than 
 that, God would be angry at you ; for I shall be 
 far happier. It is better to depart and be with 
 Christ. Ask grace to keep you from it."
 
 ANOTHER LILY G-ATHERED. 31 
 
 All that day he spoke very little. In the even- 
 ing he grew much worse. His sister wished 
 to sit up with him that night, but he would not 
 allow her. She said, "These eyes will soon 
 see Him whom your soul loves." James said, 
 "Aye." After midnight, Margaret, seeing him 
 worse, arose and woke her father. She tried to 
 conceal her tears ; but James saw them, and 
 said, with a look of solemn earnestness, "0 
 woman, I wonder to see you do the like of 
 that." He spoke little after this, and about one 
 o'clock on Saturday morning, June 11, 1842, fell 
 asleep in Jesus. 
 
 From this affecting history, all children should 
 learn an impressive lesson. What is said of 
 Abel is true of this dear boy : " He being dead, 
 yet speaketh." Now that he has gone to the 
 world of praise and holiness and love, the his- 
 tory of his dying hours is a warning and an in- 
 vitation to each of you. You see here that you 
 are not too young to have the Holy Spirit striv- 
 ing with you. You are riot too young to resist 
 the Holy Ghost. You are not too young to be 
 converted and brought to Christ. If you die 
 without Christ you will surely perish. Many 
 of you are wicked, idle, profane, prayerless, un- 
 godly children. Some of you are open Sabbath-
 
 33 ANOTHER LILY G-ATHERED. 
 
 breakers, liars, and swearers. If you die thus, 
 you will have your portion in the lake that burn- 
 eth with fire and brimstone. You will see this 
 little boy, and others whom you know, in the 
 kingdom of God, and you yourselves thrust out. 
 repent and be converted, that your sins may 
 be blotted out. You may die very soon. 
 that your latter end may be like his ! 
 
 How evident is it, that God is willing and able 
 to convert the young. How plain that if God 
 give grace, they can understand and relish 
 divine things as fully as those of mature age. 
 "I thank thee, Father, Lord of heaven and 
 earth, because thou hast hid these things from 
 the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them 
 unto babes. Even so, Father, for so it seemed 
 good in thy sight." Let us seek the present~CQn- 
 version to Christ of our little children. Jesus 
 has reason to complain of us that he can do no 
 mighty works in our Sabbath-schools because of 
 our unbelief. 
 
 "Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invis- 
 ible, the only wise God, be honor and glory for 
 ever and ever. Amen."
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE; 
 
 OK, 
 
 THE TRUE RICHES. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE 
 
 AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 
 
 150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. 
 133
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TRUE RICHES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT was the first day of my school in Chestnut 
 Grove. One by one the scholars had come in 
 and taken their scats, and now all was quiet.
 
 4 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 Most of the faces which were turned towards 
 me were bright with intelligence ; but there 
 was one which peculiarly interested me, that of 
 a girl of ten summers, but small for her age, 
 who sat by herself, with her hands folded meek- 
 ly in her lap. There was a touching look of sad- 
 ness around the mouth, and the eyelids drooped 
 timidly over the soft brown eyes. In the next 
 seat sat Rosabelle Lee, a perfect contrast to 
 Annie Grey. Rosabelle was the petted child of 
 wealthy parents, and I thought if she was as 
 good as she was fair, I should love her dearly. 
 At the close of the school, she stood at my side. 
 
 "Will you go home with me to-night, Miss 
 Hale?" said she pleasantly. "Mamma said I 
 might ask you." 
 
 " Yes, thank you," replied I ; and we went 
 out together. I could not see any thing of little 
 Annie, and turning to Rosabelle, I asked, "Who 
 is Annie Grey ; and where does she live ?" 
 
 "0 she lives about a mile from here, and 
 generally goes home across lots. There she is 
 now, half way over the meadow. Her folks are 
 dreadful poor ; her father is a cripple, and her 
 mother takes in washing." 
 
 The last words she said with a peculiar em- 
 phasis and a scornful toss of the head, of which
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 5 
 
 I took no notice. Soon after, she requested me 
 to change her seat in school, evidently in order 
 to avoid poor Annie. I was pained to discover 
 such a disposition in one so beautiful and so 
 young, but consented to the change, for which 
 she thanked me gracefully. It was not long 
 before the little girl pointed out her home, a 
 large white house half hid by the thick foliage of 
 ancient elms and maples, and the front yard full 
 of choice shrubs and flowers. 
 
 "It is very beautiful," I said; and I fancied 
 that the smile on my companion's face had more 
 of vanity than real heartfelt pleasure in it, as 
 she replied, "Papa has spared neither pains nor 
 expense to make it so." 
 
 As we went slowly up the broad gravel walk, 
 Rosabelle stopped every now and then to explain 
 how some flower had been brought from the 
 east, or some choice shrub from the far south, to 
 add to the beauty of the garden ; and when we 
 entered the parlor, she introduced me to her 
 mother with an ease and grace which I had sel- 
 dom seen in one so young. Mrs. Lee made me 
 welcome, and in a little while I felt quite at 
 home in her society. 
 
 After tea Rosabelle showed me her pets. She 
 had birds in richly gilt cages, snow white rab-
 
 6 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 bits running about like tame kittens, and a beau- 
 tiful little spaniel, which was a very knowing 
 dog. Then there was her play-room, furnished 
 with all that a little girl could wish, and I said, 
 as I looked around, "You have every thing to 
 make you happy, Rosabelle." 
 
 "But she is not always happy. Indeed, she 
 has the blues very often," said Mrs. Lee. 
 
 "Ah," said I, "what can she find to have the 
 blues about ?" 
 
 " That is what puzzles me," replied the moth- 
 er. "I hope you will be able to find out and 
 correct the fault, for I would have my little girl 
 always cheerful and happy." 
 
 After a pleasant hour, which we enjoyed to- 
 gether in rambling over the beautiful garden, 
 the sun went down, the dew began to fall, and 
 we were obliged to return to the house just as 
 the pale primroses were sending forth their even- 
 ing offering of delicious perfume. 
 
 I sat for a long time in the little room which 
 Mrs. Lee assigned me for- the night ; and though 
 every thing had passed so pleasantly, I felt sad 
 at the thought that this house of wealth and 
 splendor was not a house of prayer, and that 
 those who dwelt in it were not in possession of 
 the "true riches."
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 EARLY in the morning I was awakened by the 
 glad song of a wood-robin, which had lit in the 
 tree under my window, and seemed to say, 
 "Arise, arise, and praise the Lord for his good- 
 ness." 
 
 At the breakfast-table I looked around in vain 
 for Rosabelle, and it was not till the meal was 
 half finished that she made her appearance, with 
 a slow, moping movement ; and I knew from her 
 flushed cheeks and swollen eyes that she had 
 been crying. I could scarcely believe that it 
 was the same child that I had admired so much 
 the day before. 
 
 I was in hopes Rosabelle would get over her 
 ill-humor before school-time ; but she did not, 
 and things went 'wrong all day. 
 
 After school, I asked Rosabelle to stay with 
 me a while ; and when the other children were 
 gone, I said to her kindly, "You have been very 
 unhappy to-day. Can you tell me the reason ?" 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure," reolied the child, 
 sullenly. 
 
 "Shall I tell you? You have made yourself
 
 8 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 unhappy. You gave way to a wrong temper 
 this morning, and it has made you wretched all 
 day." 
 
 The child's face grew very red, and she made 
 me no answer, so I went on. "Now is the 
 time to correct this fault ; for a hasty temper, if 
 not early brought under subjection, always grows 
 with one's growth." 
 
 She made a movement as if to rise, but I 
 gently detained her. ''Sit still, Rosabella I 
 am your friend, and it is because I love you 
 that I have sought this interview. I would 
 have you a good and happy little girl gentle, 
 meek, and lowly in heart, loving and beloved by 
 all. In short, I would have you a Christian." 
 
 "Me, Miss Hale ! Would you have me turn 
 into an old woman ?" 
 
 " No, Rosabelle ; I would have you just what 
 your Creator designed you to be a glad-hearted 
 little girl, making sunshine for yourself and those 
 with whom you associate. True piety, my dear 
 child, never makes one less happy ; on the con- 
 trary, it fits its possessors to appreciate more 
 fully all that is good and beautiful, and to enjoy 
 with a higher relish the innocent pleasures of 
 life." 
 
 "I thought religion always made folks dull
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 9 
 
 and sober. There 's Annie Grey ; they say she 
 is pious ; and if she is, deliver me from piety." 
 
 "Why, what has Annie done ?" 
 
 " Oh, I do n't know, but I hate her. She is a no- 
 bod}^ and always will be. Mamma would be very 
 angry, if I should think of associating with her." 
 
 ''But, Rosabelle, suppose you should go out 
 into your garden some fine morning, and find 
 the most lovely girl you ever beheld, dressed in 
 spotless white, with a crown of diamonds, and a 
 golden harp on which she could play the most 
 entrancing strains ; what would you do ?" 
 
 " Invite her into the house, and try to make 
 her my friend. But what has this to do with 
 Annie Grey?" 
 
 "This much, my dear child ; that if Annie is 
 a true Christian, she will soon be, notwithstand- 
 ing her poverty, fully equal to the girl I have 
 described to you." 
 
 "How?" exclaimed Rosabelle, wonderingly. 
 She evidently did not comprehend me. 
 
 "You know that all who love Christ go to 
 heaven when they die." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am ; so the Bible says." 
 
 "Well, if Annie's heart is right, and she were 
 to die, she would go right to heaven. There 
 she will be clothed in white robes, and a crown
 
 10 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 of light and a harp of gold will be given her. 
 She will be like a glorious angel, Rosabelle. 
 The same soul that now looks at you through 
 her soft brown eyes, will by and by dwell in a 
 glorious body in the paradise of God." 
 
 " Oh, I never thought of that before ; I never 
 thought of Annie's becoming like an angel. I 
 shall love her more than I have done, and will 
 treat her better in future." 
 
 " Thank you for that promise, Rosabelle ; and 
 will 3 r ou not try also to subdue your hasty tem- 
 per ? Will you not study your Bible, and pray 
 earnestly to the Lord to forgive your sins, and 
 give you a new heart ?" 
 
 " Oh, I cannot, indeed I cannot, Miss Hale ; I 
 have been so used to having my own way in 
 every thing." 
 
 "I know it will be very hard for you; but 
 the longer you wait, the harder it will be. Xo\v 
 is the best time to begin. Oh, Rosabelle, if you 
 only would repent of your sins, and give your 
 heart to the Saviour, what a joy, what a bless- 
 ing it would be ;" and as I laid iny hand on her 
 golden curls, and imprinted a parting kiss upon 
 her cheek, I earnestly besought the Lord to re- 
 new and purify her young heart, and make her 
 a true child of God.
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 11 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 As the days went by, I saw with gratitude a 
 marked improvement in Rosabelle. She was 
 more gentle among her playmates, more kind 
 and considerate when their wishes clashed with 
 her own, and seemed to be trying to do right. 
 She was very kind too to Annie Grey, though 
 she avoided her society as much as possible. 
 She had been taught to think of Annie as an 
 inferior, and that it was a disgrace to associate 
 with her; arid this rooted prejudice was not to 
 be overcome in a few days or weeks. 
 
 My school had been in session several weeks, 
 and I had not yet seen Annie's parents ; so one 
 night I said, " Wait a moment, Annie, and I will 
 go home with you." A few minutes afterwards 
 we were in the meadow among the fragrant 
 clover blossoms. A delightful walk of ten min- 
 utes, one more fence to climb, and then we 
 entered a bit of beautiful shady woods. The 
 sun was low, and his mellow golden light glim- 
 mered through the trees ; while the evening 
 breeze, which rose and fell fitfully, came to us 
 laden with bird melody and the perfume of wild
 
 J2 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 flowers. I paused upon the brow of a little hill 
 to enjoy more fully the beautiful scene, and to 
 adore the Creator in ray heart ; and as I gazed 
 and listened, Annie said with emotion, "Do you 
 wonder that I love to come this way ?" 
 
 "No, indeed ; it is a beautiful spot." 
 
 "Yes, more than beautiful, Miss Hale. The 
 sunset, the trees, the birds and flowers are beau- 
 tiful when taken separately ; but how much more 
 so when they are all together in such harmony." 
 
 Slowly we went along the narrow pathway 
 that led down the hill, and in a little while came 
 to the open pasture land, and Annie pointed out 
 to me her home. It was a low unpaiuted build- 
 ing, with square windows and doors painted 
 red, and stood alone in a little meadow. Still 
 there was an air of quiet and homely comfort 
 about the little domicile that pleased me much. 
 Creeping vines and roses were trained over the 
 windows and around the doors, and flower-beds 
 were tastefully arranged in the front yard. " You 
 have a very pleasant place here," I said. 
 
 "Yes, we try to make it so," she replied, 
 "though we haven't any thing nice but our 
 flowers. We are poor ; but this, you know, 
 cannot hinder us from being happy, if we live 
 right."
 
 ANNIE AND RQSABELLE. 13 
 
 " Very true, Annie ; there is no happiness like 
 that which springs from the favor of God. The 
 riches of this world are good in their place ; but 
 they are nothing when compared with the riches 
 of the true Christian, the pearl of great price." 
 
 Little Annie's looks showed that she felt this 
 to be true, and that her treasure was laid up in 
 heaven ; but she did not speak again until we 
 entered the house. Then she introduced me to 
 her parents, and setting me a chair, took my 
 satchel arid bonnet and carried them into a little 
 recess, which was separated from the main room 
 by a coarse white curtain. Then she went to 
 her father, and smoothed the stray locks away 
 from his forehead, and kissed him, while he 
 silently asked a blessing upon his dutiful and 
 affectionate child. 
 
 Mrs. Grey set away her spinning-wheel ; and 
 while she and Annie were making preparations 
 for supper, I entered into conversation with Mr. 
 Grey. He talked for a while on the subject of 
 religion, and then, at my request, told me the 
 story of his misfortunes. 
 
 "Several years ago," said he, "when Annie 
 was quite a babe, we owned a snug little home, 
 and had things very comfortable around us. 
 I had plenty of work to do, and owed no man
 
 14 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 any thing ; and as we were blessed with con- 
 tented dispositions, we were happy. But our 
 heavenly Father saw fit to send great tribula- 
 tions upon us. First our house was burned 
 down ; then came a season of drought, in which 
 my crops failed and my cattle died ; and last of 
 all I met with an accident which crippled me, 
 as you see. For seven years I have been en- 
 tirely helpless ; but I try to bear up under my 
 afflictions cheerfully. It is good to be afflicted 
 in the loss of temporal things, if we are thus 
 enriched in soul through the Saviour's love " 
 
 Supper was soon ready. Very simple and 
 plain was this meal ; but when the good man 
 folded his hands and devoutly asked God's bless- 
 ing upon it, it seemed to me a supper fit for 
 kings. Family prayer followed, at which Mr. 
 Grey read the nineteenth Psalm, and we all 
 united in singing that beautiful hymn, 
 "The day is past and gone,'' etc. 
 
 As I laid my head upon the pillow that night, 
 I could not help drawing a contrast between 
 Mr. Lee and Mr. Grey, and their respective fam- 
 ilies ; and I said to myself. Verily, there is a 
 wealth that maketh poor, and a poverty that 
 serves but to enrich.
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 15 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SEVERAL days now passed without any thing 
 worthy of note occurring, save that Kosabelle 
 was quite serious, and Annie not well. Dear 
 Annie was never very strong, but of late she had 
 seemed in a sort of gentle decline. She did not 
 suffer pain, but I was sure her pale face grew 
 paler and her delkate form more slender every 
 day ; and when the sultry days of August came, 
 she grew w T eak and languid. 
 
 I had not seen Mrs. Grey "for several weeks, 
 and fearing that she might be still ignorant of 
 the truth, I resolved to go home with Annie and 
 talk with her that very night. 
 
 As we entered the meadow, we were talking 
 about the flowers, which Annie seemed to love 
 dearly. "How delicately some of them are col- 
 ored," she said, " and what an expression there 
 is on their sweet faces, as though they would 
 say, ' God is good ; he made us, and cares for 
 us.'" 
 
 "Yes," I said, "I often admire the power and 
 wisdom of God displayed in their delicate struc- 
 tures, and love to think their delicious perfume
 
 16 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 is exhaled like incense as a thank-offering to 
 their Creator." 
 
 There was a sweet smile on little Annie's 
 face, and she nestled her hand in mine confid- 
 ingly as we entered the woods and walked on 
 in silence, till we came to the brow of the hill 
 where I had caught such a glimpse of Annie's 
 young heart on the occasion of my* first visit. 
 "Will you sit here a while with me?" asked 
 she, pausing in the very place where we had 
 stopped before. 
 
 "With pleasure," I said; "but, darling, how 
 pale you look. How selfish I have been not to 
 think of you, and stop to rest before." 
 
 "No, no," she said ; "you are not to blame in 
 the least. I tire very easily of late, and a little 
 exertion makes my breath come short and quick, 
 as you see. My cough too is growing more 
 troublesome. Do you think it will ever be any 
 better?" 
 
 "Have you never thought what it may lead 
 to ?" I asked, after a moment's silence. 
 
 Annie pointed expressively to the ground, and 
 then lifted her eyes, beaming with love and faith, 
 to the clear blue sky, which seemed smiling upon 
 us but a little -way above the tree tops. 
 
 I saw at once that my little friend had no
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 17 
 
 fears of death ; and was delighted to find, as 
 she freely opened her heart to me, how calmly 
 she trusted in the Saviour and relied on his 
 promises, taking him simply at his word. One 
 thing only seemed to grieve her ; and that was 
 the thought of leaving her beloved parents in 
 their poverty and loneliness. But she found 
 relief in committing them to the care of the Sav- 
 iour they loved. 
 
 " how much I love them," she said. "Then 
 too, I am all the child they have, and it will be 
 so hard for them to part with me. This is what 
 grieves me most. Papa, you know, is old and 
 lame, and mamma has to work very hard to sup- 
 port us." 
 
 "Your parents will no doubt grieve much for 
 you," I said ; " but they are true Christians, and 
 will, I trust, be reconciled to the will of their 
 heavenly Father." 
 
 " Oh, I am glad to hear you say so," exclaim- 
 ed Annie ; "and you will talk with them about 
 it, wont you? I'm afraid they don't realize 
 how ill I am." 
 
 A little while longer we talked together, and 
 then went down the hill, and wended our way 
 slowly across the fields. 
 
 Arrived at the house, I was warmly welcomed 
 
 SER. iv. 134
 
 18 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 by Mr. and Mrs. Grey, and an hour passed in 
 pleasant conversation. We said nothing, how- 
 ever, about Annie's health until supper was 
 nearly ready, when she took a small tin pail 
 from the shelf, and went to the spring for 
 water. As she went, she turned to me, and 
 her eyes said, Tell them all about it while I am 
 gone. 
 
 I complied with her wish, and soon found 
 that her parents were aware of her danger, and 
 ready to acquiesce in the will of God. They 
 were much affected as I repeated to them our 
 conversation in the woods, which I had hardly 
 finished when the subject of our thoughts en- 
 tered with the little pail of water, singing, 
 
 " Oh, we shall happy be, 
 When, from sin and sorrow free, 
 Lord, we shall live with thee 
 For evermore/' 
 
 Soon we were summoned to the table, and 
 after the blessing was asked, I glanced from one 
 to another of the family group. The mother's 
 lips wore a peaceful smile, though her hand 
 shook as she turned the tea. The father was 
 calm, and conversed cheerfully ; while little 
 Annie, glancing from one to the other affection- 
 ately, seemed very happy. Unconsciously my
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 19 
 
 own heart grew lighter as I sat in that peaceful 
 circle, and I felt sure that God was there. 
 
 A number of days passed after this visit at 
 Mr. Grey's, and still Annie came regularly to 
 school, till an event occurred which laid her up 
 at home. Towards the close of a sultry day, I 
 saw every indication of an approaching storm, 
 and omitting several classes, I closed the school, 
 and taking Annie under my care, hastened tow- 
 ards her home, hoping to reach it before the 
 storm came on. We had not passed through 
 the woods, however, before a deafening peal of 
 thunder broke over our heads, and the heavy 
 raindrops came pouring down through the trees ; 
 and long before we reached home, we were 
 drenched with rain. 
 
 Mrs. Grey assisted us to exchange our wet 
 garments for dry and warm ones as soon as pos- 
 sible ; but poor Annie took a severe cold, and 
 when I left her the next morning, she appeared 
 seriously unwell.
 
 20 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 BEFORE I reached the school-house, I was sur- 
 prised to see Rosabelle coming to meet me. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Hale," said she, "3-011 got wet last 
 night, didn't you? You could not have gone 
 more than half way before the rain came." 
 
 " We were just about half way," I replied, 
 " when the storm reached us, and we got thor- 
 oughly soaked, I assure you." 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry. But where is Annie ?" 
 
 " She is not able to come to school to-day ; 
 she is quite ill." 
 
 "I was afraid it would be so. How sorry I 
 am that I could not invite her home with me. 
 I am very unhappy, Miss Hale. I don't believe 
 there is another girl in the world that is so un- 
 happy as I am. I would give every thing I 
 have for that peace of mind which you and An- 
 nie were talking about the other day." 
 
 "You can have it, Rosabelle. All that you 
 need do is to give your heart to the Saviour." 
 
 "You speak as though it was a very simple 
 thing to give one's heart to the Saviour, Miss 
 Hale ; but I cannot do it. I have tried and 
 tried, but it is all in vain."
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 21 
 
 "I am afraid you have not tried right, Rosa- 
 belle. The Saviour never refuses those who 
 come to him sincerely penitent and believing." 
 
 " Perhaps I am not sincere enough, or not 
 penitent enough for my past sins ; but," she 
 added earnestly, "I am going to keep trying. I 
 will not give up until the Lord blesses me." 
 
 I was glad to hear Rosabelle say this ; and 
 with a few words of counsel and encouragement, 
 our conversation ended, for we had reached the 
 school-house. 
 
 Many times that day I looked towards Annie's 
 vacant seat, and at the close of school I went 
 again to spend the night with her. 
 
 Mrs. Grey met me at the door, and in reply 
 to rny anxious inquiry, shook her head sadly. 
 " She fe much worse, Miss Hale. We have had 
 to send for the doctor this afternoon, and he 
 talks very discouragingly about her. He says 
 she has a severe attack of lung fever, and that 
 her lungs were in such a diseased state before, 
 that there is but little chance for her recovery. 
 Poor child, how glad she will be to see you. 
 She has talked about you a great deal to-day." 
 
 All that night I watched over her ; and she 
 talked at intervals of Jesus and heaven, and 
 about the spiritual welfare of her school-mates.
 
 22 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 On leaving her in the morning, I promised to 
 bring Rosabelle to see her, greatly to her delight. 
 
 When I asked Rosabelle to go to Mr. Grey's 
 with me, she raised her head with surprise, and 
 something of the old proud look came back to 
 her face ; but when I told her how ill Annie 
 was, and how much she wanted to see her, she 
 said, " I will go with you, Miss Hale ; perhaps it 
 may do me some good, and if not, it will be a 
 satisfaction to her." 
 
 Annie was overjoyed to see her, and talked 
 with her long and aflfectingly. I was glad to 
 see that what she said made a serious impres- 
 sion on Rosabelle's mind, and I prayed earnestly 
 that the lesson might be blessed to her spiritual^ 
 good. Nearly an hour she sat holding Annie's 
 hand and listening to her ; then bidding her 
 good-by with a kiss, she promised to come again, 
 and took her leave. 
 
 For a long time after she was gone, Annie 
 lay with her eyes closed and her hands folded, 
 and I knew by the movement of her lips that 
 she was praying for Rosabelle Lee. 
 
 Next day Rosabelle was not at school ; but 
 she had been absent before, and it was not till 
 a second and a third day had passed without 
 her makir^ her appearance, that I began to be
 
 ANNIE AND ROSA13ELLE. 23 
 
 alarmed about her, and called to inquire if she 
 was ill. 
 
 Mrs. Lee received me very coldly, said her 
 daughter was not very well, and she had con- 
 cluded not to let her come to school any more. 
 I expressed my surprise and regret, and asked 
 to see her ; but her mother politely declined, 
 saying that Rosabelle's mind was in such a state 
 of excitement that she was unwilling to risk an 
 interview. Feeling myself an unwelcome in- 
 truder, I quietly withdrew, with many fears that 
 the child whom I had almost counted as a "lamb 
 of the fold," would forget the lessons of truth 
 she had learned, and grow weary in seeking the 
 Saviour. But I could only commend her to the 
 care of Him in whom is all our hope. 
 
 Several days passed, and then a tearful group 
 stood round the bed where sweet Annie Grey 
 lay dying. Through all her distressing illness 
 she had borne her pain without murmuring, and 
 now, even while she was grappling with the 
 king of terrors, the little sufferer was calm and 
 resigned. After a severe spasm, she looked up 
 to her mother with a smile, and said, "It's 
 almost over now, dear mamma. My pains will 
 soon cease, and I shall be at home with Jesus." 
 Then, after a short pause, she added, with a
 
 24 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 look of animation, " Oh, if this is death, how 
 sweet it is to die. I am happy ; Oh, so happy ! 
 Oh, father mother, pray. Kneel by the bed- 
 side and bless the Lord for his loving kindnesses 
 and tender mercies." She said no more ; but 
 listening to the voice of thanksgiving and praise, 
 with a smile of peace on her lips she went down 
 into the dark valley. 
 
 The next day but one the remains of little 
 Annie were consigned to the grave, and many 
 tears were shed by those who had known and 
 loved her ; but all knew that our loss was her 
 gain, arid that it would be very wrong to wish 
 her back again. I thought so too ; and as I 
 stood by the open grave, I repeated to myself 
 the words, 
 
 " Oh. mother Earth, we bring to thee 
 
 A priceless boon to-day, 
 And softly on thy quiet breast 
 
 Our blighted bud we lay : 
 Room in thy softest, greenest spot, 
 
 Room 'mid thy autumn flowers : 
 Dust only to thy care we give ; 
 
 She blooms in brighter bowers/'
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 25 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THREE weeks more, and my school closed. I 
 was sad at the thought of leaving Chestnut Grove 
 and iny young charge. I had not seen Rosa- 
 belle to converse with her since her mother took 
 her away from school ; for though I had called 
 several times, she was not allowed to see me ; 
 and now, the children told me, she had gone 
 away with her father to visit some distant 
 friends. 
 
 Before I went away, I called on all who had 
 been connected with my school, not excepting 
 the little one who dwelt alone in the narrow 
 house appointed for all the living. It was sunset 
 when I visited Annie's grave ; and as I sat by 
 the little mound that awoke a thousand tender 
 memories, the evening shades had deepened and 
 the stars were out before I reluctantly with- 
 drew, with my heart full of good resolves, among 
 which was one that I would always remember 
 Rosabelle Lee at the throne of grace. 
 
 Months passed, and though I had written sev- 
 eral letters, I had heard not a word from Chest-
 
 26 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 nut Grove. The following short letter was the 
 first that I received : 
 
 "Miss HALE I write you at the urgent re- 
 quest of Rosabelle, who is quite ill. She is very 
 uneasy in her mind, and extremely anxious to 
 see you ; so you will come to us, I hope, at 
 your earliest convenience. The phj-sicians give 
 us but little hope of her recovery. Oh, I am 
 sure it will kill me if my child dies. I don't 
 know what I have ever done that I should be 
 so deeply afflicted. Come soon, and oblige, 
 
 'A. C. LEE/' 
 
 Grief and joy strove for the mastery in my 
 mind when I read this unexpected invitation ; 
 and you may be sure I lost no time in preparing 
 to hasten to my dear young friend, that I might 
 impart to her that consolation she so much need- 
 ed, and which her father's gold could not buy. 
 On the same day, when the afternoon stage 
 came along, I took a place among its passen- 
 gers ; and though our progress was slow, be- 
 cause of the bad roads, on the second day I 
 arrived at Mrs. Lee's. She met me in the hall, 
 and taking my hand warmly, said she was glad 
 I had come so soon. Poor Rosabelle was "no 
 better." I laid aside my travelling dress, and 
 Mrs. Lee went to tell her I had come. She had
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 27 
 
 been gone but a few moments, when the parlor 
 door opened, and Mrs. Grey stood before me. 
 With an exclamation of surprise, I sprang for- 
 ward, and was folded to her kind, motherly 
 heart. I asked her how it happened that she 
 was there, and she replied that Rosabelle had 
 taken it into her head that no one else could 
 take care of her ; so Mr. Lee had employed her 
 to nurse the child, and gave her very liberal 
 wages. And now for the first time I learned 
 that Mr. Grey was not alive, having fallen asleep 
 in Christ two months before. 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Lee returned for me, 
 and we went up stairs together. 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad you have come," exclaimed 
 Belle, holding out both her emaciated hands, " I 
 am so glad !" Her lip began to quiver, and her 
 eyes to fill with tears ; and to soothe her, I said 
 cheerfully, "If you are glad to see me, Rosa- 
 belle, you must not cry ;" and sitting down be- 
 side her, I talked familiarly and pleasantly until 
 the tea-bell rang. 
 
 "Now you must go," said she: "but please 
 come back again after supper. I love to hear 
 you talk. I love to have you near me, and I 
 want you to read to me in the Bible, and explain 
 it just as you used to do in school."
 
 28 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 RosABEtLE was more beautiful, if possible, 
 than when I first saw her in the bloom of health. 
 Though her body and limbs were much emaci- 
 ated, her face had lost but little of its roundness. 
 Her skin was of a pearly whiteness, a hectic 
 glow came and went upon her cheeks, and her 
 eyes glowed with unwonted brilliancy. 
 
 " Do you think I shall ever get well ?" asked 
 she the next day, as I sat with her in the room 
 alone. " You need n't be afraid to tell me what 
 you think about it, for it cannot be worse than 
 what I believe. I know I am going to die." 
 
 "And how do you feel in view of the great 
 change ?" said I, taking her hand in my own. 
 
 " I hardly know. Sometimes I am willing to 
 die, and then I am very happy ; but oftener my 
 mind is filled with doubts, and I shrink from the 
 thought of death. Oh, Miss Hale, can you tell 
 me ? Has the Lord forgiven my sins, or am I 
 self-deceived ?" 
 
 "I hope you arc not deceived, Rosabelle. 
 Have you not had some satisfying evidence that 
 your sins were forgiven ?"
 
 ANNIE AND 11OSABELLE. 29 
 
 "I think I have," replied she. "At times I 
 am very happy ; and even in my darkest hours 
 I do not lose all trust in my Saviour." 
 
 "Do you love him supremely, and desire his 
 favor above all else ?" 
 
 "I think I do." 
 
 "If you do, dear child, be assured that he 
 will in no wise cast you out. God, for his Son's 
 sake, I trust, has pardoned your sins." 
 
 "Then why do I have these gloomy hours?" 
 
 " I think your doubts and fears arise from a 
 want of faith," I replied. 
 
 " Perhaps so," said she. " It is only when I 
 remember how wicked I have been, and how 
 unworthy I am still, that the clouds come over 
 my mind. It seems so strange that God can 
 pardon those who have done no good thing in 
 all their lives." 
 
 "Yes, it is strange. The great love which he 
 bears to sinners is one of his brightest glories. 
 And should we not have faith in Him who came 
 to seek and to save those who are lost ? Yes, 
 Rosabelle, we should not doubt, but trust im- 
 plicitly in the gracious promises of Him who 
 hath said, ' Come unto me, all ye that labor and 
 are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." 
 
 The child was about to reply, when the en-
 
 30 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 trance of friends who had called to see her put 
 an end to our conversation. 
 
 Time passed on, and every day as the dying 
 girl grew more feeble, her hope and faith were 
 strengthened, until no doubt cast its shadow 
 over her happy spirit. 
 
 One day Mr. Lee, who watched over his 
 fading child with the most intense anxiety, was 
 sitting by the bedside, when she looked up and 
 said, "Papa, how much would you give if you 
 could cure me V 
 
 "What a question, my child! I would give 
 all I am worth in the world, if it would restore 
 you to health," said the father, earnestly. 
 
 "But it wont, papa. The whole of it would 
 not buy for me one moment of life, nor ease my 
 pain." 
 
 " But why do you talk so, darling ?" 
 
 "Oh, I want you to sec, papa, that money, 
 after all, isn't worth living for. I know that 
 the world honors those who have it, but God 
 does not ; and he says in his holy word that ' it 
 is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a 
 needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom 
 of God.' You have often told me, papa, that 
 you were making money for imj but now I am 
 going to die, and in a little while you will have
 
 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 31 
 
 to die too ; then what will you do with all your 
 wealth ?" 
 
 There was an expression of pain on the father's 
 face, and he said almost sternly, "Kosabelle, do 
 not talk so." 
 
 " But I must? replied the child. " I have been 
 wanting to talk with you about these things for 
 a long time, and I have a great deal that I wish 
 to say. Are you not willing to listen to me, 
 now that you know I must leave you so soon ?" 
 Mr. Lee bowed his head in silence, and she went 
 on. "Ever since I can remember, papa, you 
 have been very kind to me, and I want to thank 
 you for all your love and care, and ask your for- 
 giveness for all I have ever done to grieve you. 
 Will you forgive me, papa ?" 
 
 " Forgive you ! Yes, my darling. Had you 
 done a thousand times worse, I should not 
 remember it against you now." 
 
 " And, papa, when I am gone, will you repent 
 of your sins and give your heart to the Saviour ? 
 Oh, I want you to come to heaven when you 
 die ; and you cannot unless you are a Christian. 
 Promise me, papa ; do promise me that you will 
 seek the salvation of your soul ;" and in her 
 earnestness the child put both arms round her 
 parent's neck, and laid her burning cheek close
 
 32 ANNIE AND ROSABELLE. 
 
 to his ; nor did she rest until he gladdened her 
 heart by giving her the promise she required. 
 
 " I promise you, Eosabelle, and may God help 
 me to keep my promise." 
 
 "And he will help you. He has said, 'Knock, 
 and it shall be opened ; seek, and ye shall find ; 
 ask, and it shall be given unto you.' Oh, papa, 
 how happy, how very happy you have made me. I 
 am ready to die. I have nothing more to live for." 
 
 Every day we could see that Rosabelle faded 
 more rapidly, and we knew the end of her suffer- 
 ings was nigh. She talked as long as she was 
 able of the goodness and mercy of the Saviour ; 
 and when her voice failed, she smiled and raised 
 her hands upward, as though to assure us that 
 all was peace. So, before the wind flowers blos- 
 somed, or the early violets opened their azure 
 eyes, Rosabelle Lee went to sleep to wake no 
 more on earth. 
 
 They opened a grave for her close beside An- 
 nie Grey's, for she had expressed a desire that 
 it should be' so, and laid her to rest with many 
 bitter tears. But in their dark night of sorrow 
 a light beamed in upon them, faint at first, but 
 growing clearer the more they trusted and be- 
 lieved, until their hearts rejoiced in the light of 
 the Sun of righteousness.
 
 SELF-CONTROL, 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE 
 
 AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 
 
 150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. 
 135
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I AM going to tell you a story of my own 
 childhood, which I hope will interest and bene- 
 fit my young readers. *
 
 4 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 Early one spring, when I was abont ten 
 years old, my mother called me to her one 
 bright day, and said, "Mary, I am going into 
 the country to visit your aunt Amy, -and I 
 think I shall take you with me." 
 
 You may be sure this announcement gave 
 me much joy. I jumped, laughed, clapped my 
 hands, and capered about the room, making 
 myself quite ridiculous in the excess of my de- 
 light. I had been housed up all winter in con- 
 sequence of ill health, and the thought of going 
 out into the beautiful open country, where I 
 could roam over the broad fields and pluck the 
 flowers, made me feel stronger and better than 
 I had for many a day. 
 
 The hours passed heavily ; and at first it 
 seemed to me, in my impatience, as though the 
 morrow never would come. But it did come 
 at last, as all morrows will ; and though the 
 clouds hung low, and there was every prospect 
 of rain, we set out early upon our little jour- 
 ney. At first it was rather dull and gloomy, 
 for we had the carriage shut up to keep out the 
 air, which was damp and chilly ; but about ten 
 o'clock the heavy mist began to rise from the 
 fields, it grew lighter, the clouds broke away, 
 the sun shone out cheerily, and every thing
 
 SELF-CONTROL 5 
 
 seemed to smile. I smiled too ; and now that 
 I could sec out, I found plenty to talk about, 
 I chatted almost incessantly, and I am sure if 
 my dear mother had not been one of the most 
 patient women in the world, I must have great- 
 ly wearied her with my ceaseless questionings. 
 After we had gone a few miles, we came to 
 a beautiful piece of woods, and mother asked 
 John to drive very slow, that we might have 
 the full benefit of the fine concert which a 
 "star company" of birds was giving gratui- 
 tously among the tender green of the budding 
 branches. Oh it was delightful. I was charm- 
 ed with their melody and with the novelty of 
 the scene, and begged that we might get out 
 and walk a little way into the forest ; and 
 mother smilingly consented. So down John 
 carne from his seat, and helped us out ; and 
 while he stood by the horses, we went far into 
 the shadowy recesses of the pleasant woods, 
 where the birds carolled overhead, and the 
 wind-flower and the modest violet looked up 
 with their starry eyes from the ground at our 
 feet. Mamma helped me gather a bouquet of 
 the little blossoms, and then we returned to the 
 carriage, where Jolm was patiently waiting 
 for us.
 
 6 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 Soon we set forward again, and in a little 
 while came to a beautiful brook ; and John 
 stopped on the rustic bridge that I might look 
 at the little fishes, which were darting to and 
 fro, diving, rising, turning over in all manner 
 of ways, in their innocent freedom. I looked a 
 long time, and was just turning away when I 
 chanced to spy something prettier than the 
 fishes, and clapped my hands with delight. 
 There, just a little way above the water, was 
 a bed of the most beautiful pale blue flowers, 
 and they seemed nodding and blinking at me 
 as the light breeze swept over them. "See, 
 see," I cried, pointing to the little beauties; 
 and mamma nodded and smiled as she replied, 
 "Yes, they are forget-me-nots. John, will you 
 be so kind as to get a handful of them for us ? 
 The horses are so gentle I can hold them." 
 John willingly complied, and bounding over 
 the fence, he soon returned with ever so many 
 of the tiny azure blossoms, which seemed to 
 smile out of their golden eyes as I looked ad- 
 miringly down upon them. 
 
 "Oh, how very pretty they are," said I. "I 
 think they are handsomer than the violets, and 
 they are certainly more fragrant than the wind- 
 flowers."
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE sun was just setting-, my violets were 
 quite withered, and the little forget-me-nots 
 had shut their golden eyes, when to my joy 
 mother pointed out aunt Amy's house. Travel- 
 worn as I was, the sight of the nice house nes- 
 tled so cozily among the elm and maple trees, 
 made me forget all about my fatigue, and I 
 leaned eagerly from the carriage window, im- 
 patient to get a glimpse of aunt Amy and the 
 cousins, whom I had not seen for a long time. 
 Mother had written a letter to aunt, so that she 
 was looking for us ; and before the carriage 
 fairly stopped, she hurried down to the gate to 
 greet us, followed by a merry troop of little 
 ones. 
 
 I always loved aunt Amy, and I felt that I 
 should love her now more than ever, as she 
 welcomed us in her honest, hearty way. 
 
 " Oh I 'm so glad to see you again," she said ; 
 "I was afraid something would happen to de- 
 tain you. The children have been running to 
 ' and fro for the last hour, trying to see which 
 would get the first sight of you ; and if you
 
 8 SELF CONTROL. 
 
 could have heard the noise they made when the 
 carriage drove over the hill, you would have 
 some idea how they love you."' 
 
 "But I touldn't holler so loud as I love 
 aunty and tousin Mamy," said little Hiram ; 
 and we all laughed heartily as we went up 
 the steps and entered the house. 
 
 AVe were too tired to enjoy much that night, 
 and after tea we went early to bed. 1 lay for 
 a long time thinking over the events of the 
 day, then fell asleep, and did not wake again 
 until it was broad morning, and the sun was 
 shining in at the open window. The first thing 
 I heard was a bird, singing loud enough almost 
 to split his little throat ; and jumping up, I ran 
 to the window to see the little songster. And 
 there, sure enough, in a little tree right under 
 the window, was a beautiful bird with brown 
 and golden plumage ; and he did not seem at 
 all afraid, but looked right at me with his bright 
 eyes, and nodded his head while he warbled 
 something which I interpreted as, " Good-morn- 
 ing, little girl. How d'ye do ? how d'ye do ?" 
 
 In a little while mother came up to help me 
 dress, and when we went down, all the cousins, 
 Fanny and George, Charlotte and Hiram, were 
 waiting in the hall to bid me good-morning.
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 9 
 
 When the greetings were over, Fanny pro- 
 posed that as there was time before breakfast, 
 I should go out to the barnyard and see the 
 calves and the little chickens. Mamma con- 
 sented, and away we went, as happy as could 
 be. When the old hen saw us coming, she 
 spread her wings and bustled around with a 
 great noise, as much as to say, "Touch one of 
 iny little chicks if you dare." But the calves 
 were glad to see us, and made themselves quite 
 familiar a little too much so, I thought, when 
 one great fat fellow got the corner of my nice 
 white apron in his mouth, and began to chew 
 it up for his breakfast. I was quite frightened, 
 and was glad to get safely out of the yard, arid 
 promised myself that I would keep out for the 
 future, which made little Hiram laugh heartily 
 as he exclaimed, "You 'fraid of Bossy, tousin ? 
 Bossy taut bite ; Bossy ha'n't dot no toofys." 
 
 Fanny now led the way to the swing, which 
 was fixed in a big maple-tree at the back of the 
 house ; and as there was room on the seat for 
 two, I took Lotty beside me, and away we 
 went like birds. 
 
 When the breakfast bell rang, I went in, feel- 
 ing as bright and as happy as a lark. Uncle 
 Stephen, whom I had not seen before, was in
 
 10 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 the dining-room, and he put both hands on my 
 head, and spoke to me very kindly ; then turned 
 to mother, saying, " She does n't look much like 
 my little chicks. There's nothing like coun- 
 try air and bread and milk for making children 
 healthy. Why, if Fanny and Lotty were so 
 pale, I should think they were going to die. 
 But if you stay with us long enough, little one, 
 we will put some roses in your cheeks, I 'm a 
 thinking, and sha'n't charge any thing for it 
 either." Dear uncle Stephen, how I loved him ; 
 and when he folded his hands so reverently, 
 and asked a blessing, I thought I had never 
 seen a better man. 
 
 After breakfast was over, Fanny brought the 
 Bibles, and each member of the family except 
 little Hiram read two verses apiece, until a chap- 
 ter was finished. Then uncle explained some of 
 the difficult passages, so that we could under- 
 stand them better ; and after that we all kneel- 
 ed down, while he prayed the Lord to forgive 
 us our sins, bless us with his love, and watch 
 over and care for us thro'ugh the day. Very 
 earnestly he presented his petitions, and it 
 seemed as though God was very near us. When 
 I went out to play again, I felt that his all- 
 seeing eye was upon me, and I resolved to be
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 11 
 
 very good all day, and neither say nor do any 
 thing he would not approve. 
 
 We swung, jumped the rope, played hide-and- 
 seek and blind-man's-buff until we were tired. 
 Then we went into the garden, and built a 
 baby-hous'e out of some bits of board, and made 
 believe we were grown-up people. We dressed 
 up and went visiting, and talked with grave 
 faces about the affairs of our respective fami- 
 lies ; and Fanny, who was mistress of the 
 house, brought some bits of cake and cheese, 
 and set her table in a chair. Just in the midst 
 of our fun, mamma and aunt Amy came out to 
 see what had become of us, we had been away 
 from the house so long ; and we laughed and 
 hid our faces, and felt very foolish, until aunt 
 Arny smiled and said she was glad to find us 
 so pleasantly engaged. Then mamma distrib- 
 uted the little gifts she had brought from the 
 city. There was a nice china set of tea things 
 for cousin Fanny, a riding-whip for George, a 
 big wax doll for Lotty, and a tin horse fastened 
 to a tin cart for little Hiram. How happy they 
 all felt with their treasures ; and when we 
 were alone again, each little tongue was loud 
 in its praises of aunt Julia, as they called my 
 mother.
 
 12 SELF-CONTROL, 
 
 "I do believe she is the very best woman in 
 the world," said Fanny. "And I, and I, and I," 
 echoed the rest. This flattered my vanity, and 
 I said quite pompously, "Yes, she is the best 
 woman in the world." 
 
 "'Cept my moder," said little Hiram. 
 
 " Oh, your mother will do well enough," said 
 I, "but she is n't such a lady as my mother is." 
 
 This speech caused quite a sensation among 
 the cousins, as~ well it might. Fanny's face 
 grew very red, but she spoke calmly as she 
 said, "City people arc sometimes more genteel 
 than country folks ; but, Mary, I do n't think 
 your mother is any letter than mine." 
 
 "No, indeed," exclaimed George, cracking 
 his whip emphatically. "My mother's better 
 than any other woman I know of." 
 
 " So she is," added Lotty. " 1 thank aunt 
 Julia for bringing me this pretty doll, but I 
 never could love her as I love my own dear 
 mother." 
 
 "Nor I," said little Hiram. "Ki! see my 
 hoss and buddy do ;" and away went the toy, 
 which he had fixed at the top of an inclined 
 board, whizzing like a miniature locomotive. 
 
 I had provoked this discussion myself, and 
 had no right to feel aggrieved ; but 1 was vex-
 
 SELF-CONTROL- 13. 
 
 ed that they had disputed me, and covering my 
 face with my hands, began to cry. 
 
 "Oh, don't cry," said Fanny, putting her 
 arms around my neck and kissing me. "I 
 did n't mean to hurt your feelings so ; please 
 forgive me." 
 
 Shamed by her gentleness, I wiped the tears 
 away ; but I felt somewhat sulky all the rest of 
 the afternoon, and I am sure I must have made 
 my young friends unhappy with my sour face. 
 
 Ah, my little readers, I had never learned 
 the great lesson of self -control. Naturally of a 
 slender constitution, and an only child, I had 
 been petted and indulged all my life long ; and 
 because everybody tried to please me, and I 
 had nothing to cross my wishes, I was called 
 a very sweet-tempered child. I had never ex- 
 amined my heart very closely, but said my 
 prayers with my lips night and morning, arid 
 was so self-conceited as to think myself a cor- 
 rect pattern, which all little girls would do well 
 to follow. 
 
 Ah me, how blinded we a*e by prosperity. 
 How little we know the true nature of our 
 hearts until crosses and trials come, showing 
 us our utter sinfulness and our helpless de- 
 pendence upon our heavenly Father.
 
 14 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THAT night, before we went to bed, aunt Amy 
 said she had a nice plan for the morrow, and 
 would tell us about it then, that we might all 
 be up bright and early in the morning. She 
 said if the weather was fine, we would all go 
 on a picnic excursion in the woods, and have 
 a sail on the river. This announcement gave 
 us little ones unbounded delight. For my part, 
 I hardly dared go to sleep, for fear I should 
 not wake early enough ; but tired nature at 
 length asserted its right, and I dropped off into 
 forgetfulness. 
 
 The first thing I heard when I opened my 
 eyes in the morning was, not the song of the 
 beautiful bird that had cheered me the morning 
 before, but the dull patter of falling rain. How 
 my heart sank ; and with a fretful " Oh dear," 
 I nestled back on my pillow, and cried with 
 disappointment. Just then there was a gentle 
 rap on the door. I neither spoke nor looked 
 up, and the next moment a soft voice at the 
 bedside said, " It is too bad ; but cheer up, dear 
 Mary ; another day is coming ; it is n't always 
 going to rain."
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 15 
 
 It was Fanny, who with just as much cause 
 to feel bad as I had, had come to comfort me. 
 Her face was as bright as though there was 
 not a cloud in the sky, and her smiles actually 
 made it seem sunshiny in the room. I won- 
 dered how she could feel so cheerful, and said 
 somewhat pettishly, "Oh dear, how can you 
 be so happy ? I do n't believe you cared any 
 thing about going into the woods." 
 
 "Oh yes I did ; I wanted to go very much," 
 replied she; "but I knew fretting wouldn't 
 make the rain stop, and I am trying to make 
 the best of it." 
 
 "But how can you take it so coolly? For 
 my part, I do n't like to be disappointed," said I. 
 
 "Nor I either," replied Fanny ; "and I used 
 to fret and cry when things didn't go just as 
 I wanted them to, and make myself and my 
 friends very unhappy, till I hope I learned the 
 lesson of self-control." 
 
 "Self-control," said I ; " that must be a very 
 hard lesson to learn." 
 
 " Yes, it is hard," replied Fanny ; " but there 
 is One who will help you, and make it easy, if 
 you go to him and ask him aright." 
 
 "You mean the Saviour," I said, reverently. 
 Fanny nodded assent, and went on.
 
 16 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 "Dear cousin, you cannot tell how much 
 happier I am now than I used to be. Then, 
 something was going wrong continually, and I 
 was always in a pet. I often resolved to do 
 better, and many times when I got up in the 
 morning would make a great many good prom- 
 ises ; but I did n't ask the Lord to help me keep 
 them, and they were sure to be broken before 
 night." I thought of the resolutions I had 
 made the day before, and how sadly they were 
 broken, but said nothing, and Fanny contin- 
 ued, " I do n't know how long things would 
 have gone on in the same way with me, if it 
 had n't been for that accident which happened 
 to Hiram a year ago." 
 
 " You mean his arm," said I. " Your mother 
 wrote to us that he had fallen down stairs and 
 broken it." 
 
 " Yes, but there is a story connected with it 
 that you do n't know ; and it is so dreadful you 
 will hardly believe it when I tell it to you. A 
 year ago Hiram was quite a baby, and it was 
 necessary for mother to go to the village for 
 something one day, so she left him in my care, 
 charging me not to leave him alone a minute, 
 but to attend to him patiently until her return. 
 For the first half hour I obeyed her ; then I
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 17 
 
 began to tire, and for change took the baby up 
 stairs, though I knew all the time that mother 
 wouldn't let me do it if she was at home. I 
 gave him some papers to play with ; then got 
 out my little work-basket, and went to sewing 
 on some bits of silk mamma had given me to 
 make my doll a dress. I worked for a while, 
 then wondering why baby was so still, I looked 
 around to see what he was doing. There he 
 stood just behind me, with my beautiful new 
 doll, which I had carelessly left in a chair, in his 
 hands, and he had pulled nearly every curl from 
 its head. I was angry, very angry ; and rush- 
 ing up to him, I snatched the doll away, and 
 struck him a hard blow on his face. He gave 
 a loud cry, and stepped backwards ; but I fol- 
 lowed him, and Oh, Mary, I would n't have 
 struck him again for the world, if I had sup- 
 posed lie was so near the stairway, but I was 
 so blinded by passion that I didn't see it 
 and and he fell P 
 
 " Oh dear," said I, shuddering, " what did you 
 do?" 
 
 " I did n't do any thing for a moment, but 
 stood still, horrified at what I had clone. Then 
 I flew down stairs, and caught up baby in my 
 arms. He lay so white and still that I thought 
 
 SER. iv 136
 
 18 SELF CONTROL. 
 
 he was dead, and running out into the yard I 
 screamed for help. In a few moments some of 
 the neighbors came, and then from excess of 
 terror I fainted away. When I came to r moth- 
 er was bathing my face, and looking so pale 
 and sad that I hardly knew her. I didn't 
 speak ; I did n't dare to ask if baby was dead, 
 but pulled the quilt over my face and cried bit- 
 terly. Then mother went away, and I lay for 
 a long time in the most agonizing suspense. 
 At length I heard a low cry, which I knew to 
 be Hiram's ; and overjoyed that he was yet 
 alive, I ran into the room, where several of the 
 neighbors were with father and mother and the 
 doctor standing around poor baby, who looked 
 like a corpse. They did not notice me, and 
 shrinking into a corner, I saw the doctor work 
 at the little broken arm until I could bear it no 
 longer, and I ran away out of doors. 
 
 "How I wept and prayed when I got quite 
 alone by myself. Oh, Mary, it seemed as though 
 I should die, I felt so bad. But after a while I 
 grew calmer. In all my life I had never prayed 
 before as I prayed then. I asked the Lord to 
 take all anger and wickedness out of my heart, 
 and to make me patient and good always. I 
 think lie heard me, for seldom since that day
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 19 
 
 have I been really angry or unkind to any one ; 
 and if any thing happens to trouble me, I go 
 away and pray, and somehow it seems all right, 
 and I feel as bright and cheerful as can be." 
 
 " Oh, if I could only feel so," sighed I. 
 
 " And you can, dear cousin, without my ter- 
 rible experience too," said Fanny, cheerfully. 
 "The Saviour is always ready to pardon and 
 help those who come to him ; and if you pray 
 to him earnestly, he will hear and answer you " 
 
 I felt comforted by Fanny's words ; and when 
 she went out, I knelt down and besought our 
 heavenly Father to change my heart and make 
 me his child, and to guide and bless me through 
 the day. While I was praying, the "unhappy 
 feeling of disappointment went out_ from my 
 heart, and a little ray of the sunshine which 
 made Fanny's happiness, came in and lighted 
 my bosom also. I had taken my first lesson in 
 self-control.
 
 20 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE day, notwithstanding the rain, passed 
 very pleasantly. We had the garret, which 
 was wide and roomy, for our playhouse ; and 
 Fanny exerted herself so incessantly to amuse 
 us, that we could not help being happy. When 
 night came, I went to bed feeling quite satis- 
 fied with myself for the extra pains I had taken 
 to do right ; and after a night of unbroken re- 
 pose, I awoke with the first golden sunbeams 
 shining in upon my face, and the sweet little 
 bird singing merrily in the tree under the win- 
 dow. I was so overjoyed at the thought of 
 the fine time we were going to have, that I 
 almost forgot my prayers; and I'm afraid I 
 did n't ask the Divine blessing and guidance as 
 I ought, I was in such a hurry. 
 
 After breakfast was over and the morning 
 work was done, aunt Amy put some cake and 
 cheese in a little basket, and we set out in high 
 glee for the woods. It was but a little way 
 down the lane, over a bit of meadow, and then 
 we entered a beautiful maple grove. This was 
 uncle Stephen's sugar orchard, where he made
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 21 
 
 nice maple sugar. There was a snug little cab- 
 in at the boiling place, and the sap buckets and 
 big kettles were there piled up in one corner, 
 and the big brands of wood in the arch looked 
 as though they had but just gone out. I had 
 never seen maple sugar made, and we all sat 
 down in the little cabin to rest, Avhile aunt Amy 
 very kindly explained the process to me. She 
 said that in March, and sometimes as early as 
 February, if the weather was fine, uncle made a 
 quantity of " spiles," and tapped his trees ; and 
 when the sap began to run nicely through the 
 spiles into pails, he built up a roaring fire in the 
 arch, and filled the big cauldron with the sap. 
 Then he kept a steady fire until it was boiled 
 down to a kind of thin molasses or syrup, when 
 it was strained off and put away to settle. 
 After this the sugar making was very easy. 
 They had only to put the syrup in a nice clean 
 kettle, and boil it gently a little while, and 
 when it was thick enough to "grain," it was 
 done, and they sometimes poured it into pans 
 or moulds to harden into cakes. 
 
 I thanked aunt Amy for the pains she had 
 taken to please and instruct me, and could not 
 help expressing a wish that I had been there in 
 sugar-time, so that I could have seen the pro-
 
 -2'2 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 cess and eaten some of the warm sugar. By 
 this time Fanny and George had built a fire ; 
 and when I asked what it was for, aunt Amy 
 said she had brought some sugar with her to 
 melt over, so that we could have some to eat. 
 
 This was an unexpected kindness, and I was 
 very grateful to aunt for her forethought. 
 While she was busy round the kettle, she said 
 we would have time for a little play before the 
 sugar was ready to eat ; and away we scam- 
 pered, making the woods ring with our wild 
 shouts and merry laughter. We gathered whole 
 handfuls of the sweet blue violets and little rose- 
 colored anemones, and then we came to the lit- 
 tle brook, where were ever so many bluebells 
 in bloom on the other side. 
 
 " Oh, how I wish we had some of them. 
 Is n't there any way we can get at them ?" I 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " There used to be a bridge," replied Fanny, 
 "but it was washed away in the big freshet 
 this spring ; and now there is no way, to cross 
 except on the large log which you see just 
 down there by the whitewood-tree. Papa goes 
 over on it quite often, and it is safe, I suppose, 
 so I will go over and get you some of the blue- 
 bells."
 
 SELF-CONTROL 23 
 
 " Oh, let me go with you," said I ; " it will 
 be such fun to walk over the water on a log." 
 
 " But you might fall in," said Fanny, " and 
 that would n't be very funny, would it ? No, 1 
 think you had better stay here, and I will get 
 you the flowers." 
 
 Fanny spoke very sweetly, but I was angry 
 that she should oppose me, and said haughtily, 
 " 1 7 d like to know what right you have to tell 
 me what I had better do. I can walk over a 
 log as well as anybody," and I started along 
 towards the big whitewood log, Fanny looked 
 troubled, and taking hold of my arm, said ear- 
 nestly, " Oh do n't, cousin Mary ; please do n't ; 
 I 'in so afraid you will fall." 
 
 " But I a'n't afraid," exclaimed I, and rudely 
 pulling my arm away, I stepped upon the log 
 I looked back ; Fanny's eyes were full of tears, 
 and I half repented ; but self-will triumphed, 
 and I walked forward. 
 
 "Be very careful how you step," said Fanny 
 " Keep your eyes on the log, but do n't look at 
 the water, and when you are safely over I will 
 come to you." 
 
 ft Oh, I 'm not afraid ; there is no danger," 
 said I, confidently ; and to show my indepen- 
 dence, I leaned to one side and looked down
 
 24 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 into the little brook. The sun shining upon 
 the water dazzled my eyes ; I felt sick and 
 dizzy for a moment, then tottered and fell I 
 heard Fanny's cry of terror, thought of my 
 mother, and struggled to save myself ; but the 
 cold water closed over me, and a dead weight 
 seemed dragging me down. I was fully con- 
 scious of my danger, and tried to pray ; then a 
 feeling like that of sleep came over me, and I 
 remember no more. 
 
 Fanny told me afterwards that as soon as I 
 fell she ran for help, and in a few moments 
 mother and aunt Amy came to my rescue. The 
 water where I fell was not very deep, and wad- 
 ing in, mother succeeded in reaching me, and 
 aunt Amy helped carry me to the bank, where 
 they tried every means in their power to re- 
 store me to consciousness. At first it seemed 
 as though they would never succeed. I lay so 
 white and still, they feared I was really dead ; 
 but after a while I began to show signs of re- 
 turning life. 
 
 The first thing I remember, I was icy cold 
 and in grdat pain ; then I felt warm tears rain- 
 ing over my face, and heard my mother's voice, 
 tremulous with emotion, blessing God because 
 he had spared the life of her child. Then aunt
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 25 
 
 Amy's sweet voice murmured, " Poor thing ; 
 poor little thing, I fear it will be the death of 
 her ;" and Fanny, sobbing as though her heart 
 would break, put her arms round my neck, and 
 begged me to open my eyes and speak to her 
 once more. I tried to look up and to speak, 
 but my eyelids seemed borne down by leaden 
 weights ; and though I could move my lips a 
 little, my tongue refused to obey my will, and 
 I uttered not a sound. 
 
 Though in great pain, I heard every word 
 that was said, and understood every thing that 
 was passing around me. I knew when they 
 sent Fanny for uncle Stephen, and felt grateful 
 as I heard the quick patter of her feet die away 
 in the distance. I wondered how long it would 
 take him to come ; and it seemed like an age 
 while I lay there, with mother and aunt Amy 
 chafing my benumbed limbs and talking in 
 low tones over me, till at length I heard uncle 
 Stephen's voice. He lifted- me in his strong 
 arms, and immediately set out for home, fol- 
 lowed by the others, and scarcely another word 
 was spoken until we reached the house. They 
 carried me up to Fanny's room, wrapped me in 
 warm flannel sheets, and put me to bed. Oh, 
 how carefully and tenderly my mother did
 
 26 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 every thing she could think of for my restora- 
 tion, and how often she laid her cheek lovingly 
 to mine to see if it was getting warm. And 
 when the doctor came, how eagerly she ques- 
 tioned him about me. Never till then had I 
 understood how well she loved me ; and as I 
 lay there in my pain and helplessness, I firmly 
 resolved, if I ever got well, I would show my 
 gratitude by being more obedient and affection- 
 ate than I had ever yet been to her. 
 
 I was in much pain that night ; and it in- 
 creased my suffering when I reflected that I 
 had brought it all upon myself by my ill-humor 
 and self-will. Then what cousin Fanny had 
 said to me about self-control came fresh to my 
 mind, and I felt very unhappy. Oh, if I had 
 only yielded to her gentle entreaties, or gone 
 back when the still small voice in my heart 
 bade me to do so. I felt that it was the voice 
 of God. But regrets were useless ; I had only 
 to improve upon my sad experience ; and I com- 
 forted myself by resolving over and again how, 
 under all circumstances in future time, I would 
 heed the monitions of the Holy Spirit, and prac- 
 tise a Christian self-control.
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 27 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 NEXT day I was better, but still too weak 
 and ill to sit up. Aunt Amy took care of me, 
 for mamma's fright, anxiety, and watching had 
 given her such a headache that she was con- 
 fined to her room. She read to me, and sang 
 some beautiful verses ; and when I asked her 
 to tell me a story, she readily consented, and 
 drawing her chair near the bed, she began' a 
 new seam and her story at the same time. 
 
 " When I was a little girl, as long ago as 1 
 can remember, I was very quick-tempered.'' 
 
 " You quick-tempered ?" said I, looking in 
 surprise upon her placid brow. 
 
 " Yes," replied she with a quiet smile, " and 
 1 used to make myself and my friends very un- 
 happy by rny self-will. 1 wanted to have my 
 own way at all times, and often disobeyed my 
 kind mother for the sake of gratifying my self- 
 ish desires. In this way I lived until I was 
 about your age. Then I began to think seri- 
 ously of the course 1 was pursuing. I knew if 
 I continued thus, I should always render my 
 friends unhappy and my own existence miser-
 
 28 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 able, and 1 resolved to reform. So one morn- 
 ing I made a great many solemn promises 
 about what I would and would not do through 
 the day, and went down stairs feeling quite 
 happy. But as you know perhaps from expe- 
 rience, it is much easier to make good resolves 
 than to keep them/' 
 
 I thought of the day before, and sighed, but 
 said nothing, and aunt Amy went on. 
 
 " I made a little struggle against my evil 
 propensity, then gave up in despair ; and when 
 I went to bed that night, all my good resolu- 
 tions were broken, and I cried myself to sleep. 
 But my tears were more of vexation than of 
 penitence. I felt provoked at myself for the 
 ease with which I had given up to my beset- 
 ting sin, and resolved that on the morrow I 
 would make more strenuous efforts at self- 
 control. The next day came and passed as the 
 day before. Thus a week went by. Each 
 morning I made promises ; each day they were 
 broken ; and I all the time was very misera- 
 ble. Then I thought of a new plan by which 
 I hoped to achieve the end I so much desired. 
 I would write my good resolutions down in the 
 form of a pledge, and see if I could not do bet- 
 ter. I did so, but it proved not much better
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 29 
 
 than the old way ; and I kept on fretting, find- 
 ing fault, and getting into a passion every time 
 the wishes of another came in conflict with my 
 own. Do you know the reason, my dear niece ?" 
 
 "I can't tell, I am sure," said I, "only it 
 seems very hard to practise self-control and be 
 amiable when things do n't go right." 
 
 " That is very true," said aunt Amy, kindly. 
 " It is hard work when people try to overcome 
 evil habits by their own strength, and they are 
 always sure of a failure." 
 
 " Then it's of no use to try ; for who can be 
 good ?" asked I, sadly. 
 
 " Everybody," replied aunt Amy ; " but no 
 one of himself. There is much in our nature 
 at war with purity and truth ; and it is only 
 when the heart is changed by divine grace, and 
 we are content to give up all into the hands of 
 Christ, that we become truly good." 
 
 " I have tried to be good and failed," I said. 
 
 " Did you ask the Saviour to help you ?" in- 
 quired my aunt, looking tenderly upon me. 
 
 I thought of the hasty petitions I had offered 
 the morning before, and answered, " Not very 
 earnestly, I am afraid." 
 
 " And that is why you failed, my dear niece. 
 Prayer is not prayer unless it is sincere ; and
 
 30 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 no petition is acceptable to the Lord unless it 
 conies from the heart. But to my story After 
 I had tried the pledge for a while I gave up in 
 despair, and went on in the old way. Thus 
 several months passed, when one Sabbath I 
 went to church as usual. Our good minister 
 took for his text, "He that ruleth his own 
 spirit is better than he that taketh a city." If 
 the good man had had special reference to me, 
 he could not have preached a sermon better 
 adapted to my case. I saw clearly where my 
 error had been : I had tried to rule my spirit 
 in my own stren'gth, instead of trusting in the 
 Saviour for help, and taking his word and Spir- 
 it for my guide. When I got home, I went to 
 my own little room and prayed earnestly to be 
 forgiven and to be born again ; but a thick veil 
 seemed to shut the light of God's countenance 
 from me, and my heart was full of darkness 
 and despair. I could not remember a single 
 thing I had ever done which would entitle me 
 in any way to the love of God ; and I knew that 
 I was utterly unworthy of the blessings 1 daily 
 received from his bountiful hand. Oh, how self- 
 condemned and wretched I was. But when I 
 cried, ' God be merciful to me a sinner,' as I 
 hope with sincere penitence and faith, my
 
 SELF-CONTROL. * 31 
 
 prayer was heard, and the Comforter came. A 
 peace which none know but those who feel it, 
 came into my soul. Then I hope I realized what 
 was meant by a new heart. My one prevail- 
 ing wish was that in all things I might do the 
 will of my Redeemer. Since I learned thus to 
 rely upon Christ, I find less difficulty in ruling 
 my own spirit. It is a pleasure to me to yield 
 my own preferences for the benefit of others. 
 The love of Christ inclines me to live more for 
 my friends than for myself, and I am always 
 happiest when trying to do good in his name/' 
 
 Aunt Amy had finished her seam and her 
 story ; and without making any remarks upon 
 what she had said, she rose and kissed me, say- 
 ing kindly, " Now you had better try to sleep, 
 my dear, and I will send Fanny to sit with 
 you while I go and attend to the dinner." 
 
 So she went out, and Fanny came and took 
 her watchful station beside me. I closed my 
 eyes, and turned my face towards the wall, but 
 could not sleep, for I kept thinking over aunt 
 Amy's story. There seemed to be a great sim- 
 ilarity between her case and mine, and I re- 
 solved to try the same mqans, and see if peace 
 would not come to my troubled spirit. 
 
 The Saviour, I trust, heard my cry to him
 
 32 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 for mercy. I felt that my sins were forgiven. 
 And now, when wrong desires and passions 
 arise in my mind, I go away by myself and 
 pray for strength to subdue them, and God 
 helps me to do so. 
 
 It was several days before I entirely recov- 
 ered from my " aquatic excursion," as Fanny 
 laughingly called it ; and when we went back 
 to the city, I felt that my visit to the country 
 had been very beneficial to me morally, if not 
 physically, for there I had learned the great les- 
 son of Christian self-control. 
 
 Will not some of my dear little readers profit 
 by the story I have told them ? Is there not 
 some one among you who is weary and dis- 
 heartened with trying to be good in his own 
 strength, who feels the need of a Saviour's love 
 and aid, and is willing to give up all, that he 
 may inherit eternal life ? Oh then, come now 
 to the feet of Jesus. He will wash away all 
 the stains that sin has made, and give you a 
 new heart, so that you may live with him in 
 peace on earth, and when death comes, dwell 
 for ever with him in heaven.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
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