and I am sure that I shall not. It was his wedding-day yesterday, and I was a little better, and sat with them. I was able to be cheerful, and father watched me with such pleasure. He looked quite enraptured. I am afraid the shock will be the greater. If I could but know that he was undeceived and resigned, I should be more satisfied." She was assured that he was fully alive to her danger, and she seemed relieved. Then she spoke of her dear sister in London, and of her other sisters, and expressed her more than willingness to be, as it were, "offered up" for them.

Once again her pastor saw her. She intimated her conviction that her end was approaching, and expressed her anxiety to glorify God by her death. She thought that if she could but speak to those dear to her when dying, it might leave an impression which her living voice would fail to produce. On Friday night, her mother determined to write to her sister to return. "Do not send for her yet, mother,” said Eliza; "let her stay the six weeks.” But the mother saw the change, and was firm. M. arrived on the Monday. "You are not come too soon, M. dear," was Eliza's remark as she entered; and so it proved.

X.

The City Gate.

"That city with the jewell'd crest,
Like some new lighted sun;
A blaze of burning amethyst-
Ten thousand orbs in one;

"Far off as yet, reserved in heaven
Above that veiling sky,

It sparkles like the star of even,
To hope's far-piercing eye.

"Fair vision! how thy distant gleam Brightens Time's saddest hue; Far fairer than the fairest dream,

And yet so strangely true!"

BONAR.

ON Monday morning, November 30, the aunt so often mentioned visited Eliza, and found her calmly arranging her little matters in readiness for the anticipated summons. She spoke of her books. She expressed her wish to give them away, when dying, to her sisters and friends, and should like to write something in each. She looked over the books with her aunt, and decided on their respective appropriation, but did not feel able to write. "And to whom will you leave your Bible?" asked her aunt. The Bible was full of marks from beginning to end. "Indeed, aunt, I can hardly make up my mind. It is so precious, I could not leave it to any one who would not value it. I should like to leave it to dear mother, if I could be sure she would read it. I think if I could get a promise from her when I am dying, I should be satisfied. will try." She thought she might be able to write the names in the books, but the end was nearer than even she supposed.

I

At twelve that night, her parents disposed