tell them? Would it not seem the greatest pre

sumption in me, their child, to take upon me to teach them? Oh, I know not what to do!" She was urged to take comfort in the power of humble, believing prayer, and to look for wisdom and guidance from above. At length she summoned courage to write to her father on his birth-day. In mentioning it to her kind friend, Miss B, she said, "I think every word was written with tears. I wrote as humbly and affectionately as I could, but as I wrote, I felt that none of it was my own. I could not help doing it." In recalling the circumstances subsequently to her removal, her father said, "I was in my office, alone, when she came to me with the letter. She had also a little book in her hand, called, 'Come to Jesus.' She looked up in my face, and said, 'O father, come to Jesus!" " With a faltering voice he added, "I shall never forget that look." She had marked the little book in many places, and great was her joy to see him reading it attentively. The letter had great effect. "And yet," he said, speaking of it on another occasion to his pastor, "it was not, after all, so much what she wrote as what she did that struck me. I watched her after that letter more than I had done before.

marked her gentleness with her sisters, so different from her former hastiness—the quiet repose of her manner, in contrast with her former flighty excitement-her dutiful and affectionate attention to us—and her retirement, unobserved by others, for opportunities of devotion." Her heart was full, when, shortly after, he requested her to join him in asking a blessing on their meals and when, on the following Sabbath morning, the usual newspaper reading was discontinued, and he arose to accompany her to her customary place of worship. Her filial reverence prevented her from asking questions, but the change became, though more gradually, as evident in his case as it had been in hers. rapture glowed in her countenance-what tears of joy rained down her cheeks, when she came to tell the friend who had sympathised with her in her anxiety, that God had heard her prayers for her father!

What

Encouraged by the result of this effort, she ventured, though with more hesitation, about twelve months after, to write a letter to her mother. She kept it in her pocket some days before she could find courage to give it. At length she seized an opportunity, placed it in her mother's hand, and immediately went out, to give time

for its perusal in her absence.

She walked about in silent prayer for some time, and hesitated to return. She stood at the top of the broad gravel walk leading to their house long before she could venture down, and looked at the windows to ascertain if her mother was visible. She feared that her letter would seem like unwarrantable presumption on her part, and shrank from meeting her mother. But time pressed, and as the feeling must be surmounted, she summoned up resolution to go in. On reentering, she endeavoured to be as affectionate and pleasant as she could, to diminish the awkwardness of the meeting, and was thankful to find that her mother did not seem in the least offended. She never mentioned the circumstance till in conversation with her father alone, about a fortnight before her death. He immediately asked Mrs Harris for the letter, and they have both kindly permitted its publication:

"MY VERY DEAR MOTHER,-Will you forgive the liberty I am taking? If you knew what I feel, I am sure you would. Mother dear, I could not speak to you, and as I could go no longer without, I thought I would write. It is because I love you, mother; because God's

Spirit is striving with me, so that whatever happens, I must speak. Mother dear! I feel so unhappy about you. I hope, through the grace and mercy of God, I am safe for time and eternity, but oh! that only makes me more anxious that you should be so too, for I should be indeed sinful if I could see you daily living without God, without any real hope, and not utter one warning cry, not try to lead you to Jesus, who alone can give salvation. Mother dear! I never loved you half so much before I knew Him, and if you could only feel the happiness of knowing Him as your own Saviour, you would love Him too. It is not enough to know His name; it is not enough to be moral; we must be born again, and, mother dear! till that change takes place a change so great, that it is called passing from death unto life-we are all under condemnation, all, young or old, rich or poor. It is not only the wicked that are to be turned into hell, but also all the people that forget God. Dear mother, God forbid that I should call you wicked, but oh! do you not forget Him who so loved us as to give His only begotten Son to die for us? He could not spare Him. and sin is what He hates.

E

If He spared us, He is a holy God,

He is a just God,

and must punish all sin; but He is a merciful God. He loves mercy, and gives the greatest gift He has to bestow for us, His dear Son, because if He punishes Him for us, He will be able to forgive us, and all He asks from us is, 'My son, my daughter, give me thine heart." He wants nothing else. Oh, how condescending! He before whom angels bow, He who gives us life, health, all, to ask our hearts, our sinful depraved hearts! Mother, dear mother! forgive me for writing thus to you, but I cannot bear to think that the day may come for you to be able to say to me, 'You knew all this and never told me.' It is the best return I can make for all your love to me. Mother dear! I have been an ungrateful child, but God knows my heart. I love you better than when I loved the world, and oh! were you in my place, I know you would not let me live without at least telling me of my danger. When we love Jesus, it makes us love our friends with a more real love. God knows it is my greatest desire, greater even than life itself, to be sure you were all safe. Joyfully would I sacrifice every earthly blessing for it; and it may be so. He offers pardon, peace! Freely ask, and ye shall receive.' I know we cannot repent ourselves,