own heart's destitution was discovered to her; the fulness, the glory, the power, the majesty, the superabounding love of Christ to helpless, fallen sinners, became the more manifested to her soul. Grateful beyond all expression for the view which by faith she was enabled to take of the Saviour's full and finished salvation, she prayed earnestly that she might be brought into nearer communion with Him, 'whom to know is life eternal.' She prayed that her understanding might be enlightened by His Spirit, that she might shun that which was evil, and cleave to that which was good. She besought her heavenly Father to give her the happy rejoicing freedom of a child, not the distressing slavish spirit of bondage, but the animating joyous feeling of adoption, promised by Jehovah himself. Full of consolation and hope, and experiencing something of the power of that truth, which when known makes you free indeed, (John viii. 32.) Mary felt more than usually assured of God's guiding, protecting, preserving care. She felt relieved of an anxiety which had more or less weighed on her mind some days past. This anxiety arose from a deep sense of inward incapability of any one good thought, feeling, desire, or endeavour. She had compared herself with others, and been crushed

to the dust by the conviction that they appeared more devoted to God, more attached to his service, more self-denying, more active. She began now to perceive that strength was not in man, and that Christ being made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption,' would perfect in her that which was lacking, working in her to will and to do of His good pleasure.' Enabled by faith to receive these encouraging truths, Mary's heart overflowed with peace and consolation. Every thing in nature looked bright and gay, her uncle seemed to be more interested in her remarks on religious subjects, the cottagers appeared cheerful and happy as she passed, all partook of the sunny light which shone on her own heart.

Old Sally Nash was found without difficulty, and dismounting from her horse, Mary entered the cottage. The old woman received her with great civility, apologizing that her lameness prevented her from placing a chair quickly enough. Mary explained who she was, and for what purpose she had called. Sally was delighted to have a person in her house, who had seen her sister. She asked after her health again and again. "Fanny," she said, "was always of a delicate constitution, and apt to be sad and downhearted; we did very well together, for I

was a thoughtless lively girl, ready for all kinds of frolic, and she used to tell me such ways would'nt do. Oh, says I, Fanny, I've time enough before me to grow serious. Time enough! she would say, Sally, how can you tell what time you may have; you may die tomorrow. I used to hear her talk, and take my own ways; but God remembered me for good, and sent messenger after messenger till He brought me home to Christ."

"Have you no children living near you, to do any thing for you?" asked Mary.

"Children! my dear young lady! the Lord gave me seven; and because I would put them between me and Him, and content myself with my earthly joys, He sent his messengers one by one, and took them all away. I thought when the youngest went, and its father a few weeks after it, I should never hold up my head again. But, my dear lady, we don't know what we can bear till the Lord tries us, and we never know what His love is, till we have nothing else left to look to."

Mary asked if she had received immediate consolation after her trials, and in what way she had been led to find her happiness in religion.

"I was long, my dear young lady, before I cared to listen to any one. I had no wish to

read my Bible, and when I did, I found no com

fort in it for

6

me; but the accepted time'

came, and my day of salvation.' I had a fall from a loft and broke my leg; I was long confined to my bed, and then I was obliged to read to beguile the time. Fanny's words came to my mind; I knew I could not save myself, but she had told me I must go to Christ with repentance, putting away evil thoughts and wishes, and I must love him and give up every thing for Him. I wished to be saved, and tried to feel great repentance, but my wicked heart would only tell me I had been hardly dealt by. I thought God a severe judge-I could not love Him—I was afraid of Him-I hadn't even the power to repent of these sinful thoughts; I durst not pray to Him, because I knew I did not love Him. She had told me I must give up every thing for Him. I thought I had nothing left to give; God had taken all my comforts away— what could I offer him? Something seemed to say, my heart-but it was too hard, and I found I could not make it soft. Oh, my dear lady, I was in a bad way; but this didn't last long; my neighbours used to try and help me; they told me to pray; I found this so difficult with my wicked heart, that I thought I should only offend God; but one night I took up my Bible to see if I could

find any words to make a prayer from. The part of Scripture that I opened was Solomon's prayer for the people; and when I came to that verse (1 Kings viii. 38.) where Solomon speaks of every man knowing the plague of his own heart,' and calling upon God for forgiveness, 1 thought to myself, may be the Lord would hear me, for my heart plagued me sore enough. I tried to pray, and blessed be God, He heard me, sinful as I was, and took me just as I was, for I could find no way of making myself better. I was encouraged to look to Christ for pardon, and that question came into my mind, 'What shall we do that we may work the works of God?' our Lord said to them, 'This is the work of God, that ye believe on Him whom He hath sent.' Ah, my dear lady, He knew it was harder for a poor sinful soul to believe than to work. We can all try and work, and think something of our foolish doings, but who can believe, except it be given him? As our Lord says, 'No man can come unto me, except the Father draw him ;' and well do I know this, for I should never have been saved unless He had drawn me."

"What proof have you of being saved?" asked Mr. Conroy, who had stood listening to the old woman's history.

"What proof! O, bless ye, Sir, I have God's