she read history, let her consult maps, biographical dictionaries, etc., as she goes on. If she learn music, let her thoroughly parse each piece she plays-its mode, its key, its change of keys, how effected; in short, let her know the grammar of her music. If she draw, let her in like manner understand perspective, or if she draw figures, the general anatomy, etc. In short, whatever she learn let it be really learned, not built up on high, but dug down deeply.”

Thus calmly, and with the radiance of her own personality reflected on her surroundings, her life passed on to its close. Her biographer dwells much on the qualities that made her character so peculiarly attractive, naming amongst others her delicate regard for the feelings of others, united to a perfect independence of conventionality in matters of principle. An instance is given of her walking one day on the green before her house, a fashionable promenade when Clifton was full,—and when, amongst many people of rank and fashion who were seeking to gain her attention, she noticed a young man, the son of a poor artist who was slightly known to her, but who was passing by not expecting recognition, she immediately went forward and held out her hand to him to his evident delight. "The act, trifling as it was, told of a sympathy and consideration that spoke volumes" and would certainly establish in that young man's mind henceforth a happy association between Christianity and true courtesy. Another noticeable trait, and one particularly deserving of imitation, was the great importance she attached to cheerfulness at meals, always taking pains to introduce bright topics of conversation, and doing all in her power to make such gatherings pleasant and joyous. Her appearance had always been charming, but in her last years there was a peculiar loveliness in her expression that told of more converse with heaven than earth. As to her conversational power it receives a striking testimony from her biographer. "I will venture to say not only that her conversation was unlike that of others, but that as a whole it was unrivalled. Sometimes heavenly wisdom flowed from her lips; sometimes the sparkling of her wit, her fund of anecdote, her vivid imagination, were the life of all, her speaking countenance and her musical voice ever varying with her subject-sometimes it was deepest pathos, sometimes merriment, while her ringing silvery laugh seemed the very echo of joyousness and glee." But above all she had a simple trust in the Lord Jesus as her Saviour. The rest she found in Him for her weary soul continued with her to the end. A fragment dated Dec. 9, 1805, thus runs :-"Thou, O Lord! hast condescended to declare that Thou hast bought me with a price more precious than rubies even with Thine own blood I long to see Thy salvation, O Lord; whatever this may mean, I take Thy

word, I throw myself upon it with entire recumbency of soul, with a full persuasion that Thou will not let me perish. I feel that my salvation must be all of free grace, and of pure mercy from beginning to end. I cannot extirpate one sin. Thy Redeemer can alone do the first; Thy Spirit the last." At another time she exclaimed, "When I look at my adorable Saviour I feel I cannot understand one-half of His goodness, neither dare I set any bounds to it. Oh! unutterable goodness and mercy." Again, "O my God! how infinitely precious must that sacrifice be which can wash away the infinity of human sin and impiety. But blessed be His Holy name, our hopes are not in ourselves nor each other, but in God. Oh! what comfort has it been to me to know that the soul has a sure anchor to trust to, Jesus Christ. To Him, with full purpose of heart, have I devoted my soul, and though I have so often and do constantly wander away, yet I have not voluntarily taken myself out of His hands; and surely He will not fail me. What comfort has there been lately to me in those precious words 'Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.""

Such was the bright eventide of a life whose morning had not been without clouds. The Sun of Righteousness had chased them all away. But she was not without trials, even when weak with old age she was greatly tempted by Roman Catholic friends around her to join their Church, but by God's grace she was enabled to overcome their temptations, and trusting in the merits of Christ alone she was able to rejoice in Him.

During her last illness she thus expressed herself: "Oh! that blessed, blessed Saviour! O Lord, open Thou our eyes, that we may see Thy suffering love for us."

And again, "I do find the Gospel all I want: the full and entire satisfaction of it unfolds more and more the more it is needed.'

"Oh, the unsearchable riches of Christ! It seems to me as if they were all around me, and about me continually; when I wake up and when I sleep they are with me. His love it is which is the only solid comfort, but that is comfort indeed. Oh, the happiness of being His." "A Christian and not happy!" was her amazed exclamation one day on hearing of a gloomy believer. And truly her path was as the shining light, shining more and more unto the perfect day. That day dawned for her, August 29th, 1856, when she was seventy-eight years of age, after eight months of much suffering, during which her joy in the Lord was great. Her last sentences were: Rejoice with me; I am entering my Father's House!" And again: "Do you not hear the voices ?-and the children's are the loudest."

M. C. FRANCE.

ELIZABETH

PRENTISS.

Author of "Stepping Heavenward," &c.

I.

FAMILY AND GIRLHOOD.

'N the year 1635, two families from Nasing in Essex, named respectively Payson and Eliot, sailed together for New England, on board the brig "Hopewell." One of the families soon became famous, in the person of John Eliot, the great "apostle of the Indians." In due time, Mary Eliot, a sister of the missionary, became the wife of a member of the other Nasing family, Edward Payson, who had settled in the town of Roxbury. Elizabeth Payson, afterwards Mrs. Prentiss, the subject of this sketch, was of the sixth generation from Edward Payson and Mary Eliot. She was the youngest daughter of the celebrated Edward Payson of Portland, Maine, one of the most devoted pastors and one of the most saintly men that America ever produced.

Edward Payson, the father of Mrs. Prentiss, was the eldest son of the Rev. Seth Payson, D.D., a man of great influence both in the Church and in the State, and an able and faithful minister of Christ. Ordained to the ministry in Portland in 1807, Dr. Edward Payson remained there till his death in 1827, in the forty-fifth year of his age. He was a man of genius as well as of ardent piety, profoundly earnest, yet full of humour. Like other men of high-strung nervous temperament, he was subject to fits of depression that often gave him an aspect of melancholy and sometimes sank him into the depths. Mrs. Prentiss resembled her father in the union of the humorous and the serious, as she did also in another feature, the power of her spirit to triumph over the body under intense pain.

She was his youngest daughter, born in 1818, and was only nine at the time of her father's death. But during these years she had been wonderfully close to him, loving and honouring him with an intensity very remarkable in a child; he had become her very ideal and delight. What was said of Sara Coleridge might have been said of her" her father had looked down into her eyes and left in them the light of his own." She was a delicate child; in after life she

used to say, "I never knew what it was to feel well." Sick headache, pain in the side, fainting fits were among her ordinary experiences, yet the vivacity of her nature kept her bright and cheerful under all. In 1830, at the age of twelve, she made a public confession of Christ at the Lord's Table. By her companions and all who knew her, her piety, though marked by no special features, was regarded as of a decided character. But during a revival in 1837-8, being then in her twentieth year, she had strong doubts whether she really had been a true Christian. How she passed out of her doubts she scarcely knew, but being engaged in the duties of a school, she became so interested in them that she ceased to give much attention to herself. The following winter a deep anxiety about divine things was shown by most of her scholars; she tried to guide them to Christ, and watched with great interest the progress of their minds after they had consecrated themselves to Him.

After a while a strange reaction set in. She became careless in her religious habits, shrank from the Lord's Table as a place of torture, and for a fortnight at least omitted all exercises of private devotion.

Then came an awful sense of guilt, a cry to God out of the depths, and an intense longing for acceptance and peace. She was utterly perplexed. She felt so guilty, and the character of God appeared so perfect in its purity and holiness, that she knew not which way to turn. At length, thoughts of the infinite grace and love of Christ began to prevail, and to afford her hope. She was greatly encouraged by a sermon on the ability of Christ to save to the uttermost. It charmed her to think of this Christ, it gave rest to her weary soul to think that there was such a Being, even though she did not at the time consider that He was hers. And by-and-by the thought of His infinite loveliness overcame her, so that her soul was filled with love to God and to all mankind. From this time, with many changes in the liveliness of her emotions, she was steadfast and immovable in the Christian life. Henceforth, to her dying day, "the will of Christ was the sovereign law of her existence, and also its sweetest joy.”

It is needless for us to discuss the question whether she judged truly of herself in thinking that up to this time she had not been a real Christian. It may be remarked that in times of deep religious earnestness there is a tendency to lay more stress on emotional sensibility as a test of conversion than is altogether warrantable, nor is this very strange; for at such times the emotions are wonderfully stimulated, and it is not unnatural, in the view of the fervent love and joy that are then excited, to conclude that the time of calm and almost impassive reliance on Christ could not have been a genuine experience. Perhaps, too, Elizabeth Payson's piety was somewhat

defective in this, that while she was overwhelmed with delight in the grace and love, the purity and the beauty of Christ's person, she laid less stress on His atoning work, His satisfaction of the divine claims, His death in the room of sinners. Perhaps, had she made more of Christ for her, she would not have been liable to such dejection of spirit when her experience of Christ in her became somewhat languid. Yet we cannot but admire and almost envy the intensity of the feelings that ever and anon were aroused by the thought of Christ. "At Sabbath school this morning," she says on September 12, 1840, "while talking with my scholars about the Lord Jesus, my heart, which is often so cold and so stupid, seemed completely melted within me with such a view of His wonderful, wonderful love for sinners, that I almost believed I had never felt it till then. Such a blessing is worth toiling and wrestling for during a whole life. If a glimpse of our Saviour here on earth can be so refreshing, so delightful, what will it be in heaven?"

A few weeks after, a severe attack of illness brought her face to face with death. "It became a serious question, whether if God should so please I could feel willing to die there alone, for I was among entire strangers. I never enjoyed more of His presence than that night, when, sick and sad, and full of pain, I felt it sweet to put myself in His hands to be disposed of in His own way."

A great element of her youthful piety was wonder. "Sometimes when I feel almost certain that the Saviour has accepted and forgiven me, and that I belong to Him, I can only walk my room repeating over and over again, How wonderful! And then, when my mind strives to take in this loving Christ, it seems to struggle in vain with its own littleness, and falls back weary and exhausted, to wonder again at the heights and depths which surpass its comprehension." A robust piety will generally have some element of wonder in it. It is when we are lost in the thought of God's condescension and grace that self is reduced to nothingness, and the whole soul is thrilled with the feeling: "What shall I render to the Lord for all His benefits toward me?"

II.

THE TEACHER.

ABOUT this time she accepted an invitation to become a teacher in a school at Richmond, and passed through all the painful experience of leaving home. Her chief distress was on account of her mother. She had long been her mother's constant companion, and she knew what a blank her absence would make to her. Once she had thoughts of a missionary's life, but when she spoke of it her mother