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sitting by her bed when she went away. A little past six, hearing that a relation, who dearly loved her, and was beloved by her, and who had come daily from Westminster to see her, was below stairs, she said, "Raise me up, that I may speak to him once more." Her aunt said, "My dear, you are nearly exhausted, I think you had better not at"tempt it." She smiled, and said, "It is very well, I will not." She was then within half an hour of her translation to glory; but the love of her dear Lord had so filled her with benevolence, that she was ready to exert herself to her last breath, in hopes of saying something that might be useful to others after she was gone.

Towards seven o'clock, I was walking in the garden, and earnestly engaged in prayer for her, when a servant came to me, and said, "She is gone." O Lord, how great is thy power! how great is thy goodness! A few days before, had it been practicable and lawful, what would I not have given to procure her recovery? yet seldom in my life have I known a more heart-felt joy, than when these words, She is gone, sounded in my ears. I ran up stairs, and our whole little family were soon around her bed. Though her aunt and another person were sitting with their eyes fixed upon her, she was gone, perhaps, a few minutes before she was missed. She lay upon her left side, with her cheek gently reclining upon her hand, as if in a sweet sleep. And I thought there was a smile on her countenance. Never, surely, did death appear in a more beautiful, inviting form! We fell upon our knees, and I returned (I think I may say) my most unfeigned thanks to our God and Saviour, for his abundant goodness to her, crowned in this last instance, by giving her so gentle a dismission. Yes, I am satisfied, I am comforted. And if

one of the many involuntary tears I have shed, could have recalled her to life, to health, to an assemblage of all that this world could contribute to her happiness, I would have laboured hard to suppress it. Now my largest desires for her are accomplished. The days of her mourning are ended. She is landed on that peaceful shore, where the storms of trouble never blow. She is, for ever, out of the reach of sorrow, sin, temptation, and snares. Now she is before the throne! She sees him whom, not having seen, she loved; she drinks of the rivers of pleasure which are at his right hand, and shall thirst no more.

She was born at St. Margaret's, Rochester, February 6, 1771.

Her parents settled at Anstruther, in Fife, in 1773. She returned to us, March 15, 1783.

She breathed her spirit into her Redeemer's hands a little before seven in the evening, on October 6, 1785, aged fourteen years and eight months.

I shall be glad if this little narrative may prove an encouragement to my friends who have children. May we not conceive the Lord saying to us, as Pharaoh's daughter said to the mother of Moses, "Take this child, and bring it up for me, and I will pay thee thy wages?" How solemn the trust! how important and difficult the charge of it! but how rich the reward if our endeavours are crowned with success! And we have every thing to hope from his power and goodness, if, in dependence upon his blessing, we can fully and diligently aim at fulfilling his will. Happy they, who will say at the last day, "Behold, here am I, and the children "which thou hast given me."

The children of my friends will likewise see my narrative. May it convince them that it is practicable,

and good, to seek the Lord betimes! My dear Eliza's state of langour prevented her from associating with young people of her own age, so frequently and freely as she might otherwise have done. But these papers will come into the hands of some such, whom she knew, and whom she loved. To them I particularly commend and dedicate this relation. Oh! my dear young friends, had you seen with what what dignity of spirit she filled up the last scene of her life, you must have been affected by it! Let not the liveliness of your spirits, and the gaiety of the prospect around you, prevent you from considering, that to you likewise days will certainly come, (unless you are suddenly snatched out of life,) when you will say and feel, that the world, and all in it, can afford you no pleasure. But there is a Saviour, and a mighty One, always near, always gracious to those who seek him. May you, like her, be enabled to choose him, as the Guide of your youth, and the Lord of your hearts. Then, like her, you will find support and comfort under affliction, wisdom to direct your conduct, a good hope in death, and by death a happy translation to everlasting life.

I have only to add my prayer, that a blessing from on high may descend upon the persons and families of all my friends, and upon all into whose hands this paper may providentially come.

JOHN NEWTON.

Charles's Square, Hoxton,

October 13, 1785.

THE

SUBJECT AND TEMPER OF THE GOSPEL MINISTRY:

A SERMON

PREACHED IN THE

PARISH CHURCH OF ST. MARY WOOLNOTH,

ON SUNDAY, DECEMBER 19, 1779,

THE DAY OF HIS FIRST PUBLIC SERVICE IN THAT CHURCH;

BY

JOHN NEWTON, RECTOR.

Being affectionately desirous of you, we were willing to have imparted unto you not the Gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us. — 1 THESSALONIANS, Xi. 8.

[FIRST PRINTED IN 1780.]