God, and of a strong dependence on his precious promises, one or other of which is almost constantly in her mouth; particularly, Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow, &c. He that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out. Casting all your care on God for He careth for you. Come unto me all ye that are weary, &c.

"She will lift up her hand to me (which is reduced to mere skin and bone) and will say My flesh and my heart fail; but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.'

Yet with all this reliance on the promises of God, she says she does not feel that strong and abiding assurance of the pardon of her sins which she desires; but she says her trust in God's word increases daily. She often says to me—' O, my aunt, what a God is mine! See how he comforts, strengthens, and supports me, a poor feeble creature. O bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name. I wish every body would praise him; but every one knows not what a God of mercy he is. With what patience and mercy has he borne with my fifteen years of sin! And even now, when he lays his hand upon me, with what gentleness he does it! But you know, aunt, he carries the lambs in his bosom!'

"She said to me the other day-'O what a sinner have I been! How 'little have I profited by the means I have had; and how few have had such opportunities. Yet in his mercy he spares me. He does not snatch me away by a violent sudden death; he blesses me with a long sickness, and sanctifies it to me in answer to my prayers; and brings about me good and serious people, who greatly strengthen and assist me.'

"Thus strong, my dear sister, is the love, the faith, the humility of this young saint. I can describe nothing so sweet, so interesting, so like a mild setting sun, as her beautiful countenance. Every one who sees it is struck with it. All that sprightliness, which we used to admire, is there; but so tempered, so softened, that it is not in my power to describe it; but it is most heavenly. Not one gloomy hour have I seen in her sick chamber; but a cheerfulness that shews her mind is at peace. When I watch her from week to week, from morn till night, I see her always the same. Her mind never loses sight of its great object. Joy, peace, hope, these and the like fruits of the spirit, are always visible. Not one complaint passes her lips. Prayer and praise occupy her whole mind. If any persons come in who introduce useless conversation, she regrets the loss of time, and will say when they are gone 'My time is almost done, I have no minutes now to waste; but I try to keep my heart and thoughts, whilst others are talking; for what is the world to me now! It is the prayer and desire of my

heart, that all my thoughts may be of God, and with God. I wish to hear, or speak, of nothing else.'

"She has looked over all her little valu-` ables, and has given to each of her young friends, and to the servants, a pocket-book, or some little thing, as a token of her love.

"She said to me last night, when suffering greatly- O, my aunt, that my patience may last! What a sad thing it will be, if after all I have said to my God, of my desire to subunit to Him in all things, of my willingness to bear whatever he sees good to lay upon me-my wish that He should purge my heart from every thing that would oppose him-If, after all, I should be fretful, and complain-0, what a dreadful thing would that be! But my prayer, my constant prayer shall be, ‘Ó suffer me not at last, for any pains of death, to fall from thee.'

Dec. 3d, 1802.

"The last week has brought my dear niece a great way on her journey. She is very sensible of it, and points it out to me with the sweetest composure and resignation; but does not rejoice yet in the prospect of death as my Margaret did. She laments that she cannot apply the whole of the promises of God to herself more fully. She says- The desire of my heart is firmly to rest on his word, and to live to Him in all his ways and commands; and for the truth of that desire I can appeal to him. I feel myself wholly resigned to his will; and as that desire, and that resignation must be his gift, I trust his goodness will not stop there.'

"She sometimes uses an expression which will give you, in a few words, a clear idea of her state-When I think of the greatness of God, and then of my own sinfulness, I seem to hope against hope; but I endeavour to keep fast hold of the promises of God, and I grope my way to Him.'

Dec. 18th.

"She has been carried in the servant's arms up stairs more than two months, but the motion, however gentle, has latterly been near depriving her of breath. I could not ask her to have a bed put up in the parlour, where her beloved Margaret languished and died; but I got the doctor to propose a bed in the drawing-room. She said to me- My dear aunt, that will occasion you far too much trouble and fatigue. me have the same bed put up in the green parlour which Margaret had: I shall like that the best.' How shall I describe to you the thankfulness with which she took possession of the same room and bed, in which her sister died so lately.

Let

"Some time ago she was uneasy, that she did not feel more assurance of pardon and acceptance. I endeavoured to convince her, that the promises are to those who believe, and commit themselves wholly to the

Lord, and not merely to those who are enabled to rejoice. This has been of much use to her; and I have now the comfort of seeing her dwell with delight upon the promises. Before I leave her room at midnight, she will call me back to her bedside, and say, 'Now, my aunt, repeat to me some of the precious promises before you leave me, that I may feed upon them when I cannot sleep.'

Dec, 26th.

"Amongst the greatest of God's mercies she reckons her long sickness, now near eleven months. But what is become of her love of life, her uncommon dread of death? Let her own sweet words answer. O, my aunt, how my God answers all my prayers. I carried all my fears and cares to him, and He has turned them all into peace and joy. I think the weaker I grow in body, the more my faith increases. How often have I prayed for more faith, and see how all my prayers are answered!'

"The other evening, when I had been upon my knees, supporting her longer than usual, and found some difficulty in rising, she held out ber hand, to help me. I smiled at the offer, and said, I wish, my love, you were able. She answered-'I wish I was -but, oh no, do not let me say that, for then, perhaps, I might not be in so good a way, and then I could not be happy.' Soon after she said What a mercy is my death! Had I recovered my health, perhaps I might have grown fond of the world again, and have forgotten all my God's goodness to me.'

"See, my dear sister, what Almighty grace can do! Not only is her great dread of dying taken away, but she enabled to look upon death as a blessing, and does not even venture to wish for return of health, lest it should not be good for her. What an honour' (she said to me the other night, as I supported her in bed)' what an honour, for a poor thing like me to be taken to heaven, out of the way of sin and sorrow! To be clothed with my Redeemer's righteousness; for I have none of my own!'

"She often speaks of the comfort of prayer. How refreshed I feel, when I enjoy a little time in prayer, and carry all my cares to God!'

"About a fortnight ago she expressed a great wish to see the Rev. Mr. F. She said I find my strength is nearly gone. My time is almost done. I want to see him whilst I have any strength left to speak. I wish to tell him of all my God's goodness to me; and to thank him for all his prayers, and friendly visits; and to bid him farewell till we meet in heaven.' When he came she expressed herself nearly in the same manner, and, after bidding him farewell, she said- But, Sir, if I should be

mistaken, and should linger a little longer here, come and see me: when I cannot speak, I can listen to your prayers.' As soon as he was gone, she said- Aunt, I am finely just now, give me my knitting; I will try to knit a little.' So undisturbing, so soothing, are such scenes to her? Dec. 30th.

"From the accounts which I have sent you, my dear sister, you will be able to form a clear idea of my happy, happy Catherine. Dear young saint! old in the knowledge of her own heart, and of the love and mercy of her God. In speaking of these about ten days ago, she said—' Oh, how shall I be thankful for all the mercies of my God to me! Had I been brought up with reading novels and plays, without the knowledge of a Saviour, what should I have done now! O that I could persuade my young friends! But I have been very remiss to them. They have come to see me day after day, and I have never told them of the great goodness of my God to me! Aunt, I have done very wrong. Had I told them with what tender mercy He deals with me, and how He comforts and supports me on my dying bed, it would have induced them to seek Him. They will believe a dying friend.'

Since that, she has taken every opportunity of speaking to them. She has given to each some little thing for a keep-sake. To one she gave some artificial flowers, and said- Wear them for my sake, but remember my advice, do not wear them as ornaments to make you fine, and to attract the notice of the world. One fit of sickness will make the world of no value to you. When you are on your death-bed, it will give you no comfort to think how fine you have been; but if you have made your Saviour your friend, Ô then you will be happy indeed.'

"To each of her companions she has given a charge, not to mind the sneers of the world, which she tells them they must expect to meet with, if they will not follow its follies; but,' she says, try to secure that friend who will never leave you nor forsake you.'

"I wish you had seen her the other night, as she sat up in bed, when I gave her some wine and biscuit; with what an animated smile she held up the glass, and repeated these words:

"The Lord is only my support,
And He that doth me feed;
How can I then lack any thing

Of which I stand in need.' Adding Help me, help me, my aunt, to be thankful.' I think I told you her reply one night, on any asking her if she wanted any thing before I went to bed- Nothing, nothing--but more love to God.'

"I often hear her repeating to herself in

bed,

"Leave, oh leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me."

"This day my dear niece has noticed much her deafness, and loss of memory. How very sweetly she speaks of these defects See, how I am stealing away from this world! By what gentle degrees I am losing every thing! But, however dead I may become to all around me, whilst life remains may I be alive to God. Indeed, though I have been so heavy to day, I have been enabled to pray, and O what a mercy is that! Till my last moment I will not cease to pray to my God-I will knock on.'

"When I went last night to her bedside, she said I thought I had not been asleep, but I am mistaken-I must have slept; for I was thinking of my Saviour's sufferings, and, I know not how, I lost the subject. I was thinking of all he had suffered for me, and how very thoughtless I have been. I think I have helped to strike the thorns into his temples, and the nails into his feet! Yet with what mercy he strengthens me now! How gently he draws me to him! And then to think of his interceding for me in heaven! He holds out his hands to help me to him. O, my dear aunt, I love him, but not half enough.'

"She wished to receive the sacrament on her birth-day, because it would be the end of the happiest year of her life.

"On being enabled to write a letter*, which she was anxious to send away, she said I prayed to be enabled to do this, because I thought it a duty, and see how my God has answered my prayers. What a rock he is to me.'

January 1, 1803.

"I have just passed a happy half hour in listening to my dear Catherine, while I kneeled by her bed, to rub her limbs, in which she had much pain. On my pitying her, she answered, O let me not complain, whilst I am able to think and pray, and repeat my sweet hymns. How often have these employments shortened my sleepless nights! How many on their death-beds can neither pray nor think! One more mercy I have to ask; that I may, with my last breath, be able to praise my God! I feel his love to me more and more. I am sure I shall be happy. O my aunt, what mercy that, just when I

* A copy of which will be subjoined to this account.

was of age to enter into life, he laid his hand upon me! Yet see with what gentleness he touches me! But the thing is, that even when I was such a thoughtless creature, that I saw not how I was piercing him with my sins, he was interceding for me with God. What a blessing that I am lying here! People that hear of me will say, 'Poor thing! she is very ill--she is very weak-but so patient; for they will think it is my patience: but if I was to get well again, they would teize and ridicule me for trying to live to God; aud I do not know what such a poor fickle heart as mine might do.'

January 13th. "For some days past she has not been able to utter many words at once, nor could she be left alone after dinner, as usual. By one o'clock, great weariness, and extreme uneasiness of body come on, with such confusion of head, that she cannot bear me to read to her in the softest manner. She speaks of this with regret, and says, My time of prayer is almost done, but my God knows my heart. I can appeal to him, that all my desire is to love him, and pray to him, whilst I have my memory left. I beg that, if there is any thing lurking in my heart that would oppose his will, he would tear it away; for my desire is to be wholly his.'

January 24th. "This evening, after a most weary day, she asked me what the doctor thought of her. I said, my love, he thinks you will not linger long. She caught at the word linger as if it implied suffering, and replied, Do not, my dear aunt, let us call it lingering-it is all mercy. I am mercifully dealt with; but, indeed, I do wish to be gone. O that I was more fit! But I am not patient enough. I am very wrong in this wish: I should be more patient. The Lord's time must be best for me!'

January 26th.

"I read to her to-day the 8th and 9th verses of the 7th chapter of Micah. When I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto mr. She observed, that passage particularly suited her. I said, I hope, my love, you do not sit in darkness.' She replied, In one sense I may say I do; but then the Lord is a light unto me. You do not find me, for some nights past, rejoicing that I have been able to pray and think upon God, and have passed the hours sweetly though I have not slept. My recollection is almost gone. Before I can repeat one verse of a hymn, or say one prayer, my thoughts wander, and I lose myself-so I may say, I sit in darkness. But then the Lord is a light unto me, for he keeps my unind in perfect peace. And though I am often tempted with very evil thoughts, yet I am kept from the power of the temptation. I rest upon God's word, He, knows my weakness, and he

"I will send you a book *, which I beg you will read over and over again for my sake. Do not, my dear Tom, look for my recovery; but be resigned to the will of God.

"Give my love to my uncles and aunts, and may God bless them and you, my dear brother. So prays,

"Your affectionate sister,
"CATH, Y."

& Dec. 7, 1803, died Mrs. ROGERS, aged 39 years, wife of the Rev. Thomas Rogers, of Wakefield. She bore a heavy affliction with great fortitude and christian resignation. The complaint attacked her in the beginning of October, and it was apprehended, from its very commencement, that it would prove fatal: but this did not alarm her. When she was told of her situation, she said, "It is of the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good. I have been favoured with an unusual share of domestic happiness; and have enjoyed every religious advantage, both public and private, that could inform the mind, and renew the heart. I have long adinired the beauty and excellence of gospel truths, and frequently experienced their power, and rejoiced in the comfort of them. It is now my whole desire and earnest prayer, that my reconciled Father in Christ would give me a more enlarged acquaintance with them, that I may be more sensible than ever of my own unworthiness, and rely more unfeignedly on the suitableness and sufficiency of my Redeemer, through whom alone, I look for real and lasting consolation. He has been very dear to my soul for mouths and years past: and I am persuaded that his ability, and I would hope, his love, are still the same. Indeed I cannot doubt it, since I have the united testimony of his own word, and the comfortable experience of his divine presence." Her bodily strength gradually decreased; but the powers of her mind seemed daily to acquire renewed strength. Having been a loving parent, and a most affectionate wife, she often expressed her regard and concern for her family in affecting lan* Doddridge's Rise and Progress, &c.

guage: and it was her frequent and fer vent prayer, that the Lord would give them his special grace, to enable them so to pass through things temporal, as finally, not to lose the things that are eternal. On Sunday, Dec. 4, she was extremely ill all the day, but felt a greater degree of devotedness to God, and had more lively and interesting views of the excellence of the divine covenant in favour of sinners, than she had ever before experienced. About seven o'clock that evening, being a little relieved from pain, she desired to see her dear children, in order, once more, to impress upon their minds the great importance of religion, the vanity of the world, and the awfulness of death. The eldest was seventeen years of age. She took them to her arms separately, and addressed them with that firmness, propriety, and spiritual energy, which nothing but a deep sense of the value of their immortal souls, and an undoubted assurance of the truth of her religious principles, could inspire. This was an affecting scene. And whilst those who were present were bathed in tears, she was possessed of that serenity and composure of mind, which enabled her to improve the moment to the edification of all that were about her. The impressions that were made upon the minds of those who attended her on this occasion, were such as, it is hoped, will never be erased. On the Monday she was considerably weaker, but feeling alive to her situation, and to her unspeakable obligations to the grace of God.

On Tuesday she kept her bed the whole of the day, which was the only time she had done so during her affiction. She felt her dissolution approaching, and seemed so devoted to God, and resigned to his will, as not to have a wish of her own, except that she might glorify him more by her death than she had ever done in her life. On Wednesday morning, about half past eight o'clock, her Redeemer received her into his rest. She has left a most affectionate husband, and six amiable children, to lament the loss of her society, her care, and tender regard: but to rejoice in the thought, that she is now numbered with the saints in glory everlasting.