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thou taken from me! But never, never will I complain. Not even that the forever of this world often appears to me far from short. How can I complain! How can I forget the comfort, the gracious refreshment which restored my soul when my path was the roughest, when the wilderness of my pilgrimage most resembled that shadowy vale which thou didst pass!

"Thou who couldst not endure a single day's absence from me, (O well I know how ill thou couldst endure it,) thou didst contentedly see me leave thee, and didst not send for me to return, though I had promised to pray with thee again. What a change in thee! Thou wast quite detached from this world. It was the beginning of eternal life. Though I know that thou hast never ceased to love me, yet this thought would be painful to me had it not been for the sake of the great object of our worship, that thou didst tear thyself ever from me."

Klopstock survived his amiable wife many years, and to the end of life cherished the remembrance of her. He died in Christian triumph. In his last and severest conflict, he raised himself on his bed, folded his hands, and with uplifted eyes pronounced the cheering words: "Can a woman forget her child, that she should not have compassion on the fruit of her womb? Yes, she may forget, but I will not forget thee." He sunk down, fell into a gentle slumber, and awoke in eternity, March 14, 1803.

18. MRS. FLETCHER.

""Tis sweet to die! The flowers of earthly love
(Fair, frail spring-blossoms) early droop and die;
But all their fragrance is exhaled above,

Upon our spirits evermore to lie.-FANNY FORRESTER.

MISS BOSANQUET was born in 1739. At the early age of ten she became the subject of renewing grace. As she advanced in years she also increased in the maturity and excellence of her Christian character. She sought intercourse and communion with the most eminently pious persons in her vicinity. The change induced by this in her manners, dress, and whole course of life, was not pleasing to her parents, whose views of the requirements of religion were far less self-denying, and more indulgent of worldly appetites. Although subjected to no painful restraints or persecutions, her residence became so unpleasant to herself and her parents, that at the age of twenty-one, having a small fortune coming to herself, she hired rooms at a friend's and removed thither; from this time devoting herself and substance entirely to the service of her Redeemer.

About a year after this, a house belonging to her estate becoming vacant in her native town-Laytonstone-she moved thither, and, in the midst of her other duties and charities, collected under her hospitable roof several orphan children, with whose education and well-being she charged herself. Her income was found to be too narrow a limit for her benevolence, but the providence of God never failed her in any of the adventures of faith she undertook. By encouraging and generous friends assisting, from time to time, she was enabled to continue her labours of love towards the homeless and orphaned children that gathered around her hospitable door.

During, however, the fourteen years she struggled with the cares and perplexities of managing so large a family, (sometimes amounting to thirty,) her own property was almost entirely expended, and her health often periled; but her faith and patience never failed her, and the Lord failed not to redeem his promise to his praying children in her behalf.

In 1781, she became the wife of Fletcher, Vicar of Madeley-a name associated with what ever in religion is sublime, or elevated, or intense, or holy. Theirs were congenial spirits. No married couple, perhaps, ever loved each other more tenderly, none have ever been more single in their purposes, more devoted to acts of piety, more wrapt in a Saviour's love.

After the decease of her husband she continued to labour with unwearied assiduity for the benefit of the people who had been blessed by his labours during his life. She survived her lamented husband more than thirty years.

August 14th, 1815, she writes: "Thirty years, this day, I drank the bitter cup, and closed the eyes of my beloved husband; and now I am myself in a dying state. Lord, prepare me! I feel death very near. My soul doth wait, and long to fly to the bosom of my God! Come, my adorable Saviour! I lie at thy feet; I long for all thy fulness!"

The last entry in her journal was made on the 26th of October following: "I have had a bad night; but asking help of the Lord for a closer communion, my precious Lord applied that word, I have borne thy sins in my own body on the tree.' I felt his presence. I seem very near death; but I long to fly into the arms of my beloved Lord. I feel his loving-kindness surrounds me."

As the closing scene of life drew on, her sufferings were very great; her breathing was exceedingly difficult;

and a sore in her left breast, supposed to be a cancer, gave her great distress. She, however, continued to speak to the people, saying, "I will speak to them while breath."

I have any

At one time, waking out of a doze, she said, "I am drawing near to glory;" and soon after, "There is my house and portion fair;" and again, "Jesus, come, my hope of glory;" and, after a short pause, "He lifts his hands and shows that I am graven there."

The night of her decease, the young woman who attended upon her, with great difficulty, on account of her weakness, could compose her in bed. After she had lain down, she said: "My love, this is the last time I shall get into bed; it has been hard work to get in, but it is work I shall do no more. This oppression upon my breath cannot last long, but all is well. The Lord will shower down ten thousand blessings upon thee, my tender nurse, my kind friend."

About one o'clock in the morning, her spirit entered into rest. The precise moment of her departure was marked only by the cessation of noise made by her breathing. The last words she uttered were addressed to her nurse, "The Lord bless both thee and me." There was at the last, neither sigh, groan, nor struggle. A heavenly sweetness still overspread her countenance, and prompted the expression from the beholder-"asleep in Jesus!" The moment so much longed for had arrived; and the expression left by the departed spirit upon the lifeless form, seemed to say

"My home, henceforth, is in the skies;
Earth, sea, and sun, adieu;

All heaven's unfolded to my eyes,
I have no sight for you."

19. MRS. WOULD.

THE mother of the late Rev. Basil Would, of Bristol, England, lost her husband seven months before the birth of her child. Her afflictions were much sanctified to her, and she delighted to bring up her child in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. In her last illness, when unable to write, she dictated to the venerable clergyman, her pastor, her dying farewell, in which she says:

"I am dying, and not afraid; I trust I am going to my Father's house! I never was so happy! I would write to tell you what my soul feels in this blessed prospect, that I might bear my testimony to his grace, that I might refresh your soul who have so often refreshed mine, and tell you what joy 1 feel in this prospect. I do not doubt of meeting you in heaven, and my dear child too!"

The same evening she dictated the above letter, she said to her son, "O, I am very happy; I am going to my mansion in the skies; I shall soon be there, and, 0, I shall be glad to receive you to it! You shall come in, to go out no more! If ever you have a family, tell your children they had a grandmother who feared God, and found the comfort of it on her death-bed; and tell your partner I shall be happy to see her in heaven. Son, I exhort you to preach the Gospel, preach it faithfully and boldly; fear not the face of man; endeavour to put in a word of comfort to the humble believer, to poor weak souls. I heartily wish you success; may you be useful to the souls of many!" Towards the conclusion of that evening she addressed her son in words which he delighted to repeat; when, after speaking of the boundless love of Christ and his salvation, she added, "It is a

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