APPENDIX.

FRAGMENTS RELATING TO LYDIA G—,

OF NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE.

THE present volume, as it has been already stated, bears the title, and is formed upon the plan, which had been adopted by Mr. Richmond himself, for a work which he had projected, and had, in fact, commenced. But there was also found among his papers, the outline and materials of another narrative, intended as a companion to his "Young Cottager," and "Dairyman's Daughter," and which would probably, if it had been filled up by him, have been found little inferior, either in interest or in usefulness, to those highly honoured memorials of the triumphs of divine grace.

But it must not be concealed, that the more interesting parts of this story are, as far as this world is concerned, for ever lost. The great charm of Mr. Richmond's former sketches, lay in that part of the story which was personal, and which was peculiarly his own. His conversations, and his meditations, formed always the most attractive and heart-affecting portions of the tale, and those, in the present case, are unrecorded. That part of the sketch which consisted of the contributions of others, remains, being found carefully preserved among his papers, and bearing the titlealready affixed to it, which he had adopted for the narrative itself, which it was his intention shortly to write. That purpose, like the plan of the "Domestic Portraiture," was arrested by the approach

of his last illness; and all that can now be done, is, to "gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost."

The title of the projected tract, as left in his own hand, is as follows:

"MEMORIALS OF LYDIA G

Of Newcastle-on-Tyne; who died Feb. 14, 1825, aged 17 years; a spiritual child of Little Jane, the Young Cottager.'

THE few circumstances which are recorded, of one whose life was passed without incident and in obscurity, will naturally range themselves in order of time as follows :—

The usual trifling and immaterial circumstances of her being named, did not pass without Christian feelings being called into exercise. Her mother said, "I wish to call the child Lydia." The father answered, "Call her what thou pleasest, my dear." But the eldest sister asked, "Why would you call her Lydia, mother, we have no relation of that name?" The mother answered, "I will name her after Lydia, the seller of purple,' my dear;-and may the Lord bless her, and "open her heart," as He did that of Lydia in the days of the apostles."

It is easy to trace in this apparently minute circumstance, the character of the parent's mind. Little Lydia was offered to the Lord, in the sacrament of Baptism, in faith. The promise, "I will pour my Spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thy offspring," had been often pleaded in her behalf before a throne of grace and here, in the ordinary course of God's dealings with mankind we may trace the first flowings forth of that purpose of mercy which became afterwards so clearly manifest in the happy end of this child.

Lydia manifested from her infancy, what is called "a good disposition." She was never known

to utter a falsehood, or even to stoop to an equivocation. Simplicity and uprightness marked every stage of her short existence. Towards her latter days, a striking instance of this occurred. Her elder sister, under whose care she then was placed, was naturally very anxious as to her health; she being then in a very precarious, and almost dangerous state. Lydia, who was then about seventeen years of age, was usually very obedient to her sister, but she felt much pain at being prohibited, in bad weather, from attending the public ministry of the word. On one occasion, when thus left at home, she stole out to the evening service. Her disobedience was undetected, and would have remained unknown. But such was the tenderness of her conscience, that she could neither receive any enjoyment from joining in the worship or hearing the word, nor could she rest, till she had confessed her fault, and obtained forgiveness; although no detection or even suspicion would have followed, had she maintained her usual silence.

Her mother died in the faith of Christ when Lydia was only seven years of age. The child's health had long appeared to be delicate and unsatisfactory; and shortly after her mother's death, her case was submitted to a physician and a surgeon of eminence. They agreed that her disease was aneurism of the heart, for which there was no cure; but which bleeding might relieve or retard. This mode of alleviation was resorted to, but her strength was thereby reduced to the lowest point consistent with the continuance of life.

It was about this time that "The Young Cottager" was placed in her hands. She made no remark upon it; nor was any one aware that its perusal had produced any unusual effect upon her mind. But her father, writing after her death, says, Although she sat under an evangelical ministry,

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yet, until she read that inestimable little book, I believe she never felt the depravity of her own heart, nor sought its renewal by the Holy Spirit."

In the course, however, of a few months after, Mr. Richmond himself, in one of his journeys for the Jews' Society, visited Newcastle. Lydia's health, at this time, was in the most delicate and precarious state. Her disease rendered quietness and seclusion almost necessary to the hourly continuance of her life.

Her sisters were led to hear Mr. Richmond preach, and they mentioned his name in her hearing. Her attention was instantly aroused, and she eagerly exclaimed, "Oh! I must go and hear him! He taught little Jane the way to heaven, and he will teach me." Her sister told her that she could not permit her to think of it that evening, (Sunday,) ill as she was; but that Mr. Richmond was to preach again on the Thursday, when she might perhaps be better. "But," she added, "how will you be able to get there you cannot walk?" "O dear!" she answered, "but I will try, and we will go by the bye ways, and you will carry me when I cannot get on." In the interval between Sunday and Thursday, her sister remarks, she was more careful of her health, and anxious to gain strength, than young people usually are when expecting to join a pleasure party. The sisters set out, and an idea may be inferred of the state of Lydia's health, from the fact, that they congratulated themselves on being so happy as to reach the church after a painful struggle of an hour and a-half. "Now," says Lydia, "I must be where I can see Mr. Richmond." In this, too, they succeeded, and the sister expected that when the service was concluded, she would contentedly return home; but to her great surprise, the poor girl's agitation increased, and she exclaimed, "I must speak to him!"

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Her sister's astonishment at this desire was naturally very great. Lydia, who was then under ten years of age, was naturally timid and bashful. She was now in a weak and feeble state of body, inducing great nervousness; and it may be judged from these circumstances, what must have been the ardent feelings of her soul, which could break through all these obstructions, and force her to seek a conversation with one so far removed from her, in age, circumstances, and education, as Mr. Richmond. 66 My dear Lydia," said the sister, "I cannot go to speak to him; and what would you say, if you could get to see him." "Oh! I want so to talk to him; and you must go and speak to him, and tell him so; I am sure he would not be displeased; I know he would not !"

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Her earnest beseeching quite distressed her sister; who not daring to go into the vestry to Mr. R, followed him, with Lydia, along the street, watching for an opportunity of addressing him. When his pace quickened, Lydia had to be carried, lest he should get out of sight. He stopped to speak with some one, and on his parting from the person, Lydia begged her sister to go and speak to him. My dear," she replied, "what can I say to him, you must speak to him yourself." "Oh! tell him," said Lydia, " I want to talk to him about what he said to little Jane !" Mr. R. reached his friend's door and entered the house. Her grief increased, and she exclaimed, "Oh! I shall never see him again,-oh! what shall I do!" She stood opposite the house, weeping, and lamenting the loss of the opportunity, and was with difficulty persuaded to leave the spot. Her sister, on returning home, acquainted her father with her earnest desire, and her grief. He hesitated what to do, but at last, through the intervention of a kind friend, Mr. W-,