little eyes, and with solemn, though feeble voice, said, "He was made a little lower than the angels." She was too weak to say more, but appeared to be in sweet meditation. I have many times observed her looking very earnestly at the minister when at chapel, as though greatly interested in what he was proclaiming.

A night or two before her death she had been suffering very much, her anxious father and mother sitting by her, and doing all in their power to alleviate her pains; and on her becoming more tranquil and easy, she seemed inclined to sleep, therefore her father being weary, and having to work hard from day to day, retired to rest. He had not been long in bed, when her mother, observing her lips to move, as though speaking, said, "My dear, what are you talking about ?" 66 Oh, mother," she said, "I have been talking to Jesus about Mark. O! mother, tell him he must tal' (pray) to Jesus, or he cannot go to heaven." Her father, on hearing her talk in this manner could not forbear rising from his bed and going to her again, when she spoke many precious things.

She gave her father her little Bible, wishing him to read much in it, and when he could read it well, her little brother Charles was to have it, who was then about two years old, and whom she loved so dearly, that she once said, "I wish I had ten brother Charleys, I do love him so much."

I visited her as much as I could, but as it was a bad fever, and I had to go into the school, many deemed it right for me not to go often. Never shall I forget visiting her the Sunday morning before she died. She appeared to have her mind greatly taken up in thinking upon Jesus. She could not say much, but wished me to kneel by her bedside and pray, which I

did; and I felt a solemn pleasure in my mind in committing her into the arms of death, as the messenger sent to convey her to the embraces of everlasting joy and peace. I said to her parents, "Grieve not, for who can tell what she is taken from ?" I saw her once more after this, but she was too ill to speak, and on the night of the 23rd of March, 1858, she died.

On the Sunday morning following, one of the deacons came into the school just as I was speaking to the children upon the loss we had sustained in the departure of little Sarah; of the uncertainty of life; of the solemnity of dying; and the great importance of knowing, loving, and serving God; when he spoke, and said, "I well rememb r being present when you spoke to them of God's looking through the cloud, and what a terror she was in. It seemed too much for her then, but I have visited her in her illness, and I believe that she can now bear the sight, and that she is with Him in glory. I have a better hope of that little girl than I have of thousands who have died after a long life of profession." May the Lord's blessing rest upon what I have written.

SARAH WEST.

No. VIII. OF TRUE TALES FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. "Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength.'

WHEN first dear Sarah went to school

Her age was only two,

Much younger, little readers dear,

Than any one of you.

But soon she learned her letters well,
Nor did she them forget,

But quickly learned to read and spell,
And was a darling pet.

The master loved the little dear,

And trained her mind with care;
And doubtless oft commended her
To God in solemn prayer.

Thus lovingly for two years more
To school she gladly went;
And at the early age of four
She read the Testament.

At five she joined the Bible class,
And then began to write;
Her parents loved the little lass,
She was their heart's delight.

But this dear child was born in sin
(Pray keep this truth in view);
By nature she was all unclean,
Dear reader, so are you.

She needed God's Almighty power
To change her youthful heart,
And in a solemn, sacred hour
To strike conviction's dart.

Her master spoke of Christ the Lord,
His wondrous power and grace;
Which stand recorded in His word,
For those who seek His face.

He told how Jesus knew each thought;
And at the last great day

Each action would to light be brought,
To sinner's sad dismay.

But those who loved His holy name
Would dwell with Him above,
His endless praises to proclaim,

And feast upon His love.

Dear Sarah listened to the word,

Until, with streaming eyes,

With quivering lips and beating breast, Her grief broke forth in cries.

'Twas then she felt conviction's sting, Though only five years old,

The fearful weight of deadly sin
Was agony untold.

Her master cheered her infant heart
With thoughts of Jesu's love,
To those who sought in Him a part,
And wished to dwell above.

But never, till her dying day,
Did these convictions keen
Pass from the infant mind away,
As though they had not been.
Ofttimes the terrors of the Lord
Would fill her with dismay;
And then some sweet consoling word,
Would chase her fears away.

She trembled at the mighty power
Which Israel's God displayed,
When in the sea proud Pharaoh's host
All overwhelmed were laid.

Again, when God in dreadful ire,
Will on the wicked rain,

A fearful shower of brimstone and fire,
With snares, and death, and pain.
She often to her parents spoke
Of God, of heaven, and hell;
And then on Jesu's precious love,
Her infant thoughts would dwell.
Her Bible oft with joy she read
To father and to mother;
And once she ran to find a place
To suit her naughty brother.

If little Mark should read these lines,
I unto him would say,

"How will you meet that sister dear, Who once for you did pray?

"Shall you at God's right hand be found,
And with her sing His praise ?

Or banished from His presence mourn
Through everlasting days?

And now a violent fever came,
Which laid dear Sarah low;
And evident it soon became,

She from her friends must go.

But Jesus comforted her mind
With thoughts of heavenly peace;
And as she neared her home, we find
Her sacred joys increase.

In meditation sweet she lay,
While mysteries sublime
Were opened to her infant mind,
By mighty power Divine.

Of Him she thought-to Him she prayed,
Who for her bled and died;
Who lower was than angels made,

And for her crucified.

Now to His presence she is fled,
And never more will weep;
But, till the trumpet wakes the dead,
Her dust shall safely sleep.

Then, when her Saviour shall appear
All glorious in the skies,

Dear Sarah, with the ransom'd there,
Will joyfully arise.

C. M.