little Emma's childish sorrow brought tears to every eye. On being lifted up to see her mother, she laid her hand on the cold face and looked a moment

"Mamma! waken! here's Emma!" she exclaimed, mamma no speak to me, Charley!" and the little one sobbed as if her heart would break.

The coffin lid was fastened down, and hid the remains of the preacher's widow from mortal view. A short distance from the village was the little graveyard, and there they laid her till the archangel's voice shall summon the dead to meet the Lord at his second coming.

Although it was known to the villagers that Mrs, Anderson had been ailing for some time, yet no one thought her absolutely in danger. Her sudden and unexpected death, therefore, came upon them like a thunderclap. Many were the expressions of sympathy that were uttered towards the orphans.

"I wonder what will become of them, Squire ?" said old Mrs. Green to John Cook, Esq., who was looked upon as the village oracle "they have no friends hereabout that I know of."

"The orphans will have to be looked to," replied the Squire, "put on the township, I suppose."

"Right well brought up children they are--the boys are more like grown Christians than mere children," continued Mrs. Green.

"Humph! Like other people's, I suppose," replied the Squire.

"That girl won't be long behind her mammy, or I'm mistaken,” said the old woman, heedless of the ungracious remark just made. "I doubt whether the sod on her mammy's grave will be green before they are both side by side."

"Couldn't you do something for the boys?" she continued, "such as getting them into some pious family?— they could be useful in many ways, and thus be provided with a home. May the Good Being bless the orphans!"

"I will see in a few days," replied the Squire, and the conversation dropped.

The prophecy uttered by old Mrs. Green, respecting little Emma, was soon to be verified. Sympathizing deeply with the lonely orphans, now turned loose upon the wide, wide world, she took them to her own humble home on the day that saw their mother laid beneath the clods of the valley.

Poor as she was, she felt that God would provide for her and them too. She had only a widow's mite to giveand she gave it cheerfully. Emma, however, would not long require an earthly home. Her appearance indicated that mother and child would soon be united never more to part. She talked incessantly about "mamma,” and when, as she often desired, she was placed on Charley's knee, she would whisper in his ear, Charley, I want mamma-mamma sleeping long while." Was not the spirit of the sainted mother communing with the little one? She sunk rapidly, like a bud nipped by untimely frosts.

66

Two months after the mother's death, Charles and William were called in to see their darling sister die. She was lying on her little bed, apparently unconscious. Shortly, the silken lashes were raised, and her bright, full eye gazed long and lovingly on each; a sweet smile played on her lips-a smile such as may spread itself on the countenances of angels. She appeared as if wishing to speak. Charley bent over her.

"Nurse me-Charley-on knee," faintly whispered the dying child. She was raised, and her brother sat down with her in his arms.

"Kiss-Willie-you no cry," she lisped, as her head leaned on her brother's bosom.

"Sing-happy-land-Charley." The little one did not require an earthly song. Heavenly music was now near. A convulsive throb disturbed the peaceful features for a moment, and all was still. Presently a sweet smile passed over the face of the sufferer; she raised one of her hands and whispered, "Mamma," and little Emma breathed her last. And in the graveyard, beside her mother, they laid her tiny form, but the spirits of Mamma and Emma had met in the better land.-American Wesleyan.

THE subject of this memoir was born at Middlewich, in Cheshire, January 31st, 1839. At an early age he entered the Wesleyan Association Sunday School there, and was a constant attendant till his parents removed to Manchester, when he entered and continued a scholar in the Tonman Street school, till early in 1850, when a room was opened in Bangor Street, Hulme, for divine service and a Sunday school. This being nearer his residence, David and other members of the family became regular attendants both at the school and the religious services. His attachment to the school increased, and nothing seemed to give him greater pleasure than to see an increase of scholars. On account of his zeal in this respect, he was in the beginning of the present year appointed an absentee visiter and assistant secretary; and he cheerfully discharged the duties up to the time of his illness, which commenced on the 10th of September, 1853. He was naturally of a mild disposition; and was much endeared to his schoolfellows and other acquaintances. He delighted to associate with children who loved and feared God, and shunned evil company; he was also a total abstainer from intoxicating drinks, and honoured the cause of temperance until his death. He also evinced a

strong desire for the prosperity of religion, and seldom missed attending either Sabbath or week-night services. He seemed to pay great attention to the word delivered, and was often heard to repeat, "Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, uttered or unexpressed," &c.

The disease which proved to him the harbinger of death, was typhus fever. During the first week he suffered very much; but in all his affliction not a murmur escaped his lips. Once during a paroxysm of agony, he saw his mother weeping, and said, “Mother, do not weep for such an unworthy wretch as me." A few days before his death he sung for the last time that beautiful verse, frequently sung in the school,

"'Tis sweet to sit and sing below,

Of grace to mortals given;
But sweeter far for us to go
By families to heaven."

On Tuesday morning, September the 27th, he was suddenly seized with violent pain in the bowels. His parents were much alarmed, and could not refrain from tears. Observing them, he said, "Mother, don't fret; father, don't fret; if I die, I shall go to a better land." His father asked him, "Are you happy?" He answered, "Yes." He was then asked, whether he thought he should go to heaven if he died? He promptly replied, "Yes." Reviving a little, he said, "What a poor unworthy thing I am! you think I was going?" On his father saying, “Yes,” he asked, “Should you fret at my going to a better land?" After a pause, his father said, "No, if it be your Heavenly Father's will to take you.”

Did

Upon a pious female, who often visited him during his illness, saying, “Jesus is precious," he mildly replied, “He is precious;" and while she spoke to him about the love of Jesus, he seemed to enjoy a foretaste of future happiness. On Friday, the 30th, a friend asked him whether he believed in Jesus, and that Christ would take him to heaven if he died? His answer to each question was, "Yes." All present knelt, and engaged in prayer; and it was a memorable time; the Lord was present, and

David rejoiced in his Saviour. When talking with his father about, heavenly things, he said he had received much good while the people were at prayer in Bangor Street room. The same evening he said to his father, with an unusual smile, "I am happy." About eleven o'clock, he said, “Father, I have salvation through Jesus Christ." About one o'clock on Saturday morning his father observed a great change in his countenance, and began to weep. Opening his eyes, and seeing his father's tears, he exclaimed, “Father, what are you crying for? I am happy." The same morning, awaking from a slumber, and seeing his mother and eldest sister, he said, "I have seen Jesus and little Harriet" (his sister's daughter, deceased). His sister asked, whether he was afraid to die? He answered, "No." She then asked him, "Why?" and he answered, “Because I feel I am converted." At intervals he would repeat,

"Take my poor heart and let it be,
For ever closed to all but thee," &c.

Between twelve and one, a religious friend, influenced by a strong impression on his mind, called to see him; and having conversed and prayed with him, expressed himself satisfied and happy to find David so well prepared to die. During the afternoon, David continued to talk about heaven, and seemed desirous of information concerning that happy place. The female friend before referred to failed not to direct his attention to the Saviour. Towards evening, it was evident that his dissolution was drawing near. His sister and sister-in-law being with him, he inquired for his Bible, and, giving it to his sister Ann, he said, "Take it, and read it, and follow me to heaven." He then inquired for his father, who had gone out of the room; and immediately he called out, "Father! father!" His father hearing the call, ran up to the room; and, on his approaching the bedside, David turned his dying eyes towards him, and said, "Father, I am going to leave you-I am going to heaven, and I wish you to divide all my books amongst