Poor sightless Marie! how was she affected when I told her of Him who opened the eyes of the blind, and read to her how blind Bartimeus sat by the wayside begging, when he cried unto Jesus of Nazareth passing by, and received sight! Then an irrepressible longing, such as she had never known before, a longing for God's blessed gift of vision, seized upon the poor blind girl; not that she sighed to behold the blue heaven, or the golden light, or to look upon her mother's smile, or gaze in her young brother's laughing eyes. No, not these; but she longed to read the blessed words of Jesus, when he said, “Come unto me, and I will give you rest.”

There dwelt then in Dijon a man of God, who had gathered around him a few blind, whom he had taught to read and work. I sought him out, told him of Marie, interested him in her, arranged that she should come an hour every morning to learn to read, and procured for her a Bible with raised letters for the blind.

You should have seen her delight as she started off next morning-a warm, bright August morning, one hand locked in her little brother's, and the other fondly clasping the precious Bible, to take her first lesson. Alas, poor Marie it requires a delicate touch to distinguish the slightly raised surface and nice outline of the letters, and her fingers were hard and callous with the constant plaiting of straw. Again and again was the effort made, but to no purpose. But one day, as she sat alone, sorrowfully chipping with her little knife the rough edges of the straw, a happy thought occurred to her. Could not she cut away the thick, hard skin from her fingers, and then it would grow anew, smooth and soft, like the rosy fingers of a child? And so she whittled the skin from the poor fingers heeding not the pain; was it not that she might read the Word of God? But the straw work could not cease-it brought bread-and the wounded fingers were slow to heal. When the reading lesson was tried again, warm drops trickled from the bleeding fingers along the sacred line. It was all in vain.

After the first bitterness of her disappointment, Marie

strove hard to be cheerful. "God had opened the eyes of her soul," she said, "and ought she not to praise him?” And the new Bible! Ah, surely she must carry it back; some happier blind girl might pluck the fruit from this tree of life, and find healing in its blessed leaves. And, holding the dear volume near to the beating of her heart, she knelt by her white cot to pray: "Dear and blessed Jesus, who lovest the poor and openest the eyes of the blind, I thank thee that thou hast not hidden thyself from a poor blind girl. And since I cannot read thy heavenly words, I pray that thou wilt whisper them into my soul, that my spirit may not be dark like my poor eyes. I can hear thee with my ears, dear Jesus, and thou knowest that I love thee and love thy holy book." And she touched the open Bible with her lips. O joy! To the soft lips, the slight indentations of the raised surface are clearly perceptible; they trace the sharp outline of the letters with unerring accuracy. With a low cry of joy, she passes line after line across her eager lips, she turns the leaf, the lips lose not their power. It is all clear, all easy now. The lips could do what the toil-hardened fingers could not— they could read.

A twelvemonth after I visited Dijon. The low kitchen wore its old look, but what a beaming, happy face was Marie's, as she sat in her rude chair, her basket of straw at her feet, reading her beloved Bible! To the blind, it was full of light. "N'est il pas heureux," she murmured in her rich, musical tones, "n'est il pas heureux de baiser ainsi les douces paroles pendant que je les lis?"—Is it not blessed to kiss the sweet words as I read ?

Dear eloquent lips, which the cold clay kisses now, told me this little tale, and I listened with starting tears, thinking how the poor blind girl would rise up in the judgment to condemn the many, who "having eyes, see not."

Reader, do you love the blessed words of Jesus, with a love, heart-deep, heart-warm, as did the poor blind girl of Burgundy? Traveller.

MEMOIR OF ELIZABETH BLEARS. ELIZABETH BLEARS, was born at Platt's Fold, Newton, October 3rd, 1833. At the early age of four years, she was admitted as a scholar into the Wesleyan Methodist Association Sunday School, Hallbottom, Newton, and being very attentive to her teacher, and regular in her attendance, though, like other young persons, exposed to the vanities and follies of the world-she grew in divine knowledge and in moral excellence. She became greatly attached to her teacher and the school; and such was her progress and stability, that her teacher often indulged high hopes of her future usefulness in the School and in the Church, which hopes, were during a few years happily realized. Elizabeth was of a reserved disposition, yet kind and amiable; she loved her Bible, and while others were disposed to talk, she preferred reading the Holy Scriptures.

The Spirit of God often strove with her, but like many young people, she for several years did not submit to the drawings and teachings of God's Spirit; and it was not until she reached her fourteenth year, in 1847, that she became alarmed about her sins, and deeply felt her need of salvation. Revival services were being held about that time, and she was led to cry, "God be merciful to me a sinner;" a prayer which was soon heard and answered, by her being enabled to believe on Christ, for the forgiveness

of all her sins. Thus she obtained the witness of the Holy Ghost to her adoption into the family of God, which enabled her joyfully to sing

"My God is reconciled."

She immediately became a member of the church and met in class. She received her first ticket of membership in December, 1847, from the Rev. Mr. Mackenny; she loved the means of grace, but especially the class meeting; and trifling matters never kept her from it. Thus she was a comfort, and not a grief to her class leader. She was steady and consistent in her walk and conversation, and therefore an ornament to the church. Being anxious to do good, she collected considerable sums for the Missionary cause, and was received as a teacher into the Sunday School; which honourable position she creditably occupied as long as her health permitted, and was beloved by her scholars. As a teacher she was much respected, punctual in her attendance, kind to her scholars, clear and Scriptural in her instructions; she earnestly desired the conversion of her scholars, and there is good reason to expect that she will meet some of them in heaven. Her Christian experience was sound and Scriptural, clothed with humility, full of gratitude, and it was edifying and encouraging to others. Meekness and gentleness characterized her at home and abroad, and often did her widowed mother's heart dance for joy, that God had given her such a daughter, to be the principal means of her support, and comfort in this life. The enemies of religion were compelled to acknowledge the purity and consistency of her walk and conversation, and the reality, and divinity of that religion which she professed, enjoyed, and practised;

"The proofs of godly fear she gave,

And showed how the Christian lived."

Being of a delicate constitution, she was occasionally obliged to leave her employment, to recruit her exhausted strength. In the spring of 1854, symptoms of pulmonary consumption made their appearance, which compelled her to leave her work, never to return. Upon this painful

event, she calmly said, "I have come home for the last time, and I give myself up to the will of God." The same spirit of patience and resignation was exhibited during the whole of her illness, her mind being "kept in perfect peace, stayed on the Lord."

Our minister the Rev. J. Thompson, her leader, and many other Christian friends often visited her, and they always found her calm and resigned, trusting in Christ, and looking for a glorious immortality. On being told of an afflicted person who desired life, she said, "Nothing on earth is very desirable, and I am only sorry to leave my widowed mother, but I commit her to the care of Almighty God, and hope she will meet me in heaven, with my other relations." One who saw her on her deathbed, says, "Never did I see such fortitude, such a holy quiet triumph of faith, such familiarity with death, and such assurance of heaven; she was enabled to say, 'O death, where is thy sting, O grave, where is thy victory!" Thus waiting and watching, her Lord found her, and in his chariot of love and power, took her to himself. On the 24th of May, 1854, aged twenty years and seven months. May all our Sunday School teachers and scholars follow her bright example, as she followed Christ, to an immortality of joy! The Rev. J. Thompson improved her death from Psalm ciii. 15, 16,

"As for man his days are as grass, &c." to a crowded and deeply affected congregation.

Newton.

I. STEINTHORPE.

POOR LITTLE MAY'S PRAYER.

table in the kitchen,

LITTLE MAY sat by the round looking very serious and rather sad. She might well look sad, poor child, for a small piece of bread, and a little tea, or rather coloured water, drained for the second or third time from the teapot, was all that she had for her breakfast that morning: and there was still less in prospect, for the cupboard was quite empty, and so was her mother's