dwelling. Though her affliction was severe and protracted, she never repined. She had been ill several weeks before her teachers or superintendent were aware that she was so ill; and on the junior superintendent calling to inquire after her, she exclaimed, "I am glad to see you come-I did think it hard that none of you came to see me.” On his replying that they did not know she was so near her end, or they should have come before-she replied, "No, but Jesus knew, and he has visited me, and has always been with me, so that I have not been alone, or without a friend to cheer me." Before leaving her, the superintendent said, "Shall I pray with you before I go?" She replied, "Yes, you must if you please; you must pray with me before you go, and don't be long before you come to see me again."

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The senior superintendent of the school says, "When I first saw Ann Gaunt, I found her very happy. I said Ann, would you like to get better again?" Her ready reply was, "No!" And then, as if she just remembered something, she said, "Except it was to help my poor mother; for myself, I would rather die." She spoke very freely of the pleasure and enjoyment she had received in attending the Sabbath-school, and of the blessed instruction she had received there, and the great benefit she had derived from it.

On my last visit I said, “Ann, can you now recollect anything that passed in the school that first led you to think seriously on religion?" She said, "Yes, very well; it was an anecdote, related by Mr. Oldroyd, that first made so deep an impression on my mind, that I could not shake it off; and that, followed by the kind exhortations and instructions of my teachers, proved a great blessing to me." In order to assist her memory in recalling past instruction, I run over the names of her various teachers; on hearing some names, tears rolled down her cheeks in rapid succession, as she spoke of their kindness and attention to her. But on my coming to one name in particular as soon as it had passed my lips, she exclaimed, “That was one of my kindest teachers! O! I hope I shall meet

her in heaven!" Her rapturous feelings were too much for her weak frame, for a few minutes. On recovering herself a little, with strong emotion she said, "Last year, | in addition to my instruction from that teacher, she gave me my ticket for the tea!" And this kind token of additional interest seemed to be fully appreciated by Ann. After this conversation, I endeavoured to commit her to the care of Him who never slumbers nor sleeps.

The junior superintendent further says, "I visited Ann Gaunt many times, and always found her in a very happy frame. I repeated to her many passages of Scripture, and made some illustrative remarks, which seemed greatly to delight and comfort her. On my offering up prayer on her behalf, her responses were very appropriate and energetic. On Whit-Monday, while the scholars were ! singing outside, she tried to join them; and when the chorus, "Shout, O Zion, &c.," was sung, she was quite in an ecstacy. When the scholars were going away, she said, "I could have liked them to sing again; however it cannot be. Well, they are very good, and tell them all, I hope to sing 'Hallelujah' with them in heaven!"

"I saw her again on the following Saturday evening, and found her in a very weak state, and unable to speak so as to be heard. On giving her my hand I said, ‘Ann, if all is well, squeeze my hand.' She then grasped it with a firmness that astonished me. 'Is Jesus still precious? Again she pressed my hand. 'Are you still able to rejoice although so weak?' Again she squeezed my hand, and more firmly than at first. Apparently, Ann, you will soon have to die; when death comes, where will you go?' She raised her eyes very affectingly upwards, and smiled! Then you think you will get to heaven, Ann?' She then squeezed my hand several times in quick succession, and with great strength. She then made several attempts to speak, but was unable to articulate a single word audibly for several minutes. We at last, however, ascertained that she wanted us to sing the hymn commencing, 'Tis religion that can give, &c.' We had no sooner commenced than she found her voice

6

and joined very heartily in the singing. After having sung it twice, she exclaimed with great earnestness, 'O! that is sweet-that is sweet!' and then again her voice was gone."

Her mother has communicated the following particulars "Ann always appeared very much attached to the school, and very many times she expressed her desire and determination to be a Sabbath-school teacher when old enough. When sickness had taken such deep hold on her as to prevent her being at the school, she would frequently talk of the school, evincing her attachment to it, and her desire to be there. The books in which she took delight, and the passages she most delighted to read, were such as were expressive of the most important truths about the salvation of the soul."

After the singing on Whit-Monday, and she had got a copy of the hymns for the occasion, she seemed much delighted with the second hymn, repeating many times, Bless, O bless our Sabbath-school." And also with the second verse of the same hymn, " O Lord, our teachers bless, &c." She seemed to feel much for her mother on the last night, and expressed regret at the trouble she had unavoidably given her mother. Feeling the pains of death on her, she said, "Mother, it's hard work; but it is nothing to what Jesus suffered for me!" continued very restless, and at a quarter past six o'clock in the morning, she said, "Mr. Oldroyd will soon be here now, mother, to sing for me again. This she repeated at different intervals, several times before eight o'clock, adding "how kind!" She longed for the time to arrive when he was to come; however, God arranged otherwise, for a little before the time, she gently waived her hand to and fro, saying

She

"Not a cloud doth arise, to darken the skies, Or hide for a moment my Lord from my eyes." Then pointing to her right hand, she said, "Mother! see Jesus!" and to her left, "Mother! see John." And so she sweetly fell asleep in Jesus. Truly her end was peace. Aged fifteen years.

GENTLENESS, AND ITS POWER.

GENTLENESS, AMD ITS POWER.

A woman's-nay, a little child's soft hand,
With gentle patting easier doth command,

And make the bristling bear to crouch and fall,

Than any boisterous wrestler of them all.-Plutarch.

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Ir is not needful for us to dilate on the magic power of gentleness, which we have ever pronounced to be an irresistible argument when all others fail; but we know too well the value of such a talisman, to be silent in its praises as opportunity offers. One-half at least of the world's misfortunes originate in their contempt for this virtue. Take our word for it, good people; we may always lead, and win, by kindness. Hard words, cruel speeches, opposition, and perverseness, prevail neither with mankind nor with animals. But everything falls before the sunshine of good nature. We prove this daily.

The subjoined paragraph will fully illustrate our meaning:

I did not hear the maiden's name; but in my thought I have ever since called her "Gentle Hand." What a magic lay in her touch! It was wonderful.

When and where, it matters not now to relate;-but once apon a time, as I was passing through a thinly-peopled district of country, night came down upon me almost unawares. Being on foot, I could not hope to gain the village, toward which my steps were directed, until a late hour; and I therefore preferred seeking shelter and a night's lodging at the first humble dwelling that presented itself.

Dusky twilight was giving place to deeper shadows, when I found myself in the vicinity of a dwelling, from the small uncurtained windows of which the light shone with a pleasant promise of good cheer and comfort. The house stood within an enclosure, and a short distance from the road along which I was moving with wearied feet. Turning aside, and passing through an ill-hung gate, I approached the dwelling. Slowly the gate swung on its wooden hinges, and the rattle of its latch, in closing it, did not disturb the

air until I had nearly reached the little porch in front of the house, in which a slender girl, who had noticed my entrance, stood awaiting my arrival.

A deep, quick bark, answered, almost like an echo, the sound of the shutting gate; and, sudden as an apparition, the form of an immense dog loomed in the doorway. I was now near enough to see the savage aspect of the animal, and the gathering motion of his body, as he prepared to bound forward upon me. His wolfish growl was really fearful. At the instant when he was about to spring, a light hand was laid upon his shaggy neck, and a low word spoken.

"Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you," said a voice, that to me sounded very sweet and musical.

I now came forward, but in some doubt as to the young girl's power over the beast, on whose rough neck her almost childish hand still lay. The dog did not seem by any means reconciled to my approach, and growled wickedly his dissatisfaction.

"Go in, Tiger," said the girl-not in the voice of authority, yet in her gentle tones was the consciousness that she would be obeyed; and as she spoke, she lightly bore upon the animal with her hand, and he turned away, and disappeared within the dwelling.

"Who's that?" A rough voice asked the question; and now a heavy-looking man took the dog's place at the door.

"Who are you? What's wanted?" There was something very harsh and forbidding in the way the man spoke. The girl now laid her hand upon his arm, and leaned with a gentle pressure against him.

"How far is it to G-?" I asked, not deeming it best to say, in the beginning, that I sought a resting-place for the night.

"To G- -?" growled the man, but not so harshly as at first. "It's a good six miles from here."

"A long distance; and I'm a stranger and on foot," said I. "If you can make room for me until morning, I will be very thankful.”

I saw the girl's hand move quietly up his arm, until it