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darling's name ; and then how should she stray to that corner of the United States ?”
But the mother's hope was stronger than her fears. She scarcely ate or slept, weak though she was, until she reached the southern city whose name the catalogue had borne.
"Hamilton! yes, we have one pupil of that name,” replied the bland superintendent, in answer to her first question of trembling eagerness. “But she is an orphan, madam.” Are
you sure, sir. Oh, I must see her at once !” She followed him to a door of a large room, where fifty girls sat busied with their books and needlework. The buz of conversation died, as they heard the sound of strange footsteps, and a hundred sightless eyes were turned towards the door.
Near a table on which lay a bunch of delicate straw filaments, sat Mittie Hamilton. She had
een braiding a bonnet, but her fingers had ceased their work, and buried in a sort of reverie, she was the only one who did not notice the entrance of a stranger.
“Was there any distinguished feature, by which you could recognise your daughter, my dear madam ?" asked the gentleman.
The mother's eyes wandered over the group, as though she dreaded the confirmation of her fears to lose her last hope.
"Show me the child of whom you spoke,” she faltered. "Mittie Hamilton”—but he stopped; for at the lady's
l first word, Mittie had sprung from her position, and throwing back the curls from her face, turned wildly from side to side.
“Who is that ?" she cried, with outstretched arms. “That voice speak again !”
“Mittie, my child !”cried Mrs. Hamilton, springing to her side, and sinking overpowered upon her knees.
“Mother, oh, mother ! ”-and Mittie fell in the arms that had cradled her in infancy.
That was a moment never to be forgotten !
Uncle Wythe Harris (for the mistake which had clouded so many years of the lifetime of mother and child, was that of Mittle in substituting, --child she was,—the first name of her uncle for the last) found a pleasant cottage on the banks of the Hudson for his sister and her now happy family. What a loving welcome the dear girls and boys whom Heaven had blessed with the power of seeing their sister, gave to the wandered Mittie ! How she comforted her mother's heart, making her forget to sorrow that she had a blind child, in her joy at feeling that she had another living darling!
The sunshine of Mittie's girlhood came back to her spirit. The dear blind girl was the joy of the house.
How could any body cherish a feeling of discontent or peevishness, when that glad voice was pouring out its songs of thankfulness from morning until night! Oh, dear blind Mittie never more,-happy spirit that she was,-mourned that God had not given her eyes to
“He has given me back my mother,” she once said, “and these precious brothers and sisters, and He will let me see them all in heaven!”
THE EYE THAT SEES IN DARKNESS. A LITTLE boy, called Jacob, was once alone in the house with his little sister, who was called Anna. Jacob said to Anna, 'Come, let us go down, and find something to eat, and let us enjoy ourselves very much.'
Anna replied, “If you can take me to a place where no one will see us, I will go with you.'
"Well, then,' said Jacob, come with me into the dairy, and then we can eat up a dishful of sweet cream.'
Anna replied, “Our neighbour, who is cleaving wood in the street, can see us there.'
Come with me, then, into the kitchen !' said Jacob, 'for there is a pot full of honey, and we will dip our bread into it, and eat it all.'
Anna said, 'Our neighbour, who sits spinning at her window, can look in there.'
'Let us go down in the cellar, then,' replied Jacob, “it is quite dark there, and no one can possibly see us.'
Anna replied, 'O, my dear brother, do you really think that no one can see us there? Do you know nothing of that Eye far above, which pierces through the walls, and looks into the darkness ?'
Jacob was frightened, and said, “You are right, dear sister, God sees us when no mortal eye can see us; we will then do evil nowhere.'
Anna was delighted that Jacob took her words to heart, and she afterwards gave him a pretty picture-the Eye of Providence surrounded with rays, was represented above ; and below was written
Bethink thee, child, that God's all-seeing eye,
MEMOIR OF S. LYNE, OF STOCKPORT. SAMUEL LYNE was born January 3rd, 1829; joined the church in the latter end of the year 1842, in the 14th year of his age ; died July 11th, 1854, in his 26th year, and the 12th of church membership. He was (as his sister Ann writes,) born of poor but pious parents, who led from infancy their offspring to the house of God. He being thus trained, acquired a habit and taste for that
house, which remained with him through life. When very young, he was admitted as a scholar in the Sabbathschool, and when about five years of age committed to memory that beautiful hymn of Dr. Watts commencing“Lord, how delightful 'tis to see," and recited the same in public school ; and in the places where Providence had ·cast his lot, his love to that institution has been practically shown. Efforts were made in the home circle, to discipline him in tender years for God's service and glory. By the favourable influence brought to bear upon him, he was restrained from bad company, and preserved from their follies and vices. His sister, who was his companion at home and abroad, says, she never heard him take God's name in vain ; and he not only experienced restraining but saving grace in youth ; the Lord worked upon his mind, and infusing divine light therein, showed him that he was a sinner, and his absolute need of a Saviour, and enabled him to flee to the Lord Jesus Christ as his only refuge. He obtained salvation in a prayer-meeting at Stalybridge one Sabbath evening, (about the time that he began meeting in class) held at the close of a sermon by J. Harris, from those words, “My son, give me thine heart," after which time he often sang those verses commencing,– “Bless God for what He's done for me,” and “He brought me out of the miry clay.” He became truly devoted to God; though young in years, he not only attended to private prayer, and reading God's word, but to public duties also. When only a boy, he engaged in public prayer in the Sabbath-school, and he and a number more young persons, some of whom were brought in at or about the same time as himself, used to attend a prayer meeting at six o'clock on Sunday morning. They used to meet together, and sing through the street to the school, Samuel giving out the hymn. 'We had good meetings', says one of the party. The first time he presented himself to receive the Lord's Supper, the minister placed him and his sister side by side, observing that it was a beautiful sight to see them partake of that Supper together. In the year 1844, the family removed to Stockport and Samuel
connected himself with the church and school here (Association), in union with which he still put forth his energies in the best of causes. He was punctual in attendance at school, I and assiduously discharged the work allotted to him there--as reciter, teacher, secretary; he was diligently regular at the service of the sanctuary, and for years took a prominent part therein. He was seldom absent from his class-meeting, (when it met), including
, times of sickness, an account of which is to be found in the records of one and the same class with which he has been identified between eightand nine of the last years of his life. The two last class-nights he lived to see, not being able to hear in the class, he endeavoured to enjoy the meeting in an adjoining room by himself, the door communicating with the class-room being open,
For some time back, the Lord was deepening the work of grace in Samuel's soul, the tone of his Christian experience was improved, and he gave cheering details in class of the goodness of God to him when at his daily avocation ; and of the sweetness of true religion. During his illness the Lord graciously sustained his mind ; he had a desire to recover, and be spared awhile longer in health, yet endeavoured to sink into the will of God (he said it was sinful to murmur), that God could do it when the skill oi man failed, if it was his divine will to do so, and that he thought it best to leave himself in such hands ; and when it was demonstratively evident that he was taking rapid strides towards the grave, he was enabled to say,—the will of the Lord be done. He was not only resigned but thankful: often did he thank God in affliction for the help afforded day by day, and pray for increased gratitude and humiliation of soul, and would exclaim in the language of the poet, “Oh to grace how great a debtor.” He was sometimes afraid lest he should not in patience sufficiently possess his soul, yet was enabled to say, that the Lord laid no more upon him than ke by grace was able to bear: it was so to the last. The two first verses of the hymn commencing, "Jesus, lover of my soul,” were favourites with him, repeated at home at his request, and sung in school