Once more in the evening of this day she again broke silence, by asking in pathetic accents-Am I near heaven?' Here was the same all-absorbing thought. She seemed unconscious of our presence, and probably the inquiry was not intended for mortal ears. These were her last words, except the incoherencies of a state most heart-rending to us all, which suddenly occurred on the following morning, and did not fully subside until near midnight.

A lingering hope survived all these afflicting scenes, and on the evening of the 16th, the physician felt encouraged. As the night advanced, however, this hope receded, and the powers of life seemed to be yielding to the force of the disease. At four in the morning of the 17th, Dr. Harris was called for the last time. * * She expired about noon of that day. In the evening of the next day she was interred in Mr. Beatty's family ground at Newtown.

Another very dear child has thus been removed from us; but mysterious and mournful as the event is, we do not feel it as we did the decease of her sister. The family chain was broken when Lydia died; it has seemed worth less care since. The severed links can be reunited only in our Heavenly Father's house.

Her removal has not been by surprise; her feelings early indicated to her that she should not recover. When I could see no special cause of alarm, this precious child looked to a different result; entreating her husband to give her up, and consent that she should leave him, and expressing her willingness, dearly as she loved her little babe, to commit it to her Lord and Saviour and be separated from it.

How ungrateful to murmur at such a death as this. Cheered through the dark valley by a steadfast hope, surrounded by all that could avert or diminish bodily sufferings, she has died among her kindred, in the midst of objects nearest to her earthly affections. The little babe was remarkably healthy for the first ten days. She has lately been less so, but not apparently in danger. We tremble, however, at every thing which concerns this child. We were gratified at its being a girl, and Mrs. Moore and I had instantly thought of giving it the name of our dear Lydia. Another name has now become equally dear to our feelings, and she will probably be named Emily. Precious children, they were lovely in their lives, and in death they are not divided. They shall never return to us; God grant, for Christ's sake, that we may go to them." The daughter, now grown up, was educated at Steubenville seminary, and resides with her father at Abington, Pa.

2. What has just been recorded, may prepare us for another, equally interesting, equally painful memorial. LYDIA, was born January 27, 1801. In point of intellect, she was a remarkably forward, almost precocious child; yet not at the expense of bodily health and development. She arrived at womanhood with the combined attractions of personal grace and beauty, of winning

manners, and cultivated mind. An aptness for study, was perhaps the prevailing characteristic. She was familiar with the French and Latin languages, with classic authors, and with subjects of general information; and was a good writer, both in prose and poetry. At the age of twenty-one, she made a profession of religion. Two years later (June 30, 1824), she was married to Rev. CHARLES C. BEATTY, a cousin on the Ewing side, of whom we have to speak elsewhere. They settled in Steubenville, Ohio, where Mr. B. was called to a pastoral charge. She died there in the next year (May 28, 1825) in giving birth to an infant, which survived her but a few weeks.

But here again we have the advantage of a manuscript record, written at the time, by her husband: from which, having obtained leave, we shall extract without apology. Another heart is here unfolded to near inspection; the reader can scarcely give it attention without deriving benefit.

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Being blessed with a religious education, she imbibed the most correct notions of religion; yet, though never disposed in any great degree to mingle in the dissipating gaieties of the world, her heart was devoid of real piety. Other subjects engrossed her attention. To use her own language, she 'sacrificed at the shrine of knowledge.' In the pursuit of this, her soul was ardently engaged. Her mind was indeed, at times, seriously impressed, but this generally lasted but a few days; and, relapsing into her former listlessness, the most solemn truths of the gospel were heard without emotion.

In this state of feeling she continued until April, 1822, when she returned from the city to Bridge-Point, where a revival of religion was just commencing. At this she looked with an inexplicable feeling; astonishment, mingled with a serious awe. It was on a Saturday evening, at a private house, that she first felt her heart touched: and these impressions were fixed the following evening, at the school-house, under a sermon from Choose ye this day whom ye will serve.' From this time, convictions of sin continued; not pungent, but constant; and such as gave her very humbling views of her own character before God. Indeed her chief lamentation was that she did not feel such conviction as she ought; and once she said- If I could only have such views of sin, and of myself, as J— D—has, I would be willing to suffer all that she has suffered.' On being urged to go to the Saviour, and cast her soul on him, her reply was I do not feel properly awake to the dreadfulness of my situation; I wish I could feel.' She was told that such a feeling could exist without a spark of true piety, and that this was rather a desire to bring some price to

the Saviour. Her answer was 6
till my heart feels more, it will never go to Christ.'

I know salvation is free; but

She continued in this disposition for several weeks. Her mind seemed stationary, if not retrograding On the 4th June, she and the writer went to pay a visit; there was a free conversation on the subject, going and returning; and I told her plainly of the danger in which I conceived her to be. The same evening, before retiring, I said Lydia, the crisis has arrived; and if you do not embrace the Lord Jesus Christ to-night, I should almost despair of you.' Our feelings were deeply moved; we both wept much; and at her request, we joined in prayer. In the morning I saw her countenance had assumed a calm if not joyful serenity; and in a walk after breakfast, she informed me that she trusted she had submitted herself to Christ, and felt relieved in casting the burden of her sins on him. A few days after, she unfolded her mind more fully, and I found that her hope was strengthening, though interrupted by doubts and fears."

Such is the condensed account of her conversion; not in any respect remarkable, and for that reason the more likely to interest the larger number, who have felt the same things. With the same salutary mixture of hopes and misgivings, she offered herself to the church session at Doylestown, and, on the 28th July, joined in the sacrament for the first time. There was no prophetic voice to warn her, that she had barely three years left, in which to try her strength and courage in the Christian race. For those of us who have been these twenty, forty years in Christian profession, it will afford matter for reflection, to read a little farther, and see how this short pilgrimage went on, and finished.

We pass the account of the engagement and accomplishment of marriage, and follow her, home-keeping girl, who hardly had known what it was, or thought that it was possible, to live out of her mother's sight,—a distance of more than four hundred miles, to a town on the Ohio river.

"As she drew near the place of her future residence, innumerable thoughts crowded upon her mind, and almost overpowered her. But there was relief in finding herself among an affectionate people, towards whom her heart was drawn out. Her constant and earnest desire was, that she might do this people good; and she commenced with the determination to shrink from nothing which she saw to be her duty.

Her first trial was her attendance upon the female prayermeeting. Here she was soon called on to engage in active duty,

and she did not once shrink from it. Those who attended with her, were witnesses of the simplicity and fervency of her petitions. An old Christian remarked, after her first effort, Seldom have I felt so much under any prayer. If she is not accustomed to pray with others, yet she evidently lives near to God by secret prayer.' This meeting was one in which she took a lively interest, and out of her own house, her best place. But in her domestic circle did she show forth most of that benign spirit which influenced her. She was the life and joy of that little circle. Her conversation was sprightly, entertaining, and instructive; evincing a fund of information, and an aptitude of quotation and reference which was often astonishing. But it was especially her delight to converse on the things of Christ's kingdom; to retrace the hand of a wonder-working Providence; to review her own experience, and the experience of others. On one occasion, I told her the remark of Mr. a pious man, that he found it so difficult to communicate with his wife upon their own religious experience, and on heart-religion. She replied, it would make me very unhappy to think it would ever be so with us;' and it never was."

We come now to a passage (it is the concluding one) which would have been suppressed, were it not that the book is for friends only, and that the narrative exemplifies much nobleness of soul. Those considerations, fortified by consent from the proper quarter, must prevail. We repeat it, nobleness of soul; we believe it compares with any kind of heroism, for a delicate female, in an hour otherwise sufficiently trying, to receive such tidings, in such a spirit.

"As she drew near the period of her confinement, her mind would often be anxious; but she found relief in God's word, and at a throne of grace. The word of God was her constant companion. About nine o'clock in the morning of the 25th May, she was safely delivered of a living female infant. Immediately it was discovered that the child was not perfectly formed; and the thought of communicating to her the affecting intelligence of its deformity, struck every one with pain. The task devolved upon Soon after I entered the room, she spoke of the infant, and repeated a request which she had before made, that she might see it.

me.

I replied, my dear, you must prepare your mind to receive afflicting tidings.'

She closed her eyes for a moment, and seemed to lift up a silent ejaculation.

I soon asked, are you prepared for it?'

She replied, 'yes; I suppose it is not completely formed.'

6

I then told her all the case,* and endeavoured to give her consolation, but soon found it was afforded from above. She felt it to be an affliction, and a chastisement, but uttered no murmuring word. She seemed rather disposed to dwell on the mercies of the Lord, of which she spoke often; while the gratitude which filled her heart seemed to shed a lustre over her countenance. She would mention every particular which she thought favourable or merciful.

In the afternoon she requested to see the babe; I brought it in to her, and laid it in her arms. She looked at it, and said in the most affectionate manner, while she pressed it to her bosom, my poor afflicted baby, I love you.' We conversed several times both on this and the following day concerning it; said she, it is our child, and we can and will love it, though it is thus deformed. If it lives, it will probably be an affliction to it and to us all our lives, but I trust it will be sanctified to us, and to the child.' She then mentioned an instance of such deformity being blessed to lead the individual to great piety.

That night she rested sweetly. In the morning there was an unfavourable change, and towards noon, a chill, succeeded by fever. [Some details omitted.] She herself appeared more sensible of her danger than those around her; spoke seldom, but manifested great patience, and submission to the will of God. At night, about eleven o'clock, her mind became flighty, and from that time she continued in a state (for the most part) of insensibility, or heavy slumbering. This was interrupted by but few lucid intervals, and those short. In one of these, being asked if she felt the Divine Presence, she replied, I hope I do." In another, seeing us weeping, she said, it is sinful; it is wicked!' and then relapsed. În the morning, she looked at me weeping, and laying her hand on mine, said my dear, you must command your feelings.'

She never spoke afterwards, except when she was asked if she was willing to depart and be with Christ, she replied, evidently composed in her mind, yes.' She appeared to be dying from six o'clock till eight, when she breathed out her spirit."

6

3. WILLIAM Ewing, the only son, was born August 3, 1803, and died January 9, following.

4. MARY E., born January 12, 1805, was married -, 1840, to Dr. JAMES FINLEY, of Indiana. The father of Dr. F., General Samuel Finley, was nephew of Rev. Dr. Samuel Finley, who was elected President of Princeton College in 1761, and was in other

* The malformation was a double hare-lip; and with it was a consequent inability to take the natural nutriment. The child lived only about six weeks.