been in a pleasant dream that night, thinking she saw him sitting by her, and that he spoke to her of the blood of Christ. A constant peace and contentment beamed in her countenance; she seemed to want nothing on this earth, but continually expressed that all happiness was in her heart. I said to her one day, "Do you find the Saviour present with you as you lie here lonely on your bed?" She smiled, and, with an eye uplifted full of peace and joy, said, "O yes! O yes! the blessed Redeemer gives me peace." I said, "Then in this little room, and on this sick bed, you are happier than the rich lady who rides by in her carriage, but who has no presence of Christ with her." "Oh yes," she replied, "a thousand times happier. This sense of happiness and contentment will appear the more remarkable, if I describe the place in which this poor woman then lay. It was at the top of a house let out in separate apartments. The winding staircase which led to it was quite dark, and the roof sloped in such a manner over the staircase, that no one could go up or down but in a bending position. Arrived at this small garret, there was just room for a bed, and for a person to enter and stand by the side of it. The sloped roof was the only bed-curtain; a small window gave a scanty light, while the little windowseat served for a table to hold a Testament, a bottle of medicine, and a cup of gruel, which was almost her only diet. In this wretched apartment lay this happy, contented woman, who could scarcely begin any sentence with any other words than, "What a mercy;" and for the slightest kindness received, her full heart always exclaimed, May the blessed Redeemer

reward you."

On the first Sunday in October, 1829, I went to see her, and found her dying; but perfectly sensible, and making convulsive efforts to express to me her joy at the prospect of going to her blessed Redeemer. Several times she began her usual sentence, "What a mercy-" but could not complete the sentiment she intended to add to it. I read to her several of the

latter chapters of the book of Revelation, and she put both her hands in the attitude of prayer and praise up to listen to them. But her hands soon fell, and her attention became exhausted. I said to her, "You are going into another world very fast; now, how does this world appear to you-of what value ?" She made strong efforts to speak, but not being able to articulate, she took up a part of the sheet, and with a native action and eloquence peculiar to the Irish, she shook it, and cast it away with the utmost contempt, to imply how low was her opinion of this world. I again said, "But what is now your value of Christ ?" She laid her hand on her breast, as much as to say, "He is here," and then appeared to laugh with joy. As I rose to bid her farewell, she took my hand, and, shaking it, said, May the Lord reward you a thousand times in this world, and the next, for your kindness to me." She expired the Tuesday morning following. A large abscess was found after death at the side of her lungs, which had probably been forming for years, and must have given her dreadful pain. Yet no murmur ever escaped her lips; but if she was asked about her sufferings, her usual answer was, "What are my sufferings compared to those of my blessed Redeemer? Welcome then the will of God. If he will but forgive me my wicked sins, welcome the will of God." She was a truly kind parent, yet not an over indulgent one, but ever directing her children to the paths of virtue and uprightness. On the evening before her death, her eldest daughter called on her. In those dying moments her thoughts were directed to her child's moral conduct, as appears by the only words she was able to speak to her. "Margaret," said the dying mother, did you ask leave of your mistress to come and see me?" "Yes, mother, I did," was the reply. "Then, be sure you are home again in proper time." This was the last sentence she could utter. Yet how does it show that her thoughts were not selfish, but that her ideas regarded the relative duties of servants and masters rather than her own pleasures. In this,

as well as in other instances, it appeared that religion had elevated her mind to correct views, without the help of education. O what honour and happiness does religion confer on the poorest person! Truly it may be said, "He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, that he may set him with princes, even with the princes of his people." (Psalm cxiii. 7, 8.) The happiness I have had in witnessing the last hours of Eleanor Dunn, has been truly great. I wish nothing more than that, like her, my last breath may be spent in endeavouring to utter, from a sense of redeeming love, "What a mercy!"

HYMN.

Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song,
The joy of my heart, and the boast of my tongue :
Thy free grace, alone, from the first to the last,
Has won my affections, and bound my soul fast.
Without thy sweet mercy I could not live here;
Sin soon would reduce me to utter despair:
But through thy free goodness my spirits revive,
And He that first made me, still keeps me alive.

;

Whene'er I mistake, thy kind mercy begins
To melt me, and then I can mourn for my sins
And led by thy Spirit to Jesus's blood,
My sorrows are dried, and my strength is renew'd.

Thy mercy is more than a match for my heart,
Which wonders to feel its own hardness depart;
Dissolv'd by thy sunshine, I fall to the ground,
And weep to the praise of the mercy I found.

Thy mercy in Jesus exempts me from hell;
Of mercy I'll sing, of thy mercy I'll tell,
'Twas Jesus, my friend, when he hung on the tree,
That open'd the channel of mercy to me.

Great Father of mercies, thy goodness I own,
And the covenant love of thy crucified Son:
All praise to the Spirit, whose whisper divine
Seals mercy, and pardon, and righteousness mine.

I cannot close this narrative of facts without affectionately addressing myself to those poor persons into whose hands this little memoir may fall. I pray you,

my dear friends, consider the case of this poor woman, who could neither read nor write, who was ignorant of almost every thing, except of the value of her soul, and the preciousness of her Saviour. Say not when a Christian friend addresses you on the importance of religion, "O I am no scholar," as though that were a sufficient excuse for the neglect of your eternal concerns. Has not God made the way of salvation so plain that the wayfaring man should not err therein ? Has he not said, "to the poor the Gospel is preached"? (Luke vii. 22.) On one occasion only it is recorded that our blessed Saviour, when on earth, rejoiced in spirit, and that was when he said, "I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes." (Matt. xi. 25.) God has made his truth so plain, that he that runs may read it. True it is that if you cannot read, there is a great hindrance to your becoming acquainted with God's word; yet even then it is not impossible to obtain knowledge of the Scriptures, for Eleanor Dunn could not read at all; yet she got a little child to come and read the New Testament to her.

My dear friends, if you can neither read nor get a child to read to you, you can surely pray. "O, but," says one poor hardworking person, I have no time to pray, nor have I a room in which I can retire by myself alone, to perform this duty as the rich can." You have heard how Eleanor Dunn found time and place in which to pray, when she went out at four o'clock in the morning to washing, and prayed all the way she went along the dark streets, that God would strengthen her for her day's work. And how she

found time to praise too, when returning late at night; she lifted up her grateful heart to the God who had given her strength to perform her labour. You have seen also that this blessed habit of prayer and praise was still continued on her sick and dying bed. Sometimes I go to visit poor people who can scarcely attend to what I have to say, because they have so many

troubles to tell me, and so many hardships and losses to complain of. But when I used to go and see Eleanor Dunn, she was always telling me how good the Lord was to her; and if she had only a sixpence given her, she thanked God for it as the giver of all good, while her gratitude to the instrument was warm and constant. You cannot say that you have less of this world's goods than she had, for she was poor in the extreme, and received with thankfulness the most dry crust, or scanty scraps. Yet she felt herself bound by the strictest rules of honesty and integrity. Poor people sometimes think that they are to be excused if they go in debt at a chandler's shop, or run behind in their rent because they have not the money to pay. But let me tell them once more of Eleanor Dunn, who had latterly, when she became unable to work, nothing to depend on but 2s. 6d. per week from the parish; yet never did this upright woman receive the parish money without going instantly to her landlady and paying her the 1s. 6d. for rent. Nor in the space of twelve years of her poverty and affliction did she ever incur a debt at any shop which needed charitable help to defray. True it was that often she had no fire, nor any other food but a dried herring, or a halfpenny worth of milk, thickened with a little flour, for her day's support-yet even then, unless urged to say if she needed help, would she not ask relief-and her very soul abhorred those mean connivances with servants to obtain benefits, which she rightly viewed as nothing less than the practice of dishonesty, in those who give, and those who receive. She was indeed a living instance of the truth of that text, "Godliness, with contentment, is great gain; for we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out." (1 Tim. vi. 6, 7.) And the God whom she trusted did never leave nor forsake her; though she had little, she had, even to her latest hour, such things as her heavenly Father knew she needed; and as her necessities increased, God raised her up greater supplies for them.