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"But can you not give me an example?"

"Why, sometimes my mind gets possessed with the idea of a carriage running back down hill, and I cannot stop it or get it out of my mind. I imagine a stone brought up against the wheel, and it goes right through the stone. Then I think of a post and a wall, but it presses through them. It seems as if nothing would stop it, and I cannot get the idea of it out of my head. At other times I cannot help thinking of a shovel and tongs falling down. They fall again and again, and I cannot stop them. I try to get them away, or to imagine them in some corner where they will stand; but all I can do, they will keep tumbling down."*

I bade her good evening and slowly returned to my home. The first thought on the way was, "How delicate is the constitution of the mind, and how dependant upon God we are, for the command of its powers!" The second reflection was a more serious one; "Is it not possible that Martha Jane is about to be seriously or even dangerously sick?"

A week or two afterwards, on my return from my journey, I called at the house. The domestic opened the door gently, and I walked in without speaking. I was conducted up stairs, into a sick chamber. My readers have all been into a sick chamber, I suppose, and know what it is. The circumstances are in a thousand cases essentially the same. There is the silent and sorrowful father, the anxious and agitated mother, the brothers and sisters overwhelmed with grief,-and the poor patient insensible to the scene of sorrow and suffering which surrounds her, lying upon her bed as if in sleep, fanned by a kind neighbor, who has come in to share the sorrow she cannot relieve.

I walked in and stood a few minutes by Martha Jane's bedside, looking upon her pale face, in silence. There was nothing to be said. The first glance at the room, as I entered the door, told me all.

* At another time she said that her thoughts would run upon the idea that she was trying to pour water out of a pitcher into a tumbler, in the dark, and that she could not help spilling it. She would struggle in vain either to banish the subject from her mind, or to imagine the water to go right. These disordered thoughts were generally, through a mysterious sympathy between the different organs of the body, attended

with nausea.

Her sight was sometimes affected in such a way, that she could see only half of a thing at a time. "Do you see me?" said her mother to her one day, after this time when she was lying almost insensible upon her bed. "I see half of you," she replied faintly. Her whole side was at length paralyzed,-lost to all sense and feeling.

These mysterious effects were undoubtedly produced by disease of the brain, though many of them seem to be almost purely intellectual. We are indeed fearfully and wonderfully made.

As there was nothing to be said, so there was nothing to be done. It would have been a relief if we could have found employment in doing something to save life, or at least to relieve suffering. But no. To save her now was out of the question, and as to suffering, there was none to relieve. There she lay in what was unquestionably, to her, a peaceful, quiet slumber. Her countenance indicated repose. It was pale, but there was no expression of suffering, not even of restlessness upon it. We knew that we had nothing to do, but to leave her in God's hands, and to wait quietly till she should cease to breathe.

Parental grief, which otherwise, in such a case, would have been overwhelming, was assuaged here by the influences of piety, which soothed anxiety, and quieted fears, and brought resignation. We knelt round the bed-side, and earnestly presented, once more, the supplications which had for years been offered for this child of prayer. It was the last opportunity. We implored the forgiveness of her sins through a Saviour crucified for them, and commended her spirit to that Saviour's care.

One evening soon after this, I left her chamber with the conviction, that I should not see her again alive. Her breathing was labored, and interrupted. Her countenance had assumed the expression of death. Her forehead was damp, her eyes closed, and her pulse fluttering. An hour afterwards, she moved,-raised her arms from the bed,-crossed them upon her breast,-sighed deeply, and breathed no more.

It was Saturday night, and on the Sabbath following at sunset, the church was filled with a silent and solemn assembly, which had come together to hear her pastor's prayer over her lifeless remains, and to listen to his interpretation of the solemn lesson which this death was intended to convey. The services being over, the congregation took their seats, and waited in silence while the mourners formed at the door, in carriages, the melancholy train which was to accompany Martha Jane to her long home. When the procession moved, the choir of which she had been the ornament and the pride, sung to her a last farewell.

My story might stop here, but I must mention one thing more. On the next Tuesday, when a hundred young ladies, former and present pupils, collected in the Mount Vernon School-room, to take the singing lesson, every one thought of Martha Jane; and the plaintive airs which the teacher wrote, one after another upon the black-board, as the exercises of the day, deepened the impression. He wrote at last the following tune, and after they had sung it once or twice, the words be

low were repeated to them line by line, and sung by all. A few days afterwards the teacher presented each pupil with a copy in the following form.

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"MARTHA JANE.

"Died at 6 o'clock on the evening of July 13th, 1833.

Aged 16 years, 1 month and 12 days.

"Sister, thou wast mild and lovely,
Gentle as the summer breeze,
Pleasant as the air of evening
When it floats among the trees.

"Peaceful be thy silent slumber,
Peaceful in the grave so low;
Thou no more wilt join our number,
Thou no more our songs shalt know.

"Dearest sister, thou hast left us,
Here thy loss we deeply feel
But 'tis God that hath bereft us,

He can all our sorrow heal.

"Yet again we hope to meet thee,

When the day of life is fled,

Then, in heaven, with joy to greet thee,

Where no farewell tear is shed.

"TO THE YOUNG LADIES OF THE MOUNT VERNON SCHOOL;

FROM L. M."

When the study card was dropped at the close of the hymn, indicating that the exercise was ended, and which is usually the signal of universal liberty, hilarity and glee, it produced no effect on the still and sad assembly. Not a scholar spoke,-not one left her seat, but there was a long and silent pause, during which many a tear was shed to the memory of the loved Martha Jane.

Reader; whenever God in his providence, cuts down such a flower as this in its prime, it is intended to teach all who see the stroke, a useful lesson; and when circumstances are such that the sad tale can be told to others, it is equally a warning lesson to all to whom it may come. Its useful influence upon others thus often far overbalances the sorrows and sufferings of the sad circle which is bereaved. Receive this story then, reader, as the voice of God to you, warning you of the uncertainty of life, and the urgent necessity of preparing now, to die.

THE WAY TO USE A RELIGIOUS PERIODICAL.

In most cases, when a manufactured article is produced, in order to supply a certain want, there is no difficulty in appplying it to the purpose intended. The want itself seeks out the supply, and they are consequently easily brought together. A remedy for a disease, for example, if discovered, is sought for by the very persons who are suffering, and with an eagerness proportional to their need. A mill is erected in a new country; and there is no difficulty in having it employed. They who have corn to be ground come to it of their own accord.

But it is not so with moral or religious instruction supplied to the community. Here there is great difficulty in bringing the want and the supply together. Some philanthropists establish a periodical, for example, in order to persuade the community to abandon the use of ardent spirits. Those who are already persuaded perhaps, subscribe for the paper. But they who most need its influence, not only will not subscribe, but they will hardly read it if it is placed before them. There is thus great difficulty in such cases, in bringing the want to meet the supply.

These remarks will particularly apply to such articles in moral and religious works as are designed for immediate practical effect. They are most likely to be read by the persons who stand least in need of them. An able and interesting article on keeping the Sabbath for instance, is inserted in a religious paper. Who will read the article with the greatest interest and attention? Why the very man who is already most interested in the subject, who has most conscientiously and scrupulously observed the Lord's day, and who consequently least of all needs its influence. As he glances his eye over

the columns, this very article will at once arrest his attention, more than any other, while he who most needs it will be most likely to pass it by. What is written then with the design of producing moral and religious effects, will do comparatively little good if it is merely thrown at random upon the world, and left to take care of itself. There must be Christian exertion to apply the moral remedy where it is needed, as well as Christian ingenuity to discover or prepare it. Such efforts to give an efficient application to the means of religious instruction which the press supplies, are now made in thousands of cases, and they ought to be made by all who have the opportunity to do it.

Hence every Christian ought to consider the religious books and periodicals which come into his hands, as means of doing good, committed to him by Providence, which he is bound to employ as efficiently as he can, to promote the cause of piety. A vast amount of good is done in this way by active Christians throughout our land. As soon as they have read any article or any work of useful practical tendency, their minds instinctively enquire, "Which of my neighbors or friends would be interested or profited by this?" "Here is something," say they, which exactly meets such an one's case." "This article would interest the Sabbath school, I will show it to the superintendent." "This book will do good in such a family. I will lend it to them." The instrument of good is thus, through the intervention of Christian philanthropy, carried to the points where its effect is needed.

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No sincere Christian, having right views of his duty in this world, will attempt to excuse himself from the obligation to do good in this way, by saying that his neighbors are as able to purchase the book or to subscribe for the periodical as himself, and that therefore he will make no effort to extend its good influences. Although a neighbor may in such cases have no claim, the debt is still due to God, and if he chooses to order us to pay it to his creatures here, whenever we can find any who are sinning or suffering, we can have nothing to say.

There is another view of this subject which ought not to be overlooked. The value of a printed book or pamphlet, consists in the fact that it is capable of telling its story to a vast number of individuals as well as to one. One man for example, who receives this very magazine, sends it to the Sabbath school, that the story of Martha Jane, may be read there. It accordingly interests and profits a hundred and fifty, instead of one. He lends the work successively to half a dozen mothers, that they may read the article on the early religious instruction of children. His daughter takes it to the meeting of a charitable

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