selves, He lets His love stream richly and
gloriously into our hearts. From day to day, our sister seemed to
realize how strongly and truly Christ loved the Church, and herself, as
an individual member of it. The sacrificial death of the Saviour was to
her not simply an historical fact, but a living reality. The sweet
peace and pure pleasure she daily enjoyed was the result of His death.
For, "He hath made peace through the blood of His cross." And since He
had made her the happy recipient of His grace, it was her daily delight
to walk in the path of obedience. Christ was to her the door of
salvation, and she went in and out and found pasture, in ministering to
the poor and indigent and dying, and in this line of Christian toil she
possessed a remarkable faculty.

She told me on one occasion, during one of my pastoral visits, that she
visited a dying woman and endeavored to point her to Jesus. And when a
clergyman of the Church of Rome, who happened to be present, was
retiring, she suggested that they should have a word of prayer
together. He replied, "That while he enjoyed her religious
conversation, he could not pray with her, as she did not belong to his
church."

At this remark she was deeply affected, and said, with great emphasis
and deep solemnity: "I thought there was but one fold and one
shepherd."

When she sent around, or rather, came herself for me, to the church on
Friday, the prayer-meeting night, to come and see her dear dying
husband, she seemed to be troubled when I asked him, "Are you still
trusting in Jesus?" as I observed he was rapidly sinking, I put the
question that I might employ his blessed testimony for my own good, and
the good of the congregation. He quickly responded very emphatically in
the affirmative, "Yes! yes!" and I think those were the last audible
words he uttered. But she was troubled because she had such faith in
the consistency of the Christian life of her husband, that she knew
full well that he feared no evil, for Christ was with him.

Oh, how tenderly and lovingly she would step up to his bed-side and
kiss his heated brow. When he became unconscious or rather, when his
speech failed him and he would point to his parched lips to have them
moistened, she would tearfully exclaim, "My dear, dear husband, can you
not speak to me? Have you not a word for Esther? My dear husband, how
can I live without you?"

I endeavored to console her on the sorrowful occasion, until after
mi