unite the admiration of the beauties and wonders of nature to every other
motive for devotion. When David considered the heavens, the work of
God's fingers, the moon and the stars which he has ordained, he was
thereby led to the deepest humiliation of heart before his Maker. And
when he viewed the sheep and the oxen and the beasts of the field, the
fowls of the air and the fish of the sea, he was constrained to cry out,
"O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!"

I am the poor man's friend, and wish more especially that every poor
labouring man should know how to connect the goodness of God in creation
and providence with the unsearchable riches of his grace in the salvation
of a sinner. And where can he learn this lesson more instructively than
in looking around the fields where his labour is appointed, and there
tracing the handiwork of God in all that he beholds? Such meditations
have often afforded me both profit and pleasure, and I wish my readers to
share them with me.

The Dairyman's cottage was rather more than a mile distant from the
church. A lane, quite overshadowed with trees and high hedges, led from
the foot of the hill to his dwelling. It was impossible at that time to
overlook the suitable gloom of such an approach to the house of mourning.

I found, on my entrance, that several Christian friends, from different
parts of the neighbourhood, had assembled together, to pay their last
tribute of esteem and regard to the memory of the Dairyman's daughter.
Several of them had first become acquainted with her during the latter
stage of her illness; some few had maintained an affectionate intercourse
with her for a longer period; but all seemed anxious to manifest their
respect for one who was endeared to them by such striking testimonies of
true Christianity.

I was requested to go into the chamber where the relatives and a few
other friends were gone to take a last look at the remains of Elizabeth.

It is not easy to describe the sensation which the mind experiences on
the first sight of a dead countenance, which, when living, was loved and
esteemed for the sake of that soul which used to give it animation. A
deep and awful view of the separation that has taken place between the
soul and body of the deceased, since we last beheld them, occupies the
feelings: our friend seems to be both near, and yet far off. The most
interesting and valuable part is fled away; what remains is b