and
seemed to foretell the approach of a beautiful day. Being accustomed, in
my walks, to look for subjects of improving thought and association, I
found them in every direction around me as I hastened onwards to the
house where Jane lay, waiting for a dismissal from her earthly dwelling.

I felt that the twilight gravity of nature was, at that hour, peculiarly
appropriate to the circumstances of the case; and the more so, because
that twilight was significantly adorned with the brilliant sparklings of
the star on one hand, and the clear, pale lustre of the waning moon on
the other.

When I arrived at the house, I found no one below; I paused for a few
minutes, and heard the girl's voice very faintly saying, "Do you think he
will come? I should be so glad--so very glad to see him before I die."

I ascended the stairs--her father, mother, and brother, together with the
elderly woman before spoken of, were in the chamber. Jane's countenance
bore the marks of speedy dissolution. Yet, although death was manifest
in the languid features, there was something more than ever interesting
in the whole of her external aspect. The moment she saw me, a renewed
vigour beamed in her eye; grateful affection sparkled in the dying face.

Although she had spoken just before I entered, yet for some time
afterwards she was silent, but never took her eyes off me. There was
animation in her look--there was more--something like a foretaste of
heaven seemed to be felt, and gave an inexpressible character of
spiritual beauty, even in death.

At length she said, "This is very kind, sir--I am going fast--I was
afraid I should never see you again in this world."

I said, "My child, are you resigned to die?"

"Quite."

"Where is your hope?"

She lifted up her finger, pointed to heaven, and then directed the same
downward to her own heart, saying successively as she did so, "Christ
_there_, and Christ _here_."

These words, accompanied by the action, spoke her meaning more solemnly
than can easily be conceived.

A momentary spasm took place. Looking towards her weeping mother, she
said, "I am very cold--but it is no matter--it will soon be over--"

She closed her eyes for about a minute, and, on opening them again, said,
"I wish, sir, when I am gone, you would tell the other children of the
parish how good the Lord has been to me, a poor sinner--tell them, that
they who seek him early will find him--tell them, that the ways of si