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with deep and powerful feeling, to the home of my childhood. After talking awhile to her little boy, my sister at length said, "Charles," for he bore my name, "I think you have forgotten to-day the All-seeing Eye, for I dont know when you have done so many wrong things." Oh! how these words thrilled through my very soul. I saw my mother before me! her face, her voice, her attitude, were all there! I wonder now that I did not leave the room directly, for fear of betraying my emotions. But I was spell-bound, and could not or did not My sister talked some time to her little boy on this, to me, most thrilling subject, and at length lifting her eyes to my face, she said, "Do you remember, brother, how much our mother used to talk to us about the All-seeing Eye, and how much alarmed you were one day in the garden, when you thought you saw it?" This was too much! I could bear it no longer, but bursting into tears, I hurried from the room into my own chamber, and there falling on my knees before God, I implored him to look upon me with the eye of his mercy, as he had so long with that of his just indignation!

Here, then, at this most affecting, ever memorable hour, my rebellion, at least my willing rebellion, against God my Maker and God my Saviour, was given up. Here was the dawning of a new life. Here was that spell of delusion finally broken, which sin and Satan had woven to blind my eyes and harden my heart. Not that I at once found a life of piety easy and delightful-far from it; bitter, bitter were my struggles for a long period with my inveterate corruptions. And still do the dark shadows of that gloomy season, which I have attempted to describe, linger in my path. I still feel the deadly effects of that poisoned cup of sin of which I then drank. But blessed be the name of my Saviour, in whom I have righteousness and strength, for he has washed away the foulest stains of my corruption, and will ere long make me whiter than snow. And blessed, blessed be his name! that the one harrowing idea which once made my life so wretched, now constitutes my chief joy: that now, instead of calling upon the 'rocks and the mountains to hide me from the presence of his face,' my prayer daily is, 'Lord, lift thou up thy countenance upon me!'

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And oh wonderful to relate, the dark and wretched creature I have been describing, now delights to proclaim the 'glorious Gospel of the blessed God,' having received power and authority to do so, as his appointed minister!

E.

NOTE. As the authoress of the above article has been lately called from time into eternity-from earth to Heaven-I may venture to mention her name; and I do this the more readily, because I am persuaded that many of the readers of this book will rejoice to have in their possession a memorial of MRS. ELIZABETH SMITH, the late estimable wife of the RIGHT REV. BISHOP SMITH, of Kentucky. She was one of the numerous victims of that dreadful epidemic which was so severely felt in Lexington; but she died in the faith which she had lived to adorn, and now sleeps in Jesus.

How far the tale which is the production of her pen is founded on facts, I am not prepared to say, but believe that, for the most part, it is the relation of an actual occurrence.

EDITOR.

SACRED LYRICS.

Wherefore should I fear in the days of evil.

I.

IF 'reft of health, why should I mourn,
God is love,' and he

Since

Has said that evil he will turn
To greatest good for me?

If riches fail and honours fly,
In that no curse I see,

PSALM XLIX. 5.

For God, who loves me, will deny
No real good to me.

If friends desert, betray, or die,

No hopeless grief is mine,

My Friend of Friends is ever nigh, Then why should I repine.

If age steal o'er me, and decay
My yielding form invade,
The sooner 't will be cast away,
For one that cannot fade.

If pain and peril hold me fast,
I'll bear them well, for they
Are trials of my faith, and last
But for a winter's day.

Why should I mourn for any loss,
Since it is sent by him

Who bore for me a cruel cross,
Though king of seraphim:

Who gave his life for me and mine, And but to bless me tries,

And longs to see my spirit shine, A saint in Paradise?

Oh, Master! good or evil send,

As seemeth best to thee;

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