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claimed a right to think on this subject for herself, so she readily granted others the same privilege which she claimed. Her own children were baptized, and her niece whom she had adopted as a daughter. In habits of intimacy with her for many years, a subject upon which we could not agree was never once introduced, whilst other subjects, the hope and triumph of christians, were cheerfully dis. cussed. Party would lose its virulency, were the same temper always cherished, and the same conduct pursued. Considering the different constitutions of mind, the power of habit, and the imperfect knowledge which is now enjoyed, it is impossible to think always alike even on religious subjects. On great essential points, there is frequently much less difference of sentiment among christians, than on those of secondary or even inferior importance. Forbearance is expressly enjoined by our great master. Leaving out of view the peculiarities of this, or that denomination, it is, and must be, the leading, and indeed the only desire of every follower of Jesus, to recommend in every possible way, our common christianity, loving all who love our Lord, let that love be expressed in modes never so multiplied, and never so various.

Our dear friend is removed to a world where names, even the most respected of Paul, of Apollos, or Cephas, are lost and forgotten in the name of Christ. All worship in one sanctuary. Among the countless multitude a discordant thought does not exist. The infirmities of the mortal state, a fertile source of irritation and disagreement, if remembered at all, are remembered with shame, rendering an union of hearts, through eternity, welcome in the highest degree.

Frequent attacks of sickness for some years past, were indications, which the deceased could not overlook, that the period of her departure was at hand. It cannot be forgotten that mid-night silence had of late often been broken, expressing an assurance that she should not long be an inhabitant of this world, and a dread lest the restraint occasioned by her presence being taken away, her friends might forget her advice, and venture to their ruin upon forbidden ground.

The buddings of immortality began to open, a happy presage, that they should soon blossom in a more favourable cli

mate.

Among the last acts of her health was an attempt to reconcile a difference which had unhappily arisen, and to secure the continuance of that peace so congenial to

the christian temper, in which she was completely successful.

She had heard of a sister's illness and hastened to her relief. Her attentions were unremitting day and night. Anxiety and fatigue made dangerous inroads upon her own health. She indeed fell a martyr to humanity, and none can fall in a better cause. Falling in battle, men are said to fall in the bed of honour, this is true in an equal, or even in a higher degree of those who fall doing good to their fellow creatures.

The disease, at first, was not supposed to be just cause of alarm, but soon it assumed a fatal appearance. She felt as she had never felt before. Of the issue she was not ignorant, but trusting in the Saviour of mankind she was prepared for the worst. The turn which her disease took for the eight last days of her life, incapacitated her, both from saying any thing, and from being benefitted from what could be said, but from the whole tenor of her life, of which I have taken a short review, there is every reason to conclude that she fell asleep in Jesus, after having sojourned on earth near fifty years.

From the Evangelical Magazine. MISS ANN WRANGHAM. On Thursday, October 11, 1804, died, aged 21, after a lingering and painful indisposition, which she bore with a patience truly christian, Miss Ann Wrangham, of Thorp Basset, Yorkshire. She had an interesting appearance and genteel address; to which were added a conduct strictly moral, a temper remarkably sweet, and a mind naturally lively. These admired excellencies, however, left this young lady destitute of spiritual religion, till about eighteen months before her death, when it pleased the Lord to call her by his grace. This work of the Eternal Spirit was effected under a discourse, the report of which excited her curiosity on account of its being delivered in a barn, and by a clergyman of the establishment. The simple and affecting account of her conversion is given in her own language:-" What a wandering wretch was I before my God's converting grace! I was driven away with every wavering blast; yet, when I have promised myself pleasure, something has always occurred to my mind which has cast a sadness over my heart. How different that peaceful breast where Jesus dwells! Oh happy people, who are publishing the glad tidings of the gospel! how many hearts do

you set free! I was anxious to hear Mr. M-, at Rilington; zeal and love for Jesus beamed in his eyes! I heard him with stupid amazement; my heart beat with a thousand fears; how earnestly did I wish I was the meanest wretch, if I only could feel the love of which he spake! I returned with the gay ones whom I accompanied; I spoke cheerfully to them; but my heart was wrung with anguish; it was dark, and my tears flowed unseen; I retired to bed and to pray, but arose unrefreshed; my heart was hard; I thought it would remain so; I feared the miseries of hell."

From this time she became a new creature, which was manifest in her total disrelish to vain amusements, by the diligence with which she perused religious authors, especially the sacred volume, and from the pleasure she always appeared to enjoy in the company of those who were born from above. Her fears were gradually removed, and her faith in Jesus confirmed by the use of such private means; the only ones to which long indisposition would allow her to attend. If ever she murmured, it was on account of her not being able to be present at public worship. But her meditation in private was so constant, and her prayer for divine teaching so fervent, that her knowledge of the plan of salvation became so correct as far to exceed that which some appear to possess who have heard the gospel preached for years together. As her body decayed, her mind daily was renewed. This will best appear by a few extracts from her papers.

March 17, 1804. " To-day I am twenty-one; and Oh, 1 hope next year I shall celebrate my birth-day in my Father's kingdom! shall I, O God, spend an eter nity of joy for these earthly sufferings? Then blessed be thy fatherly hand that draws me by them to thyself! last year I did not think to see another birth-day; but wonderful are thy ways, thou King of Saints! why do I go mourning all the day? thou wilt be my Saviour; thou wilt raise my head in my last agony!"

In a letter to a female friend, dated April 15th, she writes: "It may seem strange, but it is true, that from the beginning of my illness (near two years ago) I have never firmly believed that I should recover. Although my friends would flatter me with the prospect, and I have, to appearance, been getting better fast, yet this idea never left my mind: "An angel's hand cannot save thee from the grave," And are they friends, my dear S, who would drag me back to life and all its painful miseries I who

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The following letter she wrote to a minister, a few days before her dismission from the body, with instructions that it should be delivered immediately after her death: "Ere this reach my evervalued friend, I shall have ceased to groan under this body of sin and pain. I long for death, which will, I trust, release me from both. I may truly say with David, "It is good for me that I have been afflicted." Has not the Lord, with all the tender compassion of a long-suffering Father, caused me to feel his chastening rod, since nothing but that could move my hardened breast? Oh the goodness of God to so vile a sinner! I would not part with my hopes in my blessed Redeemer for all that this vain world can give! Oh, if the world knew the calm, the real pleasures of religion, they would make it their first instead of their last concern!"-At the close of the letter she thus writes: “Give my dying love to Mr. M, and pray tell him, that he once made a sinner tremble. And now, my dear sir, I must cease. I need not ask for your prayers: when you receive this I shall be beyond them. Adieu! adieu! we shall soon meet again to sing the praises of him who was slain!"

The friend to whom this letter was addressed, was in the habit of visiting the pious writer during her illness, as often as a distant residence would admit. There is reason to believe that his conversation was much blessed for the fortifying the young Christian against the powerful assaults of the great enemy of souls, and for arming her for her final conflict with the king of terrors. On October 10, be visited her for the last time; when he found her a good deal harrassed by temptation. She said she was under no apprehension as to the result of death, but feared exceedingly lest Satan should gain

any advantage over her in the moments of dissolution. Her friend having that morning read a memoir in the Evangelical Magazine, of an eminent minister whose experience was, in this respect, the same, but who died triumphing in the Lord, related this circumstance to her. She seemed to be much comforted by it; and he left her in a more happy frame.

She was able to go down stairs till the day of her death, when she found herself so weak, as left no doubt in her mind that her end was come. She had previously arranged her little valuables, to which she had affixed marks how they were to be disposed of, and now gave directions accordingly. After having had her dear parents, and brothers, and sisters called to her bedside, she very affectionately addressed them upon the vanity of the world, the importance of religion, &c. and

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took a long, a last farewel of each. Then, with a countenance expressive of the sweet serenity of her mind, and which also demonstrated that her former fears were only the suggestions of that great adversary of souls who seeks to distress whom he cannot destroy, she lifted up her eyes and said, "Lord Jesus now receive my spirit, for I am ready!" Her friends and attendants witnessed her departure with mingled sorrow and admiration. According to her request, the solemn occasion was improved by the above friend, in a sermon delivered in the Methodist Chapel, at Relington, on Sunday, October 21, 1804, from Rev. xiv. 13. Green Hammerton. J. JACKSON. We understand that a pamphlet will shortly appear, containing the diary of this lady for the last nine months of her life, together with outlines of her character.

Wake, sleeper, wake, and from the yawning tomb, Awe the proud whirlwind, calm th' impetuous wave,

With all thy pow'r of wond'rous eloquence!

In evil times, thou did'st alone display, A life responsive to the truths thou taughtst.

One Pow'r supreme, all nature speaks, and Thee

Alone, assemblied nations have confest, A worthy minister, that God to serve! The dauntless herald of behests divine, The christian's eye, in all thy native grace Of soul effulgent, and Cæsarea's pride, E'en now when happier realms thy pre

sence shares.

BASIL. Beneath this tomb, the dust of Basil sleeps, Who whilst he tarried in this transcient

scene,

Rul'd his Cæsarea with a parent's care, And lov'd his Gregory with a brother's love.

Ah me! thy griefs would pierce an angel's breast,

And lure e'en heav'nly minds to melt like thine.

View, O my God, that sad, and tear-worn cheek, That anguish'd heart, that feeble tott'ring frame,

Those eyes for ever fix'd on heav'n and thee!

When shall he join thy blest adorers here, And shine, amidst immortal saints, a saint? Poor lonely tenant of a frame decay'd, Thy shatter'd prison cannot hold thee

long.

The months unwearied roll; the hour will

come:

Thou must endure and Basil must submit. GREGORY.

Yet thou wert wafted to the land of peace,

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"THE JOY OF GRIEF."

From Montgomery's Poems. Sweet the hour of tribulation, When the heart can freely sigh: And the tear of resignation

Twinkles in the mournful eye. Have you felt a kind emotion

Tremble through your troubled breast; Soft as evening o'er the ocean,

When she charms the waves to rest? Have you lost a friend, a brother?

Heard a father's parting breath? Gazed upon a lifeless mother,

Till she seem'd to wake from death? Have you felt a spouse expiring

In your arms, before your view? Watch'd the lovely soul retiring

From her eyes, that broke on you?

OSSIAN.

Did not grief then grow romantic,
Raving on remember'd bliss?
Did you not, with fervour frantic,
Kiss the lips that felt no kiss?
Yes! but, when you had resign'd her,

ANNA left-she left behind her,
Life and you were reconciled;

But before the green moss peeping
One, one dear, one only child.

In that grave, the infant sleeping
His poor mother's grave array'd,

On the mother's lap was laid.
Horror then, your heart congealing,
Chill'd you with intense despair;
Can you recollect the feeling?

No! there was no feeling there! From that gloomy trace of sorrow,

When you woke to pangs unknown How unwelcome was the morrow,

For it rose on YOU ALONE! Sunk in self-consuming anguish,

Can the poor heart always ache? No, the tortured nerve will languish, Or the strings of life must break. O'er the yielding brow of sadness,

One faint smile of comfort stole; One soft pang of tender gladness

While the wounds of woe are healing, Exquisitely thrill'd your soul.

While the heart is all resign'd, 'Tis the solemn feast of feeling,

'Tis the sabbath of the mind. Pensive memory then retraces

Scenes of bliss for ever fled, Lives in former times and places,

Holds communion with the dead. And, when night's prophetic slumbers Rend the veil to mortal eyes, From their tombs, the sainted numbers

Of our lost companions rise. You have seen a friend, a brother,

Heard a dear dead father speak; Proved the fondness of a mother,

Felt her tears upon your cheek! Dreams of love your grief beguiling,

You have clasp'd a consort's charms, And received your infant smiling From his mother's sacred arms. Trembling, pale, and agonising,

While you mourn'd the vision gone, Bright the morning star arising

Open'd heaven, from whence it shone Thither all your wishes bending

Rose in extacy sublime,
Thither all your hopes ascending
Triumph'd over death and time.
Thus afflicted, bruised and broken,

Have you known such sweet relief: Yes, my friend! and, by this token,

You have felt "THE JOY OF GRIEF."

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