never end, and wear the crown of righteousness which fadeth not away.

66

If the Spirit of him that raised up Jesus from the dead dwell in you, he that raised up Christ from the dead shall also quicken your mortal bodies, by his Spirit which dwelleth in you."

"For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God."

"And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ: if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together."Rom. viii. 11, 14, 17.

PART II.

HER ADVANCED YOUTH.

In the spring of 1845 the first symptoms of pulmonary disease were manifested in Eliza; and, by the advice of her London physician, her parents brought her to Torquay for a few months, in the hope she might derive a benefit from the mildness of the Devonshire climate.

It was at this time I made the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Græme and their interesting child. And well do I remember the impressions produced on my own mind by the first visit I paid at their lodging. Eliza was sitting on a little low chair, with a table of corresponding dimensions at her side, on which lay her books and her work. These articles, I afterwards learnt, were always carried about with her from place to place, to secure a comfort which might not easily have been obtained in lodginghouses. The smallness of her figure led me to regard her as a good deal younger than she really was, and added increased interest to her remarkably pleasing and intelligent countenance. There was

something very peculiar in the play of her bright black eyes, which affected every feature of her face, and, in an unmistakeable manner, indicated her inward emotions. I was at once attracted by her very engaging appearance, and sat near to her; and in the course of conversation I observed with what attention she listened, and how quickly her expression of countenance changed with the varied topics propounded to her. It was an unusual thing to witness such dignified composure, or such solemn pensiveness, or such subdued pleasure, in so young a person. Indeed, I thought I never in my life had seen any human being who looked so unearthly. During that first visit she seemed to me like some angelic visitant from the better world. And from that day, when speaking of her to other people, I was wont to call her, "that dear little angel."

At first I felt disposed to speak with her in a childish way; but it soon became apparent that the growth of her body was altogether disproportionate to the development of her mind. It did, however, surprise me to learn from her mamma that Eliza, at this time, had entered on her tenth year. And yet, after repeated interviews, and a more intimate acquaintance, when I knew the books she had read and was reading, and had opportunity to judge of the amount and correctness of her general knowledge, and to mark the matured sedateness of her manners,

she appeared to be advanced beyond her years, notwithstanding her diminutive size.

Mr. and Mrs. Græme had left their other children in London, under the care of Miss Scott, the kind aunt, who has ever acted like a second mother to them all. Eliza from her birth had always been an object of special affection, but at present she was almost the exclusive concern of her parents. Their time, their thoughts, their affections, were devoted to this child. They watched her by night and by day; and never for a moment was she left alone. Every day, if the weather permitted, Eliza was wheeled out in a Bath-chair, the father usually attending on the one side, and the mother on the other. This affecting little group roused the sympathy of many passers-by. I have since been told by people who knew nothing of the family, not even their name, how much they were attracted by the appearance of the lovely child, and by the careworn, anxious looks of the affectionate parents. On coming to a nice dry and sunny piece of road, they would be sometimes seen to lift the child out of the chair, gently walk her up and down, and then lift her into the chair again. Incidents of this kind, which are not of unfrequent occurrence at Torquay, come home to one's feelings with a melting power. And although Eliza and her parents were unconscious of it at the time, who can tell what real support and consolation might have been received by these afflicted ones from the silent sym

pathy and prayers of many other parents: some, perhaps, because their own offspring were enjoying health; others, because there was pining sickness in their families; and others, again, because their hearts were bleeding for the recent loss of some much-loved son or daughter. Sympathy is one of those secret and mysterious ties by which the human family is bound together. What an interest it gives us in the afflictions of others! And how soothing is the sympathy of others to the afflicted! mere sight of suffering or of sorrow often does ourselves good, and prepares us, in the hand of God, for doing good to others around us. The wisest of men has said, "It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting:' "Sorrow is better than laughter:" "The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning." (Eccles. vii. 2, 3, 4.)

The

As often as circumstances permitted, I spent an hour or half an hour with Eliza; but, having preserved no written memoranda, it is now impossible to detail the different topics on which we conversed. She was not in the least degree shy, but neither was she communicative. In general, I recollect the evident delight she felt in speaking of the Lord Jesus Christ, of his love to poor sinners, and of his wondrous condescension to little children. Whenever serious subjects were introduced she listened with a devoutness such as is seldom manifested by youth. And every visit I paid the dear child endeared her