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Are you then, my dear reader, anxiously waiting for an answer to anything that you have much set your heart upon ? Have you been making some particular object a matter of much prayer ? Have you been expecting, wrestling, and watching anxiously for the least sign, or speck of cloud that may indicate an answer for you? And because you are so far disappointed, are you tempted to doubt, and despondingly exclaim with the servant, “ There is nothing?" If this be the case, let me entreat of you to “Go again seven times," and, if at the seventh time there be no answer, let the withholding from you of what you have desired, lead you impartially to examine yourself, and see if there be not some darling treasure, some particular vice or sin which you are not willing to give up, that is a hindrance to your receiving what you have asked at God's hand. But if, on the other hand, your heart condemns you not, then use the remedy which the Psalmist had recourse to, when he implored the assistance of that Being, who “is greater than our hearts, and knoweth all things.” And after having thus humbled yourself in the sight of God, you may rest assured that the benefit prayed for will soon be granted, either in the bestowment of the specified thing asked for, or of that which on the whole is more profitable to your wellbeing, more conducive to the glory of God, and your spiritual and eternal welfare




We stand among the fallen leaves,

Young children at our play,
And laugh to see the yellow-things

Go rustling on their way;
Right merrily we hunt them down-

The autumn winds and we Nor

pause where snow-drifts lie, Or sunbeams gild the tree.

to gaze

With dancing feet we leap along

Where withered boughs are strewn ; Nor past nor future checks our song,

The present is our own.

We stand among the fallen leaves,

In youth's enchanting spring;
When Hope (who wearies at the last)

First spreads her eagle wing.
We tread with steps of conscious strength

Beneath the leafless trees :
And the colour kindles on our cheek,

As blows the winter breeze.
While gazing toward the cold grey sky,

Clouded with snow and rain ;
We wish the old year all passed by,

And the young spring back again.

We stand among the fallen leaves,

In manhood's haughty primeWhen first our panting hearts begin

To love "the olden time;'
And as we gaze, we sigh to think

How many years have passed,
Since 'neath those cold and faded trees

Our footsteps wandered last;
And old companions-now perchance

Estranged, forgot, or dead-
Come round us as those autumn leaves

Are crushed beneath our tread.

We stand beneath the fallen leaves,

In our own autumn day,
And tott'ring on our feeble steps,

Pursue our cheerless way.
We look not back-too long ago

Hath all we loved been lost;
Nor forward-for we may not live

To see our new hope crossed ;

But on we go-the sun's faint beam

A feeble warmth imparts ;
Childhood, without its joy, returns —

The present fills our hearts.


Eliza Beringer was born at Helston, January 2nd, 1844. When about six years of age, she began to go to the Wesleyan Association Sunday-school, at Helston. She was but a delicate child, yet such was her love to the school, that when she was able, she was regular in her attendance. Although regular in her attendance, nothing of special interest occurred until the month of May, 1856, when, being afflicted for some time with a slow fever, she began to give indications that the labours of her parents and teachers had not been altogether in vain. On Helston feast Sunday, when the annual school sermons were preached, she was much affected, and remained at the prayer meeting after evening service, and, although she did not experience the sense of guilt removed, yet from that time she became decided to give herself to the Lord. The week following she began to be more seriously afflicted, and was led to explain the state of her mind to her mother. The Sunday following she was unable to attend school, which was a great trial to her. According to the usual practice of the scholars in the Helston school, she had committed to memory Matt. xviii. 1-3, the text preached from at the service held on the preceding Sunday. Her concern about the state of her soul increased, and, when conversing with her mother on the subject, she repeated part of the text, and observed that she wished to be converted, and become like a little child, as she said she felt she could not go to heaven without she experienced this change. That she had a correct idea on the matter was evident, for she remarked she must become like a little child in character

She was

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and disposition. She was directed to Christ, and prayed with by her mother, but without obtaining that peace of mind after which she so earnestly sought. Gradually her strength failed. On the first Sunday in October, she became so weak as to be obliged to take to her bed ; her sufferings were severe, arising from disease of the heart. greatly concerned about her spiritual state, and earnestly sought the salvation of her soul. One day she called her mother to her bedside, and said, “Mother, I was thinking about the text, 'Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.' Now, I am not converted, will you pray for me?” Her request was complied with, and this little Sunday-school scholar, in penitence, cried to the Lord. She said, “ Lord, take my heart and seal it for thy own.” “Thou hast died for me." “Thou hast shed thy precious blood for me." “Lord, I do believe, help thou my unbelief." "Thou hast purchased a crown for me. Let no one take my crown.” Her mother encouraged and directed her, inviting her to the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. Whilst thus instructing her child in the way of faith, and praying with her, she had the happiness of seeing Eliza lay hold of the hope set before her. After struggling for upwards of five hours, a sense of comfort was afforded her, and she was enabled to exclaim, in the joys of believing.

“My God is reconciled,

His pardoning voice I hear,
He owns me for his child,

I can no longer fear.”

Soon after she obtained a sense of pardon. Finding her exhausted, and judging that sleep would be of service to her, her friends left her alone ; but, after they had left the room, she was heard still engaged in prayer, saying

"I never shall forget the day,

When Jesus took my sins away." Soon after she fell asleep, and her mother and a young

friend sat by her bedside. When she awoke, she, in a sweet and grateful tone, repeated

“Sleep in Jesus, oh, how sweet,

Ye need not shed a tear;
Why do you wish to call me back,

Who have no cause to fear.” Her friends were much affected. When she heard them weeping, she said, “ Mother, you need not shed a tear. You took away the candle, but it was not required, for the room was full of light and glory.” A neighbour sent in something for her by a young person, When she received it, she inquired of the young woman-" Lavinia, have you began to pray? It is quite time to be converted.” When speaking of the kindness of her friends, she said they would be rewarded in the resurrection of the just. Her strength rapidly declined, but, as her end approached, it was evident she was ripening for glory : her experience and conversation were remarkable for one of such tender years, A few days before she died, she complained of pain in her heart. Her mother tried to comfort her, by expressing a hope that she would be better soon. “ Yes, mother, when I am in my grave, not before ;” and then exclaimed, “O death, where is thy sting! O grave, where is thy victory?" Her end drew near, and as though about to take a journey, she began to prepare for leaving her friends. On the Monday before her death, she desired that her books, chiefly her Bible, the “ Juvenile Companion," and prizes she had received as rewards at the Sunday-school, might be brought. She carefully examined, divided, and arranged them, and tben, as if attending to some matter of juvenile and usual interest, she distributed them to her brothers and friends. "My prize books give to John-my Bible to Fred, and divide the rest amongst them.” Her hymn-book-her last reward—she desired her name might be written in, and

given to a young woman who had been kind to her in her affliction, and accompanied the gift by expressions of gratitude and wishes for her spiritual welfare.

On the afternoon of the day on which she languished into life, the writer, called to see her, and found

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