should be insensible to human censure and applause, there is yet a distinguished homage due to the sacred name of virtue." Such were the sentiments of Mrs. Rowe; and, but a short time. before her death, she evinced how incapable she was of forgetting a friend who had been so dear and delightful to her, by shedding tears at the mention of his name.

Mrs. Rowe was much attached to the country, though, in compliance with the wishes of her husband, she had spent a considerable part of the year in London. After his decease, she retired to her estate at Frome, and sought, in the contemplation of her own being, and the practice of benevolence, to recover her habitual serenity. Retirement, to a well-regulated mind, is, in the season of affliction, an indescribable source of comfort. The world never can fill the aching void, occasioned by the loss of a beloved object; but, in the secret chamber of the heart, when abstracted from the confusion of surrounding objects, a small still voice is often heard, which whispers comfort to the wounded spirit, speaks peace to the broken-hearted, and sets the captive free.

To the indigent, Mrs. Rowe appeared a messenger of mercy. Her goodness anticipated their requests, whilst her smiles and conciliating language endeared her acts of benevolence.

"These hands are now capable of distributing to their necessities," she observes, in her manuscript devotions, "if thou, O Lord, wouldst give me the glad commission. O send me the ready minister of consolation in their distress. Hear their blessings and prayers for me."

Apprehensive lest the pain and debility of illness might occasion some depression of spirit, or fears unsuitable to the character of a Christian, Mrs. Rowe often expressed to her friends, that, if consistent with the Divine will, she was very desirous that her removal might be a sudden one. From the cheerfulness of her disposition, she seemed peculiarly calculated to enjoy life and all its innocent gratifications; but her treasures were in heaven, and all her hopes and wishes had centred there. When her acquaintance expressed their satisfaction on seeing her look so well, and hinted, that the goodness of her health seemed to insure many years to come, she would smile, and tell them, "that it was like complimenting a prisoner on the strength of his prison walls." Indeed, the fervour of her wishes to exchange earth for heaven, often discovered itself in her conversation and private memorandums. "How long shall I dwell in Meshech, and sojourn in the tents of Kedar?" was the language of her heart: "when will the wearisome journey of life be finished? when shall

I reach my everlasting home, and arrive at my celestial country? I have no engagement, nothing to detain me here; but wander as a pilgrim, far from my native regions. My friends are gone before me, and are now triumphing in the skies, secure of the conquest, possessed of the rewards of victory. They survey the field of battle, and look back with pleasure on the distant danger; whilst I, beset with a thousand snares, and tired with the continued toil, unsteadily maintain the field, till active faith interposing, assures me of the conquest, and shows me the immortal crown. It is faith that tells

me, that light is sown for the righteous, and gladness for the upright in heart. Grant me, O God, to fulfil as an hireling my days. Shorten the space, but let it be full of action. It is of small importance how few there are of these little circles of days and hours, so that they are well filled up by devotion and every proper duty."

On the day of her departure, her health seemed as good as usual, and she conversed during the evening with her accustomed vivacity. About eight o'clock she retired to her chamber; but shortly after, her servant, hearing a slight noise, hastened into the room, where she found Mrs. Rowe, apparently near her end. Medical assistance was immediately obtained, but all human endeavours were unavailing; and, in the

course of a few hours, this amiable and accomplished woman breathed her last, in the sixtythird year of her age. A devotional book was found open beside her, with some leaves of paper, on which she had written a few unconnected sentences.

A plain monument at Frome, points out the spot where the remains of the father and daughter repose together. This was one of the last injunctions of Mrs. Rowe. Peaceful and undisturbed be the place of their rest, till "those who are in the grave shall hear the voice of the Son of Man, and live;" whilst the language of heavenly exultation shall reply in joyous accents, "Here am I, O Lord, and the children whom thou hast given me!"

150

LADY ELIZABETH LANGHAM.

"A mind at peace with all below."

THAT variety which pervades the natural, also distinguishes the moral world: some, in their gradual advances towards perfection, are like the towering cedar, which long requires the early and latter rain; whilst others resemble the productions of the tropical climates, which, at the vernal season, watered only by dews and showers, burst at once into full luxuriance.

This was strikingly exemplified in the instance of lady Langham. Naturally amiable and benignant, virtue seemed to cost her but little effort; and, in tracing the various excellencies of her character, we seem to contemplate an ideal being, commissioned for some benevolent purpose, to reside for a time on earth, to alleviate, but not to share, the infirmities of human nature. This distinguished personage was the daughter of the earl and countess of Huntingdon. She appears to have been remarkably