which regenerating grace had implanted in her life, had kindled a flame which warmed and animated the beholder. To some, I am persuaded, her example and conversation were made a blessing. Memory reflects with gratitude, whilst I write, on the profit and consolation which I individually derived from her society. Nor I alone. The last day will, if I err not, disclose further fruits, resulting from the love of God to this little child, and, through her, to others that saw her. And may not hope indulge the prospect, that this simple memorial of her history shall be as one arrow drawn from the quiver of the Almighty to reach the hearts of the young and the thoughtless? Direct its course, O my God! May the eye that reads, and the ear that hears, the record of little Jane, through the power of the Spirit of the Most High, each become the witness for the truth as it is in Jesus!
I remembered the tender solicitude of this dear child for her mother. I well knew what an awful contrast the dispositions and conduct of her parents exhibited, when compared with her own.
I resolved to avail myself of the first opportunity I could seize to speak to the mother in the child’s presence. The woman had latterly avoided me, conscious of deserving, and fearful of receiving reproof. The road by which I usually
approached the house lay, for some little distance, sufficiently in sight of its windows to enable the woman to retire out of the way before I arrived. There was, however, another path, through fields at the back of the village, which, owing to the situation of the ground, allowed of an approach unperceived, till a visitor reached the very cottage itself.
One morning, soon after the sacramental interview related in my last paper, I chose this road for my visit. It was preferable to me on every account. The distance was not quite half a mile from my house. The path was retired. I hereby avoided the noise and interruption which even a village street will sometimes present, to disturb the calmness of interesting meditation.
As I passed through the churchyard, and cast my eye on the memorable epitaph, “Soon,” I thought within me, “will my poor little Jane mingle her mouldering remains with this dust, and sleep with her fathers! Soon will the youthful tongue, which now lisps hosannas to the Son of David, and delights my heart with evidences of early piety and grace, be silent in the earth! Soon shall I be called to commit her ‘body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’ But oh, what a glorious change! Her spirit shall have then returned to God who gave it. Her soul will be joining the halleluiahs of paradise, while we sing her requiem at the grave. And her very dust shall here wait, in sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection from the dead.”
I went through the fields without meeting a single individual. I enjoyed the retirement of my solitary walk. Various surrounding objects contributed to excite useful
meditation connected with the great subjects of time and eternity. Here and there a drooping flower reminded me of the fleeting nature of mortal life. Sometimes a shady spot taught me to look to Him who is a “shadow in the day-time from the heat, and for a place of refuge, and for a covert from storm and from rain.” If a worm crept across my path, I saw an emblem of myself as I am now; and the winged insects, fluttering in the sunbeams, led me comparatively to reflect on what I hoped to be hereafter.
The capacious mansion of a rich neighbour appeared on the right hand as I walked; on my left were the cottages of the poor. The church spire pointing to heaven a little beyond, seemed to say to both the rich and the poor, “Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.” All these objects afforded me useful meditation; and all obtained an increased value as such, because they lay in my road to the house of little Jane.
I was now arrived at the stile nearly adjoining her dwelling. The upper window was open, and I soon distinguished the sound of voices—I was glad to hear that of the mother. I entered the house door unperceived by those above stairs, and sat down below, not wishing as yet to interrupt a conversation which quickly caught my ear.