"Speaking to one of his sisters, he said, 'I hope that you pray to the Lord to be your Saviour, and that you read your Bible. Once I did not like reading it, and when father made me come in to read, it almost made me cry, but now it is the best treasure I have on earth.'
"I asked him if he had anything to tell Mr. Daw, 'Yes,' he replied, 'the first Sunday after uncle was buried, June 24th, 1888, when he was preaching from this, "I know that my Redeemer liveth," I felt blessed then, and the tears ran down my face, but the feeling was soon gone.'
"The hymn commencing—
"Awake, ye saints, and sweetly sing
The ascended Saviour's love,
was very much blessed to him, and he asked for it to be sung when he was once suffering much for want of breath; then he said, 'I feel as though I could jump into the arms of Jesus.'
"About half-an-hour before he died he cried out, 'Oh, what a mighty Saviour! I shall soon be before the throne, and sing the praises of the Lamb. Don't sorrow.' I said, 'Not for you,' and he replied, 'No.'
"One remarking how ill he seemed, he said, 'I hope I shall soon be better.' 'When you get to heaven,' I whispered, and he said, 'Yes.'
"At another time a remark was made about his pillow being hard. He said, 'It will be soft in heaven.'
"The last audible words from his lips were, 'Rest, father!' and so he died on the 22nd day of August, 1888, aged sixteen years."
Here the father's narrative ends, and truly we can hope that he went right to heaven, and that for him to die was gain. Brother and sister now lie side by side in the pleasant burial-ground at Bodle Street, awaiting the resurrection morning. Can we not, to close these few lines, also say the last verse of the hymn of which we have given the first—