Elizabeth Lindup.

ELIZABETH LINDUP, the subject of the following narrative, was born February 17th, 1841.

Whilst she was a little child she was remarkably thoughtful, and liked to listen to serious conversation, and to sit on a little stool by her mother, when she read the Bible. Sometimes she would creep up quite close to her, and kiss her hand, and ask a great many questions about Joseph, and David, and Jesus Christ. She was, however, very cheerful, and loved a game of play as much as other little ones around her, and often, in the fine weather, she went out in the fields to gather wild flowers, or wandered by the shore to collect the weed and the curious shells she found there. But though Elizabeth had a better character than most little girls of her age, still she was hasty, and her parents were sometimes obliged to correct her. When she was punished, she soon owned her fault, and was never happy till she had prayed to God to forgive her. Often would she keep awake when she had done wrong, because it caused her so much sorrow. She was fond of going to the house of God and of being with good people, but her chief delight was in the Sunday School. If she could not attend, she learnt double lessons ready to repeat the next time, and was never absent when it could be helped. Her teacher says it was a real pleasure to instruct her-she was so sweet-tempered and diligent. Her hymns and scripture lessons were always repeated perfectly, and with seriousness; she generally stayed to the teachers' prayer-meeting, and

never appeared weary. she used to go quietly home, and tell her mother what she had been doing, and tried to remember what her teacher had said. Her books were put carefully away, and not left about to be soiled and mislaid. She had some nice stories of pious children, which she liked to hear her mother read, and sometimes she read them herself to her brother, of whom she was very fond. On one occasion, the teacher had been asking the little girls in the class if they were prepared to die. In the evening Elizabeth was very silent, and now and then she wept. Her mother asked why she was in tears, and after awhile she said, O, mother, I wish my heart was changed." At another time she said she had left off a form of prayer, and liked better to pray from her heart. When she was asked what she prayed for, she replied, "I pray to God to take away my heart of stone and to give me a heart of flesh. I pray, too, that I may love Him, and be obedient to my parents."

After the school was over,

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About eight or nine months before her death, her teacher hoped that a work of grace was beginning in her heart, and urged her and others to yield to the Spirit of God, and not to oppose his blessed influences on their souls. Elizabeth was much affected, and found it impossible to conceal her feelings, though she was too timid to speak much when questions were put to her. Another Sunday, when the subject of redemption was explained, and she was asked if she had any righteousness of her own, she replied, "No teacher." " Well, then," continued

the teacher, "what would you do if you were called to appear before God?" Elizabeth said, "When we come to Jesus, and he pardons our sins, he covers us over with his own righteousness, so that God cannot see one sin in us." This, no doubt, was her own happy case, and she is now with that glorious company "who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."

A short time after this, she heard the account of a young person living in the neighbourhood who had been removed by death. Elizabeth could not forget it, and at night, when she was in bed, the little girl who slept with her thought she was crying, and asked her the reason. She said, "Oh, I was thinking what a solemn thing it must be to appear before God." About the same time, when amusing herself with her schoolfellows, she heard one of them say, "How I long for Christmas to come-we shall have a fine treat then!" 66 Ah," said Elizabeth, “we cannot tell but we may be in another world before that time." A friend, who overheard this remark, observed, when repeating it the day before she died, "Little did I think, dear little creature, she would be the first to go." Her parents were looking forward with pleasure to the prospect of her growing up to be a useful member of society and a comfort to them, but her heavenly Father was preparing her for a better home.

On the 6th of December, 1850, her only brother was attacked with scarlet fever, and being much attached to him, Elizabeth prayed very often to God to spare him, and she tried to interest and cheer him

by reading "Janeway's Token," a book which gives some remarkable accounts of early piety. What she read affected her so much, that she could not help saying, "How pleasant it must be to die so happily!" In the course of a few days, Elizabeth and a younger sister were seized with the same disorder, and though it was thought at first that she would recover, in the course of the week there was little if any hope. From the beginning of her illness she thought she should die, and asked her mother to pray for her and not to grieve over her loss. She seemed to think more of her mother's distress than her own sufferings. At one time, she asked for her Testament that she might read, saying, “I will try not to make you unhappy by my complaints." She told her brother she was going to Jesus. At intervals she was insensible, but when she recovered, her mind was in "perfect peace." She knew that her sins were forgiven, and that Jesus loved her, and would save her. Death had indeed lost its power to terrify, and she would say, "To die is gain!" She told her mother she should be ready to welcome her to heaven, and looking earnestly at her father, she added, “Come, father, come, too." Afterwards she sent messages to her teacher and schoolfellows, and then, collecting her thoughts, she said, "Lord, sanctify my heart, it is redeemed—my soul is redeemed with the precious blood of Jesus." Presently she repeated the following hymn:

"O Lord, I am a little child,

That fain to thee would pray;
But am so prone to folly wild,
I know not what to say.

"Lord, teach my light and trifling tongue
To render thanks to Thee,

And mould my sinful heart, while young,
In deep humility."

She then sang, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow." This was her last effort of the kind. A few hours before her death her mother said, "Do you know me?" She answered, "Yes-you are my dear, dear mother." Her attention was directed to Jesus, as able and willing to do more for her than the best earthly friend. She assented, and then, with a sweet smile, lifted up her little hand, and said

"Happy, happy land, far, far away!"

These were her last words, and that evening, without a struggle or a sigh, she slept in Jesus. Thus died this interesting child, December 18th, 1850, aged 9 years and 10 months. Her name will long be remembered in the village where she lived. Many tears were shed upon her grave, and her bright and simple-hearted piety has been the blessed means of leading others to Jesus. E. R.