Mrs. Savage was the eldest sister of Matthew Henry.  When she was a child she had a great many advantages for the improvement of her mind.  When only seven years of age, she could translate the Hebrew language, and when ten years old, she would write out her father’s sermons.  She possessed a very amiable disposition, and was very kind and benevolent to all who needed the comforts of life.  She was a Christian, and when she became a mother she began the work of educating her children herself.  She had a large family of nine children, and as she had treasured up in her memory many hymns and verses which she had learned when a child, she was able to teach the same to her children.  She was so kind and affectionate that every body loved her.  Her children took much pleasure in hearing their mother repeat to them the hymns and texts of Scripture which she had learned.

Some children are very careless, and indifferent to their parents’ advice; such ones will regret it in their riper years.  But Mrs. Savage’s little boys and girls loved their mother, and were very obedient to her commands.  When evening came, before they retired to bed she would call her little children around her (as you see in the picture,) and they would kneel down and say their evening prayer.  A pleasant sight, indeed, to see our dear children remembering their Creator in the days of their youth.  Mrs. S. was “useful, beloved, meek, humble, and charitable.”  She lived a happy, cheerful life; she was an ornament to her Christian profession, a “good mother.”  She died suddenly at the good old age of eighty-eight.

MOTHER’S LAST LESSON.

“Will you please teach me my verse, mamma, and then kiss me and bid me good night,” said little Roger, as he opened the door and peeped into the chamber of his sick mother.  “I am very sleepy, but no one has heard me say my prayers.”  Mrs. L. was very ill, and her friends believed her to be dying.  She sat propped up with pillows and struggling for breath, her eyes were growing dim, and her strength was failing very fast.  She was a widow, and little Roger was her only darling child.  He had been in the habit of coming into her room every night, and sitting in her lap, or kneeling by her side, while she repeated some Scripture passages to him or related a story of wise and good people.  She always loved to hear Roger’s verse and prayer.

“Hush! hush!” said the lady who was watching beside the couch.  “Your dear mamma is too ill to hear you to night.”  And as she said this, she came forward and laid her hand gently upon his arm as if she would lead him from the room.  “I cannot go to bed to night,” said the little boy, “without saying my prayers—­I cannot.”

Roger’s dying mother heard his voice, and his sobs, and although she had been nearly insensible to everything around her, yet she requested the attendant lady to bring the boy and lay him near her side.  Her request was granted, and the child’s rosy cheek nestled in the bosom of his dying mother.