must condemn; they should be fostered with solicitous care.  The tender plant requires gentle culture; touch it not too rudely lest you check its development; watch it carefully; support its weak and fragile stem; tenderly remove what is injurious; and give it plenty of scope, that it may put forth its young fresh leaves; and it will bloom by and by with all the richer fragrance and beauty.  “Forbid them not,” cries the Saviour.  Let them come with their first fruits, and lay the offering of their childhood unsullied by unholy communion with the world at the Master’s feet.  Let them come with their cherry lips, and sparkling eyes, and loving hearts.  Let them come before age has curdled their blood, and the pleasures of life have blunted the keenness of their susceptibilities.  Let them come, let them come.  The Saviour welcomes their approach.  The fragrance of the sacrifice they bring is precious in his sight, and while he folds the little ones in his arms, he lifts his eyes to heaven, and “rejoicing in spirit, says, I thank thee O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes, even so Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight.”

Providentially Mary Burdsall was under judicious direction, and retained her religious purpose although she lost the sweetness of her enjoyment.  Her experience assumed that unsettled phase which often characterises the earlier stages of youthful piety.  Now miserable from a consciousness of having grieved the Spirit of God, and again hopeful, confident, and happy.  Sometimes she was driven even to despair, and admitted the thought that the day of grace was past for ever.  One day while in this state of feeling she overheard her father conversing with a friend on the awful case of Francis Spira,[Footnote:  “Francis Spira an advocate of Padua, Ann. 1545, that being desperate, by no counsell of learned men could be comforted; he felt, as he said, the pains of hell in his soule, in all other things he discoursed aright; but in this most mad.  Frismelica, Bullovat, and some other excellent physicians, could neither make him eat, drink or sleep; no persuasion could ease him.  Never pleaded any man so well for himself, as this man did against himself; and so he desperately died.  Springer, a lawyer, hath written his life.”—­Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholie.] her mind was filled with great horror, and she was constrained to seek refuge in prayer.  While she was pleading with God the words were applied, “Turn ye at my reproof,” and the snare was broken.  During this period of mental conflict she steadfastly maintained her connexion with the church; and thus escaped that total loss of spiritual feeling, into which many, in similar circumstances, plunge themselves by withdrawing from the circle of religious influence.  Her exceeding volatility of temper, which was the cause of her instability, often occasioned her bitter reflections; and as it