“The triflers, too, His eye can see,
    Who only seem to take a part;
  They move the lip, and bend the knee,
    But do not seek Him with the heart,”—­

saying, earnestly, “Oh, I hope I shall not be like those!”

At another time, whilst amusing herself with her toys, she asked, “Mamma, what is it that makes me feel so sorry when I have done wrong? Directly, mamma:  what is it?” On her mother’s explaining that it was the Holy Spirit put into her heart by her heavenly Father, she replied, “But how very whispering it is, mamma!  Nobody else can hear it.”  “Yes, my dear,” said her mother; “and thou mayst sometimes hear it compared to a ’still small voice, and then thou wilt know what is meant.”  She answered, “Yes, mamma,” and then continued to amuse herself as before.

The first remembrance of Eliza retained by one of her younger sisters is that of sitting opposite to her in the nursery-window while she endeavored, in a simple manner, to explain to her the source and object of her being.  To the same sister she afterwards addressed some affectionate lines of infantile poetry urging the same subject, commencing,—­

  “Look, precious child, to Jesus Christ.”

The missionary spirit which filled her young heart was also evinced by her desire to possess a donkey, that she might distribute Bibles in the country places round about; and this was afterwards spoken of as the ambition of her childhood.

Together with the cheerful sweetness of her disposition, there was an unusual pensiveness, a tender care for others, which was most endearing, and often touching to witness.  One day, perceiving her mother much affected on receiving intelligence of the decease of a valued friend and minister at a distance from home, Eliza evinced her sympathy by laying on the table before her some beautiful lines on the death of Howard.  On her mother asking if she thought the cases similar, she said, “Not quite, mamma:  J——­ T——­ was not without friends.”

So earnest was her anxiety for the good of herself and her sisters, that, when any thing wrong had been done, her feelings of distress seemed equally excited, whether for their sakes or her own.  After any little trouble of this sort, her mother often observed her retire alone, and, when she returned to the family-group, a beaming expression on her countenance would show where she had laid her sorrows.  Sometimes in her play-hours she would endeavor to prepare her two younger sisters for the lessons which they would receive from their father, and, when the time came for her to join in giving them regular instruction, she entered into it with zest and interest.

Many hours were spent during the summer in the little plots of ground allotted to herself and sisters out of a small plantation skirting a meadow near the house, and many others in reading under the old elm-trees which cast their shade over the garden-walk.