Whenever she witnessed a funeral procession, instead of lingering over the pageant before her, her thoughts would follow the individual into the invisible world.  Was the person prepared for death?  Had the soul gone to God? were questions which she pondered with the deepest interest.

A short time previous to her death, she was permitted at her urgent and oft repeated request, to witness the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.  Her mother was much affected to see the interest which the dear child manifested on the occasion, and also the readiness with which she entered into the meaning and design of the sacred ordinance.

The entire sixth year of Mary Jane was a period of unusual confinement.  Several members of the family were sick during that time; her mother more than once; and she was often confined for whole days to the nursery amusing the younger children and attending to their wants.  Hence, when a visit to the ‘water-side’ was talked of, the proposal was hailed with joy.  The prospect of escaping from her confinement, of being permitted to go freely into the fresh air, to see the ocean, and gather shells and pebbles upon its beach, was hailed with joyous emotion.  Yet all these delightful anticipations were destined to disappointment.  The family did indeed go to the ‘water-side’; but they had scarcely reached the place when their second daughter was taken alarmingly ill.  When the dear child was told that she must return home with her little brother, not a murmur escaped her lips.  Not that she cared nothing for the ocean, or the treasures upon its beach; but she had learned the great lesson of self-denial, although so young.  A moment before, and she was exulting in prospect of the joyous rambles in which she should participate, amidst the groups of sportive children collected at the watering place.  But when the carriage was brought to the door, and her little bonnet was being tied on, not even, ‘I am sorry’ was uttered by her, although her whole frame trembled with emotion.  With a hurried, though cheerful, ‘good bye, mother,’ she leaped into the coach and was gone.

The two children were brought home to me; and as day after day passed and no favorable intimation reached us respecting the sick child, I had ample opportunity to see how she resorted to her old refuge, prayer.  Often would the dear child return to me with the clear light shining in her countenance, after a short season of retirement for prayer.  I feel my heart grow warm, now, after the lapse of a quarter of a century nearly, as I recall that look, and that winning request, ’Aunty, may I stay with you? the children plague me.’  Her two little playmates were boys; and they could not understand why she refused to unite in their boisterous sports.  She could buckle on their belts, fix on their riding caps, and aid them in mounting their wooden horses; but why she would not race up and down with them upon a cane, they could not comprehend.  She was patient and