Old Susan's faith led her to believe that she could see the hand of God in even the most trifling events of life, and that, as He was leading her, and teaching her through these means, she should be ever on the watch, so as not to lose the lessons His providence set in her way. She came to me one day with the utmost gravity, to tell me of a lesson in resignation. This pet dog, through some inadvertence, had eaten a portion prepared for rats; her tender heart was much troubled by the suffering so carelessly inflicted. Just before extinguishing her light at night, she turned to Dinah and--to let her tell her own story, as she told it to me: "Sez I, granny, look yer last on poor Prince, fur you'll never see him alive no more. Then it kinder struck me that I wasn't resigned, so I kneels down, and sez I, 'O dear Lord, he's bin a faithful dog to me. He's watched over my things many a day when I was out a beggin' for daily bread; he's bin very faithful, but I gin him up to de Lord. If de Lord says his time's out, I gin him up. I's resigned.' Next mornin' I opens de winders, an' behold, dere's Prince, jis as well as ever! Sez I, granny, de Lord has gin him back to me. He was jis a tryin' my faith! His will is the best fur us all, ye mus larn dat, granny, dat's the lesson from dis providence." Old Susan still lives, but her faculties seem gradually failing, while life yet retains hold in her weak frame. She is helpless, poor, and old. While earthly matters seem fading out of her memory, her thoughts still cling to things above. In my last tract-distributing visit to her room, I found her holding an open Testament, with the leaf folded down at the fourteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel. She cannot read, but she sat pathetically looking at the text. As I entered, she exclaimed: "Oh, read it, read it, for me!" It seemed as if her faith, so sorely tried by her long waiting, and her earthly sufferings, was for a moment wavering. As I slowly and distinctly read the words, "In my Father's house are many mansions," etc., the glimmering rays rekindled, her faith re-asserted itself. "Yes, yes!" she exclaimed, "I knew it was so, I knew it was written somewhere there; now I remember it. I'll yet have a home in my Father's house." As I looked at the poor, worn-out frame; the weak, helpless hands; the wrinkled face, and the dim eyes, my faith could see through these the glorious spirit that should one day arise and take its upward flight towards the heavenly mansions. POOR SARAH; _Or, Religion Exemplified in the Life and Death of a Pious Indian Woman._ The subject of the following narrative lived and died in a town in the eastern part of Connecticut. We are well acquainted with the writer, and we can assure our readers that the account here given is true.--_Editor of the Religious Intelligencer._ It was a comfortless morning in the month of March, 1814, when I first formed an acquaintance with the subject of the following sketch.