crude and defective; for she still "spake as a child, understood as a child, _reasoned_ as a child," It was during a few days' visit to her aunt Elizabeth, who now resided in the suburbs of York, having married Mr. J. Hawkins of that city shortly after her father's death, that she became so unhappy on account of her sinful and miserable condition, that she could not refrain from much weeping. The thought of entering eternity without a change of heart filled her with alarm. Every looming cloud had a voice which spoke of the judgment to come; every unpropitious event awakened painful forebodings. Her fears, which were the genuine fruits of divine influence, were further aggravated by the popular excitement of the times. France was threatening war with England, and the prevailing apprehensions of the multitude communicated themselves with double force to the heart of the sorrowing child. "What," thought she, "if they should come now, and I should be killed in my sins." Indeed her trouble increased to such a degree that her aunt was grieved, imagining that her mother would think she had been unkindly treated. She therefore resolved to take her home. On the way a number of circumstances occurred which to Mary's childish imagination were pregnant with evil, and prognosticated nothing less than the day of general doom. The city was in a state of unusual commotion, a report had gained ground that the invader was at hand, some foolish person had caused the massive portcullis of the city gate to be let down, several recruiting parties were parading the streets, two of these she met, and the shrill blasts of a few mounted trumpeters, together with a dense and portentous cloud, which just at the moment spread itself upon the horizon, completed her dismay. She reached home in tears. Her mother, whose solicitude was awakened, inquired the cause. She replied, "Mother, I can't tell you, but nothing in this world will make me happy." Suspecting the real state of her feelings, her mother conversed kindly with her, and administered suitable consolation, but in vain. After committing herself to God in earnest prayer, she retired to rest with the conviction, that she was the greatest sinner in the world; but the next morning, which was the holy Sabbath, broke upon her with healing in its wings. She awoke with the words in her mind, "What a blessing to know that my Jesus is mine."