Delaney thank her great good God for his marvellous kindness to wretched captives, and for the unsearchable riches of his grace. Never was she wearied in hearing her kind instructress recount the sufferings of the incarnate God: tears, the offspring of genuine feeling, chased each other down her altered countenance, as Mrs. Delaney directed her imagination to the garden of Gethsemane, to the judgment-hall, where He, whose throne is heaven, and his footstool earth, was exposed to insult, contumely, and scorn; scourged, buffeted, spit upon; betrayed by one friend, denied by another, and abandoned by all; subjected to a painful, a cruel, and an ignominious death, in the presence of insulting foes: the very spirit clouded by the momentary abandonment of heavenly aid, forcing from the lips of the sufferer the agonizing exclamation: "My God, my God! why hast thou forsaken me?" and all this for the love he bore for those who became his murderers. Thus would Mrs. Delaney, in language suited to the capacity of her pupil, recount the affecting history of our Redeemer, and gradually open her mind (aided by the Spirit of grace constantly implored to direct her) to the grand truths of the gospel. The soul of the dying Imihie imbibed the soothing balm, felt the powerful energy, and gladly received the consolation the religion of Jesus alone has power to give. Her tears, it is true, still flowed for Africa, and for Tumiáh; but they were no longer bitter tears. The heavenly ray which had been communicated to her soul, had not only enlightened it, but stilled its perturbations; and captivity was deprived of its horrors, in the enjoyment of those lively instructions in the way of holiness and peace, so impressively imparted by her truly Christian mistress. Often when administering some relief to her bodily suffering, Mrs. Delaney would ask her how she felt herself. She would say, with a serene smile, "weak, weak; but joy, joy here," laying her hand on her bosom, then pressing that of her compassionate benefactress. No murmur, no complaint, proceeded from her lips; but her mind appeared ever tranquil, and her soul happy. Sometimes, indeed, while caressing Samboe, the tear would swell in her eyes; but she had learned the comprehensive prayer, "Lord, let thy will be done!" and a frequent, affecting repetition of it, while she pressed her boy to her bosom, spoke volumes to the sympathizing Mrs. Delaney.