I said, "Oh, Emma, how good of the Lord to give you those words. He knows how full of fears you are, and how Satan would cast his 'buts' and 'ifs' at you; but the Lord has given you those words to quench Satan's darts with." I told her I believed the Lord was either preparing her for His Church below, or His Church above. She smiled, and said, "I hope it is so." A friend, to whom she was much attached, called to see her, and said, "Emma, should you like me to read to you? I am afraid you are too ill." She said, "Oh, do! I should so much like you to do so." The twenty-third Psalm was read, and a few words of prayer offered; and to a friend, who afterwards went in, she said how very much she enjoyed it. We did indeed feel it good to be with her; but the affliction was of such a painful nature that she could not talk much. The doctor said that all that could be done for her was to keep her very quiet, and give her support, so that we often refrained from conversing with her, hoping very much that it might be the Lord's will to restore her. On Saturday morning our hopes were raised very high. She was quiet in her mind, Satan not being permitted to harass her. Her only fear seemed to be that she was ungrateful. She said, "I have so many friends, and they are all so kind." But we always found her to be truly grateful for every little act of kindness shown to her. Towards evening a change for the worse took place. Convulsions seized her, and, for about twelve hours, it was most painful to witness her struggle with the last enemy--so much so that her dear sister, who was devoted to her, was led to beg of the Lord to release her. About six o'clock on Lord's Day morning her spirit took its flight, to be "for ever with the Lord." Truly, we could say it was her gain, though we felt the loss most keenly. The Lord had been so good in supporting her through her painful affliction, that we felt we could justly say, with the poet-- "Her mind was tranquil and serene; No terror in her look was seen; Her Saviour's smile dispelled the gloom, And smoothed her passage to the tomb." C. WARDLE. PRAYER ANSWERED. A TRUE INCIDENT. On the summit of Washington mountain, overlooking the Housatonic Valley, stood a hut, the home of John Barry, a poor charcoal-burner, whose family consisted of his wife and himself. His occupation brought him in but few dollars, and when cold weather came, he had managed to get together only a small provision for the winter.