During the revival in 1846, two of the pupils spent a whole night in prayer for the conversion of their brothers, first one leading in devotion, and then the other, till morning. Like Jacob they felt, "We will not let thee go except thou bless us." While the missionaries admired their pious zeal, it is proper to add, that they generally insisted on the observance of regular hours of sleep, as conducive alike to bodily and spiritual health. Yet one writes on a similar occasion, "Sometimes, in my anxiety, I have gone to their cold closets to persuade them to leave; but the fervor of their prayers has oftener driven me to mine, than it has allowed me to call them from theirs." Twice, and even three times, a day, were not enough for them to retire for communion with God. Many spent hours every day at the mercy seat. There were but few closets, and this was a great trial to them. Often three or four of them might be seen sitting, in tears, waiting their turn to go in to the mercy seat. Would that they might have had some of those closets at home that are never entered! At another time, the Bible of one of the girls was found on one of their wooden stools, open at the fifty-first psalm, and the page blotted with weeping, as she read it preparatory to retiring for prayer. Her teacher could put her finger on no part of those large pages without touching a tear.[1] Still later, when news of the death of Munny, of Ardishai, by the accidental discharge of a gun, reached Miss Fiske in America, her first thought was, "Dear child, I shall never again break off your communion with Jesus;" for she remembered that when once she begged her to leave her closet and get rest for the Sabbath, her reply was, "O, I am so sorry that you spoke to me! I was having such a good time with my dear Saviour." Only a few days before her death, while in the vineyard with her brother, she suddenly clasped her hands, and exclaimed, "Blessed Mr. Stoddard! when shall I see him? and when shall I see my blessed Saviour?" [Footnote 1: See page 138.] A poor woman came to the Seminary one day, weeping for her sins, and seated herself on the floor. The teacher was soon at her side, telling her of Him who was wounded for our transgressions. She prayed with her, and then asked her to pray for herself. "But I can't pray; I don't know your prayers." "Hatoon, don't try to pray like me, or like any body; but just tell God how you feel and what you want." "May I tell God just what is in my heart?" Being assured on that point, she fell on her face, weeping aloud, saying amid sobs, "O God, I am not fit even for an old broom to sweep with," and could say no more. This was doubtless the most worthless thing the poor woman could think of in her humble home. But it was not long ere she could join others in their little meetings for prayer; and she still lives, honoring the Saviour, whom she loves. She is the mother of two of the most useful graduates of the Seminary.