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But then, Jessy, the command was given to the true disciples of Christ. I am sure, when Mr. ----- was fencing the tables to-day, I thought within myself, will any one dare to approach?'

'That is so strange,' replied Jessy, 'for it was just when he was fencing the tables, that I thought he was describing as it were, exactly what the Lord had done for my soul. Do you not remember, Mary, when he spoke of those who were invited to partake of the Lord's Supper, he said, that Christ was all their hope -- that to them he was 'precious' -- that to his death alone they looked, as a propitiation for their sins. They did not suppose that their own repentance, or tears, or mourning, could wash away their sins, but, they believed that his precious blood would wash them away. They therefore had come to him, and continued to come to him, that, through the cleansing virtue of that blood, they might have forgiveness, and have their guilt removed, and the fear of God's displeasure taken away; that they ardently desired to be holy, but knew that they could not make themselves so; and therefore, also, Christ was most precious to them, because of his fullness they must receive grace, and life, and strength. Thus, in every sense, Christ was, to the believing soul, altogether 'precious.' And do you not recollect what Mr. ----- said after that, Mary? 'If any of you that hear me, can say that to you Christ is indeed 'precious,' -- that you trust in him, and him only, for salvation, -- that you rest satisfied in the belief, that his blood cleanseth from all sin, -- and that you have trusted, and are still trusting in its power to wash away your guilt, and to reconcile you to God, -- if the death of Christ is in this way the only hope and support of your souls, -- then you have by faith already partaken of the reality. Come, then, and partake of the symbols appointed by the Lord to confirm your faith, and bring even before your eyes, and into your hands, the memorials of his dying love.' Cannot you say from your inmost heart, Mary, that to you Christ is precious?'

'Yes, Jessy, at least at times I trust I can, -- but you have remembered the last part of what Mr. ----- said. Do you remember how he began?'

'Yes,' replied Jessy; 'but he was then addressing those who thought they were worthy communicants, while their hearts were set on this world -- and who desired to be saved by Christ from hell, but valued him not as a Saviour from sin.' 'Oh!' added Mary, who was of a melancholy and timid disposition, 'it was awful what he said of their state!'

'Yes,' replied Jessy, 'but I am sure, Mary, you desire to be saved from the power of sin.'

'I think I can appeal to the Searcher of hearts that I do,' answered Mary.

'Why, then, apply those alarming passages to yourself, Mary?'

'I fear deceiving myself, Jessy. You know our hearts are deceitful above all things.'

'But you know,' said Jessy, 'we would have to speak to Mr. ----- before we joined, and he would examine us, and assist us, to examine ourselves.'

Mary shook her head, but made no answer, and they then returned into church.

After this, Jessy and Mary had many conversations on the subject of the Lord's Supper; and a few weeks before it was again administered in their church, Jessy had prevailed on her friend to go with her to their minister, and ask to be admitted. He appointed them to come to him for several succeeding times, conversed and prayed with them, and then encouraged them by his assurances, that he trusted they were, indeed lambs of Christ's fold, who ought to join his people in obeying his last command.

After this solemn, but joyful period, Jessy and Mary were more than ever united to each other. Jessy found that Mary's parents were Highlanders, and went regularly to the Gaelic Chapel. Mary, who had come to Edinburgh when a child, to reside with an aunt, did not understand Gaelic, and had chosen to attend the same church with Jessy for the same reason -- her preference of the minister. Mary, who was too delicate to go to service, assisted in maintaining herself by taking in work.

About a year after this period, Jessy took a very severe cold, and finding it scarcely possible to get work done properly in her mother's dark and confused house, she went out too soon to work at the shop. She thus got additional cold, and became so ill, that she was confined to bed, and obliged to send for her kind doctor. He came immediately, and attended regularly till Jessy was again able to go out. He desired her to take great care of herself, and avoid cold. This, however, was not easy. It was now winter, and after the short day closed in, the door of Mrs. Grey's house was constantly open, and Jessy felt the cold air in a way she had never felt it before. While she had been confined and unable to work, her wicked mother had pawned part of her clothes; and this she had done, although Jessy's master, knowing the character of her parents, had regularly sent half the amount of her wages at the end of every week. Mrs. Grey had got this money, but said, 'a sick body always costs more than a well one.' Jessy was much hurt when she discovered this. She was also obliged to go out much less warmly clothed than she ought to have been in her state of health, and soon again began to feel unwell. She, however, struggled against the weakness and languor she felt, and continued to go to work, till she became so ill as to be confined to bed again for some days, after which, as soon as she was able, she returned to her work. In this way she passed the winter, sometimes being obliged to pass days without working at all, at other times obliged to take work in at home. During this period of sickness, her mother became less kind to her every day; and often, when in bad humour, reproached her with being a burden on her; and foretold that she would soon be unable to gain any thing, and then she might just go to the poor house, for she was sure she could not maintain her. Poor Jessy carried all these sorrows to God, and prayed earnestly to be directed what to do. She thought, that if she could by any means procure a little room, where she might keep herself warm, and take care of herself, she might perhaps get stouter, and where, also, she might take in work when unable to go out; and in this way, if she did not become worse, she felt certain she could maintain herself. Jessy thought and prayed over this plan, and then went to consult her steady and kind friend the school-mistress. In doing so, she was obliged to tell more of what she had to endure from the sinful scenes she constantly witnessed at home, than she had ever imparted to any one before. This she did with tears and shame; and when the mistress had heard all, she strongly advised her to leave such a place of wickedness, where she had so long endeavoured in vain to be of use, and to trust the future to that God who had hitherto been so gracious to her. The mistress then offered to assist her in finding a room. Jessy knew that there was a very small one to be got at the top of the stair in which her friend Mary Scott lived, and begged the mistress to look at it, and settle the taking of it for her. She then went with a lighter heart to get some work. This work she took home, as she could not venture to stay at the shop and walk back in the cold evening air.