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At the close of this day, Jessy had worked twice as much as she could do at her mother's, and so she continued to do each day during the week, so that, by the end of it, she was able from her earnings, to pay a little of the debt she owed her kind friend. Her health, too, seemed much better. Jessy continued to spend her time in this way for several weeks: at the end of that time she had paid all her debt, and found that she could support herself quite comfortably. Her health, however, as spring advanced, did not improve so much as she expected. Though never so ill as to be prevented working, yet she never felt thoroughly well: and the thought now often came across her mind, that perhaps she had not long to live. One day that Mary and she were sitting at work together, Jessy turned up the following text, and read it, -- 'We are willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord,' -- and then said, 'Mary, can you ever say that you feel that willingness mentioned here?'

'Sometimes I think I could almost say it,' replied Mary. 'After I have spent a Sabbath in the Lord's house, and in seeking him in prayer, and in thinking of the holiness and beauty of his character, I have felt at night, -- O that I was where the Sabbath never ends! where I might continually, and without interruption from sin, and ignorance, and darkness, learn more of the glorious character of that Saviour, whom, knowing so little as I do, I yet love so far above what I have words to express. At such moments, I have longed to depart and be with Christ but you know, Jessy, I am often very ill and many a time I have thought myself dying, and then I have so many fears, that I shrink back and pray not to taken yet.'

'And what is it you most fear at such times?' asked Jessy.

'Oh! many -- many things!' replied Mary. 'My sins then seem to have been so great, -- so many duties neglected, -- the Bible so carelessly read, prayer often hurried over, just as a task to keep my conscience at rest, -- God forgotten, and other thoughts taking up my mind. Oh! Jessy, when death seems really near, you will wonder how different every thing appears.'

'I have sometimes felt as if it was not very distant of late,' said Jessy.

'And could you think of it without fear?' asked Mary.

'No, I cannot just say that; yet it was a strange kind of fear too. If I could have thought all was safe, Oh! how willingly should I have departed! But the very thought -- this may be death! has something hurrying and confusing in it. It is the cry in the soul, -- "The Bridegroom is coming:" and it does indeed awaken it in a wonderful manner.

'Yes,' replied Mary; 'and then, where is the oil to trim the lamp? Mine never seems at hand.'

'And what do you think is that oil, Mary?' asked Jessy.

'You know, Jessy, our minister said on that parable, that the ten virgins represented professors of religion, and the coming of the Bridegroom meant the approach of death. That the difference between true Christians and mere professors, was proved by the manner in which they were prepared to meet this last enemy. True Christians might indeed be at first startled by his approach, but still they had that knowledge and faith which would enable them, in humble confidence, to go forth and meet their Lord; but mere professors would then feel that they still had that to seek which alone would make them ready to meet death. Now this alarmed me, because, when death does not appear to be near, then I think I could meet it; but when the cry, -- that the bridegroom is coming, seems really at hand, then I am all in confusion, and can only implore him to delay his coming.'

'You always remember the alarming part of a sermon, Mary,' said Jessy, 'and I always remember what is comforting. Have you forgotten what Mr. ----- said that light was, which could alone enable us to meet the Lord?'

Not very well,' answered Mary.

'He said, ' continued Jessy, 'that our last meeting on earth with our Almighty Redeemer, would be in the 'valley of the shadow of death;' but that true Christians knew what it was to meet with him, -- they so knew it as to seek constantly for his presence as their chiefest joy. They had by faith, time after time, come to him, and laid their sins on him, and for his precious blood's sake received remission and forgiveness. Thus they had often, often met with him as their Saviour. They had met him in affliction as their refiner, -- they had known him as their intercessor, -- as their deliverer from the power of sin, -- as their Advocate with the Father. In their last earthly meeting with him, he taught them to regard him in a new character. As their trials would then be severest, this character was the one of all others whose love is most tender, and anxious, and watchful, and which is only borne immediately previous to an everlasting union. It is only the light of the faith and knowledge of Christ, that can enable any poor soul to enter without fear into the valley of the shadow of death.'