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'O! I remember now,' said Mary.

'It is want of faith,' said Jessy, 'that makes us shrink back.'

'And consciousness of sin,' added Mary.

'But shall we ever be without that consciousness?' asked Jessy. 'Is there not a something wrong -- a little trusting to our own works for acceptance with God in this, Mary? And does not St Paul say, that "by the deeds of the law no flesh shall be justified in his sight?"

'Yes,' replied Mary, 'but he also says, that "without holiness no man shall see the Lord."'

'You know, Mary, Mr. ----- said, that holiness without which no man could see the Lord, was not a holiness that was to acquit us at the tribunal of God, but a holiness which made us meet to enjoy the presence of God.'

'He did say so, I remember,' answered Mary.

'But, Mary, are we not confusing these two kinds of holiness? We both feel that the thought of heaven is delightful to us. On earth the Sabbath is our day of happiness. We would wish every day to be a Sabbath. May we not hope that this, in some measure, is a beginning of that love of spiritual things, which will make heaven a place of delight and joy to us? But when we think of appearing before God in this poor holiness, all the sins that still cleave to us come into our thoughts, and we feel so defiled, that no wonder we tremble. If we trusted wholly in that righteousness, in which there is no spot, to justify us before God, as we suppose we do, then instead of trembling at the thought of our continual shortcomings, we would rejoice that we were going where sin would for ever leave us.'

'Sometimes I think I see clearly that it ought to be so,' replied Mary; 'but then again, I meet with some passage in scripture, or I hear something said, which turns my thoughts to what is less comforting.'

'Turns your thoughts from trusting in Christ!' said Jessy; 'and as "there is none other name under heaven, given among men, whereby we must be saved," so, when we lose our confidence in him, we feel that we are without hope.'

Jessy and Mary often talked thus together, and helped each other in their course. As the summer passed away, Jessy did not feel that her strength returned, and, in the autumn, she began to suffer frequently from a pain in her side, and oppression on her breathing. These gradually increased as the weather became colder; and at last she found that she could not go out, without making herself so ill as to oblige her to sit up half the night, and this prevented her being able to work part of the next day. Jessy's friends brought her work when she could no longer go out, and for a time she continued to support herself. Before the winter was over, however, she became so weak that she could not sit up above half the day. On first being obliged to confine herself to the house, Jessy had sent for her kind doctor. He attended her regularly, but except perhaps, for a day on first using them, his prescriptions failed in producing any effect. He did not seem to understand her complaints perfectly, and brought some of his medical friends to visit her. None of their prescriptions, however, were more successful; and the breathlessness, which was the most distressing of Jessy's complaints, increased so rapidly, that she was soon forced to give up every attempt to work, and spent great part of her days and nights sitting up, supported by pillows in bed.

It was at this period, when every means of earthly support seemed cut off, that Jessy's kind friend the school-mistress applied to one of those ladies who still took charge of the school at which she had first received her religious impressions. This lady was deeply interested in poor Jessy, after having heard her short history since she left the school, and immediately went to visit her. With some difficulty she found the close in which she lived, and after climbing up a very long stair, inhabited apparently by many families, and which in some parts was very filthy, and after being half frightened by the noise and confusion which she heard as she passed some of the many doors, she at last reached poor Jessy's little room. Here all seemed peace. The room was very light, as clean as possible, and in the most perfect order. In one corner was a little low bed, on which Jessy lay, or rather sat, her head resting on the pillows which supported her. The door, on the lady's knocking, had been softly opened by a pale gentle-looking girl, who, after having placed a chair, and closed the Bible which she had been reading to Jessy, and which she had left on the bed, took her work, and modestly left the room.

'Do you remember me, Jessy?' asked the lady, sitting down by Jessy, and holding out her hand to her.

'O! yes, ma'am, I have good cause to remember you,' replied Jessy, taking the lady's hand, and clasping it in both of hers. The exertion of saying these few words, increased the rapidity of Jessy's breathing so much, that she seemed ready to faint. The lady looked it her in alarm, but Jessy smiled, and after recovering a little, said, 'That blessed school!' She could say no more.