ELIZABETH N. was a remarkably quick child. She could read the New Testament when only four years old, and was exceedingly fond of listening to stories, in which she took a most intelligent interest. When six years of age she was attacked with measles, and during her illness showed a great fear of death. But it was not His will, who death all things well, to take the child unto Himself until she was fully prepared to go, so the sweet floweret was left to bloom a little longer, and gladden the hearts of many dear relatives and friends.
After this illness she was taken to Scarborough, and enjoyed all the beauties of the place with childish ardor. She was passionately fond of reading, so much so, in fact, that it was found necessary to limit her to a certain portion of time for that loved employment each day, and it often cost her a severe struggle to obey when told to lay aside her book. The little child grew in obedience, and showed, for example, by writing little notes to beg the forgiveness of any whom she had offended, that her conscience was tender.
An impatient spirit, however, often brought little Lizzie into trouble. It is true she strove against it, but it frequently gained the mastery. When remonstrated with, she would cry and say she could not help it— she tried to be good, but could not; and after receiving a kiss of forgiveness she would ask to be prayed for, knowing well that no human help would avail her anything, for it is Christ alone who can give us power to overcome; He is the strength of His people, and as much so of little children as of grown-up persons.
God spoke to this child again and again with His still, small voice. She said nothing about it to her parents at the time, but would go in silence alone to her room and weep. On one occasion her sister, who had heard a devoted clergyman preach, told Lizzie the text—"Go thy way for this time; when I have a convenient season, I will call for thee" (Acts 24:2525And as he reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come, Felix trembled, and answered, Go thy way for this time; when I have a convenient season, I will call for thee. (Acts 24:25))—when Lizzie exclaimed, "Oh! I wish I had been there; it would have just suited my present state of mind; I shouldn't wonder I should have been converted if I had!”
Yet, though Lizzie was not assured of her salvation, she loved to do good. Frequently she gave the village children small books and tracts, and during the last winter of her life spent part of her evenings helping a young woman to write.
When the dear child was about twelve years old she was laid on a bed of such suffering as she had never known before, and the doctors could not cure her.
One evening when she was sitting up, supported by her sister, she begged her to pray for her. In the prayer which was offered up the request was made that Lizzie might know she was one of the lambs of the flock. "I should like to be one of His lambs," she said, with emotion. Her sister explained that "through faith in His name," and not by our own works or feelings, we know we are His.
“But," said Lizzie, "but I can't believe." Poor child I Dangerously ill, and yet she could not believe! Dear young reader, if you have not already done so, oh, seek the Lord now while He may be found, lest that should be one day your pitiable case.
He who carries the lambs in His bosom was watching over the little invalid. Some time after, as her sister bent over her, she exclaimed, "I feel such a wretched sinner—will you pray for me? Will you ask papa to pray for me?" She was again directed to "the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the world," in whom alone is rest for the weary heart, whether of little child or old person.
Upon her father coming in, and asking if she were afraid she was going to die, she replied, "I want to be good—I want to be a good girl.”
When she was again left alone with her sister she exclaimed, "Oh! I cannot sleep whilst I am in such distress of mind." She was again told of the Lord Jesus, the Redeemer, who died for sinners, and of His readiness to forgive. Many texts were repeated for her comfort and encouragement, and then her sister said, “Did you believe papa would pray when you asked him?”
“Yes," was Lizzie's immediate reply.
"Well, now, papa had not promised, but the Saviour has promised if you come to Him He will not cast you out, and He never breaks His promises; He loves you much more than papa or any of us can love you."
She then asked her sister to pray that she might have a good night's rest, after which she seemed more composed. As her sister was preparing for rest, Lizzie, who was sitting up in bed, asked her to read the Bible to her. A small book of evening portions which lay on the table was taken up, and a passage which was thought suitable selected.
“Is that the Bible?" asked Lizzie, quickly. “Read to me about there being joy in heaven over a sinner repenting." The fifteenth of St. Luke was read, and at its close a remark or two made, and the question asked, “Are you not happy?”
"Yes," was the unhesitating reply.
"Do you believe God has pardoned your sins?” "Yes."
“When did you know they were forgiven?"
“Whilst I have been sitting here. I am so happy." Adding, “What must I do when Satan tempts me?"
She was encouraged to look constantly to Jesus, reminded of some precious promises, and her sister then asked if she should again pray and thank God for what He had done for her.
“Oh, yes, do; and ask Him not to let Satan tempt me."
As her sister prayed, she raised her hands and clapped them together—an expression of joy which sent a thrill through the heart of her anxious attendant, which will never be forgotten, as the little invalid had suffered so much pain in her arms as to have been unable during the last two or three days to use them, even to perform the slightest offices for herself. After the prayer, she again said, “I am so happy."
During the night Lizzie was kept awake by much suffering, and on one occasion asked, "What must I do? How can I bear it?
Again she asked her sister to pray for her, and afterwards remarked, “I’ve been thinking of the sufferings of Jesus, and it makes me patient”; and, again, in a little while, “I’ve been so happy in the night—I could have shouted out for joy if I had had strength."
Several times during the next day she exclaimed how happy she was, and in the evening, as her sister sat by the bedside reading and repeating hymns to her, she said, "I don't feel afraid to die now," and she named a relative who had died a few months before as one whom she would meet in heaven. She begged her sisters to forgive all she had done wrong. The dear child suffered exceedingly at times, and during the severe pain she would always request someone to pray with her. One night, after this request had been complied with, she said to her sister, " God has answered your prayer: He has taken away all my pain."
“Has He dear? Then you are thankful?”
“Yes; I have cause to be thankful," she replied. “Will you thank Him for me?”
She then asked her sister to talk to her of Jesus, and was told of the little girl, twelve years old, whom the Saviour raised up from her death-bed, and of the father who, when supplicating on behalf of his son, cried out, with tears, " Lord, I believe : help Thou mine unbelief."
She was very fond of hearing this hymn repeated—
"My God, I am Thine! What a comfort divine,
What a blessing to know that my Jesus is mine!”
“One day, after family prayers in her room, she said, " Papa, if it be God's will I should die to-day, I am quite ready." Another time she said, “I just feel as if Jesus were talking to me!”
In the long weeks of illness which ensued Lizzie had not always, however, this sweet realization: her weakness caused her at times to be rather irritable. But, then, she was always very sorry, and begged earnestly for forgiveness. At other times she would display much patience, and be very thankful for everything that was done for her.
Some of her last words were, "I am very happy, and am going to heaven. I have three little sisters there.”
To her father, who said, "Trust in Christ," she replied, “I cannot trust Him more than I do."
H. & E. C. K.