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It was said to her, "You have always led a good holy life, Sarah." "O," she replied, "no praise to me; give all the praise and glory to God, for it is he who hath upheld me: without him I can do nothing." At this time her pains were very great: Ann said to her, "Dear sister, are you happy?" She answered, "O yes, quite happy, and I hope I shall soon be happier still; but I am afraid my time is longer than you think. O Lord, incline thine ear unto me, and let my cry come unto thee: O! hasten, dear Lord, thy chariot wheels!"

After this, though she lived for some hours, she was unable to speak much; still her mind remained clear, and her coun-tenance testified she was happy. On the 28th of August, 1839, her mortal struggle was over, and the poor afflicted way-worn pilgrim became an angel of light. What a glorious change!*

Sarah left several directions respecting her funeral, one of which evidenced at once the kindness of her heart, and her solicitude that her friends should be preserved from tempta tion. It is, alas! too much the practice with the attendants at funerals to resort to some neighbouring public-house immediately after the performance of the most solemn and affecting of the services of the Church. In this practice, even when the limits of temperance are not over-stepped, there is something extremely revolting; but intemperance, it is to be apprehended, is frequently the result of these unseemly meetings. Sarah requested that her bearers, &c., would not meet at a public-house after her funeral, but would partake of refreshment-tea, and its accompaniments-at her mother's dwelling her request was complied with.

She had expressed a wish that a funeral sermon should be preached, to the end that, as her trials were well known in the village and its neighbourhood, so the divine consolations she had experienced might be known also. She was anxious

* It may not be uninteresting to the reader to be informed what were the portions of Scripture from which Sarah Berry derived the greatest comfort in her illness. Her favorite chapters were Isaiah V." Now will I sing to my beloved a song of my beloved, touching his vineyard," &c.; and chap. lv." Ho, every one that thirsteth come ye to the waters," &c.; also, St. John's Gospel, chap. xiv.—“ Let not your heart be troubled," &c; and chap. xvii.. "These words spake Jesus, and lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, Father, the hour is come," &c. She had also great delight in Psalm xlvi." God is our refuge and strength," &c.; and in Psalm cxix. 50-75; Psalm cxxvi. 6; Psalm xviii. 1-7; 1 Sam. xvi. 7; Job v. 17, 18, and xix. 25, 26; Matt. xi. 28, 29, 30" Come unto me all ye that labour," &c.; Rom. viii, 21-26.

her neighbours might understand, and feel that the humble confiding Christian can actually rejoice in tribulation, knowing, as the Apostle writes, that in such persons, "tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience hope"-hope full of immortality. In accordance with her wish, an impressive discourse was delivered by the worthy minister of the parish, on the Sunday succeeding that of her interment, from Psalm cxix. 71-"It is good for me tha I have been afflicted," a text selected by poor Sarah herself. The church, always well attended on the Sunday afternoon, was, on this interesting occasion quite crowded, many individuals coming from surrounding parishes to hear the funeral sermon. If, among the congregation, there were a few who were actuated by curiosity-by a desire "to hear some new thing," there were many, it is to be hoped, who attended with a sincere wish to profit by the discourse, and who were edified.

May those, into whose hands this simple memoir falls, be encouraged, under all the changes and chances of this transitory scene, to put their entire trust in God's promises declared to mankind in Christ Jesus. If any be prosperous in the world, blessed with health and competence, and other temporal advantages, let them give all the glory to the bounteous dispenser of all good things, let them humbly confess they are unworthy the least of all his mercies; if any be children of affliction and sorrow, let them not waste their precious moments in useless repining; but let them earnestly pray to be strengthened from above-let them steadfastly look to that dear Saviour, that affectionate elder brother, who laid down his life for their sakes, who tenderly invites all who labour and are heavy laden to come unto him, and assures them he will give them rest.

The short history contained in these pages shews that "the Lord is indeed a very present help in trouble," "that he never faileth them that seek him." The Lord is always at hand to sustain his faithful servants, whatever be their station or circumstances in life. In prosperity he guards them against the world's snares, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life." He enables them to be just stewards of his manifold gifts. In adversity, however severe, in sickness, yea, even in the bitterest pangs of death, his voice still sweetly whispers to his saints-"It is I, be not afraid." P.S.-Sarah was buried on the Sunday following her death,

on the north side of the village church; and close to her are deposited the remains of her unfortunate brother-in-law.

To mark the spot where the mortal part of this child of God reposes, as well as to preserve the memory of her Christian course on earth, it is intended to erect a plain stone, with the following inscription, written by a dear friend of the compiler of the foregoing memoir; one who has himself been sorely tried; but whose faith, blessed be God, has never, in all his bereavements, failed him:

IN MEMORY OF

SARAH BERRY,

WHO DIED AUGUST 28TH, 1839, AGED 27 YEARS.
Her last and lingering illness

Was alike painful to the Flesh, and profitable to the Spirit;
Christ was all her Hope, all her Salvation, all her Desire;
Looking unto Him, she patiently bore the Cross;
Dwelling with Him, she eternally wears the Crown.
READER !

Hast thou cried to Jesus-
"Lord save, I perish?"

EMBER-WEEK.-A VILLAGE DIALOGUE.

(For the Village Churchman.)

It was a fine Sunday morning, about the middle of September. Autumn had begun to vary the colours of the woods: the lively green was disappearing; the leaves were beginning to fade; and the mind was led naturally to look forward a few weeks, and consider that they would soon be withered and scattered on the ground and decayed. The little village of Oakby lay almost hidden among the woods which abounded in the lordship. The clergyman, who was rector, was a man of primitive simplicity and fervent piety. He was an aged person: he had passed the usual space of life allotted to mankind, three-score years and ten, and was advancing to fourscore years. He had been rector for fifty years, and though his former vigour was greatly impaired, yet he still retained great energy of mind. It will be readily supposed, that a diligent attention to the spiritual wants of the people of Oakby for so long a time, had caused this good rector, Dr. Plaintext, to be greatly beloved. And such was really the case: hence all his admonitions, all his reproofs, all his instructions, were

much thought of.

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His admonitions were received with respect; for the people said "they were sure Master Doctor Plaintext preached to himself too.' When he reproved them, they were sure he meant well, for he wouldn't say nothing to grieve nobody." And when he instructed them, "they felt that they ought to be much obliged to the Reverend, for he was a far larned man."

On the Sunday above-mentioned, Dr. Plaintext took advantage of the season of the year, and made a forcible appeal to the consciences of his flock, from the words of the prophet, "We all do fade as a leaf." This comparison drawn between the frail state of man and the decay of the foliage, which every where met the eye in the natural world, was very striking. As one duty which followed from this state of mankind, the rector exhorted all present to a daily preparation for death; and he proceeded to shew the importance of a learned and pious clergy as the great means, under God's blessing, for rousing people from the sleep of sin. Thence he shewed how solemn a thing it was to be made a minister; and what a great duty it was for all to pray in the Emberweeks for those who are then about to be ordained: that the Bishops may lay hands suddenly on no man, but faithfully and wisely make choice of fit persons to serve in the sacred ministry of the Church."

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Now, it happened that the parish-clerk of Oakby, Mr. Daniel, was an old man, nearly as old as the rector; and he looked always so venerable on a Sunday: his shoes were a beautiful black, and were fastened with a pair of old silver shoe-buckles; you could not see a spot on his neat old suit of black; and his grey stockings were always remarkably clean and well darned, and his long white locks hung over his coat collar behind. He was a sharp, clever old man; indeed, he was thought quite a sort of oracle in the village about any thing connected with the Church; and as he was a truly sincere disciple of Christ, he was free from all that illhumour which too often accompanies a little learning. Indeed, he took a pleasure in doing any body a good turn; and was particularly glad to help any of the young people to understand their Prayer Books. On the Sunday night after Dr. Plaintext preached this sermon about the Ember-weeks, Bill Spence (he was Farmer Thomas's head lad) went to old Mr. Daniel's cottage just after tea-time; for he thought he would ask him what this Ember-week meant; it puzzled him uncommon, and he fancied the rector must have meant they

were to pray for some people that were sick. He understood so far, that they were to pray for somebody; but he couldn't make it out who it was, and so he thought it might be somebody that was badly; but Master Daniel, he was sure, would tell him, and then he should know right.

When Bill Spence arrived at Mr. Daniel's cottage, he found the old man reading his Bible aloud to his wife.

He at first excused himself, and said he was afraid he had come at an untimely time; but the good old clerk quickly set him at his ease. "Oh no! (said he) come in, I was only reading a bit to my old mistress here; I'm very pleased to

see you.

"

Bill. Why, I shouldn't have taken the liberty of coming, if it hadn't been that you've been so good to me in telling me how to find the places in my Prayer Book.

Mr. Daniel. Well, it always pleases me uncommon to see any body that's anxious about understanding what things means; and if I can ever tell them any thing in my poor way as they don't know themselves, I'm very glad. We ought all of us to be willing to help one another, and Dr. Plaintext was very good in telling me the meaning of things; and I think I can't do better than tell any body any thing as I knows. Come in and sit you down.

Bill. Well, what as I wished to ask you about was something in the Reverend's sermon this morning. I think I never heard such a fine discourse as it was; so plain and so candid. But I couldn't right understand what he meant we was to pray for this week.

Mr. Daniel. You're quite altogether in the right, William; it was a wonderful discourse: and I can tell you I've heard Dr. Plaintext ever since he began to preach at Oakby, but I never knew him make such a clever piece as he did this morning so affecting! And I know what it is that you want to know about; it was the Ember-weeks, as the rector spoke about.

Bill. Oh! yes, that's what I meant; the Ember-weeks! what do they mean?

Mr. Daniel. Well, if you'll look in your Prayer Book, at the end of the Calendar for the months, on the page after December, comes "Tables and Rules for the moveable and immoveable Feasts ;" and then on the next page after that comes "A Table of the Vigils, Fasts, and Days of Abstinence, to be observed in the year." And then, about half way down there is put, "The Ember-days at the four seasons,

that

page,

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