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This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place.
Title: Memoir Of Elizabeth Jones, a Little Indian Girl, Who Lived at
the River-Credit Mission, Upper Canada, an electronic edition
Author: Anonymous
Publisher: John Mason
Place published: 
Date: [18--?]
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AnonymousMEMOIR OF ELIZABETH
JONES, A LITTLE INDIAN GIRL, WHO LIVED AT THE RIVER-CREDIT MISSION,
UPPER CANADA.LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY JOHN MASON, 14, CITY-ROAD:  AND SOLD AT 66,
PATTERNOSTER-ROW.Is it well with the child?  It is well!-2 Kings iv, 26.Chapter
I.  ACCOUNT OF ELIZABETH'S FAMILY."Strongest mindsAre often those of whom the noisy worldHears least."--WORDSWORTH.THE subject of the following memoir was a little Indian girl, whose
life's short history was rendered peculiarly interesting by
circumstances of no common occurrence.  Her father, Mr. John Jones,
whose Indian name is Tyentenegen, is an Indian
of the Oojebway**Commonly called Chippeway.  nation, and brother to the Rev. Peter Jones,
otherwise Kahkewaquonaby, known as a Missionary
to many in this country as well as amongst his own people.  The mother
of Elizabeth, whose maiden name was Christiana Brant, was a
granddaughter of the late famous Capt. Joseph Brant, a noted Chief and
warrior of the Mohawk nation of Indians, who many years ago visited
England, and niece of Mr. John Brant, also a Chief, who came over to
this country about the years 1819 or 1820, and died of cholera in
Canada, in the year 1832.Mrs. John Jones was a woman of strong
mind, fine understanding, and good judgment.  She united to a most
amiable disposition unassuming yet dignified manners; all who knew her
loved and respected her.  Her influence and example amongst her Indian
neighbours was truly valuable.  Her advantages having been greater
than theirs, they looked up to her for advice and instruction; and
whatever she did or said was sure, if possible, to be imitated and
remembered by the women in the village.Her house was the abode of peace and comfort; the Ministers and
others who visited the Mission, were not only delighted with the
hospitality and kindness manifested, but most of all with that
beautiful influence of real religion which shed so sweet a lustre, and
sanctified every other blessing, diffusing joy and happiness to all
around.In a newly-formed village, settled by Indians just
emerging from the superstitions and long-rooted habits of their
forefathers, persons accustomed from infancy to all the refinements of
Christian and civilized life can hardly imagine how great the
influence, and how valuable the example, of such a family.  Living in
the same house was Mrs. Lucy Brant, the pious mother of Mrs. John
Jones, who also displayed in her life and conversation those active
Christian graces which emphatically made her a mother in this little
Israel, where she spent the last few years of her life; and who can
tell but that in answer to the prayers and unfeigned faith that dwelt
first in her grandmother Lucy, and in her mother Christiana, Elizabeth
was made an early partaker of divine grace, and meetened, when in the
bloom of health and loveliness, for a sudden translation to that
better land, where little children, through the merits of a Saviour's
blood, are welcomed with rapturous songs of praise? for "of such is
the kingdom of heaven."Among the inscrutable arrangements of
divine providence is the removal of pious parents in the very midst of
their important and interesting duties.  When, as in the instance of
Mrs. J. Jones, a wife is taken, whose quiet influence, winning
endearments, and punctual habits made her so truly a helpmeet to her
husband, and whose tender firmness and humble piety seemed so
essential to the welfare of her children, while her consistent example
and wise counsel were so valuable in her neighbourhood, we shrink. and
say, How is it?  But feeling must not be too clamorous for the voice
to be heard, "Be still, and know that I am God."The writer of
this little history came into the village of which Mrs. J. Jones was
so distinguished as ornament, about two months before she was taken to
a brighter sphere, and her duties, toils, and prayers exchanged for
adoration and praise.  At the period referred to she was enjoying her
usual health, although an inflammatory disease in the throat was
carrying off many of her friends and neighbours, and she was then
clothed in the habiliments of mourning for her excellent mother, who
had fallen a sacrifice to the fatal epidemic.Shortly after
these painful occurrences she became the mother of a little boy; but
joy for the event was soon turned into sorrow.  Every countenance wore
the aspect of grief when it was known through the village that the
much-loved Christiana was about to be taken from them.  Being quite
sensible of her danger, she committed her dear babe to the care of one
who could nurse it, and seemed comforted by the promise that the
writer of this little account would watch over her children after her
happy spirit had returned to God who gave it.**The babe died a fortnight after its mother; and
from that time it has been esteemed a privilege by the writer of this
narrative to supply, as far as the circumstances of the case allowed,
the part of a guardian friend to the bereaved child; but a voyage to
England made it necessary to relinquish for a time (as she supposed)
her interesting charge, as Mr. J. Jones could not consent to allow his
dear little daughter to accompany her friends to such a distant
shore. It was truly affecting
to witness the anxiety and kindness of the Indian women.  Some brought
her tea made of herbs and roots to quench her burning thirst; others
rested in an adjoining room, while one or more watched every word and
motion.  Her patience under severe suffering was very great.  All fear
of death was taken away; and when we knelt around her bed in prayer,
her fervent "Amen" was often heard, and she evidently joined in spirit
while her friends were singing that beautiful and appropriate hymn,"On Jordan's stormy banks I stand," &cOn the morning of
Nov. 3d, 1833, her happy soul took wing for that better land where"Sickness, sorrow, pain, and death/Are felt and fear'd no
more."At her funeral, not only all the Indians, but many of
the white inhabitants, from the settlements around attended.  It was
indeed an occasion of deep sorrow to commit to the silent grave one so
young and beloved.  Who that ever witnessed such a scene but would
pray that this good religion, which had so exalted her, might be
extended to all the tribes of the forest, till every Indian was made
happy by the love of Jesus, which can alone take away the fear of
death, so common to the heathen mind, and give them and all their
mourning friends a good hope of a joyful resurrection to eternal
life?The Rev. Egerton Ryerson, the first Missionary stationed
at the Credit, preached her funeral sermon.  Having lived in her house
during the whole year, in which he so successfully devoted himself to
the spiritual and temporal interests of the Indians, he was well
acquainted with her character, and bore ample testimony to her
worth.Thus lived and died the mother of the dear child who
will furnish the subject of the following short memoir.  Her memory is
very dear to the writer, whose sincere desire and prayer to God is,
that all the companions and school-fellows she has left behind may try
to imitate her bright example, and, following her footsteps, be
prepared to meet her again in that bright world of glory, where are
gathered from all nations, people, kindred, and tongues, those who
fear God and love Jesus Christ.Chapter
II.  DESCRIPTION OF ELIZABETH'S BIRTH-PLACE AND EARLY
CHILDHOOD."The din of cities she had never known;Her
feet had never trod the gay parade;But she had felt a joy,
when all aloneShe sought the river's bank, the forest's
shade."THE native village of dear Elizabeth is beautifully situated about
sixteen miles from Toronto, the seat of government in Upper Canada.
The road from thence to this peaceful Indian settlement opens to the
eye of the traveller a diversified scene of land and water, hill and
dale, the cultivated farm and the native forest.On the left
spread the expansive waters of the lake Ontario, now bearing on its
magnificent bosom the stately steamboat, on which formerly the
birch-bark canoe of the hardy Indian was only seen to glide.  To the
right interminable woods form a fine back-ground to a country
partially cultivated and settled.From the undulations of the
road the distant prospect is sometimes entirely obscured, and the tall
dark pines throw around their deep shadows, giving a sense of
loneliness and a tone of pensive feeling.  Glimpses are caught and
lost at intervals of the beautiful lake, when suddenly it opens before
you in unobscured loveliness, which may be enjoyed for some distance
as you journey along its wooded banks.  Within the distance of a few
miles you cross over the rivers Humber, Mimico, and Etobecoke, till
you reach the long bridge over the river Credit; then turning to the
right, the lake stretching in the distance behind, you are conducted
through park-like scenery to the peaceful spot where God has been
pleased to plant a small Christian church, gathered from the
wilderness, to show forth his praise.This little village
possesses many local advantages.  It is situated on the high and
healthy banks of a fine river, whose beautiful, flowing waters, well
supplied with fish, wind their undisturbed way through scenery of
grand and romantic loveliness, which at once elevate the mind, and
fascinate the imagination, of those who have a keen relish for
nature's beauties.  This village consists of about forty houses; some
of these are called log, others frame; each surrounded by half an acre
of land, in which the Indians plant every year either potatoes, peas,
or Indian corn.  In the centre stands, on one side the chapel and
school-house, on the other the mission-house; near which is reserved a
lovely spot just on the brow of a sloping bank, sacred to the memory
of the dead.  In this hallowed enclosure lie slumbering, till the
morning of resurrection, many little known on earth, but whose names
are doubtless registered in heaven.  With those of a host of tender
lambs, is now numbered that of Elizabeth Jones, the last of five
lovely children, all taken in early life from a world of sin and
suffering to their heavenly Father's better home; where, clothed in
white, with palms of victory in their hands, they are uniting with
their sacred mother in singing, "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to
receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and
glory, and blessing."Elizabeth Jones, whose Indian name was
Sahgahjewaqua, which means "the rising sun,"
was born on June 29, 1830.  From infancy she evinced a mild temper;
and as her young mind gradually expanded, it was delightful to observe
a fine generous disposition united to a strong affection, which
secured the confidence and love of all who knew her.  For some time
after her mother's death, I was in the habit of seeing her every day.
She would frequently ask when her mother would come home from the
meeting.  Bring ignorant of what death meant, she thought, as this was
the place she most frequented, that she was gone there; and sometimes
it was no easy task to wipe the tear, and quell the sorrows of her
little bosom, by telling her that her dear mother was gone to live
with God in heaven.  Her affection for her only remaining parent was
most ardent:  she clung to him, as a child always should to a tender
father, with the most confiding love.  I could often fancy as she sat
on his knee that she held him tight, as if afraid he would leave her too.  Whenever he appeared dull,
she would kiss him, and show him some of her playthings, thinking thus
to dissipate the sorrows of his heart.  Dear children, I wish all who
read this little book would try and imitate Elizabeth Jones, and by
their affectionate attentions to their parents show how much they love
them.Although from the time I first knew this dear child, I
had seen much in her to love and admire, it was not till she became a
resident in our family, in October, 1836, that I discovered those
peculiar traits in her character which made her so especially dear to
our hearts.  Never shall we forget her readiness to do any kind
action.  Her tender manner when we were not quite well was remarkable.
She would move gently about the room, and perform all the little
offices of a nurse as far as she was capable.  Often would she say,
"Aunt, when I am woman, I will make tea for you, and help you a great
deal."  Although so young, she was very observing, and took great
pleasure in watching how things were done.  She was a child of great
resolution and natural courage.  For instance, in taking medicine, it
was only necessary to say. "Now, dear, is is proper for you to take
this;" or, such a thing "must be done;" and there was seldom any
further trouble.  I never saw a child more devoid of selfish feeling;
a propensity so common to most young people.  When playing with
others, she was ever ready to give them the best of every thing, and
always seemed more happy in pleasing her little companions than in
gratifying herself.  Often when the poor old women came in, she would
ask them if they were hungry; and then run and tell me, saying, "Shall
I give them some food?"  At other times she would beg for halfpence;
and when asked what she wanted them for, would say, "I want to give
them to an old woman," mentioning her name, "because I think she is
poor."  This lovely principle was carried on in her daily practice, so
much so as at times to require a little check.  Her heart was truly
generous, and she wanted all to share the comforts she enjoyed.  She
was also very kind and grateful to servants; they loved her, and were
glad to do any thing for her; because she always spoke in a proper
manner; and never gave them unnecessary trouble.  She had a "place for
every thing and kept every thing in its place."  By this means she
preserved her little gifts, which were highly prized.  Not like many
children, who are never at rest till they have destroyed them,
Elizabeth took great delight in keeping them neat and clean:  and if
children knew how much of their happiness and comfort depended on
habits of order, they would be more particular in cultivating these
good qualities."When I first took the entire charge of
Elizabeth, she could only spell words of three letters; but such was
her natural quickness, and laudable ambition for improvement, that in
a few weeks she could read several little stories.  Having a good ear
and retentive memory, she soon spelt words of three syllables, learned
Watt's First Catechism, and many of his beautiful hymns for children,
with a number of others that were commonly sung at the chapel.  She
took great delight in hearing Bible stories, and often asked me to
tell her about good children:  their example had a most desirable
influence over her.  When reading, she would seldom pass over a word
that she did not understand without asking its meaning; and in this
interesting way she was continually adding to her little store of
knowledge:  and it was encouraging to find that what was told her was
not soon forgotten.  On the contrary, she would often draw
comparisons, and say, "That is like what I was reading about;" or,
"That reminds me of such a one you were telling me of."  She was not
able to read with the first class in the Sunday school, but she would
stand up and answer questions with any of them.  In mentioning this, I
do not wish to depreciate the merit of many of the other children,
being fully aware the circumstances gave Elizabeth advantages which
they did not possess:  but her rapid improvement and desire of
information will show what the capacities of Indian children are; and
I think prove that they only need the same privileges and blessings
that English children enjoy, to make them equally clever and useful
members of society.Another fine trait in Elizabeth's character
was a love of truth.  I could always depend on her word.  She had only
to promise, and I felt quite satisfied obedience would follow.  O,
dear children, what a lesson is this!  I can truly say that to have
the care of such a child was a privilege as well as a pleasure; and to
part with her, a trial greater than can be realized till the
affliction comes."O!  tis a lovely thing for youthTo walk betimes in
wisdom's way;To fear a lie, to speak the truth,That we
may trust to all they say."Chapter
III.  ELIZABETH'S EARLY PIETY."A flower when offer'd in the bud,Is no vain
sacrifice."--WATTS.HAVING given this brief account of the lovely moral traits
displayed in dear Elizabeth's character, I shall now endeavour to show
how all these were heightened and polished by the sweet influence of
the grace of God on her heart; at once causing her to act from love to
him, and evidencing her early piety.She was very particular in
offering up her morning and evening prayers; but this alone did not
satisfy Elizabeth.  Often during the day have I known her go by
herself and pray.  She would sometimes say to me, "Aunt, I want God to
give me a clean heart and a good spirit:  shall I go and pray to him,
and then perhaps he will give it to me?"  And that gracious Saviour
who inspired this prayer fulfilled in her his own precious promise,
"They that seek me early shall find me."  At other times she would
say, "Aunt, do you know what I am thinking about?" "No, my dear;
what?" "I am thinking about God and Jesus Christ."Once, when
on a visit, the lady with whom she was staying said to her, when
putting her to bed, "Elizabeth, as the night is cold, you may say your
prayers in bed."  She immediately answered, "O no; do you think it is
right for me to get into bed to say my prayers?  As I am in bed now, I
will say them this time in bed."  But after this, were the night ever
so cold, she would pray and repeat her hymn before getting into
bed.She was very fond of singing, and had a sweet voice.
Often would she go about the house, or when in the garden we would
hear her, singing the pretty hymns she had learned; and many a morning
the first sounds that have saluted our ears have been the praises of
God from her tuneful lips.It was also a great delight to her
to go to the house of God; and when there she evidenced by her
behaviour that she had a proper sense of the solemnity of the services
in which she was engaged.  During prayer she would kneel, and,
covering her face with her hands, show all the outward signs of
worship; and who can doubt but that a child so sensible of the
importance of prayer, did often in spirit send up petitions to her
heavenly Father?  Once observing she was carelessly gazing about like
too many other children, being reproved, she appeared quite ashamed,
and I do not remember to have observed the like inattention ever
after.  When she knew the hymns, she always united her praises with
the congregation; and when she did not, she would eagerly look over
the Hymn-book, and try to catch the words.  During the sermon, I think
all who ever watched her must have been struck with her fixed
attention and quiet behaviour.  She would look up with her fine bright
eyes to the preacher, apparently indifferent to all around.  And here
I would remark that this is not the common way in which Indians show
their interest in what is going forward.  When attending their
councils, they just look to see who is going to speak, and then cast
their eyes down for the rest of the time.  Likewise in a place of
worship they consider that looking down is a more favourable attitude
for attention, and that to fix their eyes on the speaker would be a
mark of rudeness.  So that in this respect Elizabeth, having been
differently taught, was an exception to the general rule.This
dear child was not only good herself, but anxious that other children
should be so also.  When between three and four years old, she
expressed considerable anxiety about a little boy who lived with her
parents, and said, "Papa, I wish you would make ----- a good boy, so
that when he dies he may go to heaven.  Papa, you must punish him if
he is not good."  At another time she said to me, "Aunt, do you love
-----?"  I told her I could not love the naughty things she did,
because God did not; but I hoped God would make her a good child, and
then I should love her.  She immediately answered, "I will tell you
what I had better do,--pray to God to make her a good child."  Saying
this, she ran up stairs, and I heard her pray, but could not
distinguish the words.The following is an extract from her
father's letter to the Rev. Peter Jones:--"I cannot, dear brother,
describe to you my feelings on the loss of my daughter.  You know how
much I loved her; and how affectionate she was to me, and to all her
relations.  She never disobeyed my orders, and I never knew her offend
any person.  She would reprove them if she saw them doing any thing
that was wrong, but it was always with great modesty."About
three years ago I remember to have done something that was not right,
which she knew of; and the first time she saw me alone she mentioned
it very affectionately, saying, 'Papa, you should not do so.'  I was
so struck with the reproof, I caught her up in my arms, and with tears
said, 'No, my child, I will never do so again.'"Having done a
naughty thing herself one day, for which she was punished, when
putting her to bed, she burst into tears; on being asked why she wept,
she said, "I am really afraid God will send me to hell."  "Why do you
think so?"  "Because I have been so wicked."  I told her, if she were
sorry in her heart, and prayed to God to forgive her for Christ's
sake, he would.  When she knelt down, she said, most pathetically,
sobbing all the time, "Please God forgive me, and make me a good
child."  She could pray no more for sorrow; but at length said, "Aunt,
I want to speak to you:  do you think God has forgiven me?"  I
replied, "Yes, if you are sincere."  She said, "I did mean what I
said; and I really think God has forgiven me, I feel so happy now."
The next morning she said, "Aunt, do you know what I am going to do
to-day?"  I replied, "I hope, dear, you are going to be a good girl?"
"Yes, that is what I was thinking about:  I am going to think of you
and God all day."  She often referred to her late naughty deed, and
seemed bitterly to repent having done it.  She said one day to her
father, "How good Jesus Christ was to die for the people!"  He asked
her if she loved him for dying for her.  She replied, "Yes, I do."When about to leave home, last winter, for a month, our principal
anxiety was concerning dear Elizabeth, under whose protection to place
her during our absence.  However, this difficulty was soon settled;
the Mission family offering most kindly to take the charge of her.
The schoolmistress, who resided in the same house, took the immediate
care of her.  At this time she was suffering from indisposition, which
not only required much patience to bear, but was the occasion of
additional trouble and anxiety to those who so kindly undertook the
responsibility of attending to her.  On our return, we were delighted
to hear of her good behaviour and exemplary patience under her
affliction.  Mrs. S. told me, she never knew a better child; she had
so won their hearts, that they not only felt the greatest interest in
her, but had considered it a pleasure, rather than a trouble, to have
her with them.During her stay with this kind family, she was
one day trying to teach a little boy (her senior) Watt's Catechism.
They were in a room alone, but Mrs. S., being in an adjoining room,
heard all that passed.  When she came to that question, "Does God love
every thing that he has made?" and the answer, "Yes;" the little boy
said that he was sure that must be wrong, for God did not love wicked
people.  Elizabeth said, it was so in the book, and therefore must be
right; and after thinking for a short time how to reconcile this
apparent difficulty, she replied, "I will tell you, John, how it is:
God loves people when he makes them; but when they do wicked things,
he does not love the wicked things they do, only he loves them because
he made them."  Mrs. S. told me she carried on quite a little
argument, which far surpassed her years, which I cannot now remember.
The testimony of her school-mistress is, that she was far beyond the
generality of children, and her capacity for improvement equal to one
who had seen twice her number of years.Thus lived this happy
and contended little girl; not only good herself, but endeavouring to
make all around her happy and good also.  I often thought, while she
was with us, I had read of such children, but never knew such a
one.On the Sunday evening previous to giving up the charge of
this dear Elizabeth, our hearts felt exceedingly sorrowful at the
thought.  It was one of those trials which only duty compelled us to
acquiesce in; and our feelings were the more excited by her simple
expressions of affection, and her telling me she hoped I should soon
come back again.  O how mysterious, how unexpected at times are the
way of Providence!  but often most merciful when most severe.  This
should reconcile us to the otherwise depressing recollection, that on
our return to the little garden, in the midst of the distant
wilderness, we shall miss one of its fairest plants, one that we had
fondly hoped would, under the genial influence of the Gospel, have
struck its roots deep, and expanded its branches wide, bringing forth
the fruits of righteousness; or, to drop the metaphor, we had hoped
that though we had lost a valuable member of our little society, in
the removal of our beloved Christiana Jones, her dear child would be
growing up to take her place in the church and in the neighbourhood.
But "God's ways are not our ways, neither are his thoughts our
thoughts."  We knew not how much we loved her; but God who loved her
better than any on earth, has, for some wise end, taken her to his
better care and happier home in heaven."What can preserve my life, or what destroy?An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave;Legions of angels can't confine me there."Chapter
IV.  ELIZABETH'S PREMATURE DEATH."I am the resurrection and the life."--John xi,
25.IN bringing the history of this dear child to a close, it is now my
painful task to record the affecting circumstances that attended her
death.  Perhaps some young persons may wonder what disease carried her
away in the spring-time of life to an early grave.  Well do I remember
telling her one evening of the sudden death of a neighbour, and,
endeavouring to improve the circumstance, remarked how necessary it
was for young and old to be prepared for death, as we did not know
whether we should live to see another rising sun.  She looked most
earnestly at me, and said, "Why, aunt, I am not ill!"  But, dear
children, without the withering blast of sickness, this sweet flower
was transplanted in an instant to a more congenial clime, in the bloom
of health, and with a buoyancy of spirits that had excited the remarks
of those around her; illustrating in her own history that death has
not always sickness for its harbinger.From the account
received, it appears that a kind friend residing at the port or mouth
of the river Credit, about a mile and a half from the Indian village,
had requested Elizabeth's father to let her spend a short time with
her during Mr. J. Jones's absence for a few weeks.  To this he
consented; of which he sends the following account:--"On the 6th of
November, dear Elizabeth followed us to the waggon."  (Mr. Jones had
married again.)  "She kissed her mamma and me, saying, 'Good-bye,
mamma; good-bye, papa.'  Never shall I forget the spot where she
stood; little thinking she was bidding us a final farewell."The month of November, which in England is usually very dreary, is
quite otherwise in Canada; and it appears the morning of the 20th was
very fine.  This dear child arose in good health, and it would seem as
though she felt an uncommon degree of joyousness and elasticity of
spirits, which the freshness of a clear atmosphere tends to
inspire.About noon, remarking how beautiful the day was, she
asked if she might take her accustomed walk over the adjacent bridge,
that being drier and smoother than any other place.  Not suspecting
any danger, after being properly equipped by her kind friend who had
the care of her, she sallied forth with bounding spirits and a happy
countenance.  It is singular that on that morning she had talked much
of her own dear mother, and expressed a wish that she was alive, as
she wanted so much to see her.  When asked, why? she replied, "Because
I have heard she was very beautiful."  Sweet child!  who would then
have supposed thy passage to glory was so short; that thy wish to have
thy mother near thee was so soon to be fulfilled; that thou wast so
soon literally to pass the river of death, and to be landed on the
shores of immortality?  But it was even so:  the little Elizabeth
returned not to her home at the expected time, and was sought for, but
sought in vain.  Inquiry was made at every house, but, alas!  to no
purpose.  Night came on, and it was very dark and stormy; still the
search continued, and long before day other kind friends went
different roads toward to village, calling "Elizabeth, Elizabeth," but
in vain; no voice answered to the anxious summons.As soon as
daylight dawned, all the men, women, and boys joined in the melancholy
search; making the woodlands echo with her name as they went
sorrowfully on, till they reached the lake; when the Indians said she
must be drowned!  They then went out in their boats; and at length,
about nine o'clock in the morning, the little bark of mortality was
found, which had floated down the deep broad stream into an eddy near
the pier, but the immortal spirit was landed in the haven of eternal
rest.It was found on examination that there was a hole on the
upper part of the bridge near the centre of the stream, occasioned by
one of the planks having slipped out of its place; and it is supposed
(for no one saw her) that the dear child, in passing over near the
side-railings, must have been looking another way, and thus slipped
through the hole into a watery grave.  Thus, without a moment's
warning, was she snatched away from the fond embraces of her mourning
friends on earth to the bosom of her Saviour and her God.As
soon as the sad news reached her dear father, he hastened down; but,
ah!  who can enter into the feelings of a parent on such a journey?
None can describe them; and only parents who have lost such a child
can fully sympathize in them.  He returns to the spot where he left
her well and happy; but instead of the bounding step, the beaming eye,
the cheerful tones of welcome that were wont to greet him, he is
conducted by his sympathizing and distressed friends into the mournful
chamber of death.  There was the form he has so often gazed on with
delight, and it still looked like his Elizabeth; but the heart's
pulses had ceased, the eyes were closed, the ears were stopped, the
spirit had fled.  Such is the portion of earth; but by the eye of
faith we turn to those blissful regions where her happy spirit has
found admittance;"Where she joins in the anthems for ever that rise,Now
dead to the earth, and new born to the skies,And heir of the
kingdom of heaven."O, dear children, what a lesson is this!  Could any thing but the
assurance that "sudden death" to her was "sudden glory" have comforted
the heart of her sorrowing parent, and enabled him to write, "Her
happy spirit is returned to God, whose praises she loved to sing, whom
she worshipped, adored, and loved?"  Surely not!  And if you wish to
see her there, you must seek an interest in Christ, love prayer as she
loved it, take the same delight in reading the Bible and good books,
learn with pleasure your catechism and hymns, be obedient to your
parents, affectionate and kind to all; then you will be loved as she
was loved; and should an early summons call you hence, you will be
prepared to follow where she is gone.I have before noticed how
fond Elizabeth was of singing; and I think it would be well for
children to cultivate this habit, and imitate her in this sweet employ
of singing and making melody in their hearts unto the Lord.  The last
hymn she was heard to sing was the following:--"Saw ye my Saviour?Saw ye my Saviour?Saw ye my
Saviour and my God?O! he died on CalvaryTo atone for
you and me,And to purchase out pardon with blood."On Friday, the 24th, her remains were carried up to the Indian
village, where the Missionary at the river Credit conducted the
service, and preached a suitable sermon from Rev. i, 17, 18; in which
he bore ample testimony to her early piety, amiable disposition, and
remarkable intelligence.Her death had excited as much interest
as is often produced by that of persons of a maturer age; and many
respectable white inhabitants, from the distance of two or three miles
round, attended the funeral.  After the sermon, the Indian children
rose up and sung the following hymn:--"Farewell, dear friend!  a long farewell!For we shall
meet no more,Till we are raised with thee to dwellOn
Zion's happier shore."Our friend and sister, lo!  is dead;The cold and
lifeless clayHas made in dust its silent bed,And there
it must decay."But she is dead!--No, no; she lives!Her happy spirit
fliesTo heaven above; and there receivesThe
long-expected prize."Farewell, dear friend!  again, farewell!Soon we shall
rise to thee;And when we meet no tongue can tellHow
great our joys shall be."Six little girls carried her coffin from the chapel to the grave;
four following, bearing in their hands sprigs of evergreen, which they
threw on the coffin after it was lowered into the ground."And there, upon her quiet tomb,Shaded by
forest-trees,The wild flowers which she loved will bloom,Fann'd by the summer's breeze."And other little graves are there,Water'd with fondest
tears;Nature still weeps,--faith cries, Forbear,And
hope's bright star appears."So when our silent footsteps stray,And watch the
grave's repose,This star shall point our heaven-ward way,And dissipate our woes."LINES.Addressed by a friend to Mr. John Jones, on
hearing that his little Girl was drowned in the River Credit."She is not dead."--Matt. ix, 24.THOUGH those bright eyes have lost their fire,And those
dear lips speak no desire,Let this blest truth your heart
inspire:	"She is not dead"Though she is taken from your sight,And slumbers in
death's cheerless night,Her spirit lives in glory bright:	"She is not dead."Her voice, though like the gentle luteIt sooth'd and
pleased you, now is mute;She sings in strains that seraphs
suit:	"She is not dead."Think of the subject of her song,And see her mingling
in the throngOf those who to her Lord belong:	"She
is not dead."Her Saviour taught her infant heartTo love and choose
the better part;Let this thought check the tears that
start:	"She is not dead."Think not upon the cold, dark wave;Nor on the silent
gloomy grave;For Jesus did her spirit save:	"She
is not dead."O, It will sooth the bursting sigh,To think that Jesus
lives on high,Who said his own, "should never die:"	"She is not dead."Then trim your lamp, and speed your way,To meet her in
the realms of day;And when your spirits sink, still say,	"She is not dead."