Front Cover
 Title Page
 Back Cover

Group Title: The twin sisters : a brief memoir of little Amelia
Title: The twin sisters
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002234/00001
 Material Information
Title: The twin sisters a brief memoir of little Amelia
Alternate Title: Brief memoir of little Amelia
Physical Description: 88 p., 1 leaf of plates : ill. ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: American Sunday-School Union ( Publisher )
Publisher: American Sunday-School Union
Place of Publication: Philadelphia ;
New York
Publication Date: c1852
Subject: Children -- Death -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Embossed cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
United States -- New York -- New York
Statement of Responsibility: written for the American Sunday-School Union.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
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Bibliographic ID: UF00002234
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002239010
oclc - 24193026
notis - ALH9534
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front page 1
        Front page 2
        Front page 3
        Front page 4
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
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        Page 77
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    Back Cover
        Page 90
        Page 91
Full Text


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No. 1M OHNHrrU 80ER.
JW T70M1 No.14T NASAU BT ......OSTON1: No. OO9NHILL.

fnted aceordig to Act qf Cogrww inte yw 1852, by the
n thea CkrV? Ojaoe of the DistriaC Cowrt qf the Jastern Dirict of

4W No books anre pwb~ea by the A Xjm L Sca T-NAT lool Umox
whout mthe manCma qf the CbMOltte qf Fh^B uMemx aowiUS fjii qfur.
teen sembaer, fmn the jbowroi desosmaes f CArt tians, tis. Ba
ta,4 2eowdt, a regatko a,4 >Aspa4p AbyWteas Lnthwa% and
R4ftdmel Dotc. Not user Vh thare of the members oas be f te same
denounma o, ad so book c be pabe to wc ay umbr qf the
abmnmiw sA&a oWdes


IN the family of Mr. and Mrs.
B-- were born, in the city of New
York, on the 20th of March, 1846, a
pair of twins. There were four chil-
dren in the family before that, and
they were all boys, so that when
these twin daughters were born,
there was great joy among them.
The twin children were both
small and very -delicate; so that
the parents felt much fear that
they would soon be taken from
1* 5


them. But it pleased the Lord to
preserve them, and, by His blessing
upon parental watchfulness and
care, their health and strength
gradually improved, so that there
was hope they might be spared to
grow up to maturity.
On the 19th of April, 1846, and
when the children were just four
weeks old, they were solemnly
dedicated to God, according to the
ordinance of the church to which
their parents belonged, and received
the names of Amelia Hortensia, and
Emily Jane.
When they were about old enough
to go alone, Emily was suddenly
taken very sick with inflammation

TEH nr 8I 18B8 "

of the lungs, which brought her to
the brink of the grave. She suffered
much, and very long; for, although
the violence of the disease was soon
checked, she became so enfeebled,
especially in her limbs, that she
continued in a state of almost help-
less infancy, so far as her body was
concerned, until after she was three
years old.
Amelia, in the mean time, though
not a strong child, appeared to
enjoy good health, and very early
began to evince much sympathy
and concern for her suffering sister.
When able to articulate only a few
words, these few were employed, as
well as she knew how, in prayer,


and in expressions of love and
pity, or in soliciting particular
favours and attentions for her dear
One day, when about three years
old, she was observed to come out
of a closet in the room, with a very
serious expression of countenance.
Her mother asked what she had
been doing there. Her simple and
unaffected reply was-
"I have been praying to our
dear Saviour, that He would make
my dear sister Emma well again."
She waited upon her little sister
with unwearied assiduity, and in
a thousand various ways' showed
her affection and solicitude for her.


By the blessing of God, Einly
entirely recovered; and when the
children were told, that it was by
the goodness of God that the bless-
ing of health and all other blessings
were enjoyed, Amelia ever after
retained a particularly deep and
grateful impression of the Lord's
It was about this time especially
that the peculiar traits of character
in the children began to be de-
veloped; and these were as different
as were their complexion, features,
and stature. Twins frequently re-
semble each other so cl
it is difficult to distinguil J
apart; but in the case of Amelia


and her sister Emily there was no
such difficulty.
Amelia was of a very fair com-
plexion, and Emily was dark.
Amelia had clear blue eyes and
very light hair; Emily had spark-
ling black eyes and very dark hair.
Amelia was apparently of a large
frame, while Emily was small and
delicate, and, in stature, Amelia was
a full head taller than her sister.
- Just so different was their general
character and disposition. Born of
sinful parents, they inherited the
samQ flen and depraved nature,
b velopment of that nature
r and disposition was
altogether different.


Amelia was mild, amiable, and
sweet-tempered, but inclined to be
selfish. Emily was hasty and petu-
lant, but generous. Amelia was
remarkably serious and thought-
ful. Emily was light-hearted and
thoughtless. Amelia was geale
and submissive. Emily was res-
tive and impatient of control.
Amelia was influenced by love.
Emily, by shame or fear.
In their amusements, too, these
leading differences of character were
observable. Amelia always assumed
that part in their little plays and
diversions which would secure to
herself the most quiet and ease,
while Emily was the bustling busy-


body, that would always prefer that
part which afforded her most occa-
sion for noise and mirth.
The same difference was equally
remarkable in them when taking
their first lessons in education. For
already, at three and a half years
of age, they were furnished with
a tiny school-satchel and spelling-
book. Not that they were sent to
a regular school at this tender
age; but as they saw their little
brothers thus furnished, and saw
them preparing their lessons morn-
ing and evening and going to
school, they took a fancy to play
school too, in which their dear
mother gladly indulged them.


Amelia entered upon the task
of learning the letters with great
zeal and earnestness, and soon
accomplished it; she would often
during the day take her book and
study for herself, and in this man-
ner would combine letters into
short syllables. Not wishing to
disturb her mother on these occa-
sions, she would only ask the favour
of her, when she made a mistake
to correct her. Emily regarded th '
task as a very uninteresting sort
of amusement, yet, for shame sake,
.she took her regular lessons.
Amelia learned readily,-Emily
with difficulty. Amelia took her
book with pleasure,-Emily with


reluctance. Amelia regretted any
interruptions in her school-days,-
Emily rejoiced in every "holiday,"
as she called it. And yet, nowith-
standing this marked difference
between them, they exercised a
most happy reciprocal influence
upon each other. By the Divine
favour, the opposite qualities of
each, became so sweetly blended
and harmonized, that they formed
a most deeply attached and loving
pair. They became intensely en-
deared to each other, and could
not bear to be separated even
for an hour. And so united were
they in feeling and sympathies,
that every thing, their joys and


sorrows, their pains and pleasures,
seemed to be equally shared by
But while thus endeared to each
other, they became equally endeared
to their parents. Many times was
the fond mother obliged to check
the overflowing of her maternal
joy,-when she looked upon her
happy "pets," as they grew on
from day to day, more lovely and
loving to each other, and more
tender and affectionate toward
herself,-with the reflection that it
might be possible to love even our
own children more than was strictly
consistent with the duty of supreme
love to God. This would give oc-


casion for devoting herself more
entirely to His service, while she
fervently commended them to His
gracious preservation and care.
Thus far I have spoken of the
twins together; but, I must now
confine myself more particularly to
the history of little Amelia.
From what has been already
said of the character of little Ame-
lia, you might perhaps be led to
suppose that there wanted nothing
more than a little care and atten-
tion on the part of her parents,
to cultivate those naturally amiable
and lovely qualities by which she
was distinguished, in order to make


her grow up a true Christian and
an heir of eternal life.
But, while it is true that her pe-
culiarly meek and gentle disposition
offered greater facilities and advant-
ages for training her up "in the fear
and nurture of the Lord," than the
contrary disposition; still, however,
it is certain that without the direct
and special influences of the Holy
Spirit upon her, she could never
have commended herself to God by
these qualities, nor have obtained a
sense of His pardoning love.
She might have possessed all the
mildness, gentleness, and amiability
of disposition which were ascribed


to her; and which she certainly did
possess in no ordinary degree;-she
might also have enjoyed the most
watchful care and faithful instruc-
tion of her parents, and yet have re-
mained destitute of the clean heart
and the right spirit." And, without
these, not any one, nor all of the
most amiable and lovely qualities
of mind and disposition together,
however highly cultivated, will
make a true Christian.
The heart must be changed,-it
must be converted to God; and then
those natural qualities become sanc-
tified by grace and exercised for
the glory of God and the salvation


of the soul. No instruction, of
the most devoted parents, however
faithfully and perseveringly admi-
nistered can produce this change.
We must be "taught of God."
Isaiah (liv. 13) says "all thy chil-
dren shall be taught of the Lord."
And the Lord Jesus, in quoting
this text of Scripture, says, "Every
man therefore that hath heard, and
hath learned of the Father, cometh
unto me."*
In the case of little Amelia, this
was most strikingly true; for she
evinced, a clearness of comprehen-
sion and a depth of experience of

* John vi. 45.


divine things, that nothing but the
teachings of the Holy Spirit could
have imparted. Besides, this know-
ledge and experience distinguished
this little child at so early an age,
that it would have been impossible
for any mere human teacher to
have imparted them to her.
Whatever instruction she did
receive from her parents on the
essential and practical parts of
Christianity,-those parts which are
generally regarded as too abstruse
for the infant mind, she received
in a way of explanation of some
reflection or question of her own.
And as her parents themselves
could often profit so much by her


reflections, and by the graces
which manifested themselves in
her, it became clear to them that
she was under the special tuition
of the Holy Spirit. He revealed"
to her, though but a child of five
years old, what is still "hidden
from the wise and prudent" of
this world. He took of the things
of Jesus, and showed them unto
Thus at a very early age, when
not yet four years old, the name
of Jesus, her Lord and Saviour,
became exceedingly dear to her.
It had a sweetness to her ear and
a charm for her heart, which no
human instruction could have pro-



duced. "No man," says St. Paul,*
"can say that Jesus is the Lord,
but by the Holy Ghost." And she
was taught by the Holy Ghost to
know and love that name. She was
always particularly pleased to hear
any thing read or spoken in which
that precious name occurred; and
of the many verses of hymns, which
she readily committed to memory
and often used as prayers, she
seemed to take special pleasure in
such as spoke of Jesus. The fol-
lowing are some of the verses that
were peculiarly dear to her.
"Dearest Jesus, come to me,
And abide eternally," &o.
1 Cor. xii. 8.


Loving Jesus, holy Lamb,
In thy hands secure I am," &c.
"Jesus makes my heart rejoice,
rm His sheep, and know His voice," &e.
About this time, her little
brothers brought from the Sunday-
school a little book entitled "Bible
Stories." A picture on one of its
pages represents the Saviour bless-
ing little children, and under it are
His words, "Suffer little children
to come unto me," &c. That little
book was a treasure to her; not
that she could read and understand
it, but because it represented her
Saviour in so interesting and lovely
a character. She loved to look at
it, and would often sit with it in


her hands, as if absorbed in deep
meditation. It made such an im-
pression upon her, that, when at a
later period, she would convey to
others the idea of the love and
condescension of Jesus, she would
get the little book and point to the
picture, and say, "See how our Sa-
viour loves little ehildrenI"
That this love for the name of
Jesus was not merely the effect
of a pleasing but transient asso-
ciation of ideas connected with the
picture alluded to, but was coupled
with an internal experience of the
power and preciousness of that
name, produced by the Holy Spirit,
afterward became apparent from


the fact that this love and venera--
tion associated themselves with
every thing that related to Jesus
her Saviour.
Thus she loved the Bible because
it told about Jesus; and she called
it "our Saviour's book." It seemed
to affect her very much, when she
thought that the sacred volume
was not handled with sufficient
reverence, or when she perceived
any inattention while it was being
read at.family worship.
She loved the church where God
is worshipped, because it was there
that her Saviour's word was,
preached and his praises sung..
She called it "our Saviour's house.'"


Her appearance, when she entered
the house of God, and her deport-
ment while there, often attracted
the notice of others. On one occa-
sion, she was tempted to look
around, once or twice during the
service, which being so entirely
;contrary to her usual behaviour,
caused her mother to say to her,
on returning home-
"My daughter, you forgot yourself
this morning. I saw you look round
once or twice while your father was
One moment's reflection was
sufficient to convince her of the
impropriety of her conduct. She
burst into tears, and threw her


arms around her mother's neck
and sobbed, saying-
''Dear mother, will you forgive
me? I will never do so again!"
She was assured of her mother's
forgiveness. On retiring to rest in
the evening, after her mother had
heard her repeat her usual prayers,
and had forgotten the incident of
that morning, Amelia said-
"Now I must pray to our Saviour
to forgive me, for being naughty in
His house:" and immediately added,
"Dear Saviour, forgive me: I was
naughty in church this morning"
She loved the Sabbath-day be-
cause it was the "Saviour's day."
Too young, of course, to be able to


judge, herself, of what was proper
or improper to be done on that
day, she would always ask, when
about to do any thing in the way
of amusement or recreation-
"Is it wrong, mother?" or, "Will
our Saviour love me if I do this ?"
Quiet and solemnity seemed to
be associated in her mind with the
idea of the Sabbath. To see people
going to or returning from church,
pleased her very much; but to hear
the little "news-boys" crying their
papers along the streets, was ex-
ceedingly annoying to her.
"A'n't that wrong?" she would
say, "for those boys to do so on


One Sabbath morning, being at
the window, in the arms of one of
the domestics, the latter drew her
attention to a little boy who was
flying his kite from a neighboring
roof. The child remarked-
"I don't like to see him fly his
kite on Sunday But, as if afraid
to condemn the act without good
grounds, she added, "Do you think
that little boy knows that it is
She loved everybody. She seem-
ed, however, to have a special affec-
tion for those who loved the Saviour.
The love she had for these, was, as
she understood it, a love of compla-
cency. She loved to see them, to


hear them speak or be spoken
about; while she had pity for
others. This will be best under-
stood by the following incident.
One of the domestics, standing
with her at the window on a
Sabbath morning, to see the people
pass to the house of God, which
was adjoining the dwelling of her
parents, and she herself not well
enough to be taken there, she saw
several young men pass on the
opposite side of the street, who
were loud and boisterous in their
manners. Turning to the girl who
held her, she said pitifully-
"They are not going to church:
I pity them." And soon after, she


saw a poor man in soiled and
tattered garments pass, and* she
remarked, "That poor man can't go
to church: he has no good clothes.
I love those who go to church best,
but I love him too. We must pray
for him."
When her father would return
from his official visits, especially
visits to the sick, she was always
anxious to hear some account of
them, and seemed particularly
pleased when she heard that the
sick were in a happy frame of
mind. On one occasion, her father
having mentioned that a person
whom he had visited had said
"she loved the Saviour, and felt


His love in her heart, and that
she was fully resigned to His holy
will, for life or death," her little
eyes brightened, and a happy con-
viction seemed to illumine every
feature of her face, as she said-
I love our dear Saviour, and I
know he loves me." And then, with
sweet simplicity and tenderness,
turning to her mother, and pre-
senting her lips to kiss her, said,
"I love you too, dear mother, but
not so much as I love our dear
When the little twins were nearly
five years old, they were very
desirous to attend Sunday-school,
and their mother promised them


that as soon as the weather became
more mild, (for it was then late in
the winter,) their wish should be
gratified. Little Amelia anticipated
the time with great pleasure, for
she loved her book, and expected
to learn and enjoy much from
Sunday-school instruction.
But, in the providence of God,
these anticipations were never to
be realized. For early in the month
of March, 1851, her parents ob-
served that she began to grow very
pale, and to lose all inclination for
her usual amusements. She pre-
ferred to sit by the side of her
dear mother, and employ herself
looking over her little books, or


in attempting to make some article
of dress for her doll. When she
took her accustomed out-door ex-
ercise, accompanied by her little
sister, she would return from her
walks, even when they were but very
short, complaining of feeling very
chilly and much fatigued. This
continued for more than a fort-
night. Some domestic remedies
were administered to her, but they
failed to produce the desired effect.
The family physician was called in,
and he prescribed for her. She
soon appeared to be getting better;
her appetite was good and her
nights were comfortable.
One morning, about three weeks


after the first visit of the physician,
she was sitting, as usual, by the
side of her mother, and employed
with her needle, when she suddenly
cried out, "Mother, take me !" and
was about to sink to the floor, but
was prevented by her mother catch-
ing her up in her arms.
She seemed to have swooned;
and, restoratives being instantly
applied, she soon revived. But,
although entirely restored to con-
sciousness, she was not able to
speak for several minutes. She
made repeated attempts to do so,
but failed. This alarmed the family,
especially her little brothers and
sister, who were present at the


time, sobbing and crying and call-
ing her by name.
After a few moments, little
Amelia opened her eyes again, and
looking around with great tender-
ness, said, "Don't cry, I am almost
well again." The physician was
called in, and after examining
her case very closely, pronounced
it to be a disease of the heart;
the violent throbbing and palpi-
tation of which were often pain-
fully perceptible to those who held
her in their arms. She seemed to
suffer much from it herself. It
annoyed her most when she at-
tempted to lie down, on which
account she dreaded the nights,


and would very seldom recline even
during the day. But she never
showed the slightest fretfulness or
A few weeks afterward symp-
toms of dropsy began to appear,
and these made her feel still more
uncomfortable, while at the same
time they tended to increase the
fears and anxieties of her foncd
One day little Amelia saw her
mother in tears by her side, and,
reaching out her arms to embraced
her, and her lips to kiss her, said-
"My dear mother, don't cry. If
it is our Saviour's will to take-
me, I am willing to go. If He


wishes to make me well, He can
do so; but if He wishes to take me,
I am willing to go."
From this time forward her mind
seemed continually occupied with
the idea of death and the things
of eternity. Whenever any thing
was proposed to be done for her
at some future time, she would
always answer-
"I don't think I shall live so
long;" or, "I don't think I shall
want any thing of that kind."
One day her father was going to
market, and he asked her if he
should bring any thing home for
her,-her appetite at that time
being very poor. She answered-


No, I thank you."
Her mother said-
"My dear child, is there nothing
that you think you could eat?"
After a pause, she said-
"I could eat a peach, if I had
Yes, my dear," said her mother,
"but there are no peaches in the
market yet, but in a few months
there will be plenty, and then your
father will bring some for you."
"By that time," she answered,
"I think I shall be. in heaven,
and there I shall not want any
For more than four months this
dear child was confined to the room,


but not to her bed; for, during the
whole of this time, she did not lie
down one half-hour during the day.
The throbbing of her heart, and
the oppression upon her breast
occasioned by the dropsical affection,
made it impossible for her to lie
down, or even. to recline with any
comfort. She would sit from morn-
ing till evening, either in the corer
of a sofa, propped up with pillows,
or upon her mother's lap; and at
night, though she was put to bed,
she had to be propped up in the
same manner; and, in this way, she
would obtain some short intervals
of rest. Her nights were so exceed-
ingly restless and uncomfortable,


that she would willingly have spent
them as she did her days, sitting
in the corer of the sofa; but from
a tender consideration for the
health of her parents, she readily
consented to be put to bed.
Trying and painful as her situ-
ation was, not an expression passed
her lips. On the contrary, when
she was obliged to be taken up,
(for she could not turn herself) or
have her pillows raised, which
during some nights occurred twelve
or fifteen times, she would say to
her parents-
"I am sorry to trouble you so
often, but I can't help it. I hope I am
not impatient, I don't want to be."


At another time, having passed
a very uncomfortable night, toward
morning she slept about an hour.
On waking up, her mother observed
to her-
You have had a very restless
night, my daughter."
"Yes, mother, but I slept a little
this morning, and I ought to be
thankful. I will pray to our Saviour
to make me patient and thankful."
About this time, a very dear
friend of the family, a young lady,
became also very sick. Little Ame-
lia manifested a great deal of con-
cern for her, for she loved her very
much, and the young friend seemed
very partial to Amelia.


Whenever her father would re-
turn from his visits at her sick-bed,
Amelia was always anxious to hear
about her. On one occasion, her
father returned with the sad news
that Caroline (that was the young
lady's name) was very low, and
could not live much longer; but,
that she was happy in the prospect
of death, and wished to die and go
to the Saviour in heaven. When
he related this, Mrs. B. wept Little
Amelia threw her arms around her
mother's neck and said, "Dear
mother, don't cry, for Caroline is
glad to go to our 'dear Saviour,
and she will be so happy that she
will never want to come back."


The next morning her first words
were, "I wonder if Caroline is in
heaven "
A few days after, this dear young
friend departed in the happy anti-
cipation of a blissful resurrection.
When little Amelia heard it, she
"Oh, how happy she is now I She
sees our dear Saviour and the holy
angels, and she will never be sick
any moreI"
On the day of her funeral, when
her father returned, (having offici-
ated on that occasion,) he said to
"Well, my daughter, we have
just buried our dear Caroline !"


"Where did you bury her ?" she
"In Greenwood Cemetery," was
the reply.
After a pause, her father having
passed into the next room, looking
up into her mother's face, she said-
"Where will father bury me,
.when I die?"
My dear child," said her mother,
"if it should please the Lord to
take you, or any of us, he would
have us buried on Staten Island,
near our church there."
Again, after a moment's reflec-
tion, she said-
"Well, it don't make any dif-
ference where our body is buried."


It pleased the Lord to grant this
dear little child a short respite
from her sufferings. The most
aggravated symptoms of her dis-
ease began to yield to the remedies
applied, and she grew so much
better that she could be carried out
a short distance, and occasionally
was able to take a short ride.
Unlike children generally of hei..
age, who, after so long and painful
a confinement, would have been
delighted with every thing around
them, and have rejoiced in the ride
and recreation, she exhibited the
same equanimity of disposition, the
same seriousness and thoughtful-
ness of mind, that were observable

S TH TWIN IstRBs. 47

in the sick-chamber. It really
seemed as though she felt that she
was just passing out of this world,
and that it had no charms for her;
or, that she desired rather to go to
her eternal home in the heavens.
Upon the advice of the physician,
her parents took her to Staten
Island. The day was clear and
beautiful, and the passage across
the Bay most delightful. Little
Amelia seemed to enjoy it very.
much, but in her own quiet and
thoughtful manner. When the
little party (for her sister and two
little brothers were in the com-
pany) arrived at the foot of the
hill on which the Moravian par-


sonage stands, and to which they
were directing their steps, Amelia
drew the attention of her father,
(who was carrying her at the mo-
ment,) to the graveyard before
them, and said-
"Father, is that the place you
intend to bury me, when I die?"
"Yes, my daughter, if it is the
Lord's will," was the reply.
"It is a very pretty place," she
She enjoyed herself very much
with the dear friend at the parson-
age, and the whole family returned
home in the evening, greatly pleased
with the visit. Little Amelia con-
tinued to improve in health, and



her fond parents rejoiced at it,
but with trembling, and when her
mother said to her-
"My dear, you are getting so
much better, perhaps it may please
the Lord to make you quite well
again. Then how happy we shall
be Would you not like to get well
again, my daughter?"
"My dear mother," she replied,
"I am afraid you love me too much.
I would like to stay with you a
little longer, if it is our Saviour's
will; but if he wishes to take me,
I am willing to go."
In this answer we see that the
will of her Saviour and her love to
him predominated in her mind


over the wishes, and even over the
love of her mother. And no child
ever loved its mother more than
Amelia loved her's. Yet, whether
living or dying, she desired to sub-
mit to Christ and be altogether
One day she observed to her
mother that the doctor, whom she
thought much of, had not been to
see her for two or three days. Her
mother remarked that it was be-
cause he saw she was becoming
so much better, that he thought
it needless to come so often, and,
she hoped, that in a very little
time, he need not visit her at all.
The dear child suddenly assumed


a more than usually serious and
thoughtful attitude, and said, as
her eyes filled with tears- ,
"My dear mother, do you think
I can love my Saviour as much, if I
get well and grow up, as I do now?"
evidently afraid lest, in after
years, she might be overcome by
the love of the world, or the power
of sin, and thus neglect her Saviour.
On this account, doubtless, she
always kept the idea of dying and
being with Jesus before her mind.
It was about this time and at
the request of her parents, that she
consented to be carried with her
little sister to a daguerreotypist,
for the purpose of having their


pictures taken. After two sittings,
a very satisfactory picture was
On returning home, Amelia re-
marked to her mother--'
"Now, dear mother, when I am
gone, you will have my picture to
look at."
"Yes, my daughter," said her
mother, "we are very glad to have
your picture, and to have you too.
Having the portraits of all the rest
of the family, except your's and
Emily's, we have long wished to
have them also."
Amelia was silent and thoughtful.
The expression of her countenance,
however, seemed to indicate that


the point to which she most wished
to direct her mother's attention, viz.
her probable speedy removal by
death, was passed over.
Quite suddenly and unexpectedly
she had a relapse; and, after being
convalescent ten weeks, during
which she enjoyed comparative ease
and comfort, her disorder broke out
afresh, and, for the last five months
of her life, her sufferings were many
and great, notwithstanding the
faithful and unremitting attention
of her physician.
It was during this period parti-
cularly, that this dear child evinced
the depth of her piety, the extent
of her knowledge, the strength of


her faith, the fervency of her love,
and the entire submissiveness of her
mind and heart to the Saviour.
Now the graces of the Spirit and
the fruits of righteousness mani-
fested themselves, in a degree rarely
seen in one so young.
Oh, what encouragement does her
experience afford to children and
youth, to look to Jesus, to seek His
favour and taste His love! For
"He is the same yesterday, to-day,
and for ever I" He still says, "Suffer
little children to come unto me."
"My son, give me thine heart."
"Remember thy Creator in the
days of thy youth." To them, the
same faith and love and hope


and joy will be imparted that she
Little Amelia was eminently a
child of prayer! By intuition she
seemed to know and feel that it
was both the duty and the privi-
lege of a Christian to be "instant
in prayer," "to pray without ceas-
ing," for she really appeared to do
so. She seemed to carry out into
practice, even to the very letter,
the admonition of St. Paul,* "In
every thing by prayer and suppli-
cation with thanksgiving let your
requests be made known unto God."
She literally prayed for "every

*Philip. iv. 6.


ting." Her love to her Saviour
made her conceive of Him as every
thing lovely; and her faith in Him
made her believe that, for His love's
sake, He would do any thing she
asked Him. If her father or mother,
or any member of the family, com-
plained of feeling ill, she would say,
"I will pray to our dear Saviour
for you. He can make you well
again, if it is His will."
One day, while she was still
able to be about the house, she
attempted to walk up-stairs to her
room, while her mother walked
behind her, with her sister at her
side; but becoming exhausted for
want of breath, and not wishing


to put her dear mother to the
trouble of carrying her, she paused
a moment, kneeled down upon the
step, folded her little hands, and,
with childish simplicity and faith
said, "Dear Saviour, give me breath
to walk up-stairs, that mother need
not carry me," and then started
At another time, a fire broke out
in a carpenter's shop at no great
distance from her parents' dwelling.
The wind being high at the time,
and blowing nearly in the direction
of the house, the heat and flames
were driven with so much violence,
that the panes of glass in the
windows of the room where the



family were staying became very
much heated. This greatly alarmed
the children, who ran through the
room crying, "Oh, whatshallwe do?"
Little Amelia, who saw the fire
and heard the cries, remained per-
fectly calm and composed. The
person who was carrying her at the
time was much surprised at this,
and said to her--
"Why, Amelia, a'n't you afraid
we will be burned up?"
"Oh no I" replied the child. "I
have prayed to our Saviour, and I
know He will not let us be burned
She prayed for a blessing upon
every new medicine which the phy.


sician prescribed, and would say,
"If it is our Saviour's will, it will
do me good."
She prayed for eve person. It
was her great desire that all should
love the Saviour, and be happy,
and for this she often prayed.
Being unable to kneel in prayer
for some months before her death,
she would lie in her mother's arms
during family worship, close her
eyes, fold her little hands, appa-
rently with the deepest emotion,
and often utter in a whisper single
words of prayer, and always repeat
the whole of the Lord's prayer.
One morning, after family wor-
ship, she said to her mother-



"I am very sorry that I can't
kneel any more, but I hope, before
I die, I may be able to kneel down
and pray for you, for father, and for
all the family."
A few moments after, one of the
servants, who had heard the re-
mark, said to her-
"Do you pray for me too,
Amelia ?"
"Oh yes was her ready reply.
"I do pray and will pray for you
and for Caroline, (another of the
servants;) but you must not forget
to pray for yourselves."
At another time, being carried
about the room by this same per-
son, little Amelia suddenly threw


her arms around her neck, and,
kissing her tenderly, said-
"Mary Ann, I love you dearly,
and I know that you love me, but
our Saviour loves you better than
all of us can love you! Will you
love Him? Will you pray to Him
to change your heart? Then, when
you die, I shall see you in heaven!"
The girl, surprised and deeply
affected by the affectionate earnest-
ness of the child, replied-
"I do pray and try to be good,
but I can't!"
"None of us can make our
hearts good," said Amelia. "But
our Saviour can change them. He
'has changed my heart, and He will


change your's. You must pray to
Him, and I will pray for you, too."
She was always "thankful" as
well as prayerful. She seemed to
receive every token of affection and
every act of attention as immedi-
ately from the hands of her Saviour.
When kind friends would send in
little delicacies of various kinds to
tempt her appetite, although she
could rarely do more than taste
them, she would say, How kind
our Saviour is, to send me these
nice things. I ought to be very
thankful I"
Having, on one occasion, a few
weeks before her death, had an
unusually restless night, at about


three o'clock in the morning she
fell asleep, and slept until five
o'clock,-thus enjoying a rest of
about two hours. When she awoke,
it was with a cheerful smile upon
her countenance, and perceiving
her mother also awake, she said-
"Oh, mother, what a good night
I had I prayed to our Saviour to
let me sleep a little, and I have
slept a long time! Oh, how thank-
ful I ought to bel"
Indeed, this feeling of thankful-
ness for any, even the very least
benefit or favour, would lead her
to notice every indication of ingra-
titude in others, and sometimes
prompt her to administer an affec-


tionate reproof. One of the ser-
vants, rather inclined to depression
of spirits, being alone with her one
day, began to complain of her lot,
saying (perhaps rather playfully
than seriously) that she wished
she were rich and need not work,
Amelia looked at her for a moment
in evident displeasure, and then
"Oh, how wrong it is for you to
complain! You have a very good
home; father and mother love you
and treat you kindly. You have
good clothes and enough to eat,
and you can go to church. Many
poor people have none of these
things. You ought to be very


thankful to our Saviour. And if
you are not, He might make you
poor too, and then you would have
The patience and resignation of
this dear child were equally re-
markable. There was much in the
nature of her disease to try her
patience. It was not painful, but
lingering and exceedingly oppres-
sive. She was not so ill as to be
confined to her bed, and yet she
was almost too weak to be kept
out of it. But with all she was
contented and satisfied; often say-
ing, "What our Saviour does is
If, at times, the throbbing of her


heart would distress her, or the
difficulty of breathing, (on account
of her being so much swollen with
the dropsy,) became unusually great,
she herself, and those around her,
would find it difficult to obtain an
easy or comfortable position for
her upon the rocking-chair, (for
on that she sat, from morning
till evening, for more than three
months, except at short intervals,
when she would lie upon her
mother's lap, or be carried about
by her father or one of the
domestics,) she would say, in an
apparently impatient tone--
"I can't sit so! Put me up
higher Rock me Fan me l"


Whenever her complicated suf-
ferings would force her to assume
this seemingly impatient manner,
she would afterward deeply regret
it and express her sorrow for it.
"I did not mean to grieve you,"
she would say to her mother. "I
am afraid I am impatient. I don't
want to be so. I must pray to our
Saviour to take all my naughtiness
away and give me patience."
The parents of this dear child
were often sad and sorrowful on
account of her many sufferings,
and the thought that if she were
not soon relieved she must die,
was exceedingly painful and dis-


The fond mother, who unwea-
riedly watched over and tended
upon her, and whose eye quickly
observed every change for better
or worse, could not always conceal
her fears and anxieties from the
little sufferer; but whenever she
did betray her feelings by her tears,
Amelia would look upon her with
inexpressible tenderness, and, by
a sweet smile or by extending her
little hand or lips to be kissed,
would endeavour, in this way, to
show her mother that she fully
appreciated her love, and could
feel for her on account of that
separation which she seemed to
think must soon take place.


On one occasion, during the week
before she died, her mother was
sitting before her, rubbing her feet,
and perceiving that they were more
swollen than ever, she could not
restrain her feelings, but burst into
tears, and passionately kissed them.
With a calmness and composure al-
most incredible in so young a child,
and with a look that penetrated
the mother's heart, little Amelis
threw her arms around her neck,
and said-
"My dear mother, you love me
too much;" and, after a pause of
an instant,, she added, "Our Saviour
loves me more. That's the reason
why He is going to take me. But


when I am gone, He will comfort
you. Whatever He does is right."
She would sometimes sit for an
hour or more, as if absorbed in deep
thought; her eyes closed, her finger
upon her mouth, and perfectly
Those who sat by and rocked her
chair could perceive that, although
her body was inactive, her mind
must be employed. She was there-
fore asked, on one of these occasions,
what she was thinking about. She
answered with sweet simplicity,
"Sometimes I think about our
Saviour,-sometimes about dying
and- going to heaven."
In order to ascertain her views


and feelings on these subjects more
explicitly, her mother asked her
how she felt when she thought
about dying? She replied-
"Sometimes I think I am not
good enough to go to heaven: then
I feel afraid to die. But when I
pray to our Saviour, I am not afraid.
I know He will spread his wings
over me." After a moment's pause,
she continued, "Sometimes I am
afraid I might die, and you and
father would not know it; but
when you wake up and think that
I am asleep, you would fnd me
dead. I would not like that, for
I want you and father to see me
when I die."


This remark was no doubt sug-
gested to her mind by the circum-
stance that, during the whole time
of her sickness, her parents were
never obliged to watch by her bed-
side; but they reposed so near her,
that every motion of her's must
arouse them. Still she thought it
possible that they might sleep, and
she be suddenly called away. Or,
she may have remembered that
some visitors, speaking of persons
who were suffering from the disease
of the heart, remarked that they
generally die very suddenly.
Her mother, however, comforted
her by saying, that although it was
possible for her to die suddenly, i,.



was not very probable that she
would die without her father or mo-
ther knowing it; for that they were
very watchful, and observed almost
every motion. She seemed satisfied,
and only said, "I hope I shall not
die in the rocking-chair. I wish to
die in my bed."
From this time till her death,
(about ten days,) her mind seemed
wholly occupied with the thought
of eternity. She seemed to have
literally done with the things of
this world. After one of her long
silent and thoughtful intervals, a
few days before she died, she called
her little sister to her and said-
"Emily, when I die, all the play-


things will be your's. Some we
had together, and some belonged
to each of us; but, when I am gone,
all will be yours; and what you do
not want you can give away."
Her little sister wept and said-
"Oh, Amelia, you a'n't going to
die now I"
"I don't know," was the simple
reply. "If our Saviour wishes to
take me now, I am willing to go.
I shall be so much better off. But
if He wants me to stay a while
longer, I am satisfied."
Her greatest pleasure was to hear
her parents sing. For several weeks
before her death, she would request
her dear mother to sing for her


every day, and often several times
during the day. She seemed, at
such times, to anticipate the very
joys of heaven. The seasons most
delightful to her were the evenings,
when the whole family were as-
sembled in her room. Then she
would request them to sing.
On one occasion, (it was a Sab-
bath evening,) her parents sang for
her; and having sung a number
of hymns which she was most
pleased to hear, her father said
to her-
"Now, dear daughter, we are
tired, and must stop."
"Do sing one more, if you please,"
she said, "and that will do."


"What shall it be, my daugh-
ter ?" asked her mother.
"My favourite hymn,-
'Jesus makes my heart rejoice.'"

This was indeed her favourite
hymn, and she was never tired of
hearing it sung.
At another time her parents sang
this hymn for her, when she seemed
more than ordinarily oppressed,
and was very weak. While singing
the last verse, containing the fol-
lowing lines-
Should not I for gladness leap,
Led by Jesus as His sheep ?
For when these blest days are over,
To the arms of my dear Saviour
I shall be convey'd to rest,"-


her dear mother was so over-
come, that she burst into tears
and could say no more; but the
dear child took up the strain, and
with a calm and heavenly emotion,
repeated the last line-
"Amen, yea, my lot is blest I"
The blessed conviction contained
in this last line suggested to her
mind the idea of the happiness
of heaven, and she afterward re-
marked, "There will be no wicked
people in heaven. All will be good.
All will love our dear Saviour, and
be with him. I shall not be sick
any more."
She seemed fully conscious that


her end was approaching, and she
was pleased to speak of it, though
there was no immediate perceptible
indication of it. One of the ser-
vants was carrying her about the
room, and remarked to her how
very heavy she had become.
Yes," said Amelia, "I am very
heavy, and I am sorry to make you
so tired of carrying me; but it will
not last long, and in heaven I shall
not be so."
"But are you not afraid to die?"
said the girl.
The child looked at her with
some surprise, and said-
"No, I am not afraid to die!


Why should I be afraid to die and
go to our Saviour in heaven?"
And a moment after, holding
up her little, swelled hand, she
"This body only will go into
the grave, but my soul will go to
heaven, and then I shall never be
sick any more."
Her last Sabbath on earth, April
11th, was a sweet antepast of her
eternal rest.
Are you going to stay with me
this morning?" she asked;-for she
thought her mother would wish to
go to church.
"Yes, my daughter, mother will
stay with you."


"I am sorry," she replied, "that
you can't go, but I am very glad
if you will stay with me."
While the people of God were
worshipping within hearing, and
the songs of Zion, accompanied by
the soft tones of the organ, fell upon
her ears, she was delighted. When
they ceased, she turned to her
mother and requested her to sing.
She did so, singing and weeping
by turns.
The dear child seemed too much
absorbed in her own feelings to
notice the emotions of her mother;
but still, to show her that she was
.not indifferent, she silently reached
out her little hand, as she had often


done before, for her mother to kiss.
After a pause, she said-
I must pray to our dear Saviour
to change my whole heart, so that
when I go to heaven, I may not be
afraid to see Him. Then He will
put His hand upon my head, as
He did upon the little children,"
alluding to the picture already
spoken of, and showing the depth
of the impression it had made.
In the evening, the family again
met in her room, and, for more than
an hour, comforted and cheered her
by singing her favourite hymns.
At eight o'clock she requested her
father to rub her feet, and, while
he was doing so, she seemed very


much oppressed and restless. She
was laid upon the bed, but being
too much oppressed to pray, she
requested her mother to pray for
her. She did so, and the child be-
came more composed and comfort-
able. The hight, however, proved
to be a very restless one for her,
for it was necessary to take her up,
turn her pillows, fan her, and give
her a drink of water, very often.
She said she was sorry to give her
dear father and mother so much
trouble. "I can't help it," she said.
"I hope I am not impatient !"
SAfter lying quiet for half an
hour, she complained of feeling sick
at her stomach, and turning upon


her back, she folded her little
hands, and, looking up to heaven,
prayed most fervently in these
words, "Dear Saviour, if it is thy
will, relieve me by to-morrow,-but
thy will be done!"
Toward morning she fell into an
apparently comfortable sleep. At
eight o'clock she was taken up and
as usual placed in the rocking-
chair. She appeared to be very
weak, and requested to have a cup
of milk and water. It was brought,
and with difficulty she drank about
half of it. Becoming restless and
much oppressed, she requested her
father to carry her. Meanwhile pre-
parations were made for family


worship. Her mother took her
upon her lap, but no position
seemed to afford her any relief.
She now appeared to feel that
the time of her departure had
come, for, looking up into her
mother's face, she said, "Dear
mother, I can't live much longer 1"
Her mother burst into tears, and
her father again took her into his
arms and carried her about the
room; but the difficulty of breathing
still continued.
Not finding an easy or com-
fortable position on his arms, she
said to her father, "Perhaps, if
you lay me down upon my bed,
I shall feel easier."


She was accordingly laid upon
her bed. As soon as her head
rested upon her pillow she said,
"Now, father, pray for me!"
Her father kneeled by her side
and began to pray, but a severe
paroxysm prevented her from hear-
ing, and she said, "Stop, father,
and turn me so that I can see you "
And in a few moments after she
fell into a sleep from which she
never awoke on earth. Her happy
spirit rested in the bosom of her
On the Wednesday following, her
remains were taken to Staten
Island, and interred in that beau-
tiful spot, which she knew while


living was to be her resting-place,
and on which she had so much
loved to look.
Her age was just six years and
three weeks.


Tama was a sweet, but tender flower,
That grew beneath the shade,
And budded mid the vernal bower
Of some sequestered glade.
The gardener fears the autumn storm,
And bears that plant away
To skies which are for ever warm,
To bloom in endless day.
There was a lamb as white as mow,
iThat gamboll'd o'er the hills
Reposed upon their sunny brow,
And drank om crystal rills.


The shepherd dreads the wintry blast,
And carries, in his arms,
The lamb where spring for ever lasts,
To screen it from all harm.

Thou wast, dear child, that lovely lower,
Too tender for this earth,-
Here bathed by the celestial shower,-
A germ of heavenly birth.

Thou wast the lamb of Jesus love,
That love which never dies,
Which trained thee for the fold above,
And bore thee to the skies.

Then should we weep, since thou'rt at rest?
Or grieve, since thou'rt seoue ?
Or should we mourn, since thou art blest,
And thy salvation sure?

Ah no I Yet hath not Jesus wept,
Amid sepulchral gloom,
Where Larus, his friend, once slept
Within the silent tomb ?


We weep,--dear Saviour, wipe these tears
From each fond parent's eyes!
Ah I heal the wound, allay our fears,
And train us for the skies.


1 IICI/ 'i .~ .....!.. I;i.!i
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