Near the close of the year 1825, Mr. and Mrs. W. took a voyage to Calcutta, on account of the severe illness of the former. Little Charles went with them, while his sister Harriet stayed behind, under the kind care of Mrs. Spaulding. While these parents were thus absent, their darling daughter, and Jane Spaulding, the oldest child of Mr. and Mrs. S., were removed by death of Cholera, within a few hours of each other.

March 22, 1826.

Charles has talked much about death, since his sister died. He tries to understand how the soul would like to go to God.

We e are now at sea, on our way home. He is well and very active climbing the ropes -jumping up the ship's sides-making instruments to take an observation of the sun to know our latitude, and all the "et cætera" of overflowing boyish spirits. He seems now to take to his book a little more than he has done. Since we left home he has been much of the time neglected; and has made but little progress in reading. Charles could not love any one more than he did Harriet. I never saw

brother and sister whose pleasures and pains were so much one; and next to her he loved Jane.

The news of their death had a singular effect. He looked steadily at his father's face when he told him, and though he saw us both weeping, betrayed no emotion, but seemed to make an effort, and turned away to seek the children of the family for play.

When we afterwards spoke of them to him, he listened rather reluctantly, but said nothing, and though before, he would speak of them twenty times in a day, always planning to tell them of what he saw and heard, and getting something to carry to them. He now never mentioned their names. After about ten days he was one evening amusing himself by my side, unusually affectionate and free, and looking upsuddenly, said, "For many days I did n't like to talk about Harriet and Jane when mamma talked about them, I did not like it. I wish she would n't talk so." "And can you now talk about them?" 'Yes, now I will.” He then made many inquiries about how long they were sick if they had much pain, &c., and was quite affected, when I told him that his sister called Charles twice, a few minutes before she

died. He has since spoken of them often, and is anxious to know what Harriet wanted, when she called him. After thinking, one day, he said, "I think I know; I think she wanted to tell me to be a good boy, and pray, and love God." He sometimes says to himself, "dear Harriet's dead," "poor Harriet 's dead;" and he says, "don't mamma know how many times she said, 'I want to die - I want to die and go to God,'-now I think Harriet is in heaven."

March 16, 1827.

I had this evening, an interesting conversation with Charles. It seemed a new thought to him, that those who go to hell, have never after an opportunity to repent, and it was difficult to convince him that they cannot put an end to their sufferings by killing themselves; he said, "but if Jesus should come to them and call them, would they not love him and go to him."

May, 1826.

Dear little Harriet lies beside our little babe in the corner of our front and east garden, where, God willing, our bodies will rest.

Our

dear Charles often goes there, and he said, last evening, "Why, mamma, do you not go and see where dear little Harriet lies? She is very near the little baby, side by side." He appeared to try to forget her, and avoid speaking of her death when we were away, and would generally comfort himself, if for a moment recollecting his loss, in the expectation of finding Joanna well, and much improved, so that she could play with him; but since we came to Oodooville, he has mourned much that he could not see her. He says, "Oh, mamma, if God had let dear little Harriet live, till we came home, how glad I should be. I want to go to heaven, then I can see her." He has prayed that God would let him die soon, so that he could see Harriet.

Charles enjoys Joanna very much. Dear fellow I wish I were not so anxious about him, and would be thankful, that I can cast him on the Lord with more quietness than I once did. He has, however, so much about him that says, I will be something or nothing, that I often tremble, and often know not my duty toward him. He is very observing, and

I see dangers encircle him so that it almost seems as though he cannot escape.

Nov. 1826.

We spent last evening in Manepy, and had a precious time, quite like what we had in revivals. We are hoping for times of refreshing from the presence of the Lord, before the close of the year. After meeting, I had an alarm, which will show you how much we are in danger and death, and how kindly preserved from harm. After the last singing, when we had all stood around the table, turning myself to sit down in the chair behind me, my eyes fell on a very poisonous snake at my feet. It moved slowly from me towards Charles, who lay on the floor asleep, about a yard distant! I had often thought of the possibility of seeing a snake beside the children in bed, and knowing that if I did anything to disturb it in the least, it would without doubt bite the child, I stood and saw it approach, saw it go under his pillow, come back, and then go over his face, with emotions which cannot be expressed. The agony of suspense I was in, as it crawled about