ated nothing less than the day of general doom. The city was
in a state of unusual commotion, a report had gained ground that
the invader was at hand, some foolish person had caused the massive
portcullis of the city gate to be let down, several recruiting parties
were parading the streets, two of these she met, and the shrill blasts
of a few mounted trumpeters, together with a dense and portentous
cloud, which just at the moment spread itself upon the horizon,
completed her dismay. She reached home in tears. Her mother, whose
solicitude was awakened, inquired the cause. She replied, "Mother,
I can't tell you, but nothing in this world will make me happy."
Suspecting the real state of her feelings, her mother conversed kindly
with her, and administered suitable consolation, but in vain. After
committing herself to God in earnest prayer, she retired to rest with
the conviction, that she was the greatest sinner in the world; but the
next morning, which was the holy Sabbath, broke upon her with healing
in its wings. She awoke with the words in her mind,

"What a blessing to know that my Jesus is mine."

Her soul was immediately filled with a calm sweet joy, which she was
unable to describe. She arose from her bed, and went to the house of
God, her heart still glowing with these newly awakened emotions; and
while on her way thought within herself, "O that I had a voice that
would reach to all the world, I would tell them how happy I am."
This occurred on the 12th of February, 1795. But the transport of her
feelings, after enduring for a season, at length subsided; yet
not without leaving a permanent though perhaps not easily defined
impression. It may be asked was this conversion? was it genuine? and
in a child so young? We answer it would be very difficult to prove
that it was not. One thing is certain, that from this time there was a
settled purpose to serve the Lord, which spite of fluctuating feeling
and periods of wintry coldness was steadily kept in view; ever and
anon gathering strength until it ripened into maturity. The sapling,
because it bends to the breeze is not therefore destitute of life;
unless it be torn up by the roots, or scorched and withered by the
noon-day sun, or absolutely frozen by the winter's cold, it will
gradually wax and grow until its massive trunk is able to bid defiance
to the storm. Conversing on this subject with one of her children at
a late period in life, when her judgment was mature