LOVISA AND LOVINA MACK.

The history of Lovisa and Lovina, my two oldest sisters, is so connected and interwoven that I shall not attempt to separate it.

They were one in faith, in love, in action, and in hope of eternal life. They were always together, and when they were old enough to understand the duties of a Christian, they united their voices in prayer and songs of praise to God. This sisterly affection increased with their years, and strengthened with the strength of their minds. The pathway of their lives was never clouded with a gloomy shadow until Lovisa's marriage, and removal from home, which left Lovina very lonely.

In about two years after Lovisa's marriage, she was taken very sick, and sent for Lovina. Lovina, as might be expected, went immediately, and remained with her sister during her illness, which lasted two years, baffling the skill of the most experienced physicians; but at the expiration of this time she revived a little, and showed some symptoms of recovery.

I shall here relate a circumstance connected with her sickness, which may try the credulity of some of my readers, yet hundreds were eye witnesses, and doubtless many are now living, who, if they would, could testify to the fact which I am about to mention.

As before stated, after the space of two years she began to manifest signs of convalescence, but soon a violent re-attack brought her down again, and she grew worse and worse, until she became entirely speechless, and so reduced that her attendants were not allowed to even turn her in bed. She took no nourishment except a very little rice water. She lay in this situation three days and two nights. On the third night, about two o'clock, she feebly pronounced the name of Lovina, who had all the while watched over her pillow, like an attendant angel, observing every change and symptom with the deepest emotion. Startled at hearing the sound of Lovisa's voice, Lovina now bent over the emaciated form of her sister, with thrilling interest, and said, "my sister! my sister! what will you?"

Lovisa then said emphatically, "the Lord has healed me, both soul and body—raise me up and give me my clothes, I wish to get up."

Her husband told those who were watching with her, to gratify her, as in all probability it was a revival before death, and he would not have her crossed in her last moments.

They did so, though with reluctance, as they supposed she might live a few moments longer, if she did not exhaust her strength too much by exerting herself in this manner.

Having raised her in bed, they assisted her to dress; and although, when they raised her to her feet, her weight dislocated both of her ankles, she would not consent to return to her bed, but insisted upon being set in a chair, and having her feet drawn gently in order to have her ankle joints replaced. She then requested her husband to bring her some wine, saying, if he would do so she would do quite well for the present.

Soon after this, by her own request, she was assisted to cross the street to her father-in-law's, who was at that time prostrated upon a bed of sickness. When she entered the house he cried out in amazement, "Lovisa is dead, and her spirit is now come to warn me of my sudden departure from this world." "No, father," she exclaimed, "God has raised me up, and I have come to tell you to prepare for death." She conversed an hour or so with him, then, with the assistance of her husband and those who attended upon her that night, she crossed the street back again to her own apartment.

When this was noised abroad, a great multitude of people came together, both to hear and see concerning the strange and marvelous circumstance which had taken place. She talked to them a short time, and then sang a hymn, after which she dismissed them, promising to meet them the next day at the village church, where she would tell them all about the strange manner in which she had been healed.

The following day according to promise, she proceeded to the meeting house, and when she arrived there a large congregation had collected. Soon after she entered, the minister arose and remarked, that as many of the congregation had doubtless come to hear a recital of the strange circumstance which had taken place in the neighborhood, and as he himself felt more interested in it than in hearing a gospel discourse, he would open the meeting and then give place to Mrs. Tuttle.

The minister then requested her to sing a hymn; she accordingly did so, and her voice was as high and clear as it had ever been. Having sung, she arose and addressed the audience as follows:—"I seemed to be borne away to the world of spirits, where I saw the Savior, as through a veil, which appeared to me about as thick as a spider's web, and he told me that I must return again to warn the people to prepare for death; that I must exhort them to be watchful as well as prayerful; that I must declare faithfully unto them their accountability before God, and the certainty of their being called to stand before the judgment seat of Christ; and that if I would do this, my life should be prolonged." After which, she spoke much to the people upon the uncertainty of life.

When she sat down, her husband and sister, also those who were with her during the last night of her sickness, arose and testified to her appearance just before her sudden recovery.

Of these things she continued to speak boldly for the space of three years. At the end of which time she was seized with the consumption which terminated her earthly existence.

A short time before Lovisa was healed in the miraculous manner before stated, Lovina was taken with a severe cough which ended in consumption. She lingered three years. During which time she spoke with much calmness of her approaching dissolution, contemplating death with all that serenity which is characteristic of the last moments of those who fear God, and walk uprightly before him. She conjured her young friends to remember that life upon this earth cannot be eternal. Hence the necessity of looking beyond this vale of tears, to a glorious inheritance, "where moths do not corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal."

The care of Lovina, during her illness, devolved chiefly upon myself. The task, though a melancholy one, I cheerfully performed, and, although she had much other attention, I never allowed myself to go an hour, at a time, beyond the sound of her voice while she was sick. A short time before she breathed out her last moments, which was in the night, she awakened me, and requested that I would call father and mother, for she wished to see them, as she would soon be gone. When they came, she said, "Father and mother, now I am dying, and I wish you to call my young associates, that I may speak to them before I die." She then requested me to place her in a chair, and as soon as the young people who were called in, were seated, she commenced speaking. After talking a short time to them, she stopped, and, turning to her mother, said, "Mother, will you get me something to eat? it is the last time you will ever bring me nourishment in this world." When my mother had complied with her request, she eat a small quantity of food, with apparent appetite, then gave back the dish, saying, "There, mother, you will never get me anything to eat again."

After which, she turned to the company, and proceeded with her remarks, thus:—"I do not know when I received any material change of heart, unless it was when I was ten years old. God, at that time, heard my prayers, and forgave my sins; and ever since then I have endeavored to serve him according to the best of my abilities. And I have called you here to give you my last warning—to bid you all farewell, and beseech you to endeavor to meet me where parting shall be no more."

Shortly after this, holding up her hands, and looking upon them as one would upon a trifling thing unobserved before, she said, with a smile upon her countenance, "See, the blood is settling under my nails." Then, placing the fingers of her left hand across her right she continued thus, "Tis cold to there—soon this mortal flesh will be food for worms." Then, turning to me, she said, "Now, sister Lucy, will you help me into bed."

I did as I was directed, carrying her in my arms just as I would a child. Although I was but thirteen years old, she was so emaciated that I could carry her with considerable ease.

As I was carrying her to bed, my hand slipped. At this she cried out, "Oh! Sister, that hurt me." This, indeed, gave me bitter feelings. I was well assured, that this was the last sad office I should ever perform for my sister, and the thought that I had caused her pain in laying her on her death bed, wounded me much.

Soon after this, she passed her hand over her face, and again remarked, "My nose is now quite cold." Then, slightly turning and straightening herself in bed, she continued, "Father, mother, brother, sister, and dear companions, all farewell, I am going to rest—prepare to follow me; for

"Death! 'tis a melancholy day
To those that have no God,
When the poor soul is forced away
To seek her last abode.

"In vain to heaven she lifts her eyes;
But guilt, a heavy chain,
Still drags her downwards from the skies,
To darkness, fire, and pain

"Awake and mourn, ye heirs of hell,
Let stubborn sinners fear;
You must be driven from earth, and dwell
A long Forever there!

"See how the pit gapes wide for you,
And flashes in your face;
And thou, my soul, look downward too,
And sing recovering grace.

"He is a God of sov'reign love,
Who promised heaven to me,
And taught my thoughts to soar above,
Where happy spirits be.

"Prepare me, Lord for thy right hand,
Then come the joyful day,
Come, death, and some celestial band,
To bear my soul away."

After repeating this hymn, she folded her hands across her breast, and then closed her eyes for ever.

Having led my readers to the close of Lovina's life, I shall return to Lovisa, of whom there only remains the closing scene of her earthly career.

In the course of a few months subsequent to the death of sister Lovina, my father received a letter from South Hadley, stating that Lovisa was very low of the consumption, and that she earnestly desired him to come and see her as soon as possible, as she expected to live but a short time.

My father set out immediately, and when he arrived there, he found her in rather better health than he expected. In a few days after he got there, she resolved in her heart to return with him at all hazards. To this her father unwillingly consented, and, after making the requisite preparations, they started for Gilsum.

They traveled about four miles, and came to an inn kept by a man by the name of Taff. Here her father halted, and asked her if she did not wish to tarry a short time to rest herself. She replied in the affirmative. By the assistance of the landlord, she was presently seated in an easy chair. My father then stepped into the next room to procure a little water and wine for her. He was absent but a moment; however, when he returned it was too late, her spirit had fled from its earthly tabernacle to return no more, until recalled by the trump of the archangel.

My father immediately addressed a letter to mother, informing her of Lovisa's death, lest the shock of seeing the corpse unexpectedly should overcome her. And as soon as he could get a coffin, he proceeded on his journey for Gilsum, a distance of fifty miles.

She was buried by the side of her Sister Lovina, according to her own request.

The following is part of a hymn composed by herself, a few days previous to her decease:—

Lord, may my thoughts be turned to thee—
Lift thou my heavy soul on high;
Wilt thou, O Lord, return to me
In mercy, Father, ere I die!
My soaring thoughts now rise above—
Oh fill my soul with heavenly love.

Father and mother, now farewell;
And husband, partner of my life,
Go to my father's children, tell
That lives no more on earth thy wife,
That while she dwelt in cumbrous clay,
For them she prayed both night and day.

My friends, I bid you all adieu;
The Lord hath called, and I must go—
And all the joys of this vain earth,
Are now to me of little worth:
'Twill be the same with you as me,
When brought as near eternity.

Thus closes this mournful recital, and when I pass with my readers into the next chapter, with them probably may end the sympathy aroused by this rehearsal, but with me it must last while life endures.