would have found her always reading the tenth chapter of Genesis.
The woman, who had the fame of knowing by heart a great many prayers, was often sent for to go even long distances to repeat them for the hope and comfort of the dying; and she was faithfully trying to master the long names, so as to say them off glibly to serve as a prayer.
One day, as they sat taking their noon-day coffee, a messenger came from a neighboring plantation, begging her to go at once to see a young girl who was very ill. With book in hand, she set out, and arriving at the house a sad, though to her not unusual, sight met her eyes. A girl of about fifteen lay upon the bed, her beautiful black eyes looking strangely bright in contrast with the pale features. The parents and sisters, instead of caring for her, were wringing their hands and wildly crying out, "She is dying! She is dying!" The sick girl feebly stretched out a wasted hand, gasping: "They say that I am dying; teach me quickly how to die; tell me, what must I do?" The old woman gently took her hand and in a soothing voice said: "Don't be nervous, dear; if you will repeat after me the Pater Noster, the Ave Maria, the prayer to St. Joseph and the rest, and then a new prayer that I have learned from this good book, you need not be afraid."
A sight never to be forgotten by one who knows that there is but the one "name under heaven, given among men whereby we must be saved," was this death-bed scene. The old woman, in clear tones, rapidly repeated
