# Memoir of Elizabeth Jones a little Indian girl who lived at the River-Credit Mission Upper Canada/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
Elizabeth's Early Piety.
"A flower when offer'd in the bud, Is no vain sacrifice."—Watts.
Having given this brief account of the lovely moral traits displayed in dear Elizabeth's character, I shall now endeavour to show how all these were heightened and polished by the sweet influence of the grace of God on her heart; at once causing her to act from love to him, and evidencing her early piety.
She was very particular in offering up her morning and evening prayers; but this alone did not satisfy Elizabeth. Often during the day have I known her go by herself and pray. She would sometimes say to me, "Aunt, I want God to give me a clean heart and a good spirit: shall I go and pray to him, and then perhaps he will give it to me?" And that gracious Saviour who inspired this prayer fulfilled in her his own precious promise, "They that seek me early shall find me." At other times she would say, "Aunt, do you know what I am thinking about?" "No, my dear; what?" "I am thinking about God and Jesus Christ."
Once, when on a visit, the lady with whom ​she was staying said to her, when putting her to bed, "Elizabeth, as the night is cold, you may say your prayers in bed." She immediately answered, "O no; do you think it is right for me to get into bed to say my prayers? As I am in bed now, I will say them this time in bed." But after this, were the night ever so cold, she would pray and repeat her hymn before getting into bed.
She was very fond of singing, and had a sweet voice. Often would she go about the house, or when in the garden we would hear her, singing the pretty hymns she had learned; and many a morning the first sounds that have saluted our ears have been the praises of God from her tuneful lips.
It was also a great delight to her to go to the house of God; and when there she evidenced by her behaviour that she had a proper sense of the solemnity of the services in which she was engaged. During prayer she would kneel, and, covering her face with her hands, show all the outward signs of worship; and who can doubt but that a child so sensible of the importance of prayer, did often in spirit send up petitions to her heavenly Father? Once observing she was carelessly gazing about like too many other children, being reproved, she appeared quite ashamed, and I do not remember to have observed the like inattention ​ever after. When she knew the hymns, she always united her praises with the congregation; and when she did not, she would eagerly look over the Hymn-book, and try to catch the words. During the sermon, I think all who ever watched her must have been struck with her fixed attention and quiet behaviour. She would look up with her fine bright eyes to the Preacher, apparently indifferent to all around. And here I would remark that this is not the common way in which Indians show their interest in what is going forward. When attending their councils, they just look to see who is going to speak, and then cast their eyes down for the rest of the time. Likewise in a place of worship they consider that looking down is a more favourable attitude for attention, and that to fix their eyes on the speaker would be a mark of rudeness. So that in this respect Elizabeth, having been differently taught, was an exception to the general rule.
This dear child was not only good herself, but anxious that other children should be so also. When between three and four years old, she expressed considerable anxiety about a little boy who lived with her parents, and said, "Papa, I wish you would make —— a good boy, so that when he dies he may go up to heaven. Papa, you must punish him if he is not good." At another ​time she said to me, "Aunt, do you love ——?" I told her I could not love the naughty things she did, because God did not; but I hoped God would make her a good child, and then I should love her. She immediately answered, "I will tell you what I had better do,—pray to God to make her a good child." Saying this, she ran up stairs, and I heard her pray, but could not distinguish the words.
The following is an extract from her father's letter to the Rev. Peter Jones:— "I cannot, dear brother, describe to you my feelings on the loss of my dear daughter. You know how much I loved her; and how affectionate she was to me, and to all her relations. She never disobeyed my orders, and I never knew her offend any person. She would reprove them if she saw them doing any thing that was wrong, but it was always with great modesty.
"About three years ago I remember to have done something that was not right, which she knew of; and the first time she saw me alone she mentioned it very affectionately, saying, 'Papa, you should not do so.' I was so struck with the reproof, I caught her up in my arms, and with tears said, 'No, my child, I will never do so again.'"
Having done a naughty thing herself one day, for which she was punished, when putting her to bed, she burst into tears; on being asked why she ​wept, she said, "I am really afraid God will send me to hell." "Why do you think so?" "Because I have been so wicked." I told her, if she were sorry in her heart, and prayed to God to forgive her for Christ's sake, he would. When she knelt down, she said, most pathetically, sobbing all the time, "Please God forgive me, and make me a good child." She could pray no more for sorrow; but at length said, "Aunt, I want to speak to you: do you think God has forgiven me?" I replied, "Yes, if you are sincere." She said, "I did mean what I said; and I really think God has forgiven me, I feel so happy now." The next morning she said, "Aunt, do you know what I am going to do to-day?" I replied, " I hope, dear, you are going to be a good girl?" "Yes, that is what I was thinking about: I am going to think of you and God all day." She often referred to her late naughty deed, and seemed bitterly to repent having done it. She said one day to her father, "How good Jesus Christ was to die for the people!" He asked her if she loved him for dying for her. She replied, "Yes, I do."
When about to leave home, last winter, for a month, our principal anxiety was concerning dear Elizabeth, under whose protection to place her during our absence. However, this difficulty was soon settled; the Mission family offering most ​kindly to take the charge of her. The school-mistress, who resided in the same house, took the immediate care of her. At this time she was suffering from indisposition, which not only required much patience to bear, but was the occasion of additional trouble and anxiety to those who so kindly undertook the responsibility of attending to her. On our return, we were delighted to hear of her good behaviour and exemplary patience under her affliction. Mrs. S. told me, she never knew a better child; she had so won their hearts, that they not only felt the greatest interest in her, but had considered it a pleasure, rather than a trouble, to have her with them.
During her stay with this kind family, she was one day trying to teach a little boy (her senior) Watts's Catechism. They were in a room alone, but Mr. S., being in an adjoining one, heard all that passed. When she came to that question, "Does God love every thing that he has made?" and the answer, "Yes;" the little boy said that he was sure that must be wrong, for God did not love wicked people. Elizabeth said, it was so in the book, and therefore must be right; and after thinking for a short time how to reconcile this apparent difficulty, she replied, "I will tell you, John, how it is: God loves the people when he makes them; but when they do wicked things, he does ​not love the wicked things they do, only he loves them because he made them." Mr. S. told me she carried on quite a little argument, which far surpassed her years, which I cannot now remember. The testimony of her school-mistress is, that she was far beyond the generality of children, and her capacity for improvement equal to one who had seen twice her number of years.
Thus lived this happy and contented little girl; not only good herself, but endeavouring to make all around her happy and good also. I often thought, while she was with us, I had read of such children, but never knew such an one.
On the Sunday evening previous to giving up the charge of this dear Elizabeth, our hearts felt exceedingly sorrowful at the thought. It was one of those trials which only duty compelled us to acquiesce in; and our feelings were the more excited by her simple expressions of affection, and her telling me she hoped I should soon come back again. O how mysterious, how unexpected at times are the ways of Providence! but often most merciful when most severe. This should reconcile us to the otherwise depressing recollection, that on our return to the little garden, in the midst of the distant wilderness, we shall miss one of its fairest plants, one that we had fondly hoped would, under the genial influence of the Gospel, have ​struck its roots deep, and expanded its branches wide, bringing forth the fruits of righteousness; or, to drop the metaphor, we had hoped that though we had lost a valuable member of our little society, in the removal of our beloved Christiana Jones, her dear child would be growing up to take her place in the church and in' the neighbourhood. But "God's ways are not our ways, neither are his thoughts our thoughts." We knew not how much we loved her; but God who loved her better than any on earth, has, for some wise end, taken her to his better care and happier home in heaven.
"What can preserve my life, or what destroy? An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave, Legions of angels can't confine me there."