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B of her best Friend, that the sword of the ny will hasten its helpless victim. O, Harry! eed the mighty truths of Christ's religion at a
like this, when, if ever revenge could be fied, Satan will persuade us it is so now. But a Satanic impulse ; and he exults in the cry h is just now rushing like wild-fire through our ked and mourning country.” Then should we do notbing, mamma?” Not so; God's people can do much. Let our w be the consecrated ground out of which shall g some new desire, or effort, or resolve for His
other month of weary, heart-sickening susfaith that sustained our martyred friends, and the only practical proof I can give that I wish to overcome evil with good, and desire the best of blessings for those who have hated us and ours.”
and anxiety for the fate of the sufferers, and -no letter from the dear Christian mother to tell liverance for herself and those she loved better life; but the official despatch, with its bitter ty, old of a better deliverance, even though gh massacre and death; and Harry read the şs first in the pale, sad countenance of his ning parent. But he said nothing: he was ating in the deep recesses of his young heart a ne of glorious revenge. His mother watched anxiously as he became more and more ghtful and loving; and she saw that, when the ing name of "India" sounded in his ear, his
flashed with the light of some yet secret sht, that was not like the fire of vengefulanger. larry," she said, " will you put this into your ionary-box for me? It is ten tim-s what I have given before; but it is a thank-offering for the
Harry took the money, and dropped his mother's gift, piece by piece, deliberately into the box: tben he came and sat by her side. “Mamma, dear," he said, affectionately,“ you can give something more."
“ Yes, my prayers, dear Harry,” she said, looking on him with thankful pleasure for his suggestion
“Something more yet, my mother. I hare thought a great deal since that terrible news came and I cannot rest until you promise that I shall be revenged. Do not start, dear mother; for it is not with my twenty schoolfellows, sword in hand. But I want to preach the Gospel over the graves of our murdered ones. Give your son, mamma; and, with God's help and blessing, I will be a Missionary India.”
The mother's heart was full-too full for words: but ber son knew her too well to doubt that the fulness there was of joy and praise.
“I will help to attack, not the poor short life, but the soul that must live always," he continued. “I wanted a little while ago to exterminate traitors in man's way of vengeance; but now I want to assail their sin in God's way of love. India must be converted to Jesus, before she can be faithful to England; and we must prove to her now that the more bitter and cruel her hatred, the stronger and
re determined are our efforts to benefit and
es, mamma, may a Missionary to India of every family bereaved by her mutiny lion !” land! if thy sons and daughters will do t true glory may not be thine? From the thy slaughtered children might spring the ercise of power, and the holiest monument I feeling; and the Gospel in India should spread peace
and obedience over the reflect at home the best blessings of pon a nation's forgiving love. B. T.
G PEOPLE MUST HAVE THEIR
AMUSEMENTS. a young lady of nineteen once to her She was immoderately devoted to dress, volous pleasures. Her mother would o her, “I wish, Amelia, that you could feel as I do about these things : but I ou never will, till you are converted. ay for you.” “Mother,” Amelia would do not wish you to worry about me, or to ny change that will spoil my pleasures. ple, you know, must have their amuse
grace of God, at length, an impression upon her that resulted in her conversion. 8 admission into the church, her Minister 'ell, Amelia, what do you now think about ts?
Are they as necessary for young you once thought they were ?” She felt the point of the inquiry, but was not disconcerted, and replied, “I still think they are necessary for the young; but the worst is, we make a wrong choice: those in which I once indulged were only the refuge of an unhappy mind. I enjoyed them, because, for the time, they made me forget myself, my mortality, and my destiny. Your preaching made me miserable, and I tried by such expedients to quiet uneasy conscience.
I now see how trifling and wicked they were. Christ has given me employments that make me happy. I have collected eight neglected children, and they are my class in the Sabbath-school. I find pleasure in teaching them. I find pleasure in the distribution of tracts, and .conversation with the ignorant and poor. I find pleasure in our meetings for social devotion. I find pleasure in the study of the Scriptures, and in communion with God at the mercy-seat., These are now my amusements. They are necessary to me. All others are insipid and odious."
O that all our young people knew the pleasures of experimental and practical religion !
HOW TO COME TO JESUS. THERE was once a child who was separated from his father; but he was so well able to keep that father in his mind that it consoled him many a time for the sorrows of absence. His name was Frank; and he was born in that hot country on the continent of Asia, called India. He had no mamma; and three tle sisters, who had once played with Frank, were
ed out of sight, and their souls were gone to the nd of little children: so that Frank was the one left to his father; and very dearly did the i and his father love one another. He had no -fellows of his own age; but he did not need 1. He was a quiet boy; and from his ill-health lid not like rough play, but was always happy sten to the stories wbich his father told him, or y his side while he wrote, looking up every now then to his face, but never disturbing him by ing or noise. He told his papa all his thoughts, hid nothing from him; and wisely and tenderly the good parent train his little one, trying to him to love the Saviour, and to give his young t to Him. it no care or love could make the roses bloom rank's pale cheeks; and soon the doctor said if the boy did not leave India he would die. e are but few English children who can bear heat of Calcutta, the city in which Frank's r lived; and it was decided at last that he Id go to England to be educated. The day
for him to say farewell to his Indian home his dear papa, who could not leave his business ilcutta, but who loved his child too well to wish eep him in so unhealthy a country. A lady was going to England took charge of Frank: had children of her own; and both she and thought him a strange, dull boy, so that he left much alone during the long voyage. For
time he was very sad, and used to sit and cry e thought of his dear papa, and the long time