BIOGRAPHY.

OF POTTER HILL.

able home, where both his tem poral and spiritual wants were provided for. He was favoured with the prayers and the pious counsels of his grandmother, who took care that it should be said of him as it was said of Timothy-viz., that from a child he had known the Scriptures, which are able to make men wise unto salvation.

THE subject of this memoir | adopt him and the rest of the was born at Highgreen, April family. Here he had a comfort24, 1837. He was the son of William and Ann Copley. When quite a child he delighted in prayer. He became a scholar in our Sunday-school at Potter Hill in March, 1843, and soon gained the esteem and affection of the teachers. As he grew in years he rapidly advanced in learning, and cherished an increasing love of the Word of God and delight in its perusal. At the age of eight years he was left an orphan, but He who hath promised to be a father to the fatherless kindly disposed his uncle and aunt at Highgreen to continuance at the work. It

When he arrived at the usual age for the commencement of a life of labour he began to work in the coal-pit, but his delicate state of health forbade his long

soon became evident that he was the subject of consumption, and that his stay on earth would not be long. Medical aid was obtained, but it was unavailing; death had set his mark upon him, and the disease of "the collier boy" (as he was familiarly designated by the doctor) baffled all human skill. His "sickness was unto death;" but

when the writer visited him, he seemed worn to a skeleton, but though his body was very weak his spirit was strong. He had confidence in God, and believed that all things would work together for his good. On one occasion he was asked if he was afraid to die. He firmly answered, "No." He assured his teacher that he felt that Christ had taken away the sting of death, and that he feared no evil, because he was certain that in the valley of the shadow of death God would be with him, and that He who was his light and his salvation would illuminate his passage to the tomb. Thus filled with humble trust in God, he patiently waited until his change should come, and on the 15th of October, 1852, aged fifteen years and five months, he fell asleep in Jesus.

it was also "for the glory of God; " for it was when his heart and his flesh were failing him that the Lord was felt to be the strength of his heart and his everlasting portion. It was when walking through the valley of the shadow of death that his eyes were fully opened to the ight of saving truth, and his heart was fully brought beneath he influence of saving grace. He then saw more clearly than e had hitherto seen that it is ot the perusal of the sacred Sabbath-school Teachers!Scriptures, nor prayers, nor let us not grow weary in wellttendance upon the means of doing. God owns our humble race, nor any other "work of efforts; one dear child after ighteousness," but by the merits another is, through our feeble f Christ alone that a poor sin-instrumentality, converted to er can be saved from guilt and God, and raised to everlasting ondemnation. He renounced glory. Let us labour with in11 dependence upon his own creased vigour; let us pray with oodness, and by the exercise of increased earnestness; and the aith in Christ found redemption God of Sunday-schools will bless a his blood, even the forgive-us and make us a blessing. ess of his sins. He had "the itness in himself," and "sen

S. H.

ibly believed." At one time

Potter Hill, April, 1853.

POETRY.

COTTAGE SCENE IN SUMMER.
THE beams of the summer are browning the moor;
The sweetbrier blooms at the neat cottage door,
And sheds on its inmates a rich fragrant scent,
As over their morning repast they are bent.
The milk from the pipkin they carefully drain;
The crumbs are collected, no fragments remain.
The father arising prepares to depart;

To fetch him his basket the little ones start.
The scythe on his shoulder is carefully swung;
And when on its handle his jacket is hung,
He gives to his children a cheerful farewell,
And hies with light heart to the daisy-deck'd dell.
Brisk Willie calls Rover to come along faster,

Who paws on his waistcoat and barks to his master;
For Willie and Rover are off to the sheep,

And there, through the day, they must both of them keep.
The grandfather sits in the garden to read:

He teaches the young ones to pull up the weed,
And bids them to notice how industry thrives,

In the busy brown tenants that swarm from the hives;
Or warns to beware of the sting of the bee,
The sweet little girl that is placed on his knee.
Where are Patty and Peggy? They're filling their laps
With sticks where the hedger is mending the gaps;
And each with delight will bring home in her hand
A nosegay, that in the blue pitcher must stand;
And each has a tale to claim father's kind smile,
When they see him at night coming over the stile.
With shouts of loud laughter they join in the race,
And contend for the first and the fondest embrace.
South Shields, 1853.

SABBATH MORNING.

W. L.

How calm and still the sacred morn of rest!
How bright with sovereign beauty all things seem!
Am I awake? Or does a radiant dream,

With magic potence charm my ravished breast?
Birds on their glossy pinions cleave the air,

And raise with shrill delight th' enraptured song ;
What high enjoyment must to them belong!

What pure emotions unalloyed by care!
Oh! that the peace which falls upon me now
Might always bless this anxious heart of mine-
Control its restless passions, and allow

The pow'rful sway of nought but love divine!
How gently then would glide my life
Supremely happy and serenely gay!

away:

OUR YOUTH'S DEPARTMENT.

ROME AND SOME OF ITS BUILDINGS.

It is generally believed that there is a transcendent interest in visiting the spots which have become memorable. "Whether," says Cicero," it be from nature, or some weakness in us, it is certain that we are much more affected by the sight of those places where great and famous men have spent most part of their lives, than either by hearing of their actions or reading their works." (Cic. de Fin. 5.) He tells us also, on another occasion, (De Legib. ii. 2,) that on visiting "the eye of Greece," he was not so much gratified with Athens itself for its stately edifices, or its sculptures of exquisite art, as in recollecting its illustrious men, in finding out the place where each had lived, walked, or held his disputations, or in carefully visiting their places of sepulture. As such feelings are widely diffused, and as their gratification will tend, if rightly employed, to our intellectual and moral benefit, we shall now proceed to survey some of the most striking features of the city of Rome.

The walls by which it is surrounded occupy, generally, the site of those constructed by the emperor Aurelian. They extend in the form of an irregular polygon, about fourteen miles in circumference.

Not more than a third part of the inclosed area is covered with buildings; the rest consisting of ruins, gardens, and fields, with some churches, convents, and other scattered habitations. The older part of the ancient city, where the principal ruins are found, is about half a mile south from the modern city, The former, under the emperors, was far more extensive than the latter, inasmuch as, besides the space within the walls, it had very considerable suburbs. The ground occupied by the city is mostly low, being only from thirty-five to forty-five feet above the level of the sea.

The nearly-deserted site of the ancient city, formerly covered with so many monuments of grandeur, now presents, to the eye little except massive walls, substructures, and other architectural fragments,-a scene of sublime desolation scarcely relieved by the villas, gardens, and vineyards with which it is interspersed. "The public and private edifices, says Poggius," which were founded for eternity, lie prostrate, naked, and broken, like the limbs of a mighty giant; and the