the Lord! let him do what seemeth him good; the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, and blessed be the name of the Lord." Come, and tell us that they are disposed of infinitely to their advantage; that the separation is temporary; that a time of re-union will come; that we shall see their faces, and hear their voices again.

Take two Christians, who have been walking together, like "Zacharias and Elizabeth, in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blameless." Is the connection dissolved by death? No. We take the Bible along with us, and inscribe on their tomb: "Pleasant in life, and in death not divided." Is the one removed before the other? He becomes an attraction to the other;

he draws him forward, and is waiting to "receive him into everlasting habitations." Let us suppose a pious family re-uniting together, after following each other successively down to the grave. How unlike every present meeting! Here our intercourse is chilled with the certainty of separation; there we shall meet to part no more-we shall be for ever with each other, and for ever with the Lord. Now affliction often enters our circle, and the distress of one is the concern of all; then we shall "rejoice with them that rejoice," but not "weep with them that weep;" for "all tears shall be wiped from our eyes, and the days of our mourning shall be ended."

THE SERAPHIC PEARCE. At a missionary meeting held lately in the United Presbyterian Church, Broughton-place, Edinburgh, the Rev. Dr. Innes, the aged author of " The Church in the Army," and other pious books, in the course of a brief address in which he gave some account of his early recollections of the origin of modern missions, stated that he remembered the time when, if any pious person in affluent circumstances had said to him "Can you direct me where to send £100 which I wish to devote to the spread of the Gospel ?" he should have felt unable to furnish the desired information; as he knew of no society then existing which had such an object in view. About the time the Baptist mission was commenced, he had been in London in company with the late Rev. Greville Ewing, and on their way home they called on the Rev. Samuel Pearce, of Birmingham, by whom they were affectionately received, although they belonged to a different communion and were entire strangers. A friendship thus originated, which continued during the life-time of the seraphic Pearce. Referring to the bond of affection which the grace of the Gospel invariably produces, Mr. Pearce in a letter to Mr. Innes, who was then a minister of the Kirk of Scotland, ob

served, "The one hour you and I were entire strangers to each other; the next, our intercourse was characterized by all the glow of Christian affection." On his return home, Mr. Innes got an auxiliary society established in Stirling, where he then laboured, which was open to Christians of all denominations who chose to become members; and in a very short period he had the satisfaction of transmitting the sum of £125 to Mr. Pearce, as its first contribution to the mission fund.

OUR LARGE TOWNS.

The Rev. Selkirk Scott, of Manches

ter, lately stated at a missionary meeting in Edinburgh, in proof of the infidelity that unhappily characterized so large a portion of the working classes in England, that in a population of sober and respectable inhabitants in one district in the city of Manchester, amounting in number to 2000, it had been ascertained that only 130 had ever been within a place of worship, and that only between 50 and 60 were connected with any Christian church. "I HAVE BEEN A FOOL ALL MY LIFE."

So said a dying sinner, in the maturity of manhood smitten with a fatal disease, as he listened to truth hitherto slighted. An aged Christian mother

left him weeping; and then a sister, sinking with consumption in the clear light of heaven, who was carried to his couch of suffering to tell him of the

Intercessor, kissed his pallid brow, and bade him farewell. Prayer was offered, and the soul of that strong man entered within the veil of eternal scenes.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN. Lines suggested by an account of a converted heathen, who, when dying, exclaimed to a Missionary present, My boat is on the sea, its sails are spread, and I am only waiting for a breeze to rise to waft me home!"

My boat is on the sea,

Tempestuous winds are gone; The waves float past half joyfully, While I look calmly on.

Not so in days gone by,

When, launch'd upon the deep, Winds howl'd and clouds rode in the sky, While waves my boat would sweep. My sails above I spread;

Those sails how white they are! How pure, while floating overhead, Like some bright beacon star!

Once they were black as night,

With sin all stain'd and dark;

But Christ's pure blood has wash'd them white,

And hung them o'er my bark.

My boat is on the seas,

Its sails are spread to-day;

I only wait a friendly breeze,
To bear me hence away.
Away! away! I long to go!

Kind winds, oh, come! oh, come!
I'm weary of my stay below,
I pine, I pant for home!

Home! home! sweet home! dear word!
When will the moment come?
Joy! joy! I move; my sails are stirr'd;
Home! home! I'm going home!

A YOUNG MOTHER TO HER IN-
FANT.

MAY I then, dear one, hope to be
A medium of grace to thee?
Faithless no more will I repine,
While thus in weakness I recline,
That from my veins to thee doth flow
A sinful taint that's fraught with woe;
But bless the hour that gave me thee,
To train for an eternity!
High trust to me herein is given,
To educate a soul for heaven!
And since my God doth stoop so low,
On me such honour to bestow,
Myself and sin I'll crucify,
Subjecting to his scrutiny

My erring heart; on him rely,
Its every part to sanctify.
And since my thoughts and looks must be
So truly mirror'd back by thee,
I will entreat him, for thy sake,
The portals of my soul to make
Radiant with truth and holy love,
And from them, by his grace, remove
All that may hinder or refract
Their sacred light, or aught detract
From the full volume of his grace,
That's seeking evermore to trace
Upon this little soul of thine
The glorious lineaments divine.
Henceforth to me no joy shall be
So great as this-by faith to see
Thee, lovely, priceless little gem,
Placed in my Saviour's diadem!

A THOUGHT ON DEATH. BY MRS. BARBAULD. Written in her Eightieth Year. WHEN life in opening buds is sweet, And golden hopes the spirit greet, And youth prepares his joys to meet, Alas! how hard it is to die! When scarce is seized some borrow'd prize, And duties press, and tender ties Forbid the soul from earth to rise,

How awful then it is to die!

When one by one those ties are torn,
And friend from friend is snatch'd forlorn,
And man is left alone to mourn,

Ah! then how easy 't is to die!
When trembling limbs refuse their weight'
And films, slow gathering, dim the sight'
And clouds obscure the mental light,

'T is nature's precious boon to die! When faith is strong, and conscience clear, And words of peace the spirit cheer, And vision'd glories half appear,

'Tis joy, 't is triumph then to die!

THE GOOD WE MIGHT DO. WE all might do good,

When we often do ill;
There is always the way,
If we have but the will;
Though it be but a word

Kindly breathed or suppress'd,
It may guard off some pain,
Or give peace to some breast.

We all might do good

In a thousand small waysIn forbearing to flatter,

Yet yielding due praise; In spurning ill humour, Reproving wrong done, And treating but kindly

Each heart we have won.

IT might be a good thing in a work which is read by so many thousand children, or their parents, to tell so sad a tale as might have the effect of saving some little boys and girls from being burnt to death. Indeed the writer has known so many cases of the kind, that he has often thought of making some of them public in this manner.

One Sunday eve in the summer of last year, he was just leaving his house for the chapel, when he saw at a little distance a moving pillar of fire. It was a little girl all in flames, running across the road. Not a moment was to be lost. He ran right up to her pushed away some women who were pulling her about-took the burning child in his hands-laid her flat down upon the bare ground, and got the fire put out. Her clothes, half burnt off, were now all taken away, her scorched body was borne into her poor mother's cottage, whose distress cannot be told. People ran in all ways for a doctor. Two were soon on the spot, but nothing could save the life of one so sadly burned.

Poor ELLEN W., with other children, at the back of her mother's cottage, playing with lighted matches-on the Sabbath too-thus lost her life by burning. She died about six o'clock the next night, after very great distress. Her very tongue was scorched; and when dying she asked for a drink of water.

BILLY SMITH was a little fellow whom any one might have loved, and very dear to his parents, who at the time had no other. His ruddy cheeks seemed to show good health, and to promise long life; but he was cut down in an hour by burning. Billy's parents went always to meeting on Sabbath

days, and carried their boy with them, though they had a good way to walk. He might often be seen in the singers' pew, where his father sat, and there he was on the last Lord's day of his life. His father had always to go to work in the mornings, and his mother would sometimes be out at a neighbour's at the time. It was early in last winter, when one morning his father left Billy in bed, his mother being about something needful in the village, having first made the fire. The boy was charged to keep in bed, before he was left alone; nay, he had something given him to eat, in order to engage him there, till his mother's return. I rather think his promise not to get up was given. But he did get up before she came back, went to the fire-side, began lighting papers, and set his night clothes in a flame. Oh, those cotton nightgowns, how they go off like tinder! The child was alone in the house, too little to open the door, and not able to make himself heard. His little cotton dress took fire like powder; he was in an instant all in a blaze, and none to help him. He could only run to the window and cry, but could not open it. Some one passing saw him, rushed into the house, and found the little fellow roasted like a goose, or a small pig.

Billy's mother beheld the scorched remains of her dear child with feelings only known to herself. His father was brought in haste from his work, to view the wreck of his hopes. On seeing him, the poor infant cried out, "Oh, mend me, daddy,-mend me!" But oh, he was past all human help, no living man could mend him. Poor Billy lived but one hour after, and died a dreadful death by burning, Let children shun the fire, and have

nothing to do with burning papers or lighting matches. J. R.

Hexham, Oct. 21st, 1852.

THE INFIDEL AND DYING

CHILD.

IN Miss Macintosh's "Charms and Counter Charms," a book of deep interest and great power, is the following passage. Euston Hastings, the father, is an infidel.

The child's disease was scarlet fever. Ten days and nights of ever-deepening gloom had passed, and in the silent night, having insisted that Evelyn, who had herself shown symptoms of illness through the day, should retire to bed, Euston Hastings sat alone, watching with a tightening heart the disturbed sleep of the little Eve. It was near midnight when that troubled sleep was broken. The child turned from side to side uneasily, and looked somewhat wildly around her.

"What is the matter with my darling?" asked Euston Hastings, in tones of melting tenderness.

Eve want

"Where's mamma ? mamma to say, 'Our Father.'

Euston Hastings had often contemplated the beautiful picture of his child kneeling with clasped hands beside her mother, to lisp her evening prayer, or since her illness forbade her rising from her bed, of Evelyn kneeling beside it, taking those clasped hands in hers, and listening to Eve's softly-murmured words.

talk so much; papa kneel down and say, 'Our Father,' like mamma did last night; won't you, papa ?"

Euston Hastings could not resist that pleading voice; and kneeling, he laid his hand over the clasped ones of his child, and for the first time since he had murmured it with childish earnestness in his mother's ear, his lips gave utterance to that hallowed form of prayer which was given to man by a Divine Teacher. At such an hour, under such circumstances, it could not be uttered carelessly; and Euston Hastings understood its solemn import-its recognition of God's sovereignty-its surrender of all things to him. He understood it, we say; but he trembled at it. His infidelity was annihilated; but he believed as the unreconciled believe, and his heart almost stood still with fear while "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven," fell slowly from his lips.

Soothed by his compliance, Eve became still, and seemed to sleep, but only for a few minutes. Suddenly, in a louder voice than had been heard within that room for days, she exclaimed, "Papa, papa, see there! up there, papa!"

Her own eyes were fixed upward, on the ceiling, as it seemed to Euston Hastings, for to him nothing else was visible, while a smile of joy played on her lips, and her arms were stretched upward as to some celestial visitant.

"Eve coming!" she cried again. "Take Eve!"

"Will Eve leave papa?" cried Euston Hastings, while unconsciously he passed his arm over her, as if dreading that she would really be borne from

With eyes still fixed upward, and expending her last strength in an effort to rise from the bed, Eve murmured in broken tones, "Papa come toomamma- -grandpa-little brotherdear papa-"

The last word could have been distinguished only by the intensely-listening ear of love. It ended in a sigh; and Euston Hastings felt, even while he still clasped her cherub form, and gazed upon her sweetly-smiling face, that his Eve had indeed left him for ever. That she had ceased to exist,

with the remembrance of that last scene full in his mind, he could not believe. Henceforth, heaven, with its angels, the ministering spirits of the Most High, was a reality; it was the habitation of his Eve, and his own heart went longingly forth to it. His proud, stern, unbending nature had been taught to tremble at the decree of Him who "ruleth over the armies of heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth." The Being and Nature upon which he had hitherto speculated as grand abstractions, became at once unspeakably interesting facts. Would He contend with him in wrath? Would He snatch from him one by one the blessings of his life, crushing the impious heart which had reviled his attributes and denied his existence? or was He indeed so "long-suffering," so "plenteous in mercy,' "that he would prove even to him that his might was the might of a Saviour?

Such were his thoughts as, with still concentrated agony, he turned from the grave of his cherished child to watch beside the suffering Evelyn. She had taken the terrible disease from her little Eve, and lay for many days insensible to her own danger or her husband's agony. But God was merciful, and her husband and father received her back as from the grave. The heart which judgment had aroused mercy melted. A consciousness of his own unworthiness of God's mercy-a fear that he could not be heardchecked the cry which anguish would have extorted from Euston Hastings; and the first real utterance from his heart to heaven was in the language of thanksgiving.

THE BEE.

I LOVE to see
The busy bee,

I love to watch the hive;
When the sun's hot,
They linger not,

It makes them all alive.

God gives them skill, And, with good-will, They to their work attend;

Each little cell

Is shaped so well,

That none their work can mend.
Now in, now out,
They move about,
Yet all in order true;
Each seems to know
Both where to go,
And what it has to do.

'Midst summer heat
The honey sweet
It gathers while it may,
In tiny drops,

And never stops

To waste its time in play.
I hear it come,

I know its hum;

It flies from flower to flower:
And to its store

A little more

It adds, each day and hour.
Just so should I
My heart apply,
My proper work to mind:
Look for some sweet

In all I meet,
And store up all I find.

NOT TOO YOUNG TO DIE.
I AM not too young to die;
Some have died as young as I,
Some who were as well and strong,
Some who had not lived so long.
When I die, where shall I go?
To a world of joy or woe?
Rise to heaven with God to dwell,
Or for ever sink to hell?
God invites me from above,
Jesus draws me by his love;
For my sins bis life he gave,
Now he ever lives to save.
If his word I now obey,
He will take my sins away;
Then I need not fear to die,
For my soul will mount on high.
Jesus! save me by thy grace,
Fit me for that holy place,
Where with thee, when time is o'er,
I may live, to die no more.

***The above are from "Hymns for Little Children," published by the Tract Society, comprising a large number of pieces, many of them remarkably interesting. The book is, moreover, beautifully illustrated, and the type very large. It will be a favourite book in the nursery.