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Lazarus (John xi. 43, 44);
I srael (Genesis 1. 9, 10);
Thomas (John xx. 27-29);
Tobiah (Nehemiah iv. 7, 8);
Lydia (Acts xvi. 14);
Eli (1 Samuel iv. 13);
Gamaliel (Acts v. 38, 39);
Lois (1 Timothy i. 5);
Elizabeth (Luke i. 5);
A hasuerus (Esther i. 12);
Nathan (2 Samuel xii. 1, &c.) ;
E sau (Genesis xxv. 34);

R hoda (Acts xii. 12, 13).

Welcome, welcome, LITTLE GLEANER,
Loved alike by old and young,

Bringing month by month rich treasure,

Cheering many a seeking one.

LITTLE GLEANER, welcome name,

Dear to me thou art;

May the truths thou dost proclaim,
Sink into my heart!

May I know the Saviour's love,
Live upon Him here;

Dwell with Him in heaven above,

Sing His praises there.

May I trace upon His breast
My unworthy name;
In His loving bosom rest,
Free from sin and shame.
May each little gleaner seek,
And find eternal good;
Hear the dear Redeemer speak,
Pardon through His blood.
Then when Jesus shall appear
In His glory bright,
Little gleaners will be there
Clothed in matchless white.

H. C.

F. P.


MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS,-How quickly the months roll away! The press has scarcely emptied into your laps the last month's gleaning before it calls for a new supply for my thousands of waiting ones scattered over the land. But short as is a month, it is long enough to take myriads of unprepared sinners into the presence of their righteous Judge, and of prepared saints into the presence of their ever-gracious Father.

Reader, if February, 1868, should stand against your name in the book of the Registrar of deaths, would this be the worst month or the best that has ever opened upon you? That is a Christian's best month in which he sleeps in Jesus, and ends with his days of life his days of mourning; but that is the worst month of his life with the sinner that dashes the cup of sinful pleasures from his hand, and puts into his hand the cup of God's wrath. If you are still without the grace of God in your heart, every month is shortening your days of sinful pleasure; but if you have the true grace of God, every month is lessening your days of tribulation, and bringing you nearer to the kingdom of your Father.

What an affecting proof I had a very few weeks since of the uncertainty of human life! A dear child at school wrote me that one night, in the very week when he and his fellows were looking forward to their holidays, they retired to bed, and had been but a few minutes in bed before one of the little boys was taken ill and died in a few moments. His friends hope there were marks of grace in the dear child. He said, upon lying down, "Let us all repeat a text. I will repeat my favourite text;"

and he uttered, "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;" and in a few minutes was in eternity. O children, "Consider your latter end." May the Lord prepare you for it. The following extract of a letter will show the grounds for the hope that is entertained about the dear child :

"As it regards the dear departed child, it is very little we can put into words respecting his state, but it causes a comfortable feeling to be allowed any ground for hope that he is saved. He had been at school just one year, and though we always considered him a nice and amiable boy, yet the former part of his time here he was rather given to little mischievous tricks, which needed reproof, and sometimes correction yet I remember on one of those occasions; when he had been sent early to bed, I went to talk a little with him, and found him with a little book of Scripture texts; and while speaking with him his tears flowed, and he seemed softened and sorry for his fault, But of late, especially the last quarter, we have several times remarked among ourselves what an improved boy he was, never needing reproof as formerly, &c., and evidently more attentive to his lessons, and (as we have learned since his death) especially his Scripture lessons as my nephew tells us that, while he slept with him, it was his custom to talk over all he could remember of the Scripture address they had had in the morning; and some little time back the account of "Edward Cobb," in the GLEANER, seemed much to impress him, and he asked Miss A- to read it to him again and again. These things we were glad to notice, but have thought much more of them since his death; and on that solemn night we found that his last using his voice was in repeating his


favourite text, which was, "Come unto me, all ye that labour," &c.; and almost his last using his pen was in copying the words (and music to them),

"Dear Refuge of my weary soul,

On Thee, when sorrows rise,

On Thee, when waves of trouble roll,
My fainting hope relies."

I am thankful to say, we hear that poor Mrs. P is much supported under the bereavement.” And must she not need support? What pangs would tear the hearts of your loving parents (if the reader of these lines is favoured with parents living) if you were to die the night after reading these lines; and such may be the case!

Pause, my reader, ask the question, “Am I ready to meet God? am I made a real Christian, washed in the Redeemer's blood?" This is a lifeand-death question; may the asking it be a lasting blessing to your soul.

You will perceive, dear friends, that I do not continue the altered arrangement of the type. Without question, our January number was improved in appearance, but I think all my readers, upon consideration, will agree with me, that for an improved appearance we must not cast away pages of valuable matter every month. The mind and heart before the eye.

I have such a full bundle that I must only abruptly wish you until March (D.V.), adieu, and subscribe myself,

Your ever willing gleaning friend.

P.S. We are glad to find the SOWER is widely spreading. We hope its circulation and size will yet equal the GLEANER.





SOMETHING Over a hundred years ago there lived in this great town of London a little girl, about whom I wish now to say a word or two. “A hundred years ago," say you, 'why, you don't remember her!" Yes I do, and I want now to tell you something about her. I did not know her when she was a little girl, for she was an old woman when I was quite a little boy. Yet she was once a little girl. Eh, how strange that seems, does it not? How hard to realize that all the old men and women you know were once just such little boys and girls as yourselves. And what seems more strange still, is, they all tell us it seems such a short time since they were little boys and girls like yourselves. But so it is. How rapidly time flies! Oh, what a little while it will appear ere some of you youthful readers have grey hairs upon your heads!

About a hundred years ago, Agnes (for that was her name) was a girl of about eight or ten years of age. When about that age, she was by some means led to the door of the tabernacle in the Tottenham Court Road. There she heard the great George Whitfield. I dare say you have, most of you, heard of the great George Whitfield. He was a great man; I don't mean great in stature, but a man whom God made great, by putting great honour on his very abundant labours. He was a great preacher-great, I may again say, because God greatly blessed His faithful proclamation of Divine truth. But he, too, was once a little boy, just like some of our boyish readers. Oh, how I wonder ofttimes, as I stand in the desk of our Sunday-school, and look on a hundred boys and

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