FOR FRIENDS ON LEAVING

ENGLAND.

WITH mercy crown their journey, Lord,
And all Thy choicest gifts afford;
Yet chief among them all we crave
Thy grace, omnipotent to save.
For though we have all earthly good,
We still are poor without our God;
Except His presence He bestow,
To cheer this world of care and woe!
If raging tempests wake the deep,
And trembling eyelids fear to sleep,
Be with them then in danger's hour;
Save them with Thine almighty power,
And all their future path defend ;
On them Thy heav'nly blessings send;
Oh, may their child in wisdom grow,
And soon Thy precious mercy know.
And at Thine awful judgment day,
When heaven and earth shall pass away,
May they among Thy people be,
Who shall with joy Thy coming see!

Dear cousins, when you on our portraits may gaze,
I hope they'll remind you of earlier days;

Of the land of your birth, of your childhood and youth,
And many sweet lessons of Scriptural truth.

I hope that you'll think of the friends left behind,
And that we, in our turn, shall bear you in mind;
And think, as we look on your likenesses too,
Of the friends so far distant they bring to our view.

But chiefly, dear cousins, it is my desire
That you to the likeness of Christ may aspire;
Those only are happy in whom we behold
The image of Jesus, more precious than gold.

R. A.

"Thou

BRIEF MEMOIR OF S. G. THE reading of the account of Lizzy Green, or, shalt not steal" (in the September number of 1860), has brought most vividly to my recollection a painful circumstance that took place a few years ago re

M

specting a dear little girl about seven years of age, one of a family of six children, whom God had blessed with praying and God-fearing parents, whose constant cry to Him was that He would guide, instruct, lead, and save their offspring, and that they might see them brought to His footstool, crying, "God be merciful to me a sinner," from a feeling sense of their own state as lost, helpless, guilty, and undone sinners in His sight. And though these children would readily bow the knee with their parents at family prayer, yet it is God alone that can change the heart and subdue the rebellious will, and so we proved it in the case of this dear child, who was then buoyant with all the vigour of childhood and health, whose cheerful countenance and ruddy appearance gave us not the remotest idea that she would in so short a time be the victim at which death would shoot its arrow.

One Sabbath morning, when her father changed his clothes, he knew for a certainty that he left threepence in his pocket, but to his surprise on the Monday morning the money was gone. On making inquiries, no one knew anything of it, and little did the parents imagine that they had a dishonest child. During the day, Sarah ran into the house with a penny tin can in her hand, saying, "Oh look, mother, what I have found; I will give it my little dear," meaning her little sister. Her mother said, "Where did you find it ?" "Oh, close by that post," she said, and pointed to the spot. "But were there any children at play? Do you think they have lost it ?" "Oh, no, mother, I am sure there was no one at all about." A few hours after she came in with some currants, saying, "Look what Mrs. Chas given me." Her mother said, My dear, how came she to give you so many?" She said, "Oh, I have been to fetch her some, and

she gave me my hand full; we will play with them." In the evening, when their father came home, the children were all again questioned about the coppers, and asked if they had found them on the floor; but they all denied having seen them. He then said, "I know I have never had reason to think my children dishonest, but I now have my fears."

There being a wide space between two of the boards in the floor, he took them up, hoping that his suspicions might be removed by finding them there; it was not losing the threepence that he minded, but the trouble and anxiety of mind respecting the children, for he knew one of them must have had it. Very early the next morning Sarah was about with some more little girls, when she came in with a penny doll in her hand. Her mother directly asked her where she had that from. She then named the playfellow that gave it her; but did not exactly satisfy her mother. Shortly after her father came in, when all that had taken place was told him. He then called for those children she had been playing with, and questioned them; but their answers did not agree with each other. Inquiries were made where the doll was bought. There were two who served in the shop, and one said Sarah had bought it, and the other said her playfellow had bought it; so nothing could be brought clear against her in that. Mrs. C asked if she had sent her for any currants. she had not that day, but had a few days before. Her parents were much troubled about her, and told her if they found out she was guilty, she should be shut in a room for several days, and have nothing but bread and water. Then her father had her alone, and talked seriously to her, trying if she would confess her fault; and though the tears were fast streaming down her rosy cheeks, yet not a sentence

was

She said

dropped from her lips. At last he said, "My dear child, remember if you can deceive me, there is One you cannot deceive. Your actions are all open to Him; and think how uncertain our lives are. I may very soon be taken from you, and how shall you bear to look back, and think, 'I robbed my father?' But that is not all your life is as uncertain as mine. You are not too young to die, and we must all appear before a just and holy God-one who cannot look upon sin but with abhorrence, and we cannot hide anything from Him." He then spoke to her a great deal about lying (if she had taken it), and reminded her of the case of Annanias and Saphira, and many other circumstances, but, notwithstanding all he said, she did not confess her guilt. This trying circumstance caused her parents many errands to the throne of grace, pleading with the dear Lord for their children, that He would keep them from every evil way.

From that time nothing was ever missed again. Some months passed away. She was strong, healthy, and remarkably lovely; but suddenly she was taken ill with small-pox. A friend came to see her, and said she thought there was danger; and from that moment the fear of death seized her, and all her cry was, "Oh, what shall I do! I have been such a naughty girl! what shall I do! Will God have mercy upon me ?" She cried bitterly, and tried to pray; and then said, "Oh, where is father? do fetch him; I want him to pray for me; I know he does pray for me, but I want him now." Her father was then sent for, but she could not open her mind to any one, but for several days seemed in very great distress; and when portions of Scripture were read to her, or her father prayed with her, or talked to her, all she could say was "No good in me-no good in me. Oh, I am such a naughty girl! what shall I do!" This