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dear, and so precious to me, that the sweet sensations I had from communion with Him lifted me above my pain, and I felt astonished, and wondered how it was I could be so regardless, as it were, of all I was enduring." To Mr. Tatham shortly after he said, "I do feel it such a mercy that the Lord made me feel distressed on account of my sins when I was better able to bear it than now. The Lord is very good-bless His precious name." He spoke very debasingly of himself, and loved to exalt the Lord Jesus Christ, and the riches of His grace.

On the Tuesday before he died, he said to a friend, "O Richard, I do suffer-my sufferings are very acute;" and his countenance betokened the bodily agony he was in: but he then began to speak of the Lord's goodness, when his face immediately brightened up, and he said, "This morning between four and five I awoke up and, there appeared such a ray and glow of light, and such a glory to surround me; and I felt such a heart of love to bless, praise, and adore the dear Lord, and I did feel so glad." He would have proceeded, but nature was exhausted. The friend read to him part of 1 John iii., particularly refering to the first, "Behold what manner of love," &c. He looked very happy and nodded assent to some remarks made upon it.

During the night before he died, it was evident he was favoured with much communion with the Lord; and several times he was heard to exclaim, "Dear Lord!" "Dear Jesus!" "My precious Jesus! my precious Jesus!" A little before six o'clock in the morning, March 10th, 1866, his spirit fled to be" for ever with the Lord," leaving his parents and many Christian friends to admire the riches of Divine mercy, and in due time to follow him,

when the summons arrives. plucked out of the fire ?"

"Is not this a brand

Dear child who reads the above, may you in early life be brought to Him who says, " Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not.

Yes, suffer the children to come,

Is Jesus' unchangeable word;
He'll give to the outcasts a home,

The burden'd release from their load.
Dear children, and have you yet come
All burden'd with sin to the throne,
And sought for a shelter and home
In Jesus the Saviour alone?

He suffers you freely to come,-
Of such is His kingdom composed;
He says He will cast away none
Who seek Him, however opposed.
Oh, you who've no longing to come
Ánd taste of His heavenly peace,
Remember that hell's the dark home

Of all who shall die without grace!
Oh, here you to Jesus must come,
Or after sink deep into hell.
Which, reader, oh, which is your home,
Jesus' bright palace, or Satan's dark cell?

If here to the Saviour you come,

'Twill prove you are chosen of God,
That glory's reserved for your home

The moment you've cross'd the dark flood.
You yet are where Jesus exclaims,
"Oh, suffer the children to come,
And bathe in the stream from my veins,
And find in my merits a home."

Oh, happy, thrice happy are they

Who've ceased, through mercy, to roam,
And Jesus' free Gospel obey,

Who suffers the children to come.-ED.



THERE were two idle little boys

Who ne'er could do their themes and lessons,
And e'en in school would make a noise,
Despite their kind schoolmaster's presence.

Of mornings, when the sun shone bright
On mountain-top and tip of daisy,
These idle twins would shun the light,
And think it pleasant to be lazy.

And once when they for school were late,
They feared disgrace and punishment,
And crept beyond the schoolyard gate,
And through the sunny meadows went.

"Ho, ho!" they cried, "the sun shines bright," And "Hey!" they laugh'd, "'tis merry weather;" They wandered far in their delight,

And laughed, and ran, and sang together.

But as they reached a narrow plank
That bridged a dyke both full and deep,
One slipped, alas! a-down the bank,
For it was slippery and steep.

The other, as he reached to save,
His footing lost, and he fell o'er ;—
Both sank into the silent wave,

And rose, and sank-to rise no more!

Truants! this story's meant for


Know ye the moral of my rhyme ?

This story is, alas! too true,
And might be yours another time.
-From the "Quiver."

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REV. xxii. 15.

"TWAS a fine summer's eve and all nature was gay, The birds sweetly sang on the trees;

The lark soared on high in the bright azure sky,
And perfumes sweetly scented the breeze.

Two maidens walked forth in the cool of the day;
All their work and their lessons were done;
As they leisurely walked, they lovingly talked,
And gazed on the bright setting sun.

Said Carry to Susan, "I want you to hear
A story which I have been writing;


'Tis a fiction you know, and now as we go,
I will read it,-'tis my own inditing.
Young Susan was silent, and listened awhile,
As her friend read a wonderful story;
'Twas a story quite wild, composed for a child,
She seemed in her subject to glory.

And when it was ended, with confident glee,
To her gentle companion said,

"Now I've come to the end, pray tell me, my friend,
What you
think of the story I've read ?"

Young Susan looked grave as she solemnly said, Your story is pretty and new,


It is cleverly penned; but, ah, my dear friend,
Not a word of its wonders is true.

"Did you ever reflect that the Bible has said
Of the heavenly city on high,

He ne'er can appear with the happy ones there, Who loveth or maketh a lie?"

Poor Carry was silent. The word came with


But still her loved idel was dear.

She turn'd sadly away, but from that very day
No more of such works did appear.

Her writings were now safely laid in her desk;
No more could she read or admire.

Some years passed away, but at length came the day

When she cast the whole heap on the fire.

Poor Susan! her spirit has passèd from earth,
And I trust is safe landed above

In those mansions of light, with her Saviour so bright,

Those regions where all live in love.

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