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cident, the boat upset, and, although we all escaped drowning, Lucy took a severe cold, from which she never recovered; yet she lived until the leaves fell in autumn, and these seemed to me then, just like my dry and withered heart.

When Lucy had recovered her senses, her lips moved for a short time in prayer, and it was then that I remembered that God alone had preserved our lives, and that I should thank him, too, for his great and undeserved mercy.

Weeks passed on, and Lucy was able after a while to walk about a little, but this exercise was soon denied her, and to sit up in bed with her head resting on pillows, was all the position which she could comfortably take.

One afternoon, near the close of summer, as I stood by her bed-side, I thought and thought about her dying, till the large tears dropped on her pillow, and were gently wiped from my cheeks with her own emaciated hands.

"Charles," said she, "don't cry because the doctor says I cannot live, for I am going home, and my mother used often to tell me that the christian had no home on earth, but that this life was only a traveller's road to the next.

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Just as she said this, the door opened, and her father, who had himself been confined for two months with severe illness, arrived. He was accompanied by my cousins-both strangers to me-and feeling like an intruder, I made my escape from their presence to weep alone. As I sat on the stairs with my face buried in my hands, some one touched me; I looked up, and saw that it was my aunt Milly.

"Charles," said she, "you must try to be cheerful now, for the sake of others. Jack Jones is waiting to see you in the kitchen; go and hear what he wishes to say, and if he asks to speak with Lucy, tell him she is tired now, that her friends have just come, and that she will see him in the morning."

Judge of my surprise, children, on enteriug the kitchen to see-not a dirty, ragged, forsaken-looking boy, but Jack Jones, respectably dressed, and by his side a large Newfoundland dog, so like my own Carlo, whose body I had buried under "the old elm tree," with sobs and tears, that I could hardly be sure that his death was not all a dream.

"Charles," said he, "here's another dog for you, as much like your own as two

peas, and since your cousin Lucy has been so kind to me I've been sorry enough that I killed the other; and it wasn't really right, but I thought you acted proud and ugly, and I meant to pay you off for it How's Lucy? Can't I speak to her ?"

While Jack Jones had been talking, I stood petrified with astonishment, and when he had finished, I could scarcely speak, but at last my thoughts found utterance.

"That's a noble dog, Jack, and I thank you for him; but really I never expected a return, and although I thought at the time that you were very unkind, I have since al most forgiven you in my heart, but not quite, for every time I passed the 'elm tree,' I could not help wishing that he was back again, and feeling sorry that you killed him. Perhaps this one will make you happier now than it ever will me, for if Lucy dies I shan't care for anything after that."

"No, take him, Charles, for in a few months I am going to sea, and may very soon go to the bottom, so he'd better stay on land."

"Oh, don't talk so, Jack,-don't speak so lightly of death, when it seems to me such a dreadful thing to die."

"Because you've got plenty of friends, and a good home to leave when your time comes; but no one cares for me except Lucy."

As he said this, a large tear fell on his cheeks, which he quickly brushed off with his coat-sleeve.

"Lucy would like to see you in the morning, Jack; but now her friends have just come, and she feels tired."

Jack made no reply, but giving the dog orders to "lie down," he hastily quitted the house.

This dog's name was Bose, and I was not sorry, for Carlo had his own place in my heart, and I did not care to have this filled by a stranger, much as I might love him.

My new friend diverted my mind from its sad thoughts, and hearing the voices of my cousins, Robert and Mary, approaching, I called out to them to come and admire my dog. They were both some years younger than myself, and evidently did not realize what was before them, so that while a burden oppressed me, I tried to shake it off with efforts to amuse them.

The next morning as soon as I could obtain an interview with Lucy, I told her of

Jack Jones's present, and of his altered appearance, how kindly he had spoken of her, and how much he appreciated her love.

"When I am gone, Charles," said she, as her face was suffused with joy, "I want you to be the firm friend of Jack. Follow him, even if the boys laugh at you for doing it, with every possible kindness; they have friends enough, and do not know what it is to be left an orphan and friendless in the wide, wide world; but Jack does; and then, Charles, if we meet in beaven, as I trust we shall"-here emotion. almost choked her utterance, as she faintly added, "I hope Jack will be there too."

Perceiving her excitement I hastily withdrew, to give vent to my own feelings, and as I passed out of the door, met Jack Jones, who, with aunt Milly's permission, was just going in.

What passed between them, then, I have never heard, yet doubt not that Lucy spoke many words of instruction, hope, and comfort, for that almost friendless and forsaken boy.

I had often read in my Bible about that glorious place called heaven, and that there God himself lived to receive and comfort all those who pass through sufferings and trials in this world, that they may be made bonourable and glorious there. Still I did not bid these great and comforting truths a hearty welcome, until Lucy spoke of them as the foundation of all her peace and joy; and now as my steps are growing feeble with age, and the windows of my clay tabernacle are darkened, that once far-off Country is drawing nigh, with its brilliant walls, its golden streets, and crystal gates; but above all, its loving, pitying Redeemer, no longer a Judge, but a Friend.

When Robert had been with us for some weeks, the leaves on the forest trees no longer looked green, but had changed their summer hues for rich autumnal colours; and while the squirrels were hopping gaily about among their branches, as if they enjoyed the change, and our own home looked more cheerful because Lucy seemed to be reviving, my cousin and myself prepared for a day's enjoyment in the woods. We set out in fine spirits, after kissing Lucy, and promising to bring home some red bergies and gay leaves, for her gratification and amusement in forming them, together with running-pine, into beautiful wreaths.

The sun shone brightly, and as we passed out at the garden-gate, we met with farmer Scott's cart. The driver was a goodnatured man, and gave us leave to jump in. He was going to a village a few miles beyond, and as this would take us far on the road to Grey's woods, we eagerly availed ourselves of his kindness. In a basket at our feet lay two or three beautiful lambs, with snowy fleeces, and I whispered to Robert that I wished that I had one of these to carry to Lucy. I thought how much she would like one with a blue rib bon about its neck, to play with, when she felt able, but I did not know that the owner heard me until as we were getting off the cart, he said that if we would meet him, when he was going home at night, at a certain time and place, I should have one of the lambs for Lucy. My heart bounded with joy, and I thanked him many times for a kindness which I had not even thought of asking.

When we reached the village where our conductor was to stop for the day, Robert and 1 jumped off, and after looking about a little, and visiting a paper-mill in its vicinity, we struck off in the direction of Grey's woods, which, on reaching, we found to contain more boys, seeking for pleasure, than I had at all anticipated. On this account I was not sorry; for Robert was too young to enjoy or appreciate all that I could, and according to the old say➡ ing, I thought, "The more the merrier.' Yet while all around me were full of life, business, and fun, there was still on my heart a weight which seemed like the presentiment of coming evii. I remembered, too, the last happy spring-time, when Lucy and I watched the leaves as they put forth, and the flowers as they sprang up and blossomed; and how she said once, that as they died in autumn to be renewed in the spring, so she and I must one day be planted to grow up again in God's great springtime, the end of the world. Her mother had taught her this resurrection truth, and she had dwelt upon its reality and beauty until death seemed as natural an event to her as the decay of the flower, or as the on coming of some long, quiet sleep to the expectant labourer, who looks for renewed vigour in the morning.

"Charles Gregory, what do you sit there moping for? come and eat your dinner," said several voices to me as I reclined, bu ried in thought, on a moss-grown stone,

and quite apart from my companions. Startled from my reverie, I saw in the distance an abundance of eatables, and eagerly approached to assist in their disposal.

After dinner, we went to look for squir rels, and at last secured two. In our joy at becoming their possessors, we perhaps forgot too much their natural love of freedom, and did not stop to enquire whether their home in the woods, among green trees and sheltered from ruthless hands, was not far preferable to captivity within bars and fences.

Soon there arose a dispute as to whose personal property they should eventually become, and at last this question was decided by lot; but neither of the squirrels falling to Robert or myself, we, of course, yielded up all claim to their possession, and began to look about for red berries and beautiful leaves with which to gratify Lucy.

This being done, we set out to meet farmer Scott's cart, and arrived in time to receive the lamb, and enjoy a ride back to Whitefield.

When we arrived there, we found Lucy worse. She was never able to thank us for her beautiful lamb; yet what she did not say she looked, and her appreciating smile assured us of the pleasure which she felt in being thus kindly and tenderly remembered.

At last the hour came when death was to finish his awful work. But her own was done. She had been one of Jesus' family in this world, and she knew that he would care for her, when that poor wasted body had returned to dust.

Her lamb lay asleep on its bed of down, and as she laid her hands on its little head for the last time, she spoke of the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world for guilty sinners like herself.

"Ah!" said I, "Lucy, if you are a guilty sinner, what am I?"

"One whom He died to save, Charles, and, oh, do not forget his love to you and to us all."

The little treasures which had been dear to her in life were all disposed of to those poor children who she thought had few friends, and to Jack Jones she gave her purse, with the considerable sum which she had saved out of her weekly allowance.

When the throes of death came on, I could not bear the sight, and rushed wildly from the room, with exclamations of distress.

I had never seen any one die before, and when I saw one whom I loved, trembling beneath its icy and cruel touch, my heart rebelled against His will, who has suffered "death to pass on all men," because all have sinned, and who has also brought life and immortality to light through the gospel of his Son.

In the midst of my distress, I heard a sweet, clear voice, singing in a low tone. Startled, I listened, for I knew it was aunt Milly's, and I wondered how she could sing, even hymns, at such a time; but I afterwards learned that Lucy had requested that some one, in her last moments, might sing her favourite hymn,

"There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawu from Emauuel's veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

"E'er since by faith I saw the stream,
Thy flowing wonnds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.

"Then in a nobler, sweeter song,

I'll sing thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue,
Lies silent in the grave."

Quieted by this soft, sweet music, coming as it did from the chamber of death, I felt a desire to receive one more expression of Lucy's recognition, but going toward her room for that purpose, 1 heard them say, "She is at rest." Yes, Lucy, thou hads at last reached thy spirit-home, where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are indeed at rest!

In my grandfather's house, the best par lour was open only on special occasions, but a large room opposite it answered as a usual place of reception both for family and friends. This was now occupied with those who came in or went out, to make enquiries, or to assist in preparing Lucy's body for its last earthly resting-place. When this was done, the closed, dark room was opened, and on two low stools they rested the coffin of my cousin. Oh, how I shuddered at that white dress, and those fixed features, which could never again relax into a loving smile for me, which could never with their glad expression approve me when I had done right, or be clouded with grief when I had done or suffered wrong.

Poor Bose, by that strange instinct which dogs so wonderfully exhibit, pined and grieved, and refused the food which was offered him, again and again, while he

would lie for hours beside me, occasionally looking into my face with an expression of real sympathy, as if he knew what I had Jost.

Mary and Robert seemed deeply grieved at first, but after the dying scene, with its cries of distress, was past, the bustle around them seemed to divert their thoughts, and even Aunt Milly moved about with her accustomed self-possession and a look of quiet joy and submission which made me greatly wonder. And at this day, as I look back upon the years of my youth passed beneath her watchful eye, and where I could scan her daily life, I can account for her remarkable demeanour only by saying that she had a beart full of love to God and to her fellowmen, and thus entire submission of mind

to that unerring Wisdom which "doeth all things well."

I saw that narrow coffin lowered into its grave, and heard breaking on the stillness those beautiful words of our Saviour, "I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and he that liveth and believ eth in me shall never die."

When the winter had past and the spring time came again, my heart had grown lighter, and while Bose watched our movements and wagged his tail approvingly, Jack Jones and myself planted beautiful flowers above Lucy's grave, believing that if God renewed the flowers, and could animate decayed nature by his almighty word, he would call Lucy forth in his own blessed time to die no more!

Miscellaneous.

LOOK AROUND YOU AND SING.-Think not that your mercies lie wholly either in the past or future. Look around you. Even to the suffering saint the present is fragrant with love, and he can sing in the house of his pilgrimage,

"The hill of Zion yields

A thousand sacred sweets,
Before we reach the heavenly fields,
Or walk the golden streets."

In respect to earthly things, have you not, day by day, food and raiment ? This was St. Paul's standard of sufficiency and content.

"What!" said a poor aged saint, with her crust of bread, "what! all this, and Christ besides?" And when once set upon the task, the ingenuity of a grateful heart finds manifold love-tokens, besides a bare subsistence; the alleviations of medical skill in suffering, the affectionate attendance of friends who are near, the prayerful remembrance of those far away, the welcome ministrations of fellow christians, who remember the word, "Sick, and ye visited me." These things, the gifts of Jesus, and Jesus himself beside! For the gospel treasures you possess are not only the titledeeds of a future inheritance, but precious and present realities. You daily feed on Christ by faith; you live upon his dying love; you now lean upon him and find rest; you look to him and are comforted. Thus it was that the prophet Jeremiah, in his piteous lamentations, broke out into praise: "His compassions fail not; they are new every morning." These fresh, unfailing mercies are yours. It was after the patriarch Jacob had seen in a vision the close connexion betwixt heaven and earth, that he made that vow of singular sobriety and faith, "If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give

me bread to eat, and raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father's house in peace; then shall the Lord be my God." The christian needs no more, if only he have God for his friend, a sufficiency for his wants, and a safe arrival at his Father's house in peace.-Bickersteth.

THE LORDS PRAYER. Many say the Lord's prayer that do not pray it; they, like Austin, before his conversion, when he prayed for chastity, are afraid lest God should hear them; they do not care that God should say, Amen, or, So be it, though they themselves will say 80. They say, "Our Father," but if he be their Father, where is his honour? They say, "Which art in heaven," but did they believe it, how durst they sin as they do upon earth? They say, "Hallowed be thy name," yet take God's name in vain. They say," Thy kingdom come," yet oppose the coming of his kingdom. They say, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven," yet will not stand to their words; for this is the will of God, their sanctification; but they want none of that. They say, "Give us this day our daily bread," yet mind not the feeding of their souls with "the bread which came down from heaven." They say, "Forgive us, as we forgive others," but, alas, if God should take them at their word, how undone were they whose hearts burn with malice and revenge. They say, "Lead us not into temptation," yet run into it, and tempt Satan himself to tempt them. They say, "Deliver us from evil," and yet deliver themselves to evil, and give themselves up to fulfil the lusts of the flesh." Yea, it hath been observed, that they sin most against this prayer who stickle most for the saying of it. Reader, how often hast thou been guilty of such

vain petitions and repetitions? Wonder not, if thou prayest in such a manner as this, that thou receivest nothing. Labour to get a deep sense of the majesty of God, and of his mercy, upon the mind, that thy prayers may be fervent and earnest, and God will bless thee..

"Assist and teach me how to pray;
Incliue my nature to obey;
What thou abhorrest let me flee,

And only love what pleases thee." SWEET THOUGHTS. How sweet the thought that Jesus sympathises with all our joys and sorrows! The great demand of human nature is the demand for sympathy. Men must have it, or they cannot be happy, however extensive their possessions, or high their rank. But how little sympathy is to be found among men! How precious the thought that our Saviour sympathises with every joy and every sorrow! Christians, do you sometimes feel that you are alone, and that there are none who care for you? You are mistaken. You forget that Jesus is ever by your side; that he approves every innocent smile, and notices every falling tear, and feels for you a love and sympathy that no finite mind can measure. How sweet the thought that God reigns! The nations are perplexed and troubled, the foundations of the earth are out of course, the wisdom seems to be of no avail, and the strong man is a child; still we can look upon the troubled scene without fear, for God reigns. Amid all the confusion and uproar, his counsel shall stand, and he shall do all his pleasure. Not only is he the Governor of the nations, but he governs and directs in all matters pertaining to our individual interest. Not a hair of our heads falls to the ground without his notice, and the resources of Omnipotence are pledged to cause all things to work together for our good. How sweet the thought that death is going home! He who has been an exile in a strange land, rejoices at the sight of a vessel which is to bear him to his native shores, where he shall again enter the paternal mansion, and receive the welcome of loved ones there. Death rightly viewed, is the messenger who is to conduct us to our home in heaven, where brethren who, have gone before us are waiting to welcome us,-where Jesus is, who has gone to prepare a mansion for us. How sweet the thought, in a few years

more, perhaps in a few days, I shall be safe, in heaven!

THE DEATH OF THE YOUNG.-
"There's a choir of infant songsters,
White-robed, round the Saviours throne;
Angels cease, and waiting, listen-

Oh, 'tis sweeter than their own."

Why weepest thou, fond parent, over the precious remains of thy darling infant? Why dost thou shrink from the thought that it must soon rest beneath the sod? Thinkest thou that this is the last that thou shalt ever see of thy darling treasure? Seest thou not by the eye of faith, that brighter world, where the pure spirit, transported by the holy angels, will ever dwell, where it will raise unceasingly the songs of joy and praise? Then why dost thou bow thy head, and in bitterness of heart pour out the soul in grief, sobs and lamentations! Listen! heardst thou no that anthem which echoes through the high arches of heaven? Heardst thou not the voice of thy treasure, mingling with the holy angels ? What greater joy canst thou ask than to have thy lovely flower thus early transplanted to the garden of Para dise? Dry thy tears, and with joy yield up the beauteous casket, for the gem that filled it sparkles in the heavenly Jerusalem.

GLORIFYING GOD IN AFFLICTION.-Perchance it may be with you the season of trial, the chamber of protracted sickness the time of desolating bereavement, some furnace seven times heated. Herein you may sweetly glorify your God. Never is your Heavenly Father more glorified by His children on earth, than when, in the midst of these furnace-fires, He listens to nothing but the gentle breathings of con fiding faith and love," Let Him do what seemeth good unto him." Yes, you can there glorify Him in a way which angels cannot do in a world where no trial is. They can glorify God only with the crownz you can glorify Him with the cross and the prospect of the crown together! Ah, if He be dealing severely with you,-if He, as the Great Husbandman, be pruning His vines, lopping their boughs, stripping off their luxuriant branches and "beautiful rods!"-remember the end!" He purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit," and "herein is my Father glorified!" Be it yours to lie passive in his hands, saying, Father, glorify Thy name!

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