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suffered for us, I cannot help wishing that I could do something to show my love to God; for you know that father often says, 'Actions speak louder than words.'"

"But what can you do, my child V said his mother. "You are too ill and weakly to work."

"I know that, mother; yet I can't help wishing that I could do something. I have been thinking that if I had a missionary box, I would try and get some money; and if it were ever so little, 'Jesus would accept it for the heathen, because it is all I can do for him."

"There is some sense in that, Richard, for we know that money does good in that way. Else it is not much that we poor folks can do to help others; but, you see, if every family saves a few pence, why, when it is all put together it comes to a pretty sum."

"And don't you think, mother, that we ought to try and give something? There is Mr. Jones, who is quite as badly off as father, and yet they managed to have a great many shillings in their box last year."

"Mr. Jones has children who are strong and able to work; but you, my dear boy, what can you do?"

"Mother," said Richard, while a bright flush passed over his face, "Mother, I must do something. I believe that I shan't live very long, and I want to try and show that I would do good if I could. Promise that you will get me a missionary box, and I will try and get some money."

"I am quite willing, Richard; only you must not be asking all the ladies who come here to see you for money; you know that would not be pretty."

"No, mother, I won't do that; for I should like to earn it: and I've been thinking that perhaps I might sell the little wooden knives and toothpicks which I can make, and cut some more of the paper ornaments that Mrs. Williams liked so much, and perhaps she might buy some."

"Well, my boy, I'll get the paper, and when father comes home you can ask him for some wood."

In a week from that time Richard had several curious little articles neatly finished, and laid in a paper tray, upon which was a card with the words: "For sale, for the good of the Missionary Society."

In a very short time, the kind ladies who came to see him bought all the things which were in the tray, for they loved to encourage the little boy who seemed in such earnest to do good; and Richard soon found that his efforts to do "something for God" were blessed by him with success. . . .

When the next quarterly missionary meeting took place, a poor woman, with a black ribbon upon her bonnet, brought a missionary box, and, giving it into the collector's hands, said, "It is my son's box, sir,—Richard Johnson."

"Richard Johnson," said the gentleman, " why that is the little lame boy who lives in street, is it not t"

"He is dead, sir!" exclaimed the mother, with a sudden burst of tears.

A gentleman here stepped forward and related the particulars which I have been telling you, adding, that Richard had been seized with a sudden illness in the midst of his efforts for the missionary cause, and that, after lingering a week, he had died. "The last time I saw him," he continued, "he was sitting up in bed, supported by pillows, working away at his little wooden knives; and when I asked him why he thus spent his failing strength, he answered, 'My time is so very short, and there is "no work nor device .... in the grave," to which I am hasteningadding, 'It is so good of God to let me live long enough to show that I would do something for the souls of others if I could; and I have so prayed that my little money may help to bring some poor heathen to know and love him.' He had no curiosity to know how much there was in the box, no feeling of pride or anxiety for display in the effort he was making. To use his own simple words, 'God has been so good to me, and my Savior suffered so much for my sake, that I could not rest until 1 tried to do something to show my love and gratitude.'"

The box was opened, and found to contain eighteen shillings and sixpence; and this sum was soon increased to twenty shillings by the sale of a few more little articles left upon Richard's paper tray, and which his mother gave, saying that she was sure he would have wished it had he been living.

Dear children, may I remind you that God has been equally good to you, and that the same Savior whom Richard loved died for you also? Try, then, and see whether you cannot do something to show your love to God. It is very likely that you cannot make such little articles for sale as he did; but if there is only the desire, we have no fear of your not finding out a way in which you can show your love to Him. And, that you may be led to do this, let me remind you of little Richard's maxim, that "actions speak louder than words.—Moravian Magazine,

OBITUARY.

Departed this life:—

At the Female Seminary in Bethlehem, sr. Justina Elizabeth Eichler, aged 47 years 8 months and 22 days. She was born in the island of Antigua, where her parents, Wm. F. and iMary Soutter labored as missionaries of the Brethren's Church. Committed, at the tender age of three years, to the care of friends at Bethlehem with a view to her education, she early entered the Seminary as a pupil, and subsequently, in- the year 1826, as a teacher. In 1837 she accepted the superintendence of the Sister's House at Litiz. In 1841 married br. Abraham Eichler, who died in 1846. In 1849 she resumed her former post as teacher in the Boarding School, and labored till near her end with exemplary fidelity in the duties of her calling.

A VOICE FROM HEAVEN.

I shine in the light of God,

His likeness stamps my brow;
Thro' the shadows of death my feet hive trod,

And I reign in glory now.

No breaking heart is here,

No keen and thrilling pain,
No wasted cheek, where the rolling tear

Hath rolled, and left its stain.

I have found the joys of Heaven;

I am one of the angel band;
To my head a crown of gold is given,

And a harp is in my hand!

I have learnt the song they sing,

Whom Jesus hath set free;
And the glorious walls of Heaven stil! ring

With my new-borrt melody.

No sin, no grief, ho pain,

Safe in my happy home,
My fears all fled—my doubts all slain,

My hour of triumph come.

O friends of mortal Years,

The trusted arid the true!
Te are walking still in the valley of tears,

But I wait te welcome You—

Do I forget? Oh no!

For memory's golden chain
Shall bind my heart to the hearts below,

Till they meet to touch again.

Each link is strong and bright,

And love's electric chain
Flows freely down like a river of light,

TO the world from which I came.

Do You mourn, When another star
Shines out from the glittering sky 1

Do You weep, when the raging voice of war,
And the storm of conflict die t

Then why should Your tears run down,

And Your hearts be sorely riven, .
For another gem in the Savior's crown,

And another soul in Heaven?

Departed this life, at Nazareth, on the 25th of January, sr. Sarah Louisa Rondthaler, wife of br. Edward Rondthaler. For upwards of twelve years, she had been engaged in the service of our Church, at Schoeneck, Graceham, Philadelphia and Nazsreth. She was aged 35 years and 11 months.

At the same place, on the 29th of January, sr. Mary Christina Rondthaler, widow of the late br. Emanuel Rondthaler. In connection with her husband she had been engaged for about thirty-one years in the service of our congregations at York and Nazareth. She was aged 69 years, 7 months and 17 days.

"Thou wilt shew them the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore."

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