again that day, and appeared very much better. We almost hoped that he would yet be spared to us. The next morning when I was assisting to dress him he said, Let us pray, father." He then commenced praying in a most fervent and heavenly manner. That prayer

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I shall never forget. After thanking God for his pro tection through the night, and for his goodness towards him at all times, he said, 'O Lord, thou knowest it is a dark day for my poor father: O Lord, do thou make it light to him. Help him, O Lord, to bring up my brother and sisters in the nurture and admonition of the Lord;" and other similar expressions. His whole thoughts seemed to be employed in trying to comfort and console my mind. In the afternoon of the same day, when he saw me weeping, he said, "Do not fret, father; you know the Lord has promised to be with you in six troubles, and in the seventh he will not forsake thee." Thus did he try to sooth the sorrow and heal the wound that death had made.

He sat up most of the next day, and commenced writing a letter to his cousins at Nottingham, but was was not able to finish it. Though he had appeared very much better for the last two or three days, it was no doubt the effect of excitement. He knew that the funeral of his dear mother was to take place on the Friday; and as I was carrying him to bed the night before, he was very anxious to go and take a last look of her whom he so much loved. But this was more than I could bear at that time, so I promised him that his uncle should take him to see her the next day. But,

alas! how uncertain are all earthly promises! A change came over him about eleven o'clock that night, and he gradually sunk into the arms of death; and about ten minutes before his uncle came the next day his happy spirit took its flight from its clay tabernacle to a brighter and better world. Death had no sting for him. His faith in God was strong, and his hopes were bright. Thus I was called to endure sorrow upon sorrow. But death did not stop here; for just three months after, I ¦ was called to follow to the grave the dear little babe. Often as I had read those touching lines of Young, I little thought that I should myself so fully realize them. "Death's shafts flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn."

Castle Donington.

WEEP NOT FOR THY SON,

WEEP not for thy son, though he's gone to the grave,
Though his mortal remains fast moulder to dust;
For Christ the Redeemer, almighty to save,

Hath number'd his spirit with those of the just.
Weep not for thy son, bid thy tears quickly cease,
For death's icy hand shall arrest him no more;
But rejoice that he pass'd through Jordan in peace,
And now is safe landed on Canaan's blest shore.
Weep not for thy son, thou shalt see him again,
Enrob'd with a garment all spotless and white;
Thou shalt hear him adoring the Lamb that was slain,
In strains of perfection, in songs of delight.
Weep not for thy son, there approacheth a day,
When death shall admit thee to mansions above;
When thy spirit, made perfect, shall hasten away,
To feast with thy son at the banquet of love.

K. J.

From Mr. Sheppard's "Autumn Dream," being the concluding hymn of praise, after a supposed adddress by Robert Hall, to a concourse of blessed spirits, from those words, "Neither shall there be any more pain."

LET us praise Him! Yes, for ever,

Love's immortal triumph swell!
Blissful-endless-vain endeavour!

Who thy victories, Love, can tell?
Yet, O praise him-Love was slain,-
Therefore, therefore, "no more pain!"

Praise Him?-Mark those eyes that languish ;
Hark-that pleading, faltering breath!

Sav'd by Love's once dying anguish,
Ye can never "taste of death!"
He has quaff'd its inmost pain—
Brethren-sisters-Love was slain ;-

Drank our poison-cup of sorrow,
"Bore our sins upon the tree!"
Therefore, through the eternal morrow,
From sin's direful bondage free;
Tell the heavens your Love was slain,
And there shall be "no more pain!"

List where earth's "creation groaneth,"
In its guilt and toil unblest;
Tell the earth that Love enthroneth

Ransom'd souls in glorious rest:
Tell all worlds "our Love was slain,
Therefore, therefore, no more pain!"

ANGEL'S MUSIC.

CHILD.

"WHAT gentle music wakens me,
And murmurs in my ear?
O mother! see! who can it be,
At this late hour, so near?"

MOTHER.

"I hear no sound, no form I see;
Sink to thy rest so mild;
No music now is heard by thee,
My poor and sickly child!"

CHILD.

"It was no music born of earth
That made my heart so light;
O mother! 'twas the angels' song
That summoned me-Good night!"

THE SNOWDROP.

LOVELY snowdrop, fair and white,
Almost hidden from my sight;
Flower of greatest modesty,
Come, and let me muse on thee.
Let the rose, with taunting pride,
Glance contempt on all beside;
Let the gaudy tulip show
All the glossy tints that glow;
Let the garden's pride be shown;
And yet thee, fair flower, I'll own;
Thou art meekest of the throng;
Thou alone shalt be my song.
Let me, snowdrop, copy thee;
Fly from pride and vanity;
With the meek and lowly dwell,
Prudent, wise, and peaceable.

PREPARING TO EMIGRATE.

To emigrate means to leave home and go abroad, and those who do so are called Emigrants.

For two hundred years or more the people of these islands generally emigrated to North America, but of late they have gone to other parts of the world.