"The village of Bonmahon is situated in the south-west coast of the county of Waterford. The cliff scenery is exceedingly bold, and opens to a fine expanse of ocean, but the village itself, though beautifully situated, is poor and uninteresting. It is built near the termination of a far-stretched valley, at one end of which is a noble strand, which divides for some half-mile the towering, iron-faced cliffs; from the other end of the valley the splendid range of Comeragh mountains rise.

"The inhabitants of the village are somewhat numerous. Perhaps hot less than two thousand, old and young, reside within a circuit of a couple of miles, their occupation being that of miners. The copper-mines of Knockmahon (which is united to the village of Bonmahon) are held in high repute. soil being so contiguous to the sea, and so perpetually exposed to the ocean õlast, is for the most part poor, and but indifferently cultivated.

The

"With the exception of 80 to 90 children and adults, the whole of the inhabitants of this long-neglected village and neighborhood are Roman Catholics. The very nature of the miners' occupation has tended to foster intemperance, which has been followed in its train by an almost inconceivable amount of pauperism, misery, and both moral and physical degradation.

"The parish church of Monksland stands upon the brow of the hill. It is connected with Abbey, 30 miles distant, the village being formerly used as a watering-place by the monks who resided in that part of the country. The rector who holds the union of the two parishes, occupies that of Abbey, whilst the curate is left in charge of Monksland, Bonmahon.

"The curate's acquaintance with Ireland commenced during the famine of 1846-7, when through the extreme kindness of English friends, he was enabled very largely to administer to the starving necessities of the inhabitants of Templemore, the town where he was then located. In Sept., 1847, he was appointed by the Bishop of Cashel to his present curacy. His first visit to the village will perhaps never be forgotten; the sight of so much wretchedness and filth was perfectly disheartening, and he thought it impossible he ever could be reconciled to reside among the people.

"Month after month and year after year passed away, and oftentimes his heart would bleed for want of power to raise the thoughts, and principles, and habits of the people. The youth of his own parochial school were growing into years, but alas! without the veriest hope of occupation.

"For many years one secret wish had pervaded the writer's mind and heart; a wish suggested by a scene in a thickly-populated district at the east end of London, many years before. It was an Industrial Printing School connected with a day school.

"At length an opportunity offered for carrying out his long and deeplycherished desires. Having sought, and after many months obtained, some hundreds of subscribers to a voluminous Commentary, he determined, under God, to open an Industrial Printing School, in connection with his own parochial school. Materials were purchased, assistants engaged, and, despite an immense amount of discouragement from friends, and antagonism from foes, the work began! In Oct., 1851, the machinery of this most novel and fearfully responsible undertaking was set in motion. Nine large quartos were to be compressed into six thick royal octavo volumes, the types of which were to be arranged by a motley group of 'raw Irish lads,' not one of whom had seen a press or type before!

"It would be taxing the attention unnecessarily, were the writer to enter into particulars. It must be left to the reader's own imagination to conceive of the working of this generally-admitted singular and hazardous enterprise. A word or two, however, may be desirable. One London publisher remarked to the writer, 'You know boys are of no use whatever for the first six months.' 'I know the character of the boys I have to do with,' was the reply. By the time mentioned-the six months-they had composed upwards of 1,000 pages of a large closely-printed Commentary! Their previous ignorance of the art of printing was no barrier. They fell into it with a shrewdness, and followed up their labors with an application, which far exceeded the writer's most sanguine expectations. The difficulties of carrying on such a work in so remote and inconvenient a locality, were, as may be supposed, numberless.

Sometimes they seemed insuperable. Still (supported by divine strength) the originator was enabled to persevere, and, within a few weeks of the given date, namely, Jan. 1st, 1854, the Commentary, containing nearly 6,000 pages, was completed! For upwards of two years this little Irish band kept three printing presses in constant operation; and from the fifth week of their entrance were in receipt of wages varying, according to their progress, from two to six and seven shillings per week. A steady improvement both in their appearance and habits were soon perceptible. A spirit of self-reliance was infused. And, notwithstanding the oft-repeated altar harangues and newspaper attacks with which the institution was assailed, still it maintained its ground." There are but few of our readers who have not seen the poor Irish reapers travelling along the dusty roads, and the thought, probably, has crossed many of their minds, "Why in the world are the poor fellows so ragged? Why don't their wives or sisters mend their clothes?" Shall we tell you why they don't? Because they can't. Until the introduction of the muslin embroidery from Scotland, one of the greatest temporal blessings which Ireland has had for centuries, you might as well look for a silver fork in an Irish cabin as a thread and needle. The pig would have munched up the spool of thread, and the cow whisked off with her tail the paper of needles into her own dung. Besides which, bear in mind, worthy English men and women, that needles and thread require chairs and tables, not to say windows and absence of smoke. Had you walked

or ridden with us more than a quarter of a century back, we could have taken you into cabins where there was neither chair nor table, and the only window a small pane, stuffed when broken with an old stocking, with more smoke in it than you could bear were your chest tender. Mr. Doudney, to meet this want, has established a girls' sewing school, of which he gives this interesting

account:

"Although some 20 to 30 boys of the village were provided for in the Printing School, and from 50 to 60 children fed, and taught, and clothed in the Infant School, still there was a lack; it was employment for the elder girls and young women of the neighborhood. To meet this exigency, a house in an unfinished state having been purchased and completed, a Girls' Sewing School was opened, under the direction of a competent mistress, who was engaged at a similar establishment in the county of Clare. If printing were a novelty to the boys, embroidery was almost as great a novelty to the greater proportion of the girls, who were unable to thread or even hold a needle. This school was opened in Sept., 1853; and at the date at which this is written (June, 1854) upwards of 40 girls are employed in this school, 20 of whom are earning more than two shillings, and others upwards of three shillings per week.

"For the first six months after their admission, each girl is allowed a simple meal of stirabout and milk per day.

"Of an evening the Protestant parochial schoolmaster attends the school for an hour and a half. Fourteen of the girls (all Romanists) have learned to read, and, as rewards, eight have been presented with Bibles. They attend a Sunday class, and likewise the Sunday and Thursday evening lectures; their singularly good behaviour at which, and the pathetic manner in which they unite in our songs of praise, is exceedingly gratifying. The average attendance of Romanists, young and old, at these lectures, is from 35 to 45. Notwithstanding the opposition and persecution, this has been persevered in for nearly 12 months. And thus continuously are these poor fellow-creatures, so long cradled in ignorance, superstition, and vice, brought under the preaching of the simple gospel of our Lord and

Saviour Jesus Christ. Often, while addressing them, and beholding their close attention and orderly behaviour, is the writer's heart warmed and encouraged by the hope-at times almost amounting to assurance-that at the last great day it shall be testified, that this and that one were (spiritually and new) born there.'"

We fear that in this sketch of Irish matters, drawn chiefly from our own reminiscences, we have not furnished our readers with much to edify or profit them, but we must have said sufficient to make them thankful for their many providential and spiritual mercies. No person truly values or loves England who has not lived out of it; and we know no better remedy for discontent with an English home, than a six months' sojourn in the Green Isle.

To what end does the sun shine upon us in a morning? Not that we may continue to close our eyelids, and press, all day, the bed of indolence; but that we may be up and be doing. And why does the light of God's Spirit shine inwardly upon his people? That they may arise and walk in the light of his countenance, run in the way of his commandments, and work the works of God, while it is day.Toplady.

It is a sign the word of God has had place, and wrought powerfully, when the heart trembles at it, is afraid, and stands in awe of it. When Joseph's mistress tempted him to lie with her, he was afraid of the word of God. "How shall I do this great wickedness," said he, "and sin against God?" He stood in awe of God's word, durst not do it, because he kept in remembrance what a dreadful thing it was to rebel against God's word. When old Eli heard that the ark was taken, his very heart trembled within him; for he read by that sad loss that God was angry with Israel, and he knew the anger of God was a great and terrible thing. When Samuel went to Bethlehem, the elders of the town trembled; for they feared that he came to them with some sad message from God, and they had had experience of the dread of such things before. (Gen. xxxix. 7-9.)—Bunyan.

God's gall and worm-
Let us be dumb, be-

You and I have lately been drinking more of wood in the death of children than otherwise. cause the Lord has done it. The cup that our Father gives, should we not drink it? Alas! what hard knotty timber must we be, that the Lord has to hack us so much, in order to render us plain and smooth! It is a mercy God is at such pains with us. But it is not easy for our hearts to believe such things mercies. Alas! how often we pray that God's will may be done; and yet, when he takes his will, we think we do well to be angry! We pray that God would divorce us from our lovers, and purge away our sin; and yet, when he sends sore troubles on us for this very purpose, we fret or rage like wild bulls in a net. What a mercy that we have to do with so patient a God that can bear with such conduct! so gracious, that he can forgive it! that we have to do with that blood of Jesus which cleanseth from all sin. What a mercy, that the more trouble we are in, the more promises are directed to us!-J. Brown.

POETRY.

PETER'S SIEVE.

"And the Lord turned, and looked upon Peter. And Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he said unto him, Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice. And Peter went out, and wept bitterly.”—(Luke xxii. 61, 62.)

Sometimes I find in Peter's case

What speaks aloud to me,.
And shows, without preserving grace,
What I must shortly be.

Peter three times, thro' fear, declared
His Lord he never knew;
And oftentimes my practice says
The same of Jesus too.

Such was the love for Christ he felt,
He said, he fain would die.
But O when left, a servant maid
Did make him Christ deny!
What Jesus told him did transpire;
The cock three times did crow;
But he must feel a heavenly touch,
Before his tears could flow.

The cock might crow a thousand times, The foulest deeds, the blackest crimes,

And Peter fast asleep;

But when the Saviour gave a look,
He then went out to weep.
This was a precious fruit of grace,
The grace that him restored;
A work there was for him to do,-
To preach his dying Lord.
Free grace he sweetly could proclaim,
To souls oppress'd with sin;
He knew the worth of sovreign grace,
He felt its power within.

Dear Jesus, when I leave the fold,
Like Peter, may. I weep,
And feel restoring grace, like him;
Reclaim thy wand'ring sheep.

By mortals ever done,
Are in my nature rooted deep,

If left the same to run.

Dear Lord, subdue each lofty thought,
In league with Satan's band;
Grant humbling grace in exercise;
It must come from thy hand.
May every day's experience prove
Grace has in me a seat,
While I in dust and ashes lie

Low at thy sacred feet.

Let me not vainly think I stand,
And in temptation fall;
But me my constant weakness teach,
And Christ be all in all.

I. H.

HOPE, THE ANCHOR OF THE SOUL.

"Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul."—(Heb. vi. 19.)
A hope of salvation I have,

And though oft it is dash'd by the waves,
Firm anchor'd in him who can save,
Each tempestuous storm it outbraves;

My Pilot the Lord, my compass his word,
His
grace for my sail, how can I then fail?

My cable is strong, for it is his great love,
Which from everlasting extends;

While his good Spirit in gales from above,
As he promised, in mercy, he sends;

Yet sometimes I fear, that when I draw near
To the heavenly coast, my bark will be lost.

For should I then see the rich land,
With its honey, its milk, and its wine,

It will bring my weak faith to a stand,
To believe that these blessings are mine;
And nearest the shore, where waves loudest roar,
I trembling may stand, though so near to the land.

Yet, Lord, thou canst grant me to leave,
When my hour for departure is come,
Some proof that a Saviour I have,
Who has lain before me in the tomb.

That path I'll then tread, without gloom or dread,
And find it the way to the regions of day.

W. P.

I am sure they never got Christ who were not once sick at the yolk of the heart for him; too, too many whole souls think they have met with Christ, who had never a wearied night for the want of him.

Rutherford.

Where faith enables men to live to God, as to their eternal concerns, it will enable them to trust him in all the difficulties and hazards of this life. To pretend a trust in God as to our souls and invisible things, and not resign our temporal affairs with patience and quietness to his disposal, is a vain pretence, and we may take hence an eminent trial of our faith.-Owen.

66

It is common with them who are distressed with anguish, though all alone, to cry out to themselves of their present pains, saying, "O my leg!" "O my arm!" or as the son of the Shunamite, "My head, my head!" (2 Kings iv. 19.) O the groans, the sighs, the cries, that the broken-hearted have, when by themselves, or alone! "O," say they, "my sins, my sins; my soul, my soul! How am I laden with guilt! How am I surrounded with fear! O this hard, this desperate, this unbelieving heart! O how sin defiles my will, my mind, my conscience! I am afflicted, and ready to die." (Ps. lxxxviii. 15.)-Bunyan.

Man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart. A demure countenance, feigned speech, decent behavior, voluntary humility, reproving others, straining at gnats, sighing under the word, turning up the eyes, and learning to prate-pass current enough with many. But a deep sigh and sense of sin, a wounded spirit, a thirst for the living God, self-loathing, humility arising from a sense of undeserved mercy, meekness, submission under the rod, compunction of soul, a sorrowing after God, being stung with grief for past sins, repentance drawn forth by a believing discovery of the dying love of Christ, to rejoice with trembling, humble confidence, filial fear, cordial affections for the Son of God, and sympathetic fellowship with him in his dolorous sufferings, which make the King's daughter all glorious within-these are the spangling jewels which adorn the renewed soul, and which these outside adorners know nothing of nor care for; and it is these that are in the sight of God of great price.-Huntington.