as a Christian, and his labours as a minister? "I am looking away from them," said he, "t my Saviour." He spoke most affectionately the many happy meetings we had had together and he expressed his firm conviction that w should meet again. He declared his complet reliance on the Redeemer's providence, as to hi family. He requested me to pray with him which I did. He seemed to join most fervently in the exercise, and on its conclusion, he said cheerfully, "Let us part with this exercise, there is much of heaven in it. Farewell." It was im possible to witness this scene unmoved, and 1 have seldom felt more strongly the value Christianity-the happiness of being a Christian

On the evening of that day Mr. S―r asked him if he was comfortable. "O yes," was his reply," there is fulness of grace and glory." On Thursday he was exceedingly weak, and spoke but little. From occasional ejaculations it was plain that he was much engaged in meditation and prayer. He was overheard saying at intervals," When shall I see the King in his beauty? -I shall delight myself in God my Saviour.The Grace of God in Christ Jesus how infinite!" During the evening he uttered his last words, "Come down, O Lord, come down." He gradually became weaker and weaker, till without a struggle he peacefully fell asleep in Jesus, at ten o'clock in the evening of Thursday.

The funeral took place on the Wednesday following. It was attended by a great concourse of people, who, by their sad countenances, and many of them by their tears, paid a silent tribute to the worth of the deceased.

He was laid in the grave by the hands of nine of his sons.* It was a solemn scene. The elder of the boys, (for the oldest was little more than a boy), maintained a manly composure in their grief; while the younger part, as the clods fell with hollow sound on their father's coffin, gave vent to their sorrow in sobs and tears. The composure they had regained after this burst of grief, was soon disturbed by the strokes of the sexton's spade smoothing the surface of the grave. Every stroke seemed to go to their little hearts, and they sobbed and wept still more bitterly. But they will not be left fatherless: In a remarkable manner has Providence answered the prayers and fulfilled the expectations of his servant. May the Shepherd of Israel gather these lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom; and may the God of the father, be the God of all his children!

The fairest blossom of these nine sons, a young man, of high attainments and great expectations, died after a very short illness, in the full bloom of manhood. He is buried in the land of his fathers, and his earthly remains repose by the side of his revered parent. The consolation of his widowed mother, brothers, sisters, and relatives, is, that he "Sleeps in Jesus." His eight remaining brothers laid him in his grave.

IF there be perfect joy on earth,

That seems from heaven to have its birth,
It is to see

The bud that promises the rose,
Its cradled sweetness soft unclose,
In infancy.

Pure hours! when all of life is light;
When, clothed in robes of stainless white,
The cherub lies,

Beloved with holy tenderness,

And watch'd by orbs it seems to blessA mother's eyes.

How richer far than summer bird,
The lisping accents fondly heard,
As days increase;

When riper meanings light the brow,
And kind affection chanteth low
Her song of peace!

Oh! blessed time, when every hour
Flies like the odour from a flower,
Serene and free;

When every charm of life is new,
And every scene that greets the view,
Is fair to see.

Sure, when these opening blossoms die,
And fade in beauty to the eye,
None should deplore;

For in a clime secure and bright,
Sustain'd by deathless air and light,
They pine no more.

THE SNOW-DROP.

TELL, if thou canst, how yonder flower
To life and light has burst its way?
When ten long months beneath the ground
Its snowy petals torpid lay.

Then will I teach thee how a child

From death's long slumber can awake,

And to eternal life renew'd,

His robe of heavenly beauty take.

While from the dust each circling year
The snow-drop lifts its humble head,
Say, shall I doubt God's equal power,
To call ME from the lowly bed?

79

THE INFANT PROPHET.

COME leave your play my little son
And by your mother sit,
And listen whilst she tells to you
A tale of holy writ.

It is about a little one

Who lived in days gone by,

Who loved and served the living God
When young as you my boy.

His mother called him Samuel,
He was her first-born son,
And oh how much she loved him,
Her little tender one!

But yet before the child was born
She made a solemn vow,
To give him to her gracious God
To serve him here below.

And so she did, for when he was
A child and scarcely more,
She took him to God's holy house
To be his minister.

And when he grew to be a man
God's people loved him well,
Would you not like my little son
To be like Samuel?

A. MOTHER.