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turning to his brother, he said, “Why should you be afraid of him who died for you ?– but you won't be afraid of him, will you, Ernie ?'

No,' said Ernest. Then turning to Emma, he went on, ' Me going to heaven, to Jesus! Jesus loves little children, and said, ' Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not : for of such is the kingdom of heaven.' Jesus would not let anybody prevent the little children coming to him. Will Emmie be sure to meet Bertie in heaven?' 'Yes,' said Emma. He then told her to kneel, and we all kneeled around for the last time in an unbroken circle. Oh! what a solemn moment for a mother, between the living children and the dying one. • Behold, I and the children whom the Lord hath given me;' and I committed them to the covenant mercies of my God and their God in Christ Jesus. I was loth to rise. I knew it was the last time we all should unite in prayer together on earth.

“ After this, he affectionately kissed them, and they left the room. They wept-he heard them all down stairs—but Bertie looked as serene as though he should meet them all to-morrow. The baby was not parted with, but often, when she was brought to me, he would say to her, ' I love you, baby-Jesus loved you, too, and died for you!' Oh! that the little band may meet again unbroken, where

• Around the throne of God in heaven

Thousands of children stand
Whose sins are all through Christ forgiven-
A holy, happy band,

Singing glory, glory!'

He was now much exhausted, I felt afraid that he would scarcely rally--but he fell asleep ; and awoke again refreshed. And now, he asked me how Aaron died. I turned to the passage, and read how Moses and Aaron and Eleazar' went up into mount Hor... And Moses stripped Aaron of his garments, and put them upon Eleazar his son; and Aaron died there on the top of the mount: and Moses and Eleazar came down from the mount.' After reading this, I said, My child, you can say, 'Thy word have I hid in my heart;' he answered, ' O but you see I forget; but when I get to heaven I shall remember all I ever read. He then desired me to repeat to him the last verse of Pope's ' Dying Christian to his Soul.'

• The world recedes, it disappears,
Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears,

With sounds seraphic, ring.
Lend, lend your wings; I mount-I fly!-
O Grave! where is thy victory?

O Death! where is thy sting?

" And now,' said he, ' read to me about" my sheep hear my voice" -where they know not the voice of strangers, “ and a stranger will they not follow.”! I asked where I should find it—he replied, “Oh! in John, I suppose,' in allusion to our frequent preference of the writings of that beloved disciple. While reading the 10th chapter of John's Gospel, towards the conclusion, he fell asleep again. When he awoke again he was lifted out of bed to arrange the pillows, and to refresh him a little. The sun was shining brightly over the gardens which were in front, and the green lane looked very inviting by comparison with the sick chamber. He asked when he might go out again? Seeing in a moment that he thought himself better, I determined at once to reply without reserve. I therefore said, that we dared not take him out on account of the danger of getting another attack of the croup, and that the doctors said he would not live till the weather became warmer. I now hung breathlessly upon his reply. At once he caught the truth that he was nearer home than he had before expected. “Oh!' said the now delighted child, “ if I die I shall be so happy! I shall be so glad when I see Jesus! I shall climb on his knees! There will be always some one on his knees amongst so many. Before I laid him again in bed I asked him to let me lift him towards the window to show him one particular tree now so covered with crimson and white blossoms, that it looked like one large flower. But he refused. The near prospect of gazing on the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valleys' had shut out for ever the dazzling beauty of ten thousand flowers. “As the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons.' This seemed the language of his soul, as he contemplated how soon he should sit

down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit would be sweet to his taste.' After he had again lain down, I asked him how it was that a few days before he had hushed me whenever I had spoken to him about his spiritual interests. He replied, “I was very ill, and could not bear to talk, but I always loved Jesus from the time when you first taught me to call him “ Pa in the 'ky !" until now!'

It was thus that God was pleased out of the mouth of this dear child, so to perfect praise, as to still the enemy and the avenger, by this sweet and tender and touching testimony to the reality of true religion. For who, after all that little Bertie said and did, and felt, can question that the Gospel is the great power of God ?

But we must hasten to the closing scene :

“Now' said he, writes his distressed mother,' take me in your arms. He laid his head upon my breast; on that dear spot once more!' He had often asked through the night, · When will the sun

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and the tide rise together, that I may go out!' By this time the sun and the tide were just rising together; the first streaks of the one, fell on the first swell of the other. He was then laid on his own little bed close to the open window. The water became each moment shallower. He looked intently forward at the now nearing shore, murmured some words which I could not catch, though they were heard by the waiting band of shining ones,' His eyes were singling out from the brilliant throng the · Chief among ten thousand, and the altogether lovely.' The inspiration grew fainter and fainter, and fainter still, until, without a sigh, with the last gentle breath, he went out, and awoke up in the bosom of the Lord! 'He is gone!' said my friend. I looked incredulously at the still open eyes, but we could not follow him further, however. Our voices went up after him, in the shining track, to the realms of life, and light, and joy; praising and blessing God! No teardrop bedimmed our longing eyes; no sob, no sigh mingled with the music of the harpers, harping with their harps ! The hearing of a sigh, the falling of a tear, had ill assisted the deep harmonies which had ravished the enraptured ear of my ransomed one. His Redeemer, with that melodious' voice, as the sound of many waters,' had poured into the depths of his spirit the glad welcome, ' Come, thou blessed of my Father, inherit the king. dom prepared for thee, from the foundation of the world!'—' And I looked, and lo, a Lamb stood on the Mount Sion, and with him an hundred and forty and four thousand, having his Father's name written in their foreheads.'—' These are they which follow the Lamb, whithersoever he goeth. These were redeemed from among men, being the first fruits unto God and to the Lamb. And in their mouth was found no guile : for they are without fault before the throne of

God.''

Happy, happy mother, and thrice happy little one! We sorrow not as those without hope ; but rather hope as those without sorrow. Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!

Erratum. We regret that through a typographical error, the date of little Albert's birth was incorrcctly given at page 232. As the narrative shews, it should have been 1839, instead of 1829.

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(By J. G. Whittier.) “ A Christian-going-gone!” Who bids for God's own image! for His grace, Which that poor victim of the market-place

Hath, in her suffering, won ?

Saviour! Can such things be?
Hast Thou not said, that whatsoe'er is done
Unto thy weakest and thy humblest one,

Is even done to thee?

In that sad victim, then,
Child of thy pitying love, I see Thee stand,
Once more the jest-word of a mocking band,

Bound, sold, and scourged again!

A Christian up for sale!
Wet with her blood your whips, o'ertask her frame,
Make her life loathsome with your wrong and shame;

Her patience shall not fail !

A heathen land might deal
Back on your heads the gather'd wrong

of

years ; But her low broken prayers and nightly tears,

Ye neither heed nor feel.

Con well tlıy lesson o’er,
Thou prudent teacher ; tell the toiling slave
No dangerous tale of Him who came to save

The outcast poor ;

But wisely shut the ray
Of God's free gospel from the simple heart,
And to her darken'd mind alone impart

One stern command - Obey.

* In a recent work is a description of a slave auction at New Orleans, at which the auctioneer recommends the woman on the stand as a good Christian!

So shalt thou deftly raise
The market-price of human flesh: and while
On thee, the pamper'd guest, the planters smile,

Thy church shall praise.

Grave reverend men shall tell
From northern pulpits how Thy work was blest,
While in that vile South Sodom, first and best

Thy poor disciples sell.

Oh shame! The Moslem thrall,
Who with his master to the Prophet kneels,
While turning to the sacred Kebla, feels

His fetters break and fall.

Cheers for the turban’d Bey
Of robber-peopled Tunis ! he hath torn
The dark slave-dungeon open, and hath borne

Their inmates into day.

But our poor slave in vain
Turns to the Christian shrine his aching eyes —
Its rites will only swell his market-price,

And rivet on his chain.

God of all right! how long
Shall priestly robbers at thine altar stand,
Lifting in prayer to thee the bloody hand

And haughty brow of wrong?

Oh! from the fields of cane,
From the low rice-swamps, from the trader's cell,
From the black slave-ship’s foul and loathsome hell,

And coffle's weary chain,

Hoarse, horrible, and strong, Rises to heaven that agonizing cry, Filling the arches of the hollow sky

How long! Oh, Lord, how long!”

--Hogg's Weekly Instructor.

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