was one of our singers in the How sweet when the morning of And haste to the school where in- To teach me the way to the king- But he is now no more; but our loss is his eternal gain. Truly is it said, "In the midst of life we are in death." This dear boy was at school, as usual, on the Sunday, and was noticed for his activity and zeal in carrying forms to the camp meeting held in the open air. On that afternoon he joined in singing his Redeemer's praise, listened to an impressive discourse delivered by our muchesteemed brother, G. Loton, of Bucknall, from those words, solemn The end of all things is at hand." He was with us at the love-feast in the evening, at which the Rev. G. Hallat delivered a most encouraging sermon from these words, "He is able to save to the uttermost." This was his last Sabbath on earth. he went as usual to his labour in On the following morning the coal-mine; but in a very short time was brought out a mangled corpse. He was much attached to his schoolfellows. I believe he was deeply convinced of sin at our last revival services; for often was the penitential tear seen to roll down his face. On one occasion, his mother said she should like him to be a minister of the gospel. He immediately answered, "Mother, I must be a good man to become an ambassador for This fatal colliery explosion Christ. Although John was not occurred at Ubberly on the mornfree from the vanities of child-ing of the 18th day of August, hood and youth, yet, as a Sab- 1851, when John, along with six bath scholar, his conduct was ex- others, was suddenly summoned emplary, and gave general satis- into the eternal world. faction. He had a very retentive also ready." memory, and could repeat considerable portions of the Holy Scriptures. "Be ye POETRY. "THE LOVED AND THE LOST." AT the festive board there's a vacant place, And we miss from our group a merry face, A light step is gone from our merry throng; And a voice is hushed in our cheerful song- There's an angel more in the spirit land, There's a new-strung harp in that blest one's hand; And a glorious song is bursting forth, And the gentle voice we loved on earth Time's flight may not fill the empty chair, 'But the voice that called our lost one there, And a robe and a crown of priceless worth, And the much loved friends, one group on earth, HYMN. BY M. S. DUTT, A HINDOO YOUTH, O'er Error's dreadful sea! But now at length thy grace, O Lord! I drink thy sweet, thy precious word,. I've broke affection's tenderest ties 9th February, 1843.-Hurkaru. FEAR GOD. My son, be this thy simple plan, S. M. M. OUR YOUTH'S DEPARTMENT. AN INCIDENT IN AMERICAN SLAVERY. THE HUSBAND AND THE WIFE. [THE engraving which forms our frontispiece represents an interview between two young people, husband and wife, who were slaves. The wife, Eliza, was the property of a kind-hearted master and mistress, who had brought her up from a child, and had always treated her as one of their own family; but the husband was the slave of an ironhearted master, whose wanton cruelties had driven him to despair. As they lived under different masters, they had only occasional opportunities of meeting with each other; and in the present instance George has come to tell his tale of woe to his wife, and inform her of his determination to run away from his cruel master and escape into Canada. The scene is copied from "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and the engraving kindly lent by the publishers.] MRS. SHELBY (her mistress) had gone on her visit, and Eliza stood in the verandah, rather dejectedly looking after the retreating carriage, when a hand was laid on her shoulder. She turned, and a bright smile lighted up her fine eyes. "George, is it you? am so glad you's come! noon: so come into my all to ourselves." How you frightened me! Well, I Missis is gone to spend the afterlittle room, and we'll have the time Saying this, she dew him into a neat little apartment opening on the verandah, where she generally sat at her sewing, within call of her mistress. "How glad I am!-why don't you smile?-and look at Harry-how he grows." The boy stood shily regarding his father through his curls, holding close to the skirts of his mother's dress. Isn't he beautiful?" said Eliza, lifting his long curls and kissing him. "I wish he'd never been born!" said George bitterly. "I wish I'd never been born myself!" Surprised and frightened, Eliza sat down, leaned her head on her husband's shoulder, and burst into tears. "There now, Eliza, it's too bad for me to make you feel so, poor girl!" said he, fondly; "it's too bad. Oh, how I wish you never had seen me-you might have been happy!" George! George! how can you talk so? thing has happened, or is going to happen? been very happy, till lately!" 66 What dreadful "So we have, dear," said George. Then drawing his child on his knee, he gazed intently on his glorious dark eyes, and passed his hands through his long curls. "Just like you, Eliza; and you are the handsomest woman I ever saw, and the best one I ever wish to see; but, oh, I wish I'd never seen you, nor you me!" 66 Oh, George, how can you?" Yes, Eliza, it's all misery, misery, misery! My life is bitter as wormwood; the very life is burning out of me. I'm a poor, miserable, forlorn drudge; I shall only drag you down with me, that's all. What's the use of our trying to do anything, trying to know anything, trying to be anything? What's the use of living? I wish I was dead!" "Oh, now, dear George, that is really wicked! I know how you feel about losing your place in the factory, and you have a hard master; but pray be patient, and perhaps something-" "Patient!" said he, interrupting her; "haven't I been patient? Did I say a word when he came and took me away, for no earthly reason, from the place where everybody was kind to me? I'd paid him truly every cent of my earnings; and they all say I worked well." "Well, it is dreadful," said Eliza; "but, after all, he is your master, you know." "My master! and who made him my master? That's what I think of what right has he to me? I'm a man as much as he is; I'm a better man than he is; I know more about business than he does; I'm a better manager than he is; I can read better than he can; I can write a better hand; and I've learned it all myself, and no thanks to him—I've learned it in spite of him; and now what right has he to make a dray-horse of me?—to take me from things I can do, and do better than he can, and put me to work that any horse can do? He tries to do it; he says he'll bring me down and humble me, and he puts me to just the hardest, meanest, and dirtiest work, on purpose." "Oh, George-George-you frighten me! Why, I never heard you talk so; I'm afraid you'll do something dreadful. I don't wonder at your feelings at all; but oh, do be careful -do, do-for my sake-for Harry's!" "I have been careful, and I have been patient; but it's growing worse and worse-flesh and blood can't bear it any longer. Every chance he can get to insult and torment me, he takes. I thought I could do my work well, and keep on quiet, and have some time to read and learn out of work hours; but the more he sees I can do, the more he loads on "Oh, dear, what shall we do?" said Eliza mournfully. "It was only yesterday," said George," as I was busy load |