rising above the billows like a painted highland? Now it sparkles in the rays of the sun like a rock of silver, and now it assumes different colours, variegated in the most charming manner. Red, golden, silvery hues, all blend together in delightful richness. Nearer and nearer we come to the attractive object, all the while appearing more beautiful and brilliant than the Crystal Palace; when, lo! we discover it is the splendid work of insects so small that we cannot see them with the naked eye. Yes, the little coralinsects threw up those many coloured reefs, a little at a time, till we have this magnificent sight. And just over there, beyond that line of reefs, you see a little island covered with tall palm-trees, so green and slender."

This is all imaginary. There is no such thing to be seen rising up out of the sea, for the simple reason, that the lime-secreting insect cannot work out of the water. When it comes to the surface of the ocean, it stops building: hence the reefs are all covered by the sea, and the surf breaking over them. When a little bit happens to be exposed, on a calm day, at low water, it presents none of that Crystal Palace grandeur, but a dirty muddy appearance rather, from the fragments of sea-weed, drift-wood, and all sorts of rubbish which collect upon it. But in sailing along in the lagoon, between the reef and the shore, some lovely beds of living coral may be seen ten and twenty feet down below the surface of the water; and there the said "red, golden, and silvery hues all blend together in delightful richness." Rev. G. Turner.

THE EVER-SOUNDING SEA.

BY FELICIA HEMANS.

THOU art sounding on, O mighty sea!
For ever and the same;
The ancient rocks yet ring to thee,
Whose thunders nought can tame.

O many a glorious voice is gone

From the rich bowers of earth;
And hush'd is many a lovely one,
Of mournfulness or mirth.

The Dorian flute, that sigh'd of yore
Along thy wave, is still;

The harp of Judah peals no more
On Zion's awful hill:

And Memnon's lyre hath lost the chord
That breathed the mystic tone;

And the songs at Rome's high triumphs pour'd
Are with her eagles flown:

And mute the Moorish horn, that rang

O'er stream and mountain free;

And the hymn the leagued Crusaders sang
Hath died in Galilee.

But thou art swelling on, thou Deep!
Through many an olden clime,
Thy billowy anthem, ne'er to sleep
Until the close of time.

Thou liftest up thy solemn voice
To every wind and sky,

And all our earth's green shores rejoice
In that one harmony.

It fills the noontide's calm profound,
The sunset's heaven of gold;

And the still midnight hears the sound,
Even as when first it roll'd.

Let there be silence, deep and strange,

Where sceptred cities rose !

Thou speak'st of ONE who doth not change

On whom our hearts repose.

AN AFFECTING NARRATIVE.

IN the Life of Dr. Judson, the celebrated American baptist missionary to Burmah, the following sad circumstance is recorded. He had imbibed infidel sentiments during his college course, chiefly through association with a confirmed deist by the name of E—. After taking his degree, he made a journey into the state of New York, spending some time in the city, where he became attached to a theatrical company; not intending to go upon the stage, but having the design of writing dramatical works, he wished to gather knowledge upon such matters, which he might turn to some account. We extract what follows from the biography.

"After seeing what he wished of New York, he returned to Sheffield for his horse, intending to pursue his journey westward. His uncle, the Rev. Ephraim Judson, was absent, and a very pious young man occupied his place. His conversation was characterised

by a godly sincerity, a solemn but gentle earnestness, which addressed itself to the heart, and Judson went away deeply impressed. The next night he stopped at a country inn. The landlord mentioned, as he lighted him to his room, that he had been obliged to place him next door to young man who was exceedingly ill, probably in a dying state; but he hoped that it would occasion him no uneasiness. Judson assured him that, beyond pity for the poor sick man, he should have no such feeling whatever, and that now, having heard of the circumstance, his pity would not of course be increased by the nearness of the object.

But it was, nevertheless, a very restless night. Sounds came from the sick chamber-sometimes the movements of the watchers, sometimes the groans of the sufferer; but it was not these which disturbed him. He thought of what the landlord had said—the stranger was probably in a dying state; and was he prepared ? Alone, and in the dead of night, he felt a blush of shame steal over him at the question, for it proved the shallowness of his philosophy. What would his late companions say to his weakness? The clear-minded, intellectual, witty E-, what would he say to such consummate boyishness? But still his thoughts would revert to the sick man. Was he a christian, calm and strong in the hope of a glorious immortality? or was he shuddering on the brink of a dark, unknown future? Perhaps he was a "free thinker," educated by christian parents, and prayed over by a christian mother. The landlord had described him as a young man; and in imagination he was forced to place himself on the dying bed, though he strove with all his might against it. At last morning came, and the bright flood of light which it poured into his chamber dispelled all his 'superstitious illusions." As soon as he had risen, he went in search of the landlord, and enquired for his fellow-lodger. 'He is dead,' was the reply. 'Dead.' 'Yes, he is gone, poor fellow! The doctor said he would not probably survive the night!' 'Do you know who he was?' "Oh, yes, it was a young man from Providence College-a very fine fellow; his name was E-.' Judson was completely stunned. After hours had passed, he knew not how, he attempted to pursue his journey. But one single thought occupied his mind, and the words, dead! lost! lost! were continually ringing in his ears. He knew the religion of the Bible to be true; he felt its truth; and he was in despair. In this state of mind he resolved to abandon his scheme of travelling, and at once turned his horse's head towards Plymouth."

This distressing event, through divine grace, produced a change,

not only in the heart, but in the conduct and pursuits of young Judson. He devoted himself to the missionary work, and having translated the Bible into the Burmese language, he left it as an imperishable legacy, and died in great peace; and is now regarded as one of the most eminent of modern missionaries.

Young man! if you have not yet given your heart to your Redeemer, do so at once; and then-who knows-He may permit you to do some good and great service for Him in the world. Live to Christ, and for Christ; then will your life be honourable and your death happy!

THE YOUNG MOHAMMEDAN CONVERT.

"ZOOLFAKAR is a young man about nineteen years of age, a native of Madras, and the only son of a Mohammedan doctor, who was in the service of the Nabob of the Carnatic, but is now pensioned. Through East Indian and native converts, he has known something of christianity for a number of years. During the mutiny, he was led to see the great difference between true christians and Mussulmans. He saw that the fruits of his own religion were only pride, anger, cruelty, and lust. He then began to read some of the principal Mohammedan books; but he could find no evidence for the truth of the Koran, and he became very unhappy. His father is an extremely bigoted Mussulman, and he would not allow him to go to an English school. Sometimes he went to the mosque, and sometimes not. Thus he went on for more than two years. But, during the severe visitation of cholera in Madras, in the month of July last, he was brought to decision. He had an attack of that terrible disease. He now began to pray to Jesus; and vowed, if God would spare his life, he would become a christian. God in mercy heard his prayer, and he was restored. But how was he to declare himself a christian among all his friends? This was a trying step. If his intentions became known, he had only death to expect in the worst form; for a Mohammedan father would rather kill his son than see him become a christian.

He thought, if he could get to Bangalore, he would have less difficulty in carrying out his purpose. He, therefore, against his father's will, came to Bangalore in the month of August. He was first brought to me as an anxious inquirer, by Daniel, one of our catechists. He now came to me several times a week for religious instruction. During this time he felt himself in great danger. One day he was found by some of his Mussulman friends reading

a Hindustanee Gospel which I had given him: he was called to the mosque, and his brother-in-law beat him. Hence he came to me one day, and said, "O, Sir, I want to be baptized at once, before they can do anything to me." I asked, "If you are afraid of them now, how will you bear persecution after you become a christian?" He replied, "If once I were baptized, then they can do anything they like to my body. I only want to save my soul." We, therefore, thought it best to baptize him, as we had every evidence of his sincerity.

His baptism took place in our Canarese chapel, in the pettah, in the presence of a large and interesting congregation. As he could not speak Canarese, nor I Hindustanee, Daniel interpreted. For the sake of the congregation, I asked the questions in Canarese, and Daniel returned answers in the same. He then knelt down, and I baptized him in the name of the ever-blessed Trinity, and named him Timothy Zoolfakar. I shall not soon forget the expres sion of joy on his countenance as he rose from his knees. He felt he had taken a right step. His vow was performed; and his heart was eased of its burden. I then preached from John xiv. 6."

We have extracted the above from a letter written by an English Wesleyan Missionary, dated Bangalore, Dec. 10, 1860, who also says this was "the first Mohammedan convert in our Mysore Mission."

But whilst it affords us pleasure to hear of the conversion of this young Mohammedan, we cannot but notice the singular question of the missionary when he asked, "how will you bear persecution after you become a christian?" as if the baptism he sought would make him one. We hope he meant-after you have in baptism professed that you are a christian.

And then how oddly this reads, "He then knelt down, and I baptized him," and again," he rose from his knees" after the ceremony. Let our young readers compare this report with the baptisms of the first missionaries recorded in the "Acts of the Apostles."

HAVE YOU FOUND YOUR BROTHER?

YOUNG christians who have, through divine grace, sought and found the Saviour, should do all they can prudently and piously to bring first their own brothers and sisters to Jesus. A short time ago we told you how a younger brother wrote to an elder brother, and the good result which followed. This is not only natural, it is easy too for the young disciple thus to make his first attempts in doing good. Indeed it was so from the beginning of the gospel.