affectionate parent; many a sister has lost her brother, and many a brother has lost his sister. But nowhere has death been more busy or more ruthless, than in the Sunday schools of our land. Oh! they could tell us mournful tales, were we to ask them, one by one about this matter, they would tell us of many teachers who had taught their last lesson, and prayed their last prayer; and of many scholars who had sung their last song, and enjoyed their last privilege.

I feel a strange solemnity stealing over my spirit, whilst writing of the past ravages of death; for memory brings up the forms of those who once were loved, but who are not! And among them were those who were known and loved as Sunday scholars. Ah! there was Ellen S, James A, and Sarah S, and many others to whom I talked of a Saviour's love, the joys of heaven, and the importance of religion; but they are gone to the grave, to sleep there till the morning of the resurrection.

Now, my young reader, you too are mortal, and it may perchance be your turn next, to read the secrets of the eternal world. Will you permit one who is tenderly anxious about your welfare, to put the solemn question, Are you prepared for such a change as is implied in dying? Is your soul safe? Are your sins pardoned? Can you look up to heaven and say with a sincere heart

'There is my house, and portion fair,' &c.

or have you doubts and fears upon your mind; doubts that all is not safe-fears, that if God were to call, you would find yourself amid the flames of hell! O, if this night, whilst you are asleep upon your pillow, the angel of death were to knock at your bed-room door, and to come in, and lay his icy hand upon your heart, and tell you to go with him into the spirit-land, would it be, to join yon harpers, harping with their harps' before the throne, or to mingle your wailings with those whose damnation is sealed? It would be either one or the other: and you are, just now, either a child of God, or a child of the devil; there is no middle character which can be sustained; and just as we live, so will we die, and just as we die, so will our state be throughout eternity!

But supposing that you should not be called in early life to die; supposing, that for many years to come the silken thread of existence should be spun out, what then? with the Bible in your hands, and an unexplored hereafter

before you, how ought you to live? I am addressing myself I apprehend to those who have enjoyed the advantage of Sabbath school instruction, and I know, that you know full well what answer to give to this all-important question. You know that the life which you ought to live, whether it be a long life, or a short one, whether it be a life of poverty and toil, or one of riches and ease,— is a holy life. The Scriptures say so, conscience says so, God says so, ah, and even the devil himself says so. O, my young friends, whatever you remember of this paper, do remember this, that it is a holy life you must live, if you would have it be a happy one. Now, many who read these lines are unhappy; this may not be manifest before your associates, but tell your secret thoughts, tell all those silent musings of your spirit when you are shut out from the world, and alone with God; and O, what upbraidings of conscience, what secret misgivings, what bitter regrets at your past folly, and what fearful forebodings of the coming future; for you feel then that you have sinned against God, and justly tremble at the thoughts of his anger. The Saviour has been offered, but you have rejected him. You have been urged to flee to the cross, but you have loved the world. You have been exhorted to plead for mercy, but you have turned a deaf ear to all such counsel. You have been told the happiness of a life of religion, but you have listened, as to a lie. You have been prayed for, and wept over in secret, by many who love you, but you are still found unconverted, still found on the broad road to ruin, rushing on the thick 'bosses of the Almighty's buckler,' and hastening on to perdition! My young friends, stop! by all that is solemn, I charge you to stop! Another step, and you may be amid the awful realities of the bottomless pit, another step, and your precious souls may be lost, lost, eternally lost! And think, what a doom, what a damnation will be yours, ye unconverted Sunday scholars. Now we ask you to pause, and ponder these momentous truths. You can think when you have a mind. You can think about dress, you can think about your companions, you can think about any insult or affront which may be offered you; now think about your souls, think about your past sins; those idle words, those impure thoughts, those angry tempers, those revengeful purposes, those uttered falsehoods, those broken Sabbaths, and broken vows; recall all these sins, and remember against whom they have been committed, and

repent ye of them and be converted, ere God in righteous wrath shall say concerning you, Cut him down, why cumbereth he the ground.' Do not defer this solemn work, your soul's salvation-till you are grown older in sin and crime. Do not answer the good Spirit when he strives with you, as he is now doing, with 'At a more convenient season.' 'Serious things to-morrow,' said a young lady, who was being pressed by a pious friend at the close of a Sabbath's service, to yield herself to the Saviour; but when to-morrow's sun arose, and sent its glittering beams into that young lady's chamber, they fell upon a cold and stiffened corpse! her guilty spirit had passed to its account and to mourn the folly of procrastination. Serious things to-morrow.' Ah, this is Satan's lullaby, by which he seeks to hush your souls to slumber, so profound and fatal, that you may not awake till you catch the sound of the low, deep mournings of the lost!

But we turn from this view of the subject, and in closing this appeal, would indulge the hope, that what has been written may not be in vain. Do you seek to know the Saviour, my youthful reader? Be assured he 'waiteth to be gracious.' He is saying, 'Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out;' let your language then be, as with an eye of faith you view him as the 'Lamb slain in the midst of the throne,'

'A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,

On Thy kind arms I fall :

My Lord, my Life, my Sacrifice,

My Jesus and my All."

and what a holy calm will then possess your spirits. Grace in possession and glory in prospect!

Youthful piety, how beautiful, how interesting, how lovely.

Darlington.

Q. Q.

MIRACLE LEGENDS.-It was the practice during the middle ages to exercise the novices in the monasteries in writing amplifications on the lives of the saints; and there is no doubt that a vast mass of the absurdities and fables which disgrace the Roman hagiographies were originally due to the prolific imaginations of these young clerks, who treated their saintly heroes after the same fashion as the lives of the demi-gods were written by the heathen authors whom they had read. The lives' thus composed were laid up in the convent library, exhumed from the dust a century or two later, and then given to the world as authentic documents.

A LITTLE HOME MISSIONARY.

ARE there any other missionaries besides foreign ones 2 Yes, there are some who go in the villages of this country, and speak to the poor people about Jesus. Now, my dear children, you cannot go about preaching, but I will tell you how you may become little home missionaries.

Elizabeth is a little girl about eleven years old; she used to attend a Sabbath school, and was admitted into a Bible class, which was superintended by their minister. Some months ago he was speaking to them very seriously on the importance and necessity of prayer. Elizabeth listened very attentively, and resolved that she would do as her dear minister advised her.

When the services of the Sabbath were over, and her father, and mother, and sisters were all going to rest, Elizabeth said to her father, may we sing a hymn before we go to bed, father?' 'Yes, if you like,' was the reply. When they had finished singing, she said, 'If you please, father, I'll read a chapter in the Bible.' Well,' said the father, I have no objection.' The chapter was readElizabeth made one effort more-her courage almost failed her her voice faltered-deep emotion was written on her countenance, as she looked at her father, saying, "May I pray, father?' 'O,' said her father, it's of no use talking, you can't pray.' Elizabeth modestly replied, I'll try, father, if you'll let me.' The request was granted. For the first time, the father, his wife, and three daughters bent the knee at their own family altar; while Elizabeth, in strains of ardent and unaffected devotion, supplicated blessings upon her parents, and her two sisters. During the four months that have passed since this happened, Elizabeth has regularly conducted family prayer. Her mother is now a member of the church; her father is seeking the salvation of his soul; her youngest sister is desiring to become a child of God, and is often found alone, praying to God, while her eldest sister is much more seriously inclined than she was a few months ago. Do you not think that all this must make Elizabeth very happy?

My dear children, do you love to pray to God, as Elizabeth did? Remember He is willing to hear the prayers of little children. He has said, 'Suffer little

children to come unto me.'

Do your parents love and serve God? do they love to pray to Him? if not, go and do as Elizabeth did, and then you will be little home missionaries. R. B. T.

THE HINDOO SUNDAY SCHOOL.

Our Missionary Societies, in diffusing the glorious gospel of the blessed God, endeavour to adapt their instructions to the circumstances of the nations they visit. Hence they often adopt the manners of the natives in communicating divine truth. In the engraving we see a native Christian teacher instructing some young persons in Divine things, just after the manner of the Gooroos in India, The scholars sit on the ground, with mats spread under them, while the teacher stands and dictates the lesson or explains the printed sheet, In China some missionaries have, with good effect, adopted what would seem to us a singular practice, that of writing and lithographing and distributing a sermon among the hearers before it is delivered. May God hasten the day when every child on earth shall be in some Sunday School, and every class be blessed with a pious, intelligent teacher.

Poetry.

A DEATH BED.

Her sufferings ended with the day,
Yet lived she at the close,

And breathed the long, long night away,
In statue-like repose,

But when the sun, in all its state,

Illum'd the eastern skies,

She passed through Glory's morning-gate,
And walked in Paradise!