3. The Book of Common the peculiarities of what we call Prayer was published in English; the established religion, true and for before the Reformation prayers undefiled religion, established by were repeated in Latin only, the Most High, shall flourish in which few understood; the most this and in every country. Never objectionable prayers likewise cease to thank God for your were removed, such as those Bibles.' addressed to the virgin Mary, and to the other saints: the mass service, with its error of transubstantiation, and many other superstitious and idolatrous rites and expressions; and more scriptural prayers were introduced in their place. The youthful audience expressed their pleasure and gratitude; and John, addressing Mary and Ann, said, 'We must try to remember, as long as we live, these six advantages of the Reformation. We will repeat them to each other once each day for '4. Preaching was not only a week.' more general, but also more evangelical. Instead of idle legends of the saints, and explanations of mystic rites and signs, Jesus Christ was set forth, crucified for the salvation of sinful men and women, and boys and girls. 5. Greater liberty has been taken by some, and reluctantly granted by others, of thinking for themselves in religion; and of worshipping in that form, and of hearing that kind of preaching which they judged to be the most scriptural. I am, however, here grieved to add, that the sufferings of the puritans and other most excellent christians, show how very imperfectly Protestants of the High Church party understand the liberty of the Gospel of Christ. 6. The last improvement I shall mention, is our present translation of the Bible. The rendering of the Holy Scriptures into our language, which approaches perfection in King James's translation, was letting in the light of heaven-the opening of a sky-light in a room previously darkened by blocking up the side windows. I feel persuaded, my dear children, that by means of this book, whatever of error may yet remain among us, will at length be chased away, and that whatever becomes of 'It is my earnest desire, my dear children, that you may have a clear knowledge of your mercies; and, above all, that you will pray, that the Bible you read, the prayers you can understand, the preaching to which you listen, and all your religious privileges, may be the means of making you wise unto salvation, of the number of those who love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. You had better have lived in the time of king John, or under the sway of the savage Druids, than in the present day, if your hearts be not converted to God by his Holy Spirit. 'I promise you a conversation. the next we hold, on a subject which I am sure will interest you the history of the translations of the Bible into our language.' Own THE DYING PEASANT GIRL.— (Concluded from page 8) help thinking, when I'm not in quite so much pain, of the words of the hymn, 'Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are; While on his breast I lean my head, And sweetly breathe my life out there. In the evening, another Christian friend called to see her, and she felt stronger, and conversed freely for more than an hour. That friend told me afterwards, that he was surprised to find her in such a delightful state of mind, and that he was struck with three things: her maturity of Christian experience-her extensive knowledge of Scripture—and her wonderful memory for Hymns. He remarked to me- She conversed without reserve, introducing passages of Scripture, and verses of hymns, in the most delightful manner.' Among other things, she said to me—'When I think upon the love of Christ, and remember that his blood cleanseth from all sin, my joy is abundant! One of her class-fellows was standing by her bedside, weeping bitterly, whilst Sarah was telling thus her hopes and joys in prospect of death, and when the dying girl saw her, she said-' O, Mary, you should not fret, for I am happy, quite happy! The sabbath dawned upon her sick chamber. It was the last sabbath she spent in this world. Yea, she began this sabbath on earth, but she ended it in glory. It was the holiest, happiest and best day of her life! She had taken no food for several days, and was consequently much reduced, and life seemed ebbing away at every breath. Her teacher called to see her in the morning, and found that though the poor body was sinking through weakness, the faith and joy of her spirit were more buoyant than ever. She called in again at mid-day, and in the course of conversation said, 'Well, Sarah, what have you been thinking of during the morning?" She replied-' Chiefly about the school, ma'am.' Her teacher said-'The children sing before going to school, "There is a happy land, Far, far, away; Where saints in glory stand, now a O, how they sweetly sing, Worthy is our Saviour king, Loud let his praises ring, Praise, praise for aye!' During the afternoon of this sabbath I called in, and, on going up to her bedside, I asked how she felt. She said, 'I'm very ill, sir!' I soon saw she was in great pain, and that it was struggle for life; and I then said, 'It's hard work for poor nature; I dare say you are almost tempted to be impatient. 'No, sir,' she quickly replied, 'I'm in God's hands! After a few moments, she said to me, 'I'm sorry I've not been able to tell you more, sir, of what I've felt, but I may yet, if the Lord strengthens me.' Sarah, I replied, 'but you've told me enough, since you say that you are resting on Jesus, and feel happy in your dying bed.' After all others had left the room, I talked with her a little longer. I then said, 'Now, Sarah, you seem to be dying-you may soon be called away-what will you think of when the last moment comes?' She said, with intense feeling, 'I trust the Lord will remember me as he did the poor dying thief?' And then, taking hold of my hand, she said, with a sweet look of gratitude, 'I thank you, sir, for all your kindness to me;' adding, in broken accents, Well, 'I trust that the Lord will reward you.' Being obliged to leave her, I said, I'm going to ask the elder children to stay behind in the school, after the others are gone, that we may pray for you.' She said, 'Thank you, sir; do!' I then asked her, ' When I'm speaking to them about their souls, what shall I say from you?' She replied, Tell them to believe on Jesus Christ, and then they will die happy!' As night came on, I called again, between nine and ten o'clock. I found her in distressing pain. She seemed at first scarcely sensible; her breathing was hard, and her poor body was in a restless state. I said but little to her. However, I thought it might be well to remind her of one of her favourite hymns, and seeing she was almost worn out with pain, I said, in a soft tone of voice, as I leaned over her, 'Be patient a little longer, Sarah; it is hard work; but bear it well; for, "Though painful at present, "Twill cease before long; And then, O how pleasant The conqueror's song!" She caught the words, and, as I went on with them, said 'Yes, yes!' I then promised to call next day; when she said, with an effort, 'Do come, sir.' But the dying girl needed no longer any human comforters; ere the morrow, she rested in the bosom of her God! The hours passed slowly along, and midnight was fast approaching; and still the imprisoned spirit was panting to be gone. At length, the messenger of death arrived, and the Peasant Girl prepared herself for the last struggle. She called her mother; 'Come here, mother, and let me lay my head upon your bosom !' She laid it there; and, when composed, continued repeating her favourite words, Christ, remember me !' At first she uttered them aloud-and then, gradually, in a gentler tone-next, in a whisper-until her voice died away in a soft sigh, which was caught by her mother's ear———— 'Christ! Remember-me!' They looked upon her. She was gone! Her spirit had taken its place before the throne; she had slept in Jesus. Here lay the poor body-the soul was in glory. Here was the beautiful clay, which had been her earthly tabernacle; but the inhabitant-the immortal spirit was for ever with the Lord. Here were the shackles which had bound her a prisoner to earththe released captive was exulting in the freedom and blessedness of heaven. Like the little bird that has long been imprisoned in its cage, she has now left her prisonhouse, and has soared to the land of heavenly music, and there learnt the Jubilee Song of the Redeemed:-'Now unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in bis blood; to him be glory, and dominion, for ever, and ever, Amen!' And now, dear reader, I have shown you what promised. First, you have seen how, to the Peasant Girl, dying was a pleasant thing. Secondly, that it was ber faith in Jesus, the friend of sinners, that made dying easy and happy to her. And now, let me assure you, Thi.dly, that there is the same provision for your happy death as for hers. The same Saviour has died for you. He has made you welcome to the same love of God. And this is all you need to take away your fears, and to sustain your sinking spirit. O believe, and live! SPARE MINUTES.-Spare minutes are the gold dust of time. 'Sands make the mountains, moments make the year.' Of all the portions of our life the spare minutes are the most fruitful in good or evil. They are gaps through which temptations find the easiest access to the garden of the soul. THE OLD LADY AND HER FRIENDS. : A WORTHY old gentlewoman of my acquaintance was sitting in her new house, engaged in looking over some files of letters and other papers. She suddenly laid down her spectacles, and said :'I have been seized with an odd notion of classifying my friends.' 'Let me hear,' said I, 'how you will make your arrangement.' 'Oh,' replied she, 'you know our sex measures everything by constancy. I have chosen the order of time. Those rank highest who have lasted longest. One's best friends are those who abide firmest. Old friends are best.' 'Good,' said I; 'suppose, then, you begin numbering, as in some schools, with the lowest form.' 'Very well. First come my calling acquaintances. They looked in once or twice, especially on fair days, or holidays; but they never came more than once, or twice. They were but visitors, at best. They soon grew weary, and have long since forgotten me. Secondly, I name those who kept up their visits for a year, two years, or three years. Of these the number is considerable. Some of them recognise me in the streets, and accept an invitation on birth-days and other great anniversaries. But I should never think of resorting to them, on a pinch.' 'We must do better than that,' said I; whom have we next?' Fourthly, I place a limited circle of genuine old friends. They have stuck by me, in all kinds of weather. They are my weekly guests. Their faces are never wanting on my reception days. When trouble comes I can freely rely on them. Some of them have grown gray, but are still on the alert to render me any aid. One of them is fully worth a hundred of the others.' Perhaps my readers may already recognise in this good old gentlewoman the Sunday School. The figure is borrowed from a memorable speech of George Cookman, that eloquent servant of Christ, who was lost in the steamer President. The teachers in Sunday schools admit of a similar classification. Class first is very numerous. It comprises many thousands. They have dropped into Sunday schools, and taken classes, but their zeal died out in the course of a few weeks or months. Class sccond includes the majority of the present teachers in Sunday schools. It is well if their average term of service amounts to three years. Class third is made up of teachers who render great and important service, for a term of years. They are not to be undervalued. It is natural for human beings to grow weary. When they arrive at the age of twenty-five or thirty years, they think they have done enough. Let them be applauded for past favours. Class fourth is a small but venerable class. At the head of it I place that English teacher who said, I have entisted for the whole war. These are the Pages and Cranfields of our army; veterans, to whom we look in bard times. It is a touching sight to behold one of these going book in hand to the same school which perhaps he founded twenty years ago. He is wrinkled, and hoary, and puts on his glasses when he opens his book; but there is good service in him yet. The prayers of many a disciple go up for him, from those who owe their first impres sions to his counsels. Are there not teachers now engaged in actual service, who meditate a perseverance in duty such as this? The example of one teacher, with a spirit like this, in any church, is a blessing to all around him. Let us hope that the numbers of such will be increased. None who form and execute this resolution will find any cause to regret their constancy.-American Correspondent. Away MORAL INFLuence. among the Alleghanies, there is a spring so small that a single ox in a summer's day could drain it dry. It steals its unobtrusive way among the hills, till it spreads out in the beautiful Ohio. Thence it stretches away a thousand miles, leaving on its banks more than a hundred villages and cities, and many thousand cultivated farms; and bearing on its bosom more than half a thousand steamboats. Then joining the Mississippi, it stretches away and away, some twelve hundred miles more, till it falls into the great emblem of eternity. It is one of the tributaries of that ocean, which, obedient only to God, shall roar and roar, till the angel with one foot on the sea and the other on the land, shall lift up his hand to heaven and swear that time shall be longer. So with moral influence. It is a rill-a rivulet-a river-an ocean, boundless and fathomless as eternity. That rill is now rising in every soul in every school-room! O Spirit of God, sanctify these influences for earth's benefit and heaven's glory! A FRAGMENT.-Devotedness to God below shall be blessed by nearness to God above.-Noel. GENTLE WORDS. A YOUNG Rose in the summer time The Sun may warm the Grass to life, Of Autumn's opening hourBut words that breathe of tenderness, And smiles we know are true, Are warmer than the summer time, And brighter than the Dew. It is not much the World can give, And Gold or Gems are not the things To satisfy the Heart; But oh! if those who cluster round The altar and the hearth, Have gentle words and loving smiles, How beautiful is earth! THE SPIRIT'S HOME. We ask the grave below, Of earth's remotest stand Are tales and tidings known; But from the Spirit's distant land Returneth none. Winds bear the breath of flowers To travellers o'er the wave; But bear no message from the bowers Beyond the grave. Proud science scales the skies. Impervious shadows hide INTERNAL EVIDENCE. A MAN of subtle reasoning asked The terms of disputative art Had never reached his earHe laid his hand upon his heart, And only answered-' here.' |