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sufficient importance to claim the attention of all classes. But what are all these, compared to the new chapters in natural history which geology unfolds. Buried in the soil beneath your very feet, lie the remains of gigantic lizards and other forms of animal life, supposed until recently to have had no existence, except in the fictions or allegories of our poets.

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LANDMARKS. Thou shalt not remove thy neighbour's landmark.—Deut. xix. 14.

The lands of separate owners in China are not divided, as with us, by bridges, walls, or fences; but by a narrow pathway, and sometimes by a ditch or drain ; and so great is their economy of cultivated soil, that this custom appears to be universal in every part of China. Upon these boundaries are placed porcelain landmarks, whereon the four cardinal points and the owner's name are inscribed. Upon good authority, it appears that the clandestine or violent removal of any of these marks ensures to the perpetrator the most signal punishment.

In a similar manner this practice was denounced under the Jewish law; and is commented on by Solomon (Prov. xxii. 28), “ Remove not the ancient landmarks which thy fathers have set."

THE SOUL. We have not a richer jewel to trust God with than our soul. God hath not a richer jewel to trust us with than his truth.

The Enquirer.

QUESTION XIII.- Prayer.

(To the Editor of the Youths' Magazine.) Sin,-I shall feel obliged if you, or any of your correspondents, will inform me (through the medium of your valuable Magazine) whether it is right or wrong to tell enquirers after salvation they should pray? As, on the one hand, only the prayer of faith will be accepted by the Most High ; so, at the same time, his word as plainly declares that “they who seek shall find, and to them who ask it shall be given.” If, sir, you will be kind enough to give me an answer, you will confer a favor on,

Yours respectfully,

EUGENIA.

31

POETRY.

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY-TWO.

Another year

HARK! 'twas the sound of twelve!
With all its joys, and hopes, and fears, is gone :
With all its changes and vicissitudes !

Hayti and Hamburg! Affghanistan ! speak!
And China too! for ye, alas, can tell,
How death and desolation marked its course!
What heaps of slain, what groans, and cries, and tears,
Have fill'd the battle-field. What multitudes
The bounds of mortal life have pass'd ; and sprung,
Quick as the vivid lightning's fearful glance,
Into Eternity, the joy to taste
Of Heavenly bliss, for righteous souls prepared,
Or feel the torments of Jehovah's ire,
Where worm of guilty conscience never dies,
And fire of wrath divine is never quench’d-
Just punishment for sins : sins against law
And evangelic light, and conscience too.

In Britain's isle-Britain's most favor'd isle,
Where sounds of free salvation charm the ear,
Where God's own word is publish'd, grace proclaim'd
To all that come, and penitently seek
Pardon of sin--pardon through Jesus' blood-
In Britain, numerous groups, the stroke of Death
Has vanquish’d. Commoners and Lords renown'd,
And peasants, of ignoble birth, have met,
Who never met before; now equal all;
Now trusted to the grave, till the shrill sound
Of the Archangel's trumpet shall awake,
And summon to Jehovah's righteous bar,
From His own lips their sentence to receive,
Their final sentence, from which no appeal!
Reader! attend, consider, and be wise,
Prepare for death, for judgment, and for heaven,
E'en now prepare, for death is at the door.

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY-THREE.

This year, what joys await me, or what woes,
I reck not. All

my times are in His hand,
Who governs mortal things, and well performs
His mighty works of Providence and grace.
Let me but trace my interest in His love;
Let me but taste the joy His presence brings ;
Let me but feel the warmth His love inspires ;
Let me but keep the path to heaven's abode;
Let me but live to Him who died for me;
Let me but die to live with Him for ever;
And all is well. Roll round, ye fieeting years,
Ye days, roll onward; Faith shall smile and sing,

“To me to live is Christmto die is gain.” Penryn.

R. C.

PAST AND FUTURE.
“The closing year!” how many a painful thought
These simple words have to my memory brought!
How, as I take a retrospective view,
They cast o’er every scene a sombre hue ;
Bringing afresh before my aching mind,
Friends round my heart's affections closely twined,
Who faded in the midst of life and bloom,
And left me weeping o'er their early tomb.
They bid me think of hopes I warmly cherished,
Which like some blighted flow'r have sadly perished;
Of bright imaginings, that fancy drew,
Which stern reality has proved untrue ;
Of holy purposes that glowed within,
But perished through the withering taint of sin,
When disappointment came with ruthless hand,
And crushed the fair designs so fondly planned.
Oh cease thy vain, ungrateful murmurings;
Is this the retrospect thy memory brings ?
Where are the scenes of happiness which smiled
Like green oases in the desert wild ?
Did no bright promises illume thy way?
Was not a Saviour's hand thy guide and stay ?
Oh let thy harp, now on the willows hung,
To notes of grateful melody, be strung.

The opening year! With trembling steps I stand
Upon its verge: how dark on every band
Appears the prospect: stormy winds rise high,
And clouds are gathering o'er the troubled sky:
While musing on the future, oft I find
Gloomy forebodings fill my anxious mind;
I feel a strange, mysterious weight of dread,
Hope droops its pinions, and sweet peace has filed.
Oh, trembling Christian, cast away thy fears,
Nor darken coming moments with thy tears ;
Flowers yet unbudding may thy pathway strew,
And days of sunshine be awaiting you:
Faith bids you lift your tearful eye above,
And simply trust a Saviour's tender love;
Brightly his promise gilds futurity,

as thy day, thy strength shall surely be.”
But should thy fears be realized ; should gloom
Cast its dark shadow over days to come,
This weary, toilsome life will soon be o'er,
Then want and sorrow shall be known no more :
Though rough and perilous thy transit be,
How sweet ! how calm! the rest prepared for thee,
No dreaded ills shall there thy peace destroy,
But all be pure, seraphic, cloudless joy.

That

E. L. J.

WILTON AND ITS NEW CHURCH.

(A Reminiscence.)
NOVEMBER's softened tints of Tyrian dye,
Mellow the glory of the western sky;
And not a seraph's breath is here, to call
The yellow lingering leaf, the last to fall.
That fine old mansion's* cedars skirt the view
Whose vanes the frontier chesnuts glisten through;
And while the meadow's carpet spread beneath,
Betrays the lisping streamlet's silvery wreath,
Or lifts the spiry poplar; nestling down
'Mid curling smoke, lies nooked the village town.

* Wilton House.

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Simple its annals now..get once there stood
Squadrons before its walls athirst for blood;
Here, northern hordes have bent th' untiring how,
And Alfred here defied bis nation's foe;
Here, every order of the veil and vest,
With mitred brows, and kingly ashes rest ;
But centuries have rolled oblivion's surf
Over the royal shrine or sainted turf,
And to eternal destinies a throng,
In humbler guise, have passed from time along.

Such were the fathers of my infant days!
Oft as I climb this hill, and tread these ways,
From every spot some loved remembrance hangs,
And thrills my bosom with delicious pangs.
One hallowed form I think beside me now;
Love's meekest dignity serenes his brow,
The faithful staff supports his gentle hand,
In tranquil attitude I see him stand,
Admiring what strange fabric's deep relief
Gives the known scenes of many a joy and grief
Such grace, such glory: there the column'd line
And Auted arch, in Ophir's splendour shine ;
Or when the mantling clouds their contrast throw,
A second temple gleams of mountain-snow !

My father! could thy voice-which lingering years,
As on this day, have silenced-reach my ears,
Uninterrupted by repentant sighs,
And filial yearnings kindling in my eyes,
Or could it stay the question—"What, my son !
Is it for weal or wo thy life-sands' run ?”—
Methinks that beauteous fane would be thy talk,
And furnish heavenly musings for our walk !
Unearthly most of earth’s polluting dross,
And most of gain, 'mid ruin'd nature's loss.
'I'would serve to point me to thine own abode
Whose temple is the Lamb, whose glory, God;
Guide to the golden streets, the nightless home,
And speed me to the city yet to come.

J. P.

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