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dissuading the people from read- | land; and that makes them maing our Tracts; and saying, ny times very anxious to see

that the Irish are not to be cheated out of their religion. But He, whose church is his glory, will do his own pleasure, and establish his own kingdom in opposition to all the powers of Anti-Christ!"

The following Letter from MARY, one of the Hottentots who were in England a few years ago, to the secretary, of the London Missionary Society, will probably be agreeable to our Readers. “Dear Brother,

that country where the Lord dwells in such a wonderful manner, that they asked, "Mother, O let us go some time there, to see such dear people !" With me, are John and my dear sister Martha. We have all for body and soul that may be necessary. We are with our brother Kicherer and his wife, who behave as a brother and sister to us, and take care of us. O that I may be more thankful to my dear Lord and Saviour for his faithfulness and wonderful goodness! Help me, dear brother, to pray; to thank for me: I can do nothing without the Spirit of Christ! Many times I spake with our brother Kicherer about all the dear friends: (with tears in my eyes I must confess it) chiefly it grieved me, when I recollected the last farewell to Mr. Hardcastle, then I sink away. O what shall it be when we meet one another again in heaven, when never shall have place a separating!

"I was very happy to hear of you, our dear friend, chiefly that you continued in good health of body and soul. Through the goodness of our Lord God, I have found my dear children in a good situation in Africa; the Lord has, in a particular manner, taken care of them; but my poor child Christian, who was born in Holland, I have lost by death in Africa; but I trust he died to go into everlasting life. The Lord has given me again a son in his place, who is about four months old, and is in good health. Three of my other children I have not yet seen; because of the great dis-with whom I have had the hontance we are from one another : or to converse! O what wonderbut the Lord gives me to be still, ful love I feel for them! in his way, and I trust I shall sec them in his time. O may I see them in heaven! What hap-to remember you, in particular, piness will it be for me to have at the throne of grace. brought forth children for ever. Lord God dwell in your house, lasting life! My dear children in your heart, in the hearts of who are with me, I tell them, your family, and make all things many times, the happiness which well. I experienced in that dear Eng

*A particular account of Mary was given in the first Series of the Connecticut Evangelical Magazine.

"O be so kind as to give my affectionate Christian love to all

the dear brothers and sisters

"Now, farewell, my dear brother, remember me: I hope

The

I am, dear Sir, with much estcem, your affectionate sister in the Lord Jesus,

MARY VAN ROOY." Graaff Reinet, January 8, 1507.

POETRY.

The Departing Christian.

BEHOLD! the solemn hour is come,
By heav'n assign'd, that seals my doom,
That lays this head beneath the sod,
And bears my willing soul to God.

To the lone vault or church-yard borne,
This dust must soon to dust return;
Soon must my lifeless corpse be laid
Amongst the long-forgotten dead.

I hear the death-bell's mournful sound,
I see my weeping friends around,
I hear affection's bursting sigh,
And read despair in friendship's eye.
Vain sighs and unavailing tears,
Death's ear is deaf to human prayers;
Nor skill, nor pow'r, nor love can save,
When God commands us to the grave.
Yet through the deep sepulchral gloom,
That wraps the mansion of the tomb,
I see, with rapturous delight,
A beam of heav'n's effulgent light.
Jesus, my Lord, I know, once made
The dark and lonely grave his bed;
Thence he arose, and led the way
To yonder world of cloudless day.

I trace him in his glorious flight
From earth to heav'n's sublimest height:
And hark! he calls my spirit home;
Jesus, my Lord, I hear, I come.

With joy, thy mandate I obey,
Let not thy chariot long delay;
I see my long expected prize,
A crown of glory in the skies.

Then weep not, fond, afflicted friends,
Death is the angel Jesus sends
To bear the sainted soul on high,
Beyond the reach of human eye.

The race is run, in duty's path,
Fought the good fight, and kept the faith;
Now leaning on my Saviour's breast,

My spirit seeks its final rest.

For me, kind friends, then grieve no more,
My heart's at rest; the conflict's o'er
Heav'n's glories break upon my view;
Adieu, dear friends; vain world, adieu.

Hymn to Charity.

COME, daughter of celestial birth,
Adorn'd with every native grace;
On angel wing descend to earth,
And there unveil thy angel face.

[Phil. Mag.

From realms of joy and seats of bliss,
In robes of radiant light she comes,
Her voice the harbinger of peace,
Meek-wreath'd her brow, her breath perfumes.

Beneath her love-illumin'd eye,

Th' insensate burn, the friendless glow ;
Her smiles repress the risen sigh,

Her sympathy the tear of woe.

The scornful leer, the haughty crest,
With mute long-suffering she endures;
The oppressor's wrongs, the witling's jest,
In her own wounded breast immures.

O'er the long list of crimes conceiv'd,
Of guilt matur'd, or green with youth;
She weeps inexorably griev'd,
Rejoicing only in the truth.

For hearts malignant, slow to love,
And swift to injure or complain;
Her bosom heaves, her sorrows move,
She pardons first, then loves again.
Yet ne'er with curious heart attends,
The whispers of perfidious fame;
Nor envies when the concave rends,
Of honor'd names with loud acclaim,
Nor yet from aspect, seeming ill,
Suspects some dark and deep design;
Hope scatters hovering clouds at will,
And looks beyond the dubious sign.
And e'en when spots and stains appear,
Her mingled grief and pity move,
She bids the frail her mantle wear,
And hides the deeds she cannot love,

To humble vales of worth obscure,
Careless of toil and shame descends,
Exalts the friendless, and the poor
From scorn's depressing frown defends.
The meed to virtuous deeds decreed,
With virgin blush she still declines;
False virtues only columns need,
In its own beams true glory shines.

Grace flows unmix'd thro' all her mien,
For love unfeigned rules her breast,
And there immutably serene,
Peace and immortal glory rest.

Thou loveliest daughter of the skies!
Enamor'd with thy peerless charms,
To thy embrace my spirit flies,
And seeks a refuge in thy arms.

If bliss be e'er design'd for me,
Oh! make me thine own image bear;
In tho't, act, end, be one with thee,
And in thy triumphs ever share !

Sept. 1.

Donations to the Missionary Society of Connecticu

Rev. Joel Byington, being for contributions col-
lected by him in New Settlements,

16. Ebenezer J. Leavenworth,

6. 49

do. do.

8 30

$ 14 79

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