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Is it the hollow moan of some Infidel? Is it the apostate Julian that bewails? Is it Voltaire that feels the stings and agonies of an accusing and condemning conscience? Poor deluded victims of Satan, malevolence, and pride! Where now your boasted courage? Why do your hands hang down? Why do you tremble at the approach of the phantom death? We are not saved, is the thrice tormenting complaint.

Is it the shriek of the Judgment-day? Does it arise from the dark dread dungeon of spirits accursed, bewailing their former impiety with hopeless tears, reproaching each other as partners in guilt, and mutual promoters of their ruin? The thought of heavenly bliss to them for ever distant; the gnawing of the un-dying worm constantly renewed; the anger of the Almighty always present; the anticipation of wrath ever to come, increase, and aggravate, and perpetuate their torment, while hopeless despair urges the lamentation, "The Harvest is past, the Summer is ended, and we are not saved!"

And are these things so? Then, dear reader, reflect on the sin and misery connected with the neglect or abuse of the means of grace. Often ponder the miserable condition of those whose Harvest is past, whose Summer is ended, whose salvation is impossible. Redeem the time, repent of your sin, flee to Jesus, and devote yourself to God, that you may be happy on earth, and glorified in Heaven.


R. C.


MAMMA, 'tis but a shilling-only one shilling," repeated Gertrude to her mother, as they walked along to a shop, where the day before she had seen some gay ribands that she thought would just suit her doll. "You know, mamma," she continued, " I gave all my last month's allowance to old Susan, to help to buy a pair of shoes, and I think I may lay out this shilling on my doll. Besides, I could not do much with only one shilling for the poor; and moreover, I don't know any one just now that I could give my shilling to. Indeed, mamma, if you please I must spend it."

Very well, my dear, the money is your own; you are at liberty to spend it or not, as you please. But though you do

not see any one before you just this moment on whom you would wish to bestow that shilling, you do not know the moment in which you may-nay, before the day is over, Gertrude, you may probably see or know of some wretched creature to whom that shilling would afford incalculable relief.” 'Oh, I am sure I sha'nt, mamma; and then, you know, my next shilling will soon be due, this month is nearly over."


They now entered the shop, and while Mrs. E. was buying some flannel and other things for some old women to whom she made a yearly present of a suit of clothes, Gertrude had called for the box of ribands, and stood twirling the shilling in her fingers, then holding up the tempting ribands to the light, then again looking at her shilling, with all the miserable feelings of persons who are doing something that they are not quite sure is right, something that it might be better to leave undone. At last, however, feeling ashamed, of keeping the shopman so long waiting upon her, she hastily made her decision, and putting the ribband into her pocket, joined her mamma, who was now ready to go; and not feeling quite contented with herself, she finished her walk in silence.

Gertrude was to spend that day with her mamma and younger sister at the house of her aunt, who lived some miles out of town. They did not return till a late hour, and during her ride home, Gertrude was so elated with the day's amusement, that she talked incessantly of all she had seen and heard, and never once thought of her shilling or the riband. It was nearly eleven o'clock before the little girls were ready for bed, when just as they were putting on their night caps, they suddenly heard an unusual bustle in the street under their window, and then a piteous cry of 'distress, and the voice of a child exclaiming in agony, Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do! my shilling is gone, what will my mother say!" and then a fresh burst of sorrow choked the child's utterance. By this time some of the neighbours had come out of their houses with candles, and they and the poor child were poking in the kennel, which from recent rain was full of mud and dirt. Mrs. E. now desired her maid to go down and inquire what had happened, who returned in a few moments, saying that the child had been sent out by her mother with their last and

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only shilling to purchase a loaf and a candle, and that a man rudely pushing past her had knocked the money out of her hand. "Oh," exclaimed Gertrude, clasping her hands in real distress and self-reproach, "why did I spend my shilling. Mamma, will you not give her the shilling?" "Most cheerfully should I do so, my dear, if I had it; but you know I emptied my purse of all its contents before I left your aunt's, to help her subscription for those poor orphans, and I have nothing in the house at this moment but a ten-pound note." Gertrude, “Oh, mamina, what would I not give that I had not spent my shilling! That poor little girl, how she cries!" Just at this moment Gertrude's younger sister, who had slipped out of the room unperceived, returned with a shilling in her hand, exclaiming, "Mamma, may I not send my shilling down to the little girl?" "Certainly, my dear, and as I had not one, I am very glad that you can give it." By the time the maid had got down to the door, the mother of the child had arrived, for living very near the scene of action, she instantly recog. nised the voice of her daughter; when the maid gave her the shilling, she exclaimed, "Oh, ma'am, when I heard that our last and only shilling was lost, I thought I should have fainted. I had just taken home a pair of silk stockings to a lady that I had been grafting for her all the week, and that shilling was the payment, and I had sent the child for a candle and some bread." While the maid repeated all this, Gertrude's tears flowed abundantly, and following her mother into her dressingroom, she said, "Oh, mamma, you don't know how unjust I have been to my sister about that very shilling. Ever since grandpapa gave it to her I have been laughing at her for not spending it, and called her a little miser, and often said, 'Oh that unlucky shilling, will you never part with it?' but now it has surely been a lucky shilling, and she has found the real object of charity for which she said she would lay it aside.” While they were yet speaking, a knock was heard at the street door; it was the little girl, to say that she had found her own shilling, and had “ brought back the other to the lady." Such honesty and good principle were as praiseworthy as uncommon, and the reader need scarcely be told, that she was left in quiet possession of the second shilling, with a promise

from Mrs. E. that she would call, and see what could be done to help them, as she found the family were in extreme poverty,

"Well, my dear child," said Mrs. E. when going into Gertrude's room for her candle, " do you now need to be told the worth of only one shilling?' I trust that you will never forget the lesson you have received this night, and when again tempted to spend your money upon some object of self-gratification, stop and ask yourself,—first, Can I do without it? and secondly, Can I relieve a fellow-creature with it? Remember, too, that your money is not your own, but a talent bestowed upon you for the good of others, and for the right use of which you will hereafter have to give account to the Lord, when he cometh to reckon with his servants. Say not again, 'tis but a shilling,' but think that that shilling might be made the means of saving a fellow-creature from starving, or give a comfortable meal to a wretched family who are denied the countless blessings that you enjoy. Pray, then, my dear child, that the Lord would enable you to devote yourself and your money to his service and glory, and that to you it may be said in that day when he maketh up his jewels, • Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.'" CHRISTINA.


THERE is a great difference in the pleasure enjoyed by different persons in their walks abroad. One can ramble for miles, either in a crowded city or in the country, without finding any thing of an interesting kind, while another can neither walk the length of a street, nor ramble across a single field, without meeting with an interesting object. Now the reason of this is not that one person sees more than another, but that one is more attentive than another. If, in passing along the street, we meet a man, and walk by a painting,

* Every circumstance relating to the poor little girl losing her shilling and her subsequent honesty, and what her mother said, &c. is fact, and happened to the writer of the above, this summer, at Swansea, where she spent some weeks for change of air.

perhaps we disregard them both, through inattention; but if we are told that the man is some extraordinary character, and that the painting was executed by some wonderful artist, we gaze with interest, and wonder at both the man and the painting. In the country, too, we are much influenced by our different pursuits. The child regards the butterfly, or gathers the fresh flower; the farmer looks at the crops and the cattle; the sportsman's attention is drawn to the birds; while the more reflecting mind sometimes regards the earth, and sometimes gazes on the heavens. If this be true, and who can doubt it, how abundantly increased are their gratifications who look on all things observantly as on the express workmanship of God.

Who read a record of His love,

His wisdom and His power

Inscribed on all created things,

Man, beast, and herb and flower.

No cloud can flit across the sky, nor insect crawl along their path; no tempest lower, nor sunbeam light up the heavens or the earth, without exciting some interest in their bosoms. Never is the sun so bright; never is creation so truly beautiful to our eyes, as when we not only know that they are the workmanship of God, but are also enabled to say with our lips, and with our hearts, "This God is our God for ever and ever, He will be our guide even unto death."

Thoughts such as these were passing through my mind, as I walked along a shady lane, about the hour of noon on a summer's day, sometimes gazing with delight on the many pleasant objects around me, and sometimes giving utterance to a grateful spirit, that exulted in the manifold mercies that the Giver of all good had so abundantly bestowed, when a Gipsy girl attracted my attention. She might be about thirteen years of age, and was sitting by the side of the lane, combing her coal-black hair. When she stood up, as she did on my approach, I thought that I had never gazed on a more interesting face. There was a cheerfulness and brightness in her countenance, which amply compensated for the swarthiness of her complexion, and her raven hair, divided on the top of her head, and simply fastened behind with a small comb, gave

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