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entered into conversation, and said, “ Can you read this ?"-a tract of this Society, in the Irish tongue. He put it into the hand of Peter, and at the end of four weeks the missionary met the man again. He had, as he said himself, “ swallowed the whole tract!”
“ Well,” said the missionary, “I will give you an Irish Bible, if you will swallow it as well.”
He said, “ I'll never be beholden to a missionary for a Bible, but I'll buy it of you, if you'll sell it.”
“ I have two or three; I will sell one.” “ What is the price ?"
“ The price I ask is, that when it shall please God to strike the light and love of it into your heart, you will teach six men like yourself to love the Bible.”
And there indeed was Peter, behind the turf-stack, teaching them to read the word of God!- Rev. D. D. Heather.
“ THE EARTH IS FULL OF THY RICHES.”
Lord God, what a world of treasure hast thou hid in the bowels of the earth, which no eye of man ever did, or shall, or can see! What goodly plants hast thou brought forth of the earth, in wild, unknown regions, which co man ever beheld! What great wits hast thou shut up in a willing obscurity, which the world never takes notice of ! In all which, thou showest, that it is not only the use and benefit of man, which thou regardest, in the great variety of thy creation, and acts of administration of the world; but thine own glory, and the fulfilling of thine own good pleasure : and, if only the angels of heaven be witnesses of thy great works, thou canst not want a due celebration of thy praise. It is just with thee, O God, that thou shouldest regard only thy blessed self, in all that thou doest, or hast done; for all is thine, and thou art all. Oh, that I could sincerely make thee the perfect scope of all my thoughts, of all my actions; that so we may both meet in one and the same happy end, thy glory in my eternal blessedness.
THE ENCHANTER'S NIGHTSHADE. ENCHANTER's Nightshade! art thou named Poor simple, scentless flower? Now tell us how thou cam'st so famed, Where lies thy mystic power ? Surely thou hast some wondrous spell, Though hidden from our sight; Perhaps thou hast a potent smell In the deep hours of night. O tell us where the enchantment's brewed, Where is the magic found ? Leaf, stem, and bud in vain I've viewed, Lurks it beneath the ground ? Our fathers saw a wild plant grow, That had a strange black root, They saw a blossom white as snow, From the dark soil upshoot. So there a secret charm must lie, As in the vervain weed, And the twisted root of the briony, Aided the witches' deed. Ah! this they name, poor bud, it tells Of dark and dismal hours, When the sad thought of witches' spells Could mingle with sweet flowers. And there were apparitions dire, Haunting each lovely glade, “Blue meagre hag in fog or fire,” Or stubborn ghost unlaid. And these were England's merry days ? Nay:-were they not most sad? For where dark superstition sways Can any
heart be glad ?
'Tis now our hours are fair and bright,
Is England's pleasant day.
E. L. A.
THE SAVIOUR'S LEGACY. "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth,
give I unto you." John xiv. 27.
By sorrow driven,
Look up to heaven.
May peace be found;
Oh! soothing sound.
By Christ is given;
By Christ in heaven;
'Tis freely given.
"I give to you:"
'Twill save from woe.
He might atone;
But Christ alone.
So freely given;