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bling about a miserable world. I have seen as many years as most men see in this world, [this day I enter my eightyfifth year,] yet I am not tired of the world, and if it so will heaven,' I would live my life over again, with all its joys and sorrows. I think Jacob erred when he told Pharaoh that 'few and evil had been the days of his pilgrimage." Many and good have been the days of my pilgrimage. In my 22d year I left my father's house. Prior to this, I had not been twenty miles from the cottage on heather hills in Scotland, where I was born. I landed in New York in 1794, not having a friend in the country to counsel or direct. A kind Providence led me to the shop of an employer, who, with an only workman, remembered the Sab. bath day. Thus was I kept from the path of the destroyer

From 1795 till 1822, the yellow fever prevailed seventeen summers. I never left the city. I nursed among the sick. Yet neither myself, my wife, nor any of my ten children ever caught the prevailing disease. It is sixty. three years and six months since I first saw New York. In all that period I have only been ten days confined to the house by sickness. I have shared in the trials of life, and vicissitudes of business, but never grieved for losses in trade. When a draft from the South for 500 dollars came back protested, I rejoiced because it was not a thousand. If I bruised my arm, I thanked God it was not my neck. In times of trouble, if we look around, we will see millions in a worse condition than ourselves. Therefore, we ought to be thankful. I never felt a rheumatic pain. I walk without a staff. I sleep without rocking, and eat my

food without the help of brandy or bitters.

Here, [in New Haven,] the Sabbath is remembered and kept holy. Except when an aged worshipper is carried to

It church, you never hear the sound of a rolling wheel.



reminds me of the quiet Sabbaths I spent on the heather hills of Scotland eighty years ago.

Mine eyes and ears fail, but this defect is greatly mitigated by borrowing the younger eyes of my partner in life. She is an excellent reader ; is ever at my side, soothing my path to the banks of Jordan,--the noise of those waters is sounding in mine


GRANT THORBURN. New Haven, February 18th, 1857.



LITTLE Charles knew nothing of an echo. Once as he was playing by himself in a field, he cried out—"Ho, hop!” and immediately a voice from a little wood close by answered—" Ho, hop!” Being surprised at this, he called out—" Who are you?" the same voice replied—“Who are you?On this he cried out—"You're a stupid fellow! and “Stupid fellow!" was, of course, the answer. At this Charles, being much displeased, began to call all the abusive names he could think of, and these same expressions all seemed to come back to him. “ I never met with such insolence," he muttered, “but I'll revenge myself;" and he ran up and down among the trees, trying to find out the supposed offender, but he could find nobody. Vexed and disappointed, he hastened home and told his mother that a bad boy had hidden himself in the wood, and called him all sorts of names. His mother smiled and shook her head. “ Now, you have betrayed and complained of yourself, Charles; for you must know you heard nothing but your own words repeated. As you have often seen your face reflected in the water, so you have now heard your



voice echoed. Had you called. kind words, kind words would have returned to you; and I may also observe, it is generally the case that the behaviour we meet with from others is but the echo of our own. If we are friendly in our manner, people are disposed to be kind to us ; but if we are rude and uncivil, we cannot expect better treatment ourselves."

THE LITTLE MISSIONARY.. Little Mary lived in India, and was walking out in grove with her heathen servant. She observed him stop at a small Hindoo temple, and bow down to the stone image before the door.

The lisping child inquired, “Saamy, what for you do that?

“O, Missy,” said he, “ that is my god !”

“ Your god !” exclaimed the child, “your god, Saamy! Why, your god can no see, no can hear, no can walk ; your god is stone. My God make you, make me, make everything."

Yet Saamy still, whenever he passed the temple, bowed down to his idol, and still the child reproved him. Though the old man would not mind, yet he loved his baby teacher. Once, when he thought she was going to England, he said to her, “What will poor Saamy do when missy go to England ? Saamy no father, no mother."

“O, Saamy,” replied the child, “if you love God, he will be your father and mother too."

The poor man promised, with tears in his eyes, that he would love God.

“ Then,” said she, "you must learn my prayers ;” and she began to teach him the Lord's Prayer. Soon after



wards Mary's papa was surprised to see him enter the room at the time of family prayers, and still more surprised to see him take off his turban, kneel down, and repeat the Lord's Prayer after his master. The lispings of the babe had brought the old man to God. Saamy did not only bow the knee, he worshipped in spirit and in truth, and became a real Christian.



At a late meeting of nearly 400 distributors of the “ Monthly Visitor," in Edinburgh, one of the speakers related the following encouraging incident:

John Ross, a poor boy, died in Bishop's Close, Edinburgh, in 1836. From a brief memoir of him published at the time, he left behind him evidence, that from his earliest childhood he had been taught of God, and that at eight years of age he died in the Lord.

He was visited by a Christian lady, who every month left the “Monthly Visitor" at his mother's house. He took great delight in collecting and keeping the tracts, and in shewing them to any one who came to the house. He was anxious to pay for them, and had resolved that he would try to collect five shillings, to give to the Society, He was very poor, and died before his missionary plan was accomplished. He had got as far as 18. 2d., which was found in his missionary-box after his death.

One day, when near his end, he asked what day of the month it was. On being told it was the tenth, he said, “ That good lady who brings the tracts is not come. I would like to see her before I die. I know she is a child LIFE'S LAST HOURS.


of God; she goes about to see and make bad people good. Thank her, mother, when I die, and tell her, I'll see her in heaven. My mind loves her for giving us the tracts. Tell her to continue to give the tracts, that wieked people may be made better by them.”

Little did the dying boy know how out of his mouth the Lord should “ordain strength" to his faithful seryant. When the friend, one of the Directors, who narrated the incident, was leaving the hall of the meeting, he was surprised and rejoiced to find, waiting to speak to him, the lady who had given John Ross the tracts. Twenty years had passed since then, and still that patient labourer has not wearied in her quiet but blessed work. And little did the speaker know, while he told the story for the encouragement of others, that she was present to whom those precious words were left as a grateful memorial by the dying child, Are any

of our readers tract-distributors ? Let them

" Whosoever shall give to one of these little ones, a cup of cold water only, in the name of a disciple, shall in nowise lose his reward.” “ And this I say,

that he that soweth sparingly, shall reap also sparingly; he that soweth bountifully, shall reap also bountifully."

not weary:

LIFE'S LAST HOURS. LIFE's last hours are grand, testing hours. Death tries all our principles, and lays bare all our foundations. Many have acted the hypocrite in life, who were forced to be honest in the hour of death. Misgivings of heart, that have been kept secret through life, have come out in death; and many who seemed all fair and right for heaven, have had to declare that they had only been self-deceived.

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