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when accused once by a white man, of being too efthusiastic, replied, 'It is better to boil over, than not boil at all;' and I suppose Mr. Arden would say

the same."

“What a proud girl Miss Taylor is,” says Mabel, as she stitches with increased energy; "she never speaks to me if she can possibly avoid doing so; and when I have asked her to tea, she has invariably declined to come; just because her father was baronet, and she has a little more money than some people! It is so absurd !”

“She is not very sociable, it is true, Mabel; but I think it proceeds from reserve rather than pride. I have noticed that she often colours and hesitates when obliged to converse with any one; and I should fancy that she is shy and timid."

“Have you been to visit Aunt Martha, lately?" inquires Mabel. “Not that there is much pleasure to be derived from her company, for she is so cross and so easily offended, that it is difficult to get on smoothly with her."

“Her natural temper is certainly not a happy one, but she was never taugbt when young to control it, and this makes it more difficult for her to do so now. She ought not to give way to her feelings as she frequently does; but, poor thing, she has a great deal to try her, and to irritate her temper."

“ That does not give her, as a professed Christian, any excuse for yielding to anger and impatience," said Mabel, decisively.

“No, Mabel, but it gives us an additional motive for bearing and forbearing with her. If we keep in mind the trials and temptations which she has to contend with, we shall not harshly condemn her, but we shall pity her, and pray for her.”

It does not signify, then, how bad our tempers are,” says Mabel, in a pettish tone; “it is not ourselves, but our circumstances which are to blame."

"No, no, Mabel, we are not to judge others; but, we are to judge ourselves. Let us take the beam out of our own eye, before we try to take the mote out of our brother's. I would not think nor speak lightly of another's fault; but I would not forget that, 'charity covers a multitude of sins. I often check censorious and self-complacent feelings, by the recollection of a remark of John Bradford's, who, when he saw a criminal led past his house to prison, said, “There goes John Bradford, but for the grace of God!'”

Now, dear reader, I have finished my sketches, and laid aside my pencil. Will you tell me which portrait you prefer? and which you are inclined to take for your model ?

It is grievous to think how many Christians (?) resemble the first. I hope you will endeavour to copy the last. And then, even in these days of religious gossip and scandal, your likeness may be portrayed in these ancient but expressive words, “When charity and good nature open not her mouth, the finger of silence resteth upon her lips."

Dear reader, as you rise from the perusal of this paper, don't try to evade the force of any “word in season” which it has brought to you, by saying, “ Yes; the remarks are very good, but

ALICE H

NON SINE LUMINE!
[Motto inscribed on the north face of a sundial pedestal.]

Non sine Lumine!
E'en on that side of thee
Where no sun cheerily

Reacheth his glance,
Save in full summer-time,
Just at the eve and prime,
When a stray beam sometime

Smileth askance,

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There drive the sleet and snow
When winter whirlwinds blow,
Or spring's pulse beateth low

In the dark night;
Yet, 'midst the whirling gale
Should the clouds rend and fail,
Looks forth the north star pale,

“Not without light!”

Non sine Lumine-
So will the true heart be!
However northerly

Life's face be set :
Just as the day declines,
Hope round the corner shines,
Faith's pole star breaks the lines

Of wild regret.

Non sine Lumine-
Earth's darkest misery,
Oh, gentle Charity,

Yet might be found;
Be it thy care to see
That this inscription be
Through loving smiles from thee

On all around.
Saviour, I look to Thee!
Non sine Lumine
Will all my voyage be

If Thou wilt steer ;
In my most Arctic nights
Let the Aurora lights
O’er the cold iceberg heights

Northwards appear

Guide me o'er life's dark sea; Then from its treachery, Through death's great mystery,

Where reigneth night.

Non sine Lumine
Let my last passage be,
Into eternity,

Where reigneth light!

ELLICE.

THE EARLY LIFE OF DR. JUDSON.

ADONIRAM JUDSON was born in Malden, Massachusetts, where his father was pastor of the Baptist Church, on the 9th of August, 1788.

At an early age he gave promise of unusual ability. His intellect was acute, his power of acquisition great, and his perseverance unflagging. To these elements of character, he added a love of pre-eminence, and great self-reliance. His natural temper was amiable; and his sister retains a vivid recollection of his affectionate tenderness towards her, and of his great kindness to inferior animals.

He was taught to read by his mother, when only three

years old. His father had gone from home on a short journey, and she, wishing to surprise her husband, took that opportunity of teaching the child to read. He learned so rapidly, that he was able to give his father a chapter of the Bible on his return. About a twelvemonth afterwards, he used to collect the children of the neighbourhood around him, and mounting a chair, go through the exercises of the pulpit with singular earnestness, and greatly to the admiration of his auditors.

Before reaching his tenth year, he had gained quite a reputation for good scholarship, especially in arithmetic. In the grammar school he was noted for his proficiency in the Greek language, His schoolfellows nicknamed him “Virgil,” or, in allusion to the pecu

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liar style of the hat which he wore, as well as to his studious habits, “Old Virgil dug up."

He was not quite twelve, when he heard some visitors at his father's talk a great deal of a new exposition of the Apocalypse, which they pronounced a work of rare interest. Now, the Revelation was the book that, of all others in the Bible, he delighted most to read; and he bad searched the few commentaries his father possessed, without getting much light upon its mysteries. The new exposition was owned by a very aweinspiring gentleman in the neighbourhood; but Adoniram felt that he must have it; and, after combating a long time with his bashfulness, he at last determined on begging the loan of it. He presented himself in the great man's library, and was coldly and sternly refused. For once his grief and mortification were so great, that he could not conceal the affair from his father. He received more sympathy than he anticipated. "Not lend it to you!” said the good man, indignantly, “I wish he could understand it half as well. You shall have books, Adoniram, just as many as you can read, and I'll go to Boston myself for them.” He performed his promise, but the desired work on the Apocalypse, perhaps for judicious reasons, was not obtained. When about fourteen

his studies were interrupted by a serious attack of illness; and it was more than a twelvemonth before he was able to resume his customary occupations. Previously to this, he had been too actively engaged to devote much time to thought; but as soon as the violence of the disease subsided, he spent many long days and nights in reflecting on his future course. His plans were of the most extravagantly ambitious character. Now he was an orator, now a poet, now a statesman; but whatever his character, or profession, he was sure in his castle building to attain to the highest eminence. After a time one thought crept into his mind and embittered

years

of age,

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