than ten thousand thunders, will summon the known and unknown worlds to stand before the "great white throne; it is said, that "the dead in Christ shall rise first, then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air;" the we, does not mean the liar or the sabbath breaker; it does not mean the "sinners," but the "saints," those that are prepared to meet their God. It is the Christian, though he has had enemies on earth, then he will be freed from all those; "they ascended up to heaven in a cloud, and their enemies beheld them." "The Egyptians whom ye have seen to-day, ye shall see them again no more for ever." So it will be with the Christian, the enemies we see on the morning of that great day, we shall see them no more to hurt us for ever; the sheep that stood on the right hand of the Judge will enter heaven, and the goats that were on the left hand will be bound in chains. "A great gulf" will be fixed, so that they cannot mingle again. "Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation" for, "the day is at hand; let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light."

Kibworth.

THOMAS BURGESS.

[This excellent paper from our worthy friend and correspondent the "Deaf Poet," a poor labouring man, did not reach us in time to be inserted in the December number of last year; but the subject is never out of time nor out of place.-ED. CH. W.]

THE EASTERN LITTLE HORN.-It is a remarkable circumstance, the import of which will be felt by those who so far acknowledge the existence of a special providence in the world, as to remember the words of our Lord, that "Not a sparrow falleth to the ground without your heavenly Father's knowledge," and "Even all the hairs of your head are numbered," that the day selected-ignorantly, no doubt, on his part by the MAHOMMEDAN SULTAN of TURKEY, for his investiture with the CHRISTIAN British Order of the Garter, was the 1st of November, ALL SAINTS' DAY. Who will say that the LITTLE HORN is not now being silently removed.-B. C.

HOW A PLANTER TERRIFIES A CRIMP!

'Now Thunder and turf!' Pope Gregory said,

And his hair raised his triple crown right off his head-
'Now Thunder and turf! and out and alas!
A horrible thing's come to pass!

What!-cut off the head of a reverend Prior,
And say he was only (!!!) a bare-footed Friar!-
What Baron or 'Squire,

Or Knight of the shire,

Is half so good as a holy Friar?'
O turpissime!
Vir nequissime!
Sceleratissime!-quissime!-issime!
Never, I trow, have the Servi servorum
Had before 'em,

Such a breach of decorum.

Such a gross violation of morum bonorum,
And won't have again sæcula sæculorum !—
Come hither to me,

My Cardinals three,
My Bishops in partibus,
Masters in Artibus,

Hither to me, A. B. and D. D.

Doctors and Proctors of every degree!

Go fetch me a book!-go fetch me a bell

As big as a dustman's !—and a candle as well—

I'll send him-where good manners won't let me tell!'

Ingoldsby Legends, cited in Colombo Observer.

POETRY.

On the Death of a Pious Young Lady who excelled with the Voice and the Instrument.

Me thought as o'er her silent form,
In loneliness and tears,

I mourn'd the good, the early dead,
"Twas whisper'd in my ears.

"Tho' mute the lyre and hush'd the voice,
Which oft in sweet accord,

Resounded in thy earthly ears
The praises of her Lord,

"Yet louder still and sweeter far,
They're resonant on high,
'Mid sister spirits jubilant,
And angel-symphony.

"A sea of melody-now calm,
Anon, whose surges roll
A flood of sacred harmony,

Into the inmost soul!

"But when the thousands of redeem'd
To highest praises soar,

The angels hide them 'neath their wings,
And silently adore.

"To Him who washed us from our sins,
In His most precious blood,

And in redeeming mercy made
Us kings and priests to God.

"Who loved, and gave Himself for us,
To Him be glory given,
Praise and dominion evermore,

By all in earth or heaven!'

"Let sorrow then be turned to joy,

Since God to her has given,

Who loved to sing His praise on earth,
A golden harp in heaven!"

Filey, Nov. 19, 1856.

T. H. T.

ON RECEIVING A LETTER FROM A FRIEND,

Asking momentous Questions, and desiring me to read the Rev. W. Romaine's "Life of Faith."

You ask how I feel in the prospect of Death,

And whether the Grave has no terrors for me?
If bright are my hopes and unbroken my faith,
And to whom for relief in my sufferings I flee?
The questions are weighty, and I am so weak,
Yet will I endeavour an answer to give,
And this is the substance of what I now speak,
I believe. I believe,

On the brink of the grave it hath pleased my

Lord

To keep me long waiting the word to depart;
And though for dismission I oft have implored,

Yet He has forgiven the thought of my heart;
Though often impatient and prone to complain,
Much love in the chastening I plainly perceive,
Our Father afflicts not His children in vain;
I believe, I believe.

This body may waste by lingering disease,

That scarce to the worms it can furnish a meal; Insatiate death as a trophy may seize,

And in me the sad fruits of transgression reveal; And must I for ever continue his prey?

No, Jesus my dust from his grasp shall retrieve, The call to arise I shall gladly obey,

I believe, I believe.

On this earth, on this earth, my Redeemer shall stand.
And these eyes, almost sightless, his glories behold;
My powers so contracted with knowledge expand,
And this heart beat with rapture, which now throbs
so cold;

His voice I shall hear, and in accents divine,

Shall I (then made worthy) a welcome receive
And to dwell in His presence for ever be mine,
I believe, I believe.

This, then, is my Hope, nor am I deceived;
On the word of my God I can fully depend,
I know by the Spirit, on whom I've believed,
And He will support and console to the end.
Immanuel's death hath Jehovah appeased,
That Death on the Cross did my ransom achieve,
That Death is my passport when I am released,
I believe, I believe, yes, I firmly believe.

Hunmanby, Filey, Nov. 1856.

-E. W. P.

Hotices of Books.

DAILY STEPS TOWARDS HEAVEN, 7th Edition, (J. H. & J. Parker), Are practical thoughts on the gospel history, and especially on the life and teaching of our Lord Jesus Christ. These steps are intended for every day in the year, according to the Christian seasons; with titles, and characters of Christ, and a harmony of the four gospels. Its having passed, in a short time, through seven editions, is a power ful proof of its acceptableness with the religious public; and, of course, it is a strong recommendation to those who have not already seen it. It is divided into four parts-at Advent, Sexagesima, Trinity Sunday, and the sixteenth Sunday after Trinity. Titles and characters of Christ are given. Tables of reference to subjects for special occasions, and an harmony of the gospels is given at the end. It is an excellent and useful little book, and it will be indispensable to those who have time and inclination for daily meditation on God's word, and for selfexamination.

HOURS OF SUN AND SHADE, (Groombridge and Sons),

Are reveries in prose and verse, with translations from various European languages, by Percy Vernon Gordon de Montgomery. The sentiments of these poems are chaste and religious, and the author displays great poetic talent. The first poem in the volume is 'The Eternal; and it shews the spirit of a religious and good man, who gives the glory to God who has inspired him with the spirit of poetry, and has bestowed on him talents of no ordinary poetical fire; and the language combines the beautiful, the exalted, and the sublime. As a specimen, we select the first and third verses of the first poem. "The Eternal,' whose motto is from the second verse of the nineteenth psalm- From everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.'

Oh thou, th' Eternal, the Omnipotent,

The Omnipresent God, Jehovah, Lord;
In whom all glorious attributes are blest-
The King of kings, the Holy, the Adored!
Oh thou, the great, I AM,' the Infinite!
Creator of air, ocean, sky, and earth,

Of worlds invisible to mortal sight,

But seen by Thee, who call'd them into birth!
Of Thee I sing, to Thee I raise my song;

Let my adoring strains flow rev'rently along.

*

*

*

Speak to my shadow'd heart, illume mine eyes,
Fill me with holy thoughts, my lips inspire;
Oh, thrill my ears with heavenly melodies,

With quenchless glory set my soul on fire.

I deeply feel my utter helplessness;

Oh, I am weak, but Thou canst make me strong;
Grant Thou my prayer, my feeble efforts bless,
And as I, trembling, tune my solemn song,
Let me not seek my own, but Thy blest praise,
For I am thine, and thine these tributary lays.