cate this relation. Oh! my dear young friends, had you seen with what dignity of spirit she filled up the last scene of her life, you must have been affected by it! Let not the liveliness of your spirits, and the gayety of the prospects around you, prevent you from considering that to you likewise days will certainly come (unless you are suddenly snatched out of life), when you will say, and feel, that the world, and all in it, can afford you no pleasure. But there is a Saviour, and a mighty One, always near, always gracious to those who seek him. May you, like her, be enabled to choose him, as the Guide of your youth, and the Lord of your hearts. Then, like her, you will find support and comfort under affliction, wisdom to direct your conduct, a good hope in death, and by death a happy translation to everlasting life.

I have only to add my prayer, that a blessing from on high may descend upon the persons and families of all my friends, and upon all into whose hands this paper may providentially come.

JOHN NEWTON.

SCRIPTURAL SELECTIONS.

REMEMBER now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them.-Ecclesiastes, xii. 1.

Father, I will that they also whom thou hast given me be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory, which thou hast given me: for thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world.-John, xvii. 24.

In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself: that where am, there ye may be also.-John, xiv. 2, 3.

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.— Ps. cxvi. 15.

The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart; and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come.

He shall enter into peace: they shall rest in their beds, each one walking in his uprightness.-Isaiah, lviii. 1, 2.

43

WEEP NOT FOR HER!

WEEP not for her! her span was like the sky, Whose thousand stars shine beautiful and bright, Like flowers that know not what it is to die,

Like long-linked shadeless months of polar light,

Like music floating o'er a waveless lake,
While echo answers from the flowery brake,
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! she died in early youth,
Ere hope had lost its rich romantic hues,
When human bosoms seemed the home of truth,

And earth still gleamed with beauty's radiant dews.
Her summer prime waned not to days that freeze,
Her wine of life was not run to the lees,

Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! By fleet or slow decay
It never grieved her bosom's core to mark
The playmates of her childhood wane away,

Her prospects wither, and her hopes grow dark.
Translated by her God with spirit shriven,

She passed, as 'twere on smiles, from earth to heaven; Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! It was not hers to feel

The miseries that corrode amassing years, 'Gainst dreams of baffled bliss the heart to steel, To wander sad down age's vale of tears,

As whirl the withered leaves from friendship's tree,

And on earth's wintry world alone to be;

Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! She is an angel now,
And treads the sapphire floors of Paradise,
All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow,
Sin, sorrow, suffering, banished from her eyes
Victorious over death, to her appears

The vista'd joys of heaven's eternal years;
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! Her memory is the shrine

Of pleasant thoughts soft as the scent of flowers,

Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline,

Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers,

Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light,

Pure as the moonlight of an autumn night:
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! There is no cause of woe
But rather nerve the spirit that it walk
Unshrinking o'er the thorny path below,

And from earth's low defilements keep thee back.

So when a few fleet swerving years have flown,

She'll meet thee at heaven's gate-and lead thee on: Weep not for her!

THE

HE sudden shutting out of sunlight by an eclipsing moon, is a solemn and impressive scene.

The face

of nature wears, at such times, a strange and peculiar aspect. The animal creation is overcome with instinctive dread, and man, even though science has taught him to unveil this mystery of the skies, is awe-struck and humbled by the sublime phenomenon.

As the earth enters the penumbra, and the rays of the sun are first shorn of their light and heat, there arises a general feeling of expectation mingled with fear. Millions of eyes are turned heavenward, and when at last the moon encroaches on the sun's eastern limb, and slowly but surely obscures his bright disc, nearly every face in the shadowy belt is gazing upon the apparently extinguished orb in wonder, and unwillingly admitted alarm.

And is not the going out of a great life like the noontide eclipse? Is there not in the covering up in the grave of a form, once noble, active, and influential, something like the obscuration of the midday sun? There certainly is, and it requires but a slight effort of