voyage; and the repose which they now had in the harbour, daily renewed their strength, and confirmed their determination to go on. They recommenced their course, passed Cape Clear, and in a few days were far west in the Atlantic and none on board experienced, for a time, any more severe sickness, or serious apprehensions. Every thing went on well for a fortnight.

About the fifteenth day after the ship had passed Cape Clear, little William, who had shown the symptoms of it before, was now violently attacked with typhus fever. His hour was come; he was to be removed to a better world. If human skill could have saved him, no such means were at hand. There was no medical person on board, and the malady baffled the art and the solicitude of the unhappy parents. This was a sore trial to them. The child died in the mother's arms about sunset; she was removed, but with difficulty, to her berth, as it was understood by her husband, that the body would be committed to the deep on the ensuing morning, and he was anxious to save her from the view of the preparations. The other children wept their farewell on the lifeless form of this favourite child-their pet, their playfellow--and were laid sleepless and sorrowful in their hammocks for the night, while one of the female passengers prepared the body for its burial.

So noiseless were the movements in the morning, and so cautiously arranged, that the distracted mother was not aware of the intention of depriving her of the remains of her darling, until they were gone. The sailors and passengers were assembled in the waist of the ship; the child was enclosed, with the hands folded upon the bosom, in a piece of sail-cloth, sown up like a sack, and a heavy shot was attached to the feet. The captain opened a Prayer-book, and read the funeral service. Anderson by a powerful effort, restrained his feelings from bursting forth; he stood apparently composed, holding in his

poor man

right hand his eldest boy, whose tears fell the more copiously from the consciousness of his father's inward agitation, which he perceived particularly by the convulsive grasp with which he was held. When that part of the service was being read, "We therefore commit his body to the deep to be turned into corruption ;" the let go the hand which he had so nervously pressed, for he perceived that one of the roughest of the sailors was about to lower the grating with the corpse. He made two steps forward, as if to rescue it from his rude hands, and perform the last office himself; but the captain, who saw the movement, and understood the impulse which had caused it, hastily lowered the grating with his own hands, and let the body fall into the raging billows underneath. There was no "earth to earth," or "ashes to ashes," in this mournful ceremony; no quiet grave for the "earthly tabernacle" in its mouldering, but an ocean bed of unknown depth. Who can conceive grief more oppressive than that of a father consigning to the deep the beloved form which had long reposed upon his breast, and smiled in his face! It is hard to part with the darling of our affections, even with the comparative consolations of a death bed, surrounded by friends, and at home, near the common tomb in which the survivors expect that their dissolving bodies will be laid, in turn, commingling their dust together; but to part, under the circumstances described, with the remains of one to whom the heart has clung, is terrible to human nature. And if any thing could have added to the misery of John Anderson at that moment, it was the cry of distraction and grief which burst from his younger children in their consternation when they saw William drowning, as they thought. Poor things, they could not then comprehend that the senseless flesh might rest in the great waters as well as upon the lap of earth, until the last trump shall summon the sea to give up its dead. But Anderson knew better; though he felt

as a man, (and the religion of the gospel forbids not the tear of sorrow, nor blunts the feelings of our nature,) hope whispered to him, The spirit of "thy son liveth" in the kingdom of heaven, and the scattered elements of the frame-work of mortality, upon which the waters have closed, will re-combine to the composition of "a glorious. body," according to the mighty power of God. He believed in the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, and therefore his sorrow was restrained within just limits.

He was thus severely tried; yet hope supported him, and after another week had passed away upon this terrible voyage, the Canadian coast opened upon their view. Even though there were thirst and hunger on board—for the water and provisions were running very short, and a cup of cold water would have been a boon to many in the ship, and to John Anderson among the rest-his heart failed not, and while he looked back upon the past with anguish, he looked forward in confidence. He was certain that his friends had not deceived him in respect to the circumstances under which he soon hoped to be placed. And he had sufficient means to purchase two hundred acres of uncleared land; and while he surveyed the mighty billows upon which the ship rose and fell in her progress up the St. Lawrence, he thought of the new farm, of the future independence of his family, and with the determination of a vigorous and patient mind, he bore the passing ills. Neither he nor his wife had at any moment, indulged fanciful imaginations of wealth or enjoyment in the land to which they were going; nor did they expect to glide with uninterupted smoothness to it. They estimated dangers, they anticipated sufferings-though not such a calamity as the Lord had laid upon them-but they had, throughout, the sustaining principle of hope. They had no gloomy forebodings of evil. One of John's maxims was, "While there is life there is hope;" he

never let hope go, and it supported him through many trials; it increased his exertions, and invigorated his powers. Had he, indeed, foreseen, when he left England, the dark shading which was to have crossed his path to the new settlement, he would have been deterred from the voyage, and the attainment of the good which he now enjoys; but He who directed his movements, happily kept him in ignorance of the tribulation through which it was ordered that he should pass.

The whole family reached Quebec in safety, and soon, moved on to the district where they are now located, with every prospect of comfort and prosperity.

Thus, reader, let this little tale suggest to you some hints as you travel to the eternal world. As John Anderson had a perfect confidence in the correctness of the report which had been made to him respecting a possession in America; and as the well founded expectation of obtaining the object of his desire was a firm hold, on which he staked his all, and by the influence of which he was enabled to undergo trials and difficulties on the way; so ought you, confiding in the testimony of God's word, feeling the security of the Divine promises, to direct your course to the inheritance incorruptible and imperishable, which is reserved in heaven. If the acquisition of a possession on earth, which must one day terminate, be a sufficient motive to induce us to forsake our home, and country, and friends, and to encounter appalling difficulties, and this with the disappointments of every kind which may occur to prevent the accomplishment of our wishes, it must surely be incalculably more wise to seek an unfading inheritance among the green pastures of the better country, of which the tenure will be everlasting and the enjoyment complete.

(From the Visitor.)

C. M.

A WORD IN SEASON TO LITTLE CHILDREN.

BY MARY JANE GRAHAM.

I knew a little girl, about sixteen years and a half ago; she was much like other children, as full of sin and vanity as ever she could hold; and her parents had not, as yet, taken much pains, to talk to her about religion. So she went on in the way of her own evil heart, and thought herself a very good little girl, because she said her prayers every night and morning, and was not more passionate, wilful, and perverse, than most of her young companions. The God of love did not think this sinful child was too young to learn of Jesus. He so ordered it, when she was just seven years old, that she was led by a pious servant into some alms-houses belonging to the Rev. R. Hill. The servant and an old woman entered into a long conversation together, to which the little girl listened, and wondered what could make them like to talk about such things. But at the close of it, the old woman took the child affectionately by the hand, and said to her, "My dear child, make the Lord Jesus your friend, now that you are young; and when you come to be as old as I am, He will never leave you nor forsake you."

God the Spirit sent these simple words to the poor sinful child's heart. She walked home in silence by her nurse's side, thinking how she could get Jesus to be her friend. Then she remembered how often she had slighted this dear Saviour; how she had read of Him in her Bible, and been wearied of the subject; how she had said her prayers to Him, without minding what she said; how she had heard the minister preach Jesus, and wished the sermon over; how she had passed days, weeks, and months, without thinking of Him; how she had loved her play, her books, her toys, her play-fellows-all, all better than Jesus. Then the Holy Spirit convinced her of sin. She saw that no one good thing dwelt in her, and that she deserved to be cast away from God for ever. Would Jesus love her now? Would he forgive her?

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