"Kind is the language of our Lord,
There's heavenly grace in every word;
From his dear Book a stream divine,

Flows sweeter than the choicest wine."

G.-Will you be so kind as to mark the places where you have been reading?

S.-All the passages I have read to you are marked with pencil; but, lend me the book, and I will mark a few others. Let me recommend you to read all the book; and I hope it will please our gracious Father to convey the truths it contains to your mind with power. My time is spent, and I must leave you. G.-I am sorry to part; but I am sure I shall never forget the things you have said to me. Will you stay and take some breakfast? it shall be ready in a trice. S.-I thank you, but I cannot stay another minute. I have a long way to go home, and then I have to go to Nottingham, to my Sunday-school.

G.-Oh, a Sunday-school. I have heard talk of Sunday-schools. I should like to see one, for they must be delightful places.

S. They are indeed; and I think you might

see one.

G.-Oh no, I cannot. morning for Cumberland.

We leave here early in the

S.-Pray how did you learn to read?

G.-An old man that was with us learnt me to read; but he is now dead. He had an old bible, but they buried it with him in the coffin, which I thought wrong.

S.-Is that aged person your mother? What is the reason that she appears so cross?

G.-Oh, never mind. She thinks we are talking about religion, and nothing can offend her more. She is a fortune-teller.

I now took my leave of this interesting wanderer, but not without much feeling on both sides; indeed, the poor girl was all in tears, and heart-ful. I now hastened towards my home, full of thought, and hoping

and believing that the few things spoken to her would be useful. When about three hundred yards from the camp, I thought I heard her voice; and, on looking round, beheld her running swiftly towards me. I felt greatly excited, wondering what was her reason for running after me. In another moment she was with me, and hoped I would not think her rude. A thought came into her mind, how she should like to write to me, if I would allow her to do so. I answered I should be happy to hear from her; and encouraged her to write me a few lines at any time. I then took the Testament out of her hand, and, with my pencil, wrote my name and address; after which we shook hands, and bade each other farewell.

[How, after some time, Mr. Hervey received a letter from this poor girl out of Kent, how she found peace through believing in Jesus, and how happily she died, you shall hear soon.]

DR. ISAAC WATTS,

WHEN about seven or eight years old, wrote the following acrostic on his own name. How fully the prayer here offered was answered, even our youngest readers hardly need be told, for it was he who wrote those beautiful hymns they so often repeat and sing.

I am a vile polluted lump of earth,
So I've continued ever since my birth;

W. A. N.

A lthough Jehovah grace does daily give me,

A s sure this monster, satan, will deceive me;

Come therefore, Lord, from satan's claws release me.

Wash me in thy blood, O Christ,

A nd grace divine impart;

Then search and try the corners of my heart,

That I, in all things, may be fit to do

Service to Thee, and sing Thy praises too.

GIRLS, and young females generally, it has often been observed, are very liable to be drawn into the vain temptation of self-admiration.

That some boys and young men are disposed to indulge in similar conceits is no doubt true, but not perhaps to the same extent.

How it is that this folly prevails more among one of our sex than the other, we do not now stay to inquire. It may be a natural failing.

Now let us be understood: we love to see a neat, tidy, graceful, and well-behaved girl; one whose intelligence, modesty, and piety, are her chief ornaments. A slovenly, awkward, and untidy young woman always makes one feel very uncomfortable. And a person may be neat and tidy, and even graceful, without being vain and conceited. But, alas! how frequently is it the case that if the features or form of a young female are agreeable, self-admiration

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will carry her away on the full tide of vanity and frivolity.

It is against this folly we would caution the girls and young females who read these pages.

Let us reason the matter with you. Is not wisdom more desirable than gaudy apparel? Is not modesty a greater ornament than jewels? Is not virtue more lasting than beauty? Besides, who gave you that form and those features? Will not He who made you be offended if you allow self-admiration to take the place of gratitude to Him in whom you live, and move, and have your being?

Think of these things, my young friends, and think of them seriously. Do not grow up like numbers of vain girls, who think of nothing so much as fine clothes, and who spend more time in vainly admiring their own persons at the glass, than they do in reading their bibles. Alas! that they should. Dust they are, and unto dust they must return! Where are now the -flauntering, fluttering crowds

Of fashion's votaries,

that once, vain of their own beauty and elegance, desired to be held in admiration? where, but in the dark cold grave!

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Beauty-thou pretty plaything, dear deceit! The grave discredits thee: thy charms expung'd, Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil'd,

What hast thou more to boast of?

Methinks I see thee with thy head low laid,

Whilst surfeited upon thy damask cheek
The high fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd,
Riots unscar'd.-For this was all thy caution?

For this thy painful labours at thy glass,

T'improve those charms, and keep them in repair,
For which the spoiler thanks thee not? Foul feeder?
Coarse fare and carrion please thee full as well,

And leave as keen a relish on the sense."

Seek then, my young friends, seek the ornament of

a meek and quiet spirit, which, in the sight of God, is of great price. Let your resolve be henceforth expressed in the beautiful language of your favourite poet,—

"Then let me set my heart to find
Inward adornings of the mind;

Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace,
These are the robes of richest dress.

In these on earth would I appear,
Then go to heaven, and wear them there;
God will approve them in his sight,—
As his own work, and his delight."

DEATH.

RELENTLESS death! man's tyrant foe,
With certain step thou com'st though slow;
Thy boundless power none can defy,
Alike the weak and strong must die.

Not all the stores of gold which shine,
Can bribe thee from thy dread design;
No dwelling thou wilt 'ere pass by,
Alike the poor and rich must die.

E'en those just bursting into bloom,

Must drop to an untimely tomb;

Where'er thy withering breath comes nigh,

Alike the young and old must die.

But still thou shalt not rule for aye;

Thy kingdom shall be torn away,

And, at thy last expiring cry,

The righteous then shall live, never again to die!

Glasgow.

J. B., aged 16.