Already, sister, William. Some have gone; a devoted band, who heard the Saviour's mandate, 'Go teach all nations,' and Conferring not with flesh and blood, girded In His might their armour on, went forth, and Braved the fierce lion in his haunts, the tiger In his lair, bid welcome hungers, pains, and Torturing thirst, and lonely toil, yea, death Itself, so they might win for their Saviour's Crown some glittering gems from heathen lands. And God hath blessed them. Now, where once unbroken Night did reign, gleams the blest light of heaven, And mingled with the din of idol worship

May be heard rising the songs of Zion

From glad hearts rejoicing in the Saviour's love.

Jane.

This makes my heart rejoice;

And now I do remember the strain sung

By Israel's sweet singer, 'All nations whom
Thou hast made shall come and bow before thee;
The heathen, too, shall be thine inheritance,
And earth's utmost bounds thy glad possession.'

William.

'Tis very true,

And every word of God shall stand. The time

Is hastening, when on the breezes borne shall come
No more the sounds of woe from distant lands;
But songs of joy, and hallelujahs loud

To redeeming love shall circle earth, and
Rise (sweet incense) to Him who sits above.

Jane.

And we, too, children as we are,

May pay e'en now the tribute of our feeble

Praise, and from our heart's deep founts pour forth the
Gushings of our gratitude, that we have

Been nurs'd in this goodly land, that beneath
God's beaming smile lies basking; that to no
Lofty heathen fane have our young feet been
Trained to go, but to the living God's own
Sanctuary; and last, not least, we meet
From week to week in sabbath school.
Brooklyn.

S. R.

On the 22nd of September, 1842, as I was passing through one of the streets of Brooklyn, a town on Long Island, opposite the city of New York, I witnessed the following striking exhibition of the power of that love "that endureth all things."

Two boys, named John and Ralph, about twelve years of age, were walking before me, each with an arm affectionately around the other.

They seemed to be in merry mood, for they were talking and laughing. Ralph had a tin pail in his hand. As he was swinging it about carelessly, he hit John's hand, and hurt him.

"What did you do that for ?" asked John.
"I did not intend to do it," said Ralph.
"You did, you need not deny it."

"I did not see your hand."

"You did, and you meant to hurt me.'

"Indeed I did not, and I am sorry for having hurt you."

"No, you are not sorry; you did it on purpose; and you are always trying to hurt me, I wont bear it; I will teach you to take care how you hurt me." And followed up his words with furious blows.

Did Ralph become angry and beat John in return, No; he obeyed the precept which commands us never to strike those who strike us. He loved John, and endured his hard blows without any retaliation.

John of course felt that he was doing wrong in beating his kind playfellow, whose patient endurance awakened his better feelings. His anger passed away, he became heartily ashamed of his conduct, and at length he ventured to say, "Ralph, did you really not mean to hurt me?"

"No; I did not, I hit you as I was swinging the pail about in play, and I am sorry I hurt you."

“Well, Ralph, I am sorry I struck you; but I cannot say as you do, that I did not mean to hurt you."

"Never mind, you would not have struck me at all if you had not been angry. It was your anger that made you beat me.”

This was cold consolation to John. He knew it was his anger that led him to beat his generous companion; but he also knew that his anger increased his guilt instead of extenuating it. He felt cut to the heart when he heard Ralph trying to excuse his wicked and cruel blows and anger.

"Well," said John, again putting his arm affectionately round Ralph, "You always get the better of me, whenever I become angry with you and beat you." "How so? I am sure I do not wish to get the better of you."

“Why, you take all so quietly and kindly, it seems as though you loved me so much, that you could not be angry with me and hurt me, even when I hurt you."

"Well, John, I do love you; and I do not feel as if I could strike you or be angry with you, whatever you do to me. My father tells me to love you, even if you hate me and beat me. I cannot beat you when I love you."

"That is just what my father and mother tell me.” "My father and mother always told me never to be angry with those who strike me, nor to strike them in return; so I never strike any body."

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'Well, I can never take any comfort in being angry with you and beating you, for you never strike me in return, nor do you ever show any anger whatever I do to you."

I then came up to them and said, "How, John, can you take pleasure in being angry with any one, and in striking and quarrelling ?"

"I do not, but I always feel more unhappy when I strike Ralph than when I strike other boys, because he never strikes me in return."

"Why then did you strike Ralph, if it makes you unhappy to do so?"

"I never do strike him when I have time to think how he will receive it, and how he will treat me."

"How do you feel when you strike other boys ?" "I never feel so sorry afterwards, when I strike those who strike me."

"Then if no person were to strike you when you struck him, what would you do?"

"I think I should cease to strike any body."

"And, on the other hand, if you should never strike those who strike you, what would they do?"

"I suppose they would soon cease to strike me," "Yes," said I to the boys, "this is true philosophy and true religion, and the only safe way. Only let all be assured that, however angry they may be with you, and however they may beat you, you shall never be angry with them, and never hurt them in any way, you will probably always be safe against injuries and insults. For who can harm you ?"

Which of these two boys was THE TRUE HEROJohn or Ralph. H. C. W.

A VICTORY!

[THE following lines are designed to describe the misery which war causes in a family, when one of their number is killed in some bloody battle. Alas! how often has it been the case, that whilst the thoughtless throng is shouting with wild joy for some "glorious victory," many a sister, and mother, and wife, and father, as here depicted, are mourning the loss of one they loved.]

THE joy bells peal a merry tune
Along the evening air;

The crackling bonfires turn the sky
All crimson with their glare;
Bold music fills the startled streets
With mirth-inspiring sound:

The gaping cannon's reddening breath
Wakes thunder-shouts around;
And thousand joyful voices cry,
"Huzza! huzza! A VICTORY!"

A little girl stood at the door,
And with her kitten played,
Less wild and frolicsome than she,
That rosy, prattling maid.

Sudden her cheek turns ghostly white,
Her eye with fear is filled;

And rushing in-of-doors, she screams,
'My brother Willie's killed!"

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A thousand joyful voices cry,

"Huzza! huzza! A VICTORY!" A mother sat in thoughtful ease, A knitting by the fire,

Plying the needle's thrifty task
With hands that never tire.

She tore her few grey hairs, and shrieked,
"My joy on earth is done!
Oh, who will lay me in my grave ?
Oh, God! my son! my son!"
A thousand joyful voices cry,

"Huzza! huzza! A VICTORY!"

A youthful wife the threshold crossed,
With matron's treasure blessed;
A smiling infant nestling lay,

In slumber, at her breast:

She spoke no word, she heaved no sigh,
The widow's tale to tell;

But like a corpse, all white and stiff,
Upon the earth-floor fell;
And thousand joyful voices cry,
"Huzza! huzza! A VICTORY!"
An old weak man, with head of snow,
And years threescore-and-ten,
Looked in upon his cabin-home,
And anguish seized him then.
He help'd not wife, or helpless babe,
Matron, nor little maid:

One scalding tear, one choking sob;
He knelt him down, and prayed.
And thousand joyful voices cry,
"Huzza! huzza! A VICTORY!"

MACLELLAN.