night, she said, “ Oh! my dear mamma, what would I not have given to have had you to talk and read to me last night. I could not sleep; and I could not remember my hymns perfectly." Her mother read to her a chapter in the Bible, after which she asked her to read her favourite psalm-the twenty-third. Then she observed, "The believer has no need to fear death, for it is called a shadow, (Ps. xxiii. 4,) and compared to a sleep, (1 Cor. xv. 51, 1 Thess. iv. 13, 14.) Oh! I have no wish to live. I feel quite resigned to the Lord's will, and willing to wait his time. But I hope that he will enable me to bear my affliction patiently." She said, "Do you remember, mamma, a letter which Mrs. Lwrote to you after Eliza's death?" She referred to that part in which a friend had remarked, "The idols he will utterly abolish." "No doubt, mamma," said Nelly, "dear Eliza was an idol." "And I fear also you have been one my, dear," replied her mother. " Yes, mamma," she said, "perhaps I have; but Jesus has said he will have a whole heart." She would frequently say," I have no desire to live, mamma;" adding, "Here perfect bliss can ne'er be found." On inquiring concerning the state of her mind, she invariably replied, "Quite happy! Not one doubt have I had since that Sunday."

On the Sunday before her death, she called her brother William to her bed-side, and said, " My dear William, do not grieve for me, but beg of the Lord to render my death a blessing to you. And if you ask in faith, you shall receive." At another time she said to me, "I dare say, dear mamma, you think it strange that I should not say something to Fanny; but, mamma, it was Fanny who first led me to my knees." In this peaceful frame of mind she continued till half-past five o'clock on the morning of Friday the 26th of April, when her happy spirit joined those of her dear sisters in heaven.

The Enquirer.

QUESTION XII.-Ungodly Relatives.

(To the Editor of the Youths' Magazine.)

SIR,-I should not have addressed this letter to you, had I not seen that others have recourse to the pages of your magazine, for information on subjects which cause them perplexity. It may be necessary, that I should first say what is my present position. By the mercy of God, I have been for some time awakened to the importance of caring for salvation. I have a firm reliance on the merits of my Saviour's atonement, and, I believe I am sincere, in saying, that to do the will of God first wish. But it is in reducing this wish to practice, that my

my

difficulties arise. 1 am dependent, not on parents, but on relatives, who have not the same interest in my happiness that parents would probably take. The relatives, of whom I speak, are worldly-minded persons, with little serious thought of the future; they really would not understand me, as I have too often found, were I to attempt to speak as I really feel on religious subjects; they are not persons who will bear contradiction or being reasoned with, and as I have no claim upon their kindness, I am bound to do all I can to conciliate them in return for the support I receive. Of course, being in this position, I am obliged constantly to participate in what is very painful to me. I have no opportunity of consulting religious persons on their opinions and practice, as we do not visit any on whom I feel I can rely. I have therefore no means of acquiring information.

As I am often much perplexed with regard to the proper line of conduct under such circumstances, I shall feel grateful for your advice.

E. G. P.

REJOICE EVERMORE.

MANY good people have said of laughter, "It is mad;" but they have not been aware that melancholy is often madness. A gloomy, drooping spirit is unscriptural, and the greatest repellent in religious exercises. Many have been disheartened by it; the enemy has made use of this with great success to frighten others, and to represent religion as odious. No man has a constant source of joy but the true Christian; he only has a ground on which he may "rejoice evermore."--Cecil.

GOING TO MOVE.

A CHRISTIAN does not turn his back upon the fine things of this world, because he has no natural capacity to enjoy them-no taste for them; but because the Holy Spirit has shewn him greater and better things. He wants flowers that will never fade; he wants something that a man can take with him to another world. He is like a man who has had notice to quit his house, and having secured a new one, he is no more anxious to repair, much less, to embellish and beautify, the old one; his thoughts are upon the removal. If you hear him converse, it is upon the house to which he is going-thither he sends his goods; and thus he declares plainly what he is seeking.-Cecil.

POETRY.

LINES WRITTEN IN SPRING, 1842.

WELCOME again to me art thou, sweet spring!
For thou dost with thee bring

Mild airs, blue skies, and every lovely thing.

And thou hast gemmed my path again with flowers,
And o'er them wept soft showers,

Then chased the clouds, and given bright sunny hours.
And thy soft breath has sigh'd among the trees,

Waking low melodies,

As it has spread their light leaves to the breeze.
While twitt'ring blithe from every bough is heard,
The note of joyous bird,

Each little heart with thy warm spirit stirr'd.

And o'er the fragrant flowers the "busy bee"
Is murmuring lovingly,

Gathering their luscious stores with earnest glee;
And young lambs frolic in the meadows gay,
With children at their play,

In the bright sunshine making holiday.

And from her lowly nest the lark upsprings,

On light exultant wings,

While with her thrilling song the blue air rings;
And the bright stream goes sparkling on its way,
In the warm sunny ray,

Forgetful of stern winter's frozen sway.

And I have deemed, that on this beauteous earth,
Sorrow could not have birth,

So full have all things seemed of love and mirth.
Till to my eyes, the deep-felt bliss has brought
Unbidden tears, and taught

How oft is joy's excess with sadness fraught?

And tho' the lovely lines of nature's face,

Be drawn with fairest grace,

Yet man, of evil, there oft leaves the trace. 'Tis only in a purer world than this,

177

Joy without sorrow is,

And where no sin, there only perfect bliss.

F. S.

"THERE HE SPAKE WITH US.”—(Hos. xii. 4.)

SPEAK to my heart, dear Saviour, speak,

Or I shall hear in vain ;

If yet the call has proved too weak,
O! speak to me again.

How many years have passed away,
Since first that call I heard-

And sluggishly I still obey

The teachings of thy word.

The youngest of the rising race,
Have little time to lose;
But life, with some of us, apace
Is drawing to a close.

Speak to us then, dear Saviour, speak!

Nor let the call be vain;

May all who hear thy mercy, seek,

And all who seek, obtain.

DR. COLLYER.

TOM TIDLER'S GROUND.

THE sports of childhood's roseate dawn

Have passed from our hearts like the dew-gems from morn;
We have parted with marbles-we own not a ball,
And are deaf to the hail of a "whoop and a call."

But there's one old game that we all keep up,

When we've drunk much deeper from life's mixed cup;
Youth may have vanished, and manhood come round,
Yet how busy we are on "Tom Tidler's ground,
Looking for gold and silver."

We see an old man with his hair all grey
Bending over his desk through a long summer day ;
The flowers are closed and the red sun sets,
But he is awake o'er his column of debts;
With his brain in a whirl and his hands never still,
He toils and plods on like a steed in a mill;
And though every penny has grown to a pound,
Not an inch will he stir from "Tom Tidler's ground,
Where springeth the gold and silver."

The poet goes wandering every where,

But the chance is a strange one that carries him there;
He may gaze on the road, but he's certain to mark
That the twistings and turnings are dirty and dark;
And if he should happen to thread the way,
And arrive at the spot, 'tis a doubt if he'll stay;
For his spirit is wild, and will rarely be bound
As a slave upon even "Tom Tidler's ground,

Though the chains be of gold and silver."

He may rest for a time, but he thinks full soon
It is pleasanter far to be watching the moon;
Soft tones go by, and away starts he

In pursuit of his friend, the murmuring bee.
The trees are green and the violets sweet,

There's the lark over head and the brook at his feet;
And his harp responds to the music around,
As it never could do on "Tom Tidler's ground,
To the chinking of gold and silver."

But we find no record that tells us when
The poet was reckoned among wise men ;
For 'tis said that the waters of Helicon's stream
Will lull him in aught but a sober dream.
No other proof need the wide world bring,
That his brain is a wayward and witless thing:
'Tis quite enough that he often is found
Roving away from "Tom Tidler's ground,
Forgetting the gold and silver."

"Take no heed of to-morrow" is ever the text,
For the ear of the mourner by losses perplext;
But our lips will often be wearing a smile,
If we mark what the preacher is doing the while;
He is gathering up a worldly store;

Though holding enough, he is longing for more;
And you'll meet him, despite his text profound,
Along with the crowd on "Tom Tidler's ground,
Looking for gold and silver."

Faith zealously points out a kingdom to come,
Another, a pure, and a beautiful home;

Where all joy shall be known, where the poor shall be blest,

Where all burthens shall fall, and the weary have rest.