piteously "I'm in the world alone." Some people tell us that blacks have no feelings. Such people are very much mistaken. Marrossi loved Mr. and Mrs. Pringle as if he had been their own son, he was attentive to their wishes, and though a lively lad, was not of a selfish disposition, but thought of others as well as himself, proving that he had a heart as open to affection as that of any white boy. He received instruction with pleasure; and almost as soon as he was told about the Friend of sinners, he loved him. So that he grew up meek and gentle, and if you had seen him some years after, and asked him if he felt "alone in the word," I dare say he would have told you he had at last found friends on earth, and what was far better, the hope of having God for his father and friend for ever.

Do you like this short account of the Bechuana boy? if so, ask yourselves whether you have not had a great many more advantages than he had, and fewer trials. Do you love Jesus as he did? Are you meek, and gentle, and obliging? Do you think of others as well as yourselves, and are you obedient to your parents and teachers? If not, think of Marossi, the Bechuana boy. And remember, that unto whom much is given, from him will much be required. Many shall come from the East and West, and shall sit down with

Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, but the children of the kingdom shall be cast out. Take care this be not your case!

F. B.

REASONING OF AN AFRICAN BOY.

MR READ, a missionary in South Africa, when writing to the directors of the London Missionary Society, in the year 1815, gives a very pleasing account of a conversation he had then recently held with a poor boy, whose heart had been impressed by the grace of God. He asked the boy, if he knew himself to be a sinner; and the boy asked him in return, if he knew any one who was not. The missionary then asked who could save him? The reply was, Christ! He was asked what Christ had done to save sinners? He replied, that he died upon the cross. Mr Read inquired, if he believed Jesus Christ would save him? He said, Yes. Why do you believe it? I feel it, said he; and not only so, but I consider that after he has died, and sent his servants, the missionaries, from such a far country to publish salvation, it would be very strange if, after all, he should reject a poor sinner like me!

THE PEASANT'S CHILD. WHERE Woodland scenery, rich and wild, Makes glad the sweet and rural glen, There lives, immured, the peasant's child, Far, far away from busy men.

Her flaxen ringlets, flowing down
Along a neck of purest snow,
In simple gracefulness are strewn,
Regardless quite of friend or foe.

Her face an index easily read,

A mind at rest from worldly care;
Her dark blue eyes the simple maid
Has closed in heartfelt, holy prayer.

Her hands uplifted to the Mount,
Whence every blesing mortals gain;
Her spirit bathing in the fount
That's open for the deepest stain.

I've seen her thus!-a child beloved,
Contented, happy, marching on
Her way-her steps unmoved—
The way that leads to God alone.

THE PRIMROSE VALE.

FAIR Spring invites the youthful throng
'The mountain side to scale,
With eager steps they trip along,
To gain the Primrose Vale.

The Vale they reach, and with delight,
They nip the slender stail;
Their countenances beaming bright,
When in the Primrose Vale.

They hail thee pretty pale-fac'd flower,
The loveliest of the dale,

To decorate their childhood's bower,
Down in the Primrose Vale.

There cheerful voices sound afar,
Echo repeats the tale,

As brightly peeps the evening star,
Above the Primrose Vale.

And when life's spring is fled away,
If sickness should assail,

Christ has prepared a brighter day,

An endless Primrose Vale.

Mansfield.

R. L.

J. H.

'Tis dying! life is yielding place
To that mysterious charm,
Which spreads upon the troubled face
A fix'd, unchanging calm,
That deepens as the parting breath
Is gently sinking into death.

A thoughtful beauty rests the while
Upon its snowy brow;

But those pale lips could never smile
More radiantly than now;

And sure some heavenly dreams begin
To dawn upon the soul within!

O that those mildly conscious lips
Were parted to reply-

To tell how death's severe eclipse
Is passing from thine eye;

For living eye can never see

The change that death hath wrought in thee.

Perhaps thy sight is wandering far

Throughout the kindled sky,

In tracing every infant star

Amid the flames on high :-
Souls of the just, whose path is bent
Around the glorious firmament.

Perhaps thine eye is gazing down
Upon the earth below:

Rejoicing to have gained thy crown,
And hurried from its woe,