MR. PHILLIPPO, in his history of Jamaica, relates the following pleasing particulars of the closing seen in the life of a young negro female, who had been one of the first in the sabbathschool, at Spanish Town, and afterwards became one of its steadiest and most devoted teachers.

"Her death was among the most tranquil, happy, and triumphant, of any that have been recorded. When the writer entered her apartment for the last time, which was after an absence of some months from the island, he found her sitting upon her bed propped up by pillows, awaiting his arrival; and never will he forget the circumstances of the interview. Eagerly grasping his hand, she faintly articulated, 'See, here I am, minister, only sitting up waiting your return, which I have been praying for, and which my heavenly Father has been so good as to allow me to see,' and then lifting up her eyes to heaven, glistening with love and gratitude and tenderness, she exclaimed, "Now, Lord, lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation. I have waited for thy salvation, O Lord! O Death, where is thy sting; O Grave, where is thy victory? the sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law; but thanks be unto God who giveth me the victory

through our Lord Jesus Christ.' Disease had made rapid inroads upon her once apparently sound and vigorous constitution, and it was evident that death had already begun to execute his commission. It was late in the evening when this visit was paid, and the writer hastened home, intending to see her again on the following morning; but he saw her no more. Shortly after his departure, she handed her Bible to a female friend, requesting her to read a favourite chapter; a verse or two of a hymn was then sung, and prayers offered; in the midst of this latter exercise she quietly expired.

"Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground,
Nor weary worn-out winds expire more soft.'

Upwards of four hundred persons, including the teachers and children of the sabbath-school, followed her remains to the grave. A solemn and melting service was afterwards held, when not fewer than seven, chiefly young persons, were savingly impressed with the solemnities of the evening, and are now following the deceased as she followed Christ-ornaments to the church and blessings to all around them.

'I saw the end of time, the incipient birth
Of the new heavens and new-created earth.

Saw I the negro? Yes, I saw her there

In those bright robes the Saviour's followers wear.'

SWEET has been my night's repose,'
Soft and peaceful was my bed;
But I will not bless the clothes,
Where I lay my sleeping head:
I will bless the Heavenly King,
Whence alone my comforts spring.

All the house was closed with care,
From the dangers of the night;
But I will not bless the bar

That preserved the doors so tight: I will praise the Heavenly King, Whence alone my comforts spring.

Friends supply, both night and day,
All my wants, however small;
But I must no worship pay,

Though I dearly love them all:
I will praise my Heavenly King,
Whence alone my comforts spring.

Angels have been watching round,
Floods of ill unseen to stem;
But they would not love the sound,
If I were to sing to them:

I will praise my Heavenly King,
Whence alone my comforts spring!

D. I.

FIELD FLOWERS.

YE lovely flowers that in the meadows grow;
Ye buttercups, and daisies streak'd with red,
Waving about as every wind doth blow,

I love to see you on your grassy bed,

Bringing to mind what every heart must loveChildhood's bright hours of innocence and ease, When little things had always power to please, And we in an elysium seem'd to move!— Delightful flowers, on ye we love to gaze

With fondnes yet, your presence calls to mind Feelings and thoughts, such as we cannot find On earth but once-now buried with the days For ever fled,-yet in yourselves we see, What was, what is, what will for ever be.

J. H.

THIS world of ours, if free from sin, Oh! would it not be fair?

Sunshine above and flowers beneath,
And beauty everywhere!

The air, the earth, the waters teem
With living things at play;

Glad nature from a hundred throats
Pours her rejoicing lay.

Each balmy breeze that wanders by, Whispers some angel tone,

And the clear fountains have a voice
Of music all their own.

Even the leaves of the forest trees,
Moved by the zephyr's wing,

Make a low murmur of content
To the little birds that sing.

The busy bees o'er the garden flowers
A holy song attune,
Joining their never tiring mirth,

The minstrelsy of June;
And the great waves upon the deep,
Leaping like giants free,

Add in their hollow monotone,

The chorus of the sea.

There's beauty in the morning sky,

When from his ocean-bed

Like a strong man refreshed by sleep,

The sun uplifts his head;