head from her husband's shoulder, and in low, broken accents, half choked with an inward struggle, but without a tear. She was encouraged to say this for she had a timid awe for her husband-by the pressure ever and anon returned to hers from his hand. The smith spoke not, but bent his head over his wife, who felt his tears falling on her neck, as he whispered, "Amen, Jeanie! so help me, God!" A silence ensued, during which Jeanie got, as she said, "a gude greet," for the first time, which took a weight off her heart. She then quietly kissed her child and turned away. Thornburn took the hand of his boy and said, "Farewell, Davie, and when you and me meet again, we'll baith, I tak' it, be a bit different frae what we are this nicht! He then put the lid on mechanically, turned one or two of the screws, and then sat down at the fireside to chat about the arangements of the funeral as on a matter of business.

After that, for the first time, William asked his wife to kneel down, and he would pray before they retired to rest. Poor fellow! he was sincere as ever man was; and never after till the day of his death did he omit this "exercise," which once a day was universal in every family whose head was a member of the church; and I have known it continued by

the widow when her head was taken away. But on this, the first night, when the smith tried to utter aloud the thoughts of his heart, he could only say, "Our Father!" There he stopped. Something seemed to seize him, and to stop his utterance. Had he only known how much was in these words, he possibly might have said more. As it was, the thoughts of the father on earth so mingled, he knew not why, with those of the Father in heaven, that he could not speak. But he continued on his knees, and spoke there to God as if he had never spoken before. Jeanie did the same. After a while they both rose, and Jeanie said, "Thank ye, Willie; it's a beautifu' beginning, and it wull, I'm sure, hae a braw ending." "It's cauld iron, Jeanie, woman," said the smith, "but it wull melt and come a' richt."

THE FLOWERS OF PARADISE.

REV. DR. THOMAS GUTHRIE, EDINBURGH.

HEAVEN is greatly made up of little children, sweet buds that have never blown, or which Death has plucked from a mother's bosom to lay on his own cold breast, just when they were expanding, flower-like, from the

sheath, and opening their engaging beauties in the budding time and spring of life. "Of such is the kingdom of heaven." How soothing these words by the cradle of a dying infant! They fall like balm drops on our bleeding heart, when we watch the ebbing of that young life, as wave after wave breaks feebler, and the sinking breath gets lower and lower, till with a gentle sigh, and a passing quiver of the lip, our sweet child leaves its body lying like an angel asleep, and ascends to the beatitudes of heaven and the bosom of its God. Perhaps God does with His heavenly garden as we do with our own. He may chiefly stock it from the nurseries, and select for transplanting what is yet in its young and tender age, — flowers before they have bloomed, and trees ere they begin to bear.

THE INTELLIGENCE OF A GLORIFIED INFANT.

Rev. Dr. ALEXANDER FLETCHER, LONDON.

HAS it never struck you, my friend, the glorious change which is effected upon the mind of an infant, the moment its disembodied spirit is admitted among the holy and intelligent citizens of the new Jerusalem? I have often

thought of it with surprise and delight. In one instant, there is a greater influx, a greater communication of light into its glorified understanding, than all the accumulated light which glowed with splendor for many years, in the mind of the greatest philosopher, who has added lustre to his country, to his species, to the world. All the experienced Christians and divines whom that dear babe has left behind it, are as much behind it in the degree of their knowledge, and in the enlargement of their capacity, as they are behind it in place. Heaven does not exceed this world more in its grandeur and glory, than this glorified infant does the greatest, the wisest, and the best of human beings, living in this vale of tears. Oh, how much this should reconcile pious parents to the departure of their dear babes from a world of ignorance and of suffering, to a land of unclouded intelligence and unceasing enjoyment.

HEAVENLY RELATIONSHIP.

REV. P. B. POWER, M.A., KENT. REMEMBER, poor mourner, that the child that hath left thy home hath found another home. Thy little one is not homeless: doth

not that thought in itself pour oil and balm upon thy heart? Think no more of the isolation and loneliness of the body's grave, but think of the companionship and joyousness of the spirit's home. Life, love, joy, warmth, all cluster themselves about the name of home: let them cluster in thy thoughts around thy child who is at home. Oh, what loving care and thought were spent upon thy little one! and oh, bitter grief! thou canst spend them now no more; the departed one is out of the reach of thy ministry; that thou canst no longer do any thing for it is part of thy bitter woe. But think!

"Thy flower hath found a home with One,

Who well its value knows."

A voice softer than thine whispers to it, hands more gentle than thine minister to it, eyes more loving than thine look upon it; if thou lovest as a parent should love, be content to be outdone; thou art conquered in life's strife only by beings of another world, and thy child reapeth the victory of thy defeat; thou wouldst have done much for it had it lived, they do more now that it is dead; thou wouldst have set great price upon it had it tarried with thee here, a price far greater still is set upon it by Him that has taken it to Himself.