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admitted of no delay, he immediately repaired to the residence of the father, whom he found at home, and to whom he was introduced. Some embarrassment followed. At length the gentle

man said, "I believe, sir, you have a son ?" The old man became violently affected, burst into a flood of tears, and sufficiently exemplified how much the conduct of his child had agonized his heart. The gentleman, after some delay, proceeded with as much caution as he could exercise to narrate the circumstance which had transpired in the morning, and concluded by offering his services to conduct the parent to an interview with his erring but penitent child. A silent assent having been given, they proceeded to the house where the young man was lodging.

They soon arrived at the place. The gentleman first entered the apartment.

The young man, when he saw him, faintly smiled with pleasure; and then, looking further, he perceived the grey hairs and well-known countenance of his father. With all his remaining strength, he uttered the most pathetic entreaties for forgiveness. The whole affection of his father was aroused; and, according to the description of the parable before quoted, he ran, took his son in his arms, and gave him the most endearing assurances that he was pardoned. The young man had put his arms round the neck of his father, who suddenly felt the filial embrace relaxed; he looked through his tears, and found that he held the corpse of his child! The effort and the emotion had proved too much for his strength, and his spirit had fled to the presence of its God.

THE INFANT IN HEAVEN.

[THE following beautiful passage from the writings of Dr. Chalmers may comfort many a sorrowing mother, as she weeps over the grave of her infant babe.-ED.]

This affords, we think, something more than a dubious glimpse into the question, that is often put by a distracted mother when her babe is taken away from her-when all the converse it ever had with the world, amounted to the gaze upon it of a few months, or a few opening smiles, which marked the dawn of felt enjoyment; and ere it reached perhaps the lisp of infancy, it, all unconscious of death, had to wrestle through a period of sickness with its power, and at length to be overcome by it. Oh! it little knew what an interest it had created in that home where it was so passing a visitant -nor, when carried to its early grave, what a tide of emotion it would raise among the few acquaintances it left behind it! On it, too, baptism was impressed as a seal; and, as a sign, it was never falsified. There was no posi

tive unbelief in its bosom; no resistance yet put forth to the truth; no love at all for the darkness rather than the light; nor had it yet fallen into that great condemnation which will attach itself to all that perish because of unbelief, that their deeds are evil. It is interesting to know that God instituted circumcision for the infant children of the Jews, and at least suffered baptism for the infant children of those who profess Christianity. Should the child die in infancy, the use of baptism, as a sign, has never been thwarted by it; and may we not be permitted to indulge a hope so pleasing, as that the use of baptism as a seal remains in all its entireness; that He, who sanctioned the affixing of it to a babe, will fulfil upon it the whole expression of this ordinance. And when we couple with this the known disposition of our great Forerunner, the love that he manifested to children on earth, how he suffered them to approach his person, and, lavishing endearment and kindness upon them in the streets of Jerusalem, told

and slow of apprehension, and must have reiterated communications ere their stupidity can be dispelled. While the late Dr. R. was theological tutor of the college for ministers in S. C., B., it came to his knowledge, that there was one student under his care, who had the misfortune to be of the latter description, and was treated with much scorn by all the others, being made a kind of butt for their arrows. The doctor was much grieved at their ignorant rudeness, and want of Christian feeling towards a brother, whose undoubted piety entitled him, at least, to respectful consideration.

He re

solved to deal out to them just and faithful reproof. He first made a tour of inquiry to all the stations where the students alternately preached, and then, when the whole were present before him, he said to them very pointedly, "I have lately visited the circuit of your public sabbath labours, and I have thereby ascertained, that four persons have received benefit under the ministry of Mr. H. (the despised one,) and are now under serious concern about their eternal salvation, which is more than I have heard of all the rest of you put together!"

THE ELEVENTH HOUR.

SOME years since, a gentleman, well known for his liberality and zeal, was passing through an obscure alley in London, on the sabbath morning, distributing religious tracts as he went along. A woman with whom he left one of the little publications, informed him that she had a lodger in an apartment in the house, who appeared to be very ill, and who, she thought, would feel pleased and grateful, if the gentleman would pay him a visit. He instantly complied with the request, and was introduced to a room almost destitute of furniture, where, upon a miserable bed, he perceived the ruins of a fine young man, in the last stage of emaciation and decay. The gentleman, with hist accustomed kindness and fidelity, entered into conversation with him, and was pleased to discover that the unhappy sufferer was not only fully prepared to receive his instructions, but that he appeared to be truly impressed with the character of his state, acquainted with the system of salvation through the crucified Saviour, and manifesting those dispositions of repentance and of faith which are so essential to the safety of the soul. He confessed he had been brought up in respectability, that he had received a religious education, that he had fallen

a victim to the multiform seductions of

vice, that he had abandoned his parental home, that his constitution had been ruined by excess, and that his present condition had resulted from his own depravity. He then proceeded, in broken language, and with exhausted strength, to describe how, in his misery, like the prodigal son in the parable, he had come to himself; how all the impressions of early life had been revived by an influence from above; how earnestly and penitently he had cast himself before the throne of grace; how hope had animated him while dwelling upon the love and mediation of the Redeemer; and how, at last, he was enabled to indulge in some expectations of final forgiveness and acceptance beyond the grave. When the gentleman kindly inquired if he could do any thing for him, the young man, with considerable hesitation, but yet with absorbing earnestness, said, “I hope I have obtained the forgiveness of God: would that I could receive that of my father!" The gentleman, whose feelings were very strongly excited, offered his services, and inquired the parent's address; and it was with some astonishment that he heard the name of an individual whom he knew to be Occupying a station of respectability and reputation.

As the situation of the young man

admitted of no delay, he immediately repaired to the residence of the father, whom he found at home, and to whom he was introduced. Some embarrassment followed. At length the gentleman said, "I believe, sir, you have a son ?" The old man became violently affected, burst into a flood of tears, and sufficiently exemplified how much the conduct of his child had agonized his heart. The gentleman, after some delay, proceeded with as much caution as he could exercise to narrate the circumstance which had transpired in the morning, and concluded by offering his services to conduct the parent to an interview with his erring but penitent child. A silent assent having been given, they proceeded to the house where the young man was lodging.

They soon arrived at the place. The gentleman first entered the apartment.

The young man, when he saw him, faintly smiled with pleasure; and then, looking further, he perceived the grey hairs and well-known countenance of his father. With all his remaining strength, he uttered the most pathetic entreaties for forgiveness. The whole affection of his father was aroused; and, according to the description of the parable before quoted, he ran, took his son in his arms, and gave him the most endearing assurances that he was pardoned. The young man had put his arms round the neck of his father, who suddenly felt the filial embrace relaxed; he looked through his tears, and found that he held the corpse of his child! The effort and the emotion had proved too much for his strength, and his spirit had fled to the presence of

its God.

THE INFANT IN HEAVEN.

[THE following beautiful passage from the writings of Dr. Chalmers may comfort many a sorrowing mother, as she weeps over the grave of her infant babe.-ED.]

This affords, we think, something more than a dubious glimpse into the question, that is often put by a distracted mother when her babe is taken away from her-when all the converse it ever had with the world, amounted to the gaze upon it of a few months, or a few opening smiles, which marked the dawn of felt enjoyment; and ere it reached perhaps the lisp of infancy, it, all unconscious of death, had to wrestle through a period of sickness with its power, and at length to be overcome by it. Oh! it little knew what an interest it had created in that home where it was so passing a visitant -nor, when carried to its early grave, what a tide of emotion it would raise among the few acquaintances it left behind it! On it, too, baptism was impressed as a seal; and, as a sign, it was never falsified. There was no posi

tive unbelief in its bosom; no resistance yet put forth to the truth; no love at all for the darkness rather than the light; nor had it yet fallen into that great condemnation which will attach itself to all that perish because of unbelief, that their deeds are evil. It is interesting to know that God instituted circumcision for the infant children of the Jews, and at least suffered baptism for the infant children of those who profess Christianity. Should the child die in infancy, the use of baptism, as a sign, has never been thwarted by it; and may we not be permitted to indulge a hope so pleasing, as that the use of baptism as a seal remains in all its entireness; that He, who sanctioned the affixing of it to a babe, will fulfil upon it the whole expression of this ordinance. And when we couple with this the known disposition of our great Forerunner, the love that he manifested to children on earth, how he suffered them to approach his person, and, lavishing endearment and kindness upon them in the streets of Jerusalem, told

his disciples, that the presence and company of such as these in heaven formed one ingredient of the joy that was set before him; tell us if Christianity does not throw a pleasing radiance around an infant's tomb? and should any parent who hears us, feel softened by the touching remembrance of a light that twinkled a few short months under his roof, and at the end of its little period expired, we cannot think that we venture too far, when we say, that he has only to persevere in the faith and in the following of the gospel, and that very light will again shine upon him in heaven. The blossom which withered here upon its stalk,

has been transplanted there to a place
of endurance; and there it will then
gladden that eye which now weeps out
the agony of an affection that has been
sorely wounded; and in the name of
Him who, if on earth, would have wept
along with them, do we bid all be-
lievers present, to sorrow not even as
others which have no hope, but to
take comfort in the thought of that
country where there is no sorrow and
no separation.

Oh, when a mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy,

Hath she not then, for pains and fears—
The day of woe, the watchful night—
For all her sorrow, all her tears-
An over-payment of delight?

A WORD FOR THE WIDOWS OF POOR MINISTERS.
To the Editor of the Evangelical Magazine.

SIR, On a former occasion, when you appealed to the readers of the Evangelical Magazine, recommending an endeavour to increase the sale of that excellent periodical, I succeeded, in answer to that appeal, in persuading (out of a very limited connexion) four of my friends to take it in, and I feel confident, that if the followers of the all-gracious and loving Redeemer would but seriously and zealously take the matter in hand, your benevolent intentions would be fully realized.

There is one circumstance connected with it, I wish to direct the attention of many subscribers to; that is, lending the Magazine to their friends to read. Where this is done to persons who really cannot afford to purchase, it is kind and very commendable; but I allude, sir, to those who are in a condition to subscribe for one, if not a second copy, and yet pre

fer to borrow of their neighbour. I trust, however, after reading in the "Home Chronicle" of August, "A Word to the Benevolent," they and many others may be induced, by every means in their power, to aid the trustees in their laudable endeavours to cheer the hearts of thirty or forty more widows, by increasing the sale of the Magazine.

I would also join you in entreating our pastors to use their influence, and should but a small portion of the energy of our churches be put forth on behalf of the destitute widows of the departed servants of Christ, you would soon have to announce that the sale of the Evangelical Magazine was twenty thousand, which is the earnest desire of Yours respectfully,

SYMPATHY.

London, Aug. 10, 1843.

POETRY.

THE DYING CHILD.

AROUND the earth grim night her sable
Curtains drew, and over all things stillness

Came, the hum of business was hush'd.

Men to their homes repair'd, and shutting out
The world, with all its toils and cares and pains,
Sunk for awhile to rest. Above, the sky
Was dark and cloudless, not a star appear'd
To chase away the gloom, or cheer the poor
Benighted traveller. Some there were that
Night who slept not. In one chamber lay
A dying child. The lamp burnt faint and dim,
And shot but quiv'ring rays from time

To time across the murky gloom. By his
Side one watch'd, who long his couch had tended.
She was still fair in form and face, though now
Her cheek was paled by care, and her eye dimm'd
By tears. Oft on that quiv'ring lip,

Flush'd cheek, and that glazed eye, she gazed in
Silent anguish, and own'd in mute despair
The all-conquering hand of death, and felt

She could not stay his dart, though he should strike
Her only one-her best beloved. The child
Return'd her ardent gaze with looks of
Equal love, and fondly bade her not to weep.
His clasped hands upon his bosom rested,
And his parch'd lips oft moved in silent prayer.
All that long gloomy night that mother
Watch'd at her lone post. At length, it pass'd
Away, and the bright beams of morn appear'd,
And, through the casement darting, rested on
The pillow of that dying child. The sudden
Burst of glorious light when he beheld,
In his bright innocence he thought that heaven
Her gates had thrown open wide to welcome
Him; and, raising both his hands, he cried
Aloud, "Fond mother, my spirit is free.
The angels wait for me, and for me string
A golden harp, and weave a never-fading

Crown. Hark! hark! they beckon me to join their
Glorious throng. Mother, I go, I go.

Weep not for me-though parted thus, yet we

Shall meet again in that bright world on high

Where we shall part no more." He ceased to speak;

And on his mother's bosom sinking,

His pure spirit left her prison-house

Of clay, and pass'd away to that bless'd world,
Where all is joy and peace, and where night
Never comes, but all is pure and bright

And endless day, and where immortal spirits
Never tiring, unceasingly their heavenly
Praises sing, and cast their beauteous crowns
Before the Saviour's feet, throughout
A long eternity of perfect bliss.

Upon his couch the mother sank and wept
Awhile, then, as a Christian, all her sorrow
Casting on Him, who never chasteneth
But whom he loves, meekly she bow'd
To his decree, and own'd the hand of God,
And kiss'd the rod, though it had smitten low
That lovely one, who till so late had been
Her fondest hope, her only stay and prop,
The cherish'd idol of her widow'd heart.
Clifton.

SARAH L.

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