APPEAL TO PARENTS.

REV. WILLIAM BATHGATE, KILMARNOCK.

CHRISTIAN parent, bereaved of an infant-child, one word of appeal to you. Sore was your heart in the sad hour which struck the departure, to another home and bosom, of your darling child. Though seasons may have come and gone, though years of vicissitude may have fled since you kissed for the last time the infant-clay in its snow-white dress, or heard the first clod fall relentlessly on the coffin which contained the pride of your heart, the tear still starts, and the lip still quivers, over the name and image of your beloved infant. Sorrow not for him. He stands on the other bank of the Jordan, ready to hail you as you rise from the troubled river. He tunes his infantine harp to give you a gladsome welcome to the mansions above. Wish him not "back again," for the wish is unkind as well as vain. Comfort yourself with the assurance that "shall you go to him." Your child is not among strangers. The angels wait on him. The Saviour carries him in His bosom. Never was he so much at home. He has the blessed fortune to advance beneath the care and education of heaven. He is in the train of the blessed Saviour, for whose glorious appearing you daily look. O let your affections be fixed on the heavenly world. The Great Spirit will not charge you with idolatry should you quicken your pace to glory because your departed child wearies for your coming. God smilingly looks on the reunion of sire and son.

Christless parent, bereaved of an infant-child, what shall we say to you? It is well even with the spirit of your little one. This is a gratifying, gladdening truth, even to a parent bound for a dread futurity. But, then, though you are welcome to all the consolation which such a truth is fitted to impart, does not the truth flash across your benighted soul a terrible suggestion? O, see you not that if you die Christless as you are living Christless, your little one and you shall never meet. Should it often watch for its mother's spirit emerging with a song of victory from the billows of the Jordan, it shall watch in vain. Should it on the morning of judgment recognise its mother's face and hold aloft its tiny hands, it shall hold them up in vain. Ah! bereaved mother, you have drunk the bitterest of earth's cups. Death tore from you the idol of your heart. But, continue Christless, remain unsaved, and you will see your child rising in glory, while you yourself are sinking into hell. Can you stand that prospect? Take your infant's Saviour as your Saviour. Rend not the heart of the soul-loving and soul-saving Jesus by continuing unsaved, and constraining Him to bid you depart far from your child, and far from Himself.

A TRANSPLANTED FLOWER.
WM. B. BRADBURY, MUSICAL COMPOSER.

KATIE is gone.

Where? To heaven. An angel came and took her away. She was a lovely child-gentle as a lamb; the pet of the whole family; the youngest

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them all. But she could not stay with us any longer, she had an angel sister in heaven, who was waiting for her. The angel sister was with us only a few months, but she has been in heaven many years, and she must have loved Katie, for everybody loved her. The loveliest flowers are often soonest plucked. If a little voice sweeter and more musical than others was heard, I knew Katie was near. If my study-door opened so gently and slyly that no sound could be heard, I knew that Katie was coming. If, after an hour's quiet play, a little shadow passed me, and the door opened and shut as no one else could open and shut it, so as not to disturb papa," I knew Katie was going. When, in the midst of my composing, I heard a gentle voice saying, "Papa, may I stay with you a little while? I will be very still," I did not need to look off my work, to assure me that it was my little lamb. You stayed with me too long, Katie, dear, to leave me so suddenly; and you are too still now. You became my little assistant - my home angel youngest and sweetest singing-bird, and I miss the little voice that I have heard in the adjoining room, catching up and echoing little snatches of melody as they were being composed, I miss those soft and sweet kisses. I miss the little hand that was always first to be placed upon my forehead, to "drive away the pain." I miss the sound of those little feet upon the stairs. I miss the little knock at my bed-room door in the morning, and the triple good-night kiss in the evening. I miss the sweet smiles from the sunniest

my

of faces. I miss-oh! how I miss the foremost in the little group who came out to meet me at the gate for the first kiss. I do not stoop so low now, Katie, to give that first kiss. I miss you at the table and at family worship. I miss your voice in "I want to be an angel," for nobody could sing it like you. I miss you in my rides and walks. I miss you in the garden. I miss you everywhere; but I will try not to miss you in heaven. "Papa, if we are good, will an angel truly come and take us to heaven when we die?" When the question was asked, how little did I think the angel was so near! But he did "truly" come, and the sweet flower is translated to a more genial clime. do wish papa would come." Wait a little while, Katie, and papa will come. The journey is not long. He will soon be "Home."

A SCENE FROM " UNCLE TOM'S CABIN."

MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

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ELIZA looked up at Mrs. Bird with a keen scrutinising glance, and it did not escape her that she was dressed in deep mourning.

"Ma'am," she said, suddenly, "have you ever lost a child?"

The question was unexpected, and it was a thrust on a new wound; for it was only a month since a darling child of the family had been laid in the grave.

Mr. Bird turned round and walked to the window, and Mrs. Bird burst into tears; but recovering her voice, she said-

"Why do you ask that? I have lost a little one." I have lost two, one

"Then you will feel for me. after another-left 'em buried there when I came away; and I had only this one left.

night without him; he was all I had.

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never slept a He was my

comfort and pride, day and night; and, ma'am, they were going to take him away from me-to sell hima baby that had never been away from his mother in his life! I couldn't stand it ma'am. I knew I never should be good for anything if they did; and when I knew the papers were signed, and he was sold, I took him and came off in the night; and they chased me— the man that bought him, and some of mas'r's folksand they were coming down right behind me -I heard 'em-I jumped right on to the ice, and how I got across I don't know; but, first I knew, a man was helping me up the bank."

The senator, addressing his wife on behalf of the poor bereaved runaway, said—

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Mary, I don't know how you'd feel about it, but there's that drawer full of things-of-of-poor little Henry's." So saying, he turned quickly on his heel, and shut the door after him.

His wife opened the little bed-room door adjoining her room, and, taking the candle, set it down on the top of a bureau there; then from a small recess she took a key, and put it thoughtfully in the lock of a drawer, and made a sudden pause, while two boys, who, boy-like, had followed close on her heels, stood looking, with silent, significant glances, at their mother.