For

was added in his memory to the many hundreds which covered the surface of the enclosure; to be thought cf and cherished according to the degree of respect and reverence which the sexton had for its inmate. As a gardener has his favourite flowers, so John had his favourite graves, and spent additional time on their adornment. Hence one grave might be seen with a smooth velvet turf, and a flower or two blooming upon it, while those surrounding it were covered with rank masses of grass; thus, by looking at any one grave, it could be known what was the state of John's feelings towards the mouldering dust beneath. His professional love was particularly lavished on the little ones. the children's graves he had a peculiar affection and reverence. Not one of them was suffered to go to waste; and long after the little mound had disappeared, the small level spot was easily found by patches of white clover for John invariably sowed this on the little graves, and on none other. Mr. Gray had not been long minister of the parish till he noticed the odd practice of his grave-digger; and one day when he came upon John smoothing and trimming the lowly bed of a child which had been buried a few days before, he asked him why he was so particular in dressing and keeping the graves of the children. John paused for a moment at his work, and looking up, not at the minister, but at the sky, said, "Of such is the kingdom of heaven." "And on this account you tend and adorn them with so much care," remarked the minister, who was greatly struck with the reply.

cr

"Surely, sir," answered John, "I canna make ower braw and fine the bed-coverin' o' a little innocent sleeper that is waitin' there till it is God's time to wauken it and cover it with the white robe, and waft it away to glory. When sic grandeur is awaitin' it yonder, it's fit it should be decked oot here. I think the Saviour that counts its dust sae precious will like to see the white clover sheet spread abune't; dae ye no think sae tae, sir?”

"But why not thus cover larger graves?" asked the minister, hardly able to suppress his emotion. "The dust of all His saints is precious in the Saviour's sight."

"Very true, sir," responded John, with great solemnity "but I canna be sure wha are his saints and wha are no. I hope there are mony o' them lyin' in this kirkyard; but it wad be great presumption in me to mark them oot. There are some that I'm gey sure aboot, and I keep their graves as nate and snod as I can, and plant a bit floure here and there as a sign o' my hope; but I daurna gie them the white sheet. Its clean different, tho', wi' the bairns. We hae His ain word for their up-going, and sae I canna mak' an error there. Some folk, I believe, are bauld enough to say that it's only the infants of the guid that will be saved."

"And do you adhere to that doctrine?" inquired Mr. Gray.

John answered by pointing to a little patch a few paces off, which was thickly covered with clover.

"That ane," he said, "is the bairn o' Tam Lutton, the collier. Ye ken Tam, sir?"

Mr. Gray did, indeed, know Tam, for he was the

most notorious swearer, liar, and drunkard in the parish; and John did not require to say any more to show that he disbelieved the doctrine of the condemnation of infants.

"It's no only cruel and blasphemous," he continued, in a dry, sarcastic way, "but it's quite absurd. Jist tak' that bairn o' Tam's as an example. According to their belief it's lost; because we may, without ony breach o' charity, say that Tam is at present a reprobate. But he is still in the place of hope, sir; and it is quite possible that he may be converted. What comes o' the bairn then? Na, na," he added, looking reverently upward, "God is merciful, and Jesus died; and it was He that said, 'Of such is the kingdom of heaven.'

Mr. Gray was much struck by the deep feeling and fervent piety manifested by the grave-digger, and thought he would extract more of his ideas regarding the subject on which they had been speaking. For this purpose he pointed to the little grave which John was trimming so neatly, and, knowing it to be that of a still-born child, he observed,

"Is it not mysterious, John, that the little human form lying there should not have been permitted to cross the porch of existence? I saw it as it lay so still and beautiful in its snowy robe, and as I noticed its perfect form, with every organ and every limb complete, I was almost tempted to ask why God had made such a beautiful temple in vain."

"In vain!' say ye," returned John.

Na, no in

vain.

God mak's naething in vain, far less a form like that in His ain image. Omnipotent as He is, and infinite in His perfections, He canna afford tae fashun sic a glorious object only that worms might prey on it. The little marble image lying below this sod is as great a thing as ever God made on this earth. Adam, when he rose up frae the green sward o' Eden, wasna mair physically perfect. He was bigger, nae doot, but nae better formed; and was the ane made in vain ony mair than the ither? Na, na, na! The bairnie, puir lammie, 'll ken naething o' the joys and sorrows, the sunshine and shadow o' this life; but he'll be a pure, unsullied sharer o' the life that is ayont this, and higher than this: for I aye cast anchor on the blessed words spoken by the Redeemer o' men and infants, 'Of such is the kingdom of heaven ;' and whan I think o' a stillborn wean, I think o' a human being, made, no for time, but for immortality."

The minister took John's hand, and silently pressed it. He had got the key to his deeper nature, and was thrilled by its unexpected richness.

DIVINE BENEFICENCE IN THE DEATH OF

CHILDREN.

REV. THOMAS BINNEY, LONDON.

I AM fond of children. I think them the poetry of the world, the fresh flowers of our hearths and homes, little conjurers, with their "natural magic," evoking by their spells what delights and enriches all ranks,

and equalizes the different classes of society. Often as they bring with them anxieties and cares, and live to occasion sorrow and grief, we should get on very badly without them. Only think—if there was never anything anywhere to be seen, but great, grown-up men and women! How we should long for the sight of a little child! Every infant comes into the world like a delegated prophet, the harbinger and herald of good tidings, whose office it is, "to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children," and to draw the "disobedient to the wisdom of the just." A child softens and purifies the heart, warming and melting it by its gentle presence; it enriches the soul by new feelings, and awakens within it what is favourable to virtue. It is a beam of light, a fountain of love, a teacher whose lessons few can resist. Infants recall us from much that engenders and encourages selfishness, that freezes the affections, roughens the manners, indurates the heart; they brighten the home, deepen love, invigorate exertion, infuse courage, and vivify and sustain the charities of life. It would be a terrible world, I do think, if it was not embellished by little children; but it would be a far more terrible one if little children did not die! Many, I dare say, would be shocked by this assertion. It may be true, however, nevertheless.

I am quite aware that death is in itself a very fearful thing; and that premature death is thought to be "mysterious,"-something to be submitted to, as incapable of being reconciled with the idea of presiding wisdom and love,-to be mourned over as an unmixed