May this true story be blessed to youthful readers, that like her whose death I have recorded, they may seek the Lord while they are in health; and then, when sickness and death come, they may, with her, be ready to exclaim, “I am so happy." May such be the happy end of all who read these lines! S. E.

THE DYING CHILD.

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN, BY MRS. BUSHBY.

MOTHER, I am tired, I would fain go to sleep;

Oh! let me near thy heart, once more sweet slumber seek;
But thou must promise first, thou wilt no longer weep,
For so scalding are thy tears that they burn upon my cheek.
The stormy wind blows loudly, and I shiver with the cold;
But in my dreams, dear mother, all, all, is calm around;
And little cherubs smiling, I fancy I behold,

When my weary eyes are closed, and I hear no startling sound.

Mother, dost thou see yon angel at my side?

The sweet songs that he sings, oh! mother, dost thou hear? See, see! he has two wings, spread out so white and wide— Oh! surely 'twas our Lord himself, who bade him thus appear!

Green, and gold, and red, before my eyes are blending; These, doubtless, are bright flow'rets brought me from the sky,

By yonder shining being, on my bed attending:

Shall I have wings too, mother, tell me, when I die?

Why dost thou tremble thus? my hands why dost thou

press?

Why dost thou lay thy cheek, dear mother, close to mine?
Oh! I can feel 'tis moist, but it does not burn the less-
What dost thou fear for me? I am for ever thine-
Thou must no longer sigh, so sadly as thou hast;
If thou wilt weep on, then I will weep with thee;
But oh! I feel so faint-my eyes are closing fast-
Oh! mother-mother-see-the angel's kissing me!
Englishwoman's Magazine.

On the return of spring, it is not only pleasant to feel the warm sun, and listen to the singing of birds again, and to gather its first flowers-violets and primroses-and smell how sweet they are, but there is also something very pleasing in observing how glad the cattle that feed on the grass in the meadows seem to be when they find it springing up around them all fresh and sweet. I say there is something very pleasing in this; for all good people love to see others happy too, even dumb animals; who, though they cannot talk as we do, yet have a way of shewing how happy they are. During the cold dark winter, the poor creatures went creeping about the fields, poking their noses among the brown tufts of grass, to seek for something to eat, and moaning because little or nothing they could find, and looking lean and half-starved. Now they can eat from morning till night, and then lie down to rest, as you see them in the picture, full, and fat, and happy. And should we not also admire the wisdom of the Great Creator, who giveth to all his creatures their meat in due season? The Lord is good to all; and his tender mercies are over all his works.

ON SPRING.

HAIL beauteous season, fairest of the four,
Thou dost delight me most; for nature's charms,
Which long have slumber'd in her wintry grave,
Now all their life and loveliness assume,
And seem to praise aloud fair nature's Lord.
The insect, fluttering in the evening gale;
The delicate blossoms decking yonder tree,
Opening their beauties to the sun of heaven;
The fragrance wafted o'er the meadow green;
The birds that perch upon the quickened bough
New clad with foliage; the sportive lamb;
The modest flow'ret in the hedge-row shade
Her fragrant buds concealing-all proclaim,
Each in its fair gradations speaks in praise
Of Him, the King Eternal, who from naught
Call'd them into existence; and shall man,
The great Creator's masterpiece, alone
Possess'd of intellect and speech, be mute ?
Forbid it reason, gratitude, and love!

A JOURNEY IN SPRING.

A FRIEND of ours, a minister of Jesus Christ, who loves children, though he has not any of his own, and makes them remember him by his kindness to them wherever he goes, took a journey in the spring of 1841, into a distant part of Lancashire. When he arrived at the place to which he went, he sent the following letter to some of his young friends in a sabbath school at Salford, near Manchester, to tell them about his journey.

DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS.-I am now a great way from home, and a great way from you; but I was thinking about you this morning, and thought I would write a letter to you to tell you about what I have seen in coming from home to this place. You must therefore be told first, that I am now going to see the place where my dear father and mother lived several years ago. They are both dead now, and I can see

A JOURNEY IN SPRING.

nothing of them but their graves. But I hope they both loved Jesus Christ, and are gone to dwell with him in glory—and that is very sweet to think of. If your fathers and mothers love the Lord Jesus Christ, you must think how great a blessing that is. And you should feel concerned about meeting them in heaven. Perhaps some of you may say that you fear your father or mother does not love the Lord. Then you should pray for them, and talk to them about it. Perhaps the Lord may bless what you say to them.

But let me tell you how I came to this place. I left home about nine o'clock yesterday morning, and came by a coach to Preston. At that place, in the house of a friend, I saw a very fine little girl about five years old perhaps. She was playing with a hoop. I said to her that little boys played with hoops where I lived. The servant said little girls played with them in Preston. I asked her if she could read-but found that she could not. The servant said, "she was slow in learning to read." What a pity that a fine sharp little girl should be slow in learning to read! I shewed her a little book with a picture of a coach upon it, and other pictures in it. She looked as if she would very much like to have such a little book. But alas! she could not read-and of what use is a book to one that cannot read? However she seemed willing to promise that she would try to learn if I gave it to her; and I did give it, and hope she will keep her promise. People should never promise any thing but when they are resolved to perform what they say. And they should always keep their word. Mind you think of that, for when it is well known that you are particular to keep your word, then every body will be ready to trust you, and it will be a great advantage. Besides, to say and not perform, is sinful. There is a proverb

"A man of words and not of deeds,
Is like a garden full of weeds."

From Preston I came to Lancaster by the railway, and it was a very delightful ride, for the sun shone brightly, and all looked so cheerful and pretty. Lancaster is a very old town, and there are some of the streets rather awkwardly built and too narrow. There is a strong prison in it for bad people, with very high walls. It is a terrible looking place, and it is a sad thing for people to be shut up in it for doing wrong, for there is no way to escape. There is a man stands at the door watching, and keeps the iron gate fast locked. I hope you will every one avoid those bad ways which bring people into confinement in such places. I did not go to look in, for I had looked in a long time ago, and it is not a pleasant place at all, so it is best to keep quite away from it.

There is a building about a mile from Lancaster where they keep people that have lost their reason. It is not a prison that, but it is called an asylum, and it is to take care of those people when they are in that sad condition. I went to that place to ask about a poor man that is in the asylum, and saw the man who takes care of him, who told me that he was a little better. It is said there are about 500 persons now in the asylum who have lost their reason. Oh, what a blessing it is to have all our senses and our reason, that we may take care of ourselves! You cannot be too thankful for these blessings, for if you saw this great building, you would pity the poor afflicted people shut up in it. But I must now tell you what a curious road they travel between Lancaster and this place.

This morning was exceedingly beautiful and clear. We left Lancaster about six, or half-past six o'clock, in a small omnibus. It drove along through dusty roads for about three miles, and then, behold, the great wide plain of sand and water which is covered by the sea when the tide is high, but coaches and carts can come across when the tide is gone out.