TRUST YOUR HEAVENLY FATHER.

bation, to take him in a boat down a stream that was near, and which passes within three or four miles of Tavoy. He was carried out of the house, or rather from the house, by the Karens, who put him on board the boat, and Mrs. Boardman and myself followed. But on turning to see if he wanted anything, we found his countenance fixed in death, and it was difficult to determine whether he breathed or not. Thus did this indefatigable missionary die, as every missionary would wish to die, about his Master's business, and surrounded by those in whose conversion from heathenism he had been instrumental."

TRUST YOUR HEAVENLY FATHER.

FROM THE FRENCH.

THERE were two neighbours, who had each a wife and several little children, and their wages as common labourers were their only support. One of these men was fretful and disquieted, saying, "If I die, or even if I fall sick, what will become of my family?" This thought never left him, but gnawed his heart, as a worm the fruit in which it is hidden. Now, although the same thought was presented to the mind of the other father, yet he was not fretted by it, for he said,

"God, who knows all his creatures and watches over them, will also watch over me and mine." Thus he lived tranquil, whilst the other never tasted either repose or joy. One day, as the latter was labouring in the field, sad and cast down because of his fear, he saw some birds go in and out of a plantation. Having approached, he found two nests placed side by side, and in each, several young ones, newly hatched and still unfledged. When he returned to his work he frequently looked at these birds as they went out and returned, carrying nourishment to their young ones. But, behold! at the moment when one of the mothers is returning with her bill full, a vulture seizes her,

carries her off, and the poor mother, vainly struggling beneath his grasp, utters a piercing cry. At this sight the man who was working felt his soul more troubled than before; for, thought he, the death of the mother is the death of her young ones. Mine have only me-no other!-What will become of them if I fail them? All the day he was gloomy and sad, and at night he slept not. On the morrow, as he returned to the field, he said,—"I should like to see the little ones of that poor mother—several, without doubt, have already perished." He set off towards the plantation, and looking into the nests, he saw the young ones alive and well-not one seemed to have suffered. Astonished at this, he hid himself, in order to see the cause. After a little while he heard a light cry, and perceived the other mother bringing back in haste the food she had gathered, which she distributed to all the young ones without distinction. There was some for each, and the orphans were not abandoned in their misery. In the evening, the father who had distrusted Providence, related to the other father what he had seen, who observed, "Why fret yourself? God never abandons his children; his love has some secrets which we do not know; let us believe, hope, love, labour, and pursue our course in peace; if I die before you, you may be able to be a father to my children, and if you die before me, I will be a father to yours; and if we both die before they are of age to provide for their own necessities, they will have for father, 'Our Father who art in heaven."

A TOWN.

BY THE LATE JANE TAYLOR.

A BUSY town 'mid Britain's isle,
Behold in fancy's eye;

With tower, and spire, and civic pile,
Beneath a summer sky;

A TOWN.

And orchard, garden, field, and park,
And grove, and sunny wall;
And ranging buildings, light and dark,
As evening shadows fall.

Then listen to the ceaseless din
Of hammer, saw, and crane;
And traffic passing out and in,
From alley, street, and lane:
The sound, without a pause between,
Of foot, and wheel, and hoof;
The manufacture's loud machine
From yonder lengthen'd roof:

And children at their evening sports,
Parading to and fro;
Assembled in the quiet courts

Of yonder cottage row.

Gay streets display their shining wares

To every roving eye,

As, eager in their own affairs,

The busy tribes go by.

And ah! what varied forms of woe,
What hope and fear are found;
What passions rise, what scandals grow,
Within this narrow bound!

To pass the peaceful dwellings by,
No stranger eye might guess,
Those scenes of joy and agony,

Of discord and distress.

Pain writhes within those stately walls; Here pallid want hath been;

That casement, where the curtain falls,
Shows death has enter'd in.

The dwelling, ranging next to this,
A youthful group displays;
Elate they seem with present bliss,
And hope of distant days.

There, at her chamber-window high,
A lonely maiden sits;

Its casement fronts the western sky,
And balmy air admits:

And while her thoughts have wandered far
From all she hears and sees,
She gazes on the evening star

That twinkles through the trees.
Is it to watch the setting sun,
She does that seat prefer?—
Alas! the maiden thinks of one
Who never thinks of her.

But lively is the street below,
And ceaseless is the hum,
As some intent on pleasure go,
On schemes of profit some.

Now widening seems the stream to be,
As evening stretches o'er;
Plebeian tribes, from toil set free,
Pour forth from every door.

A school, arrang'd in order due,
(Before the sun goes down,)
Lady and lady, two and two

Come winding through the town.
And what drives up to yonder door,
The gaping crowd among?
A wedding train of chaises four,
And all the bells are rung.

The laden waggon tinkles by,
The post is going out,

The lights are lit, the coaches ply
To tavern, ball, aud rout.

Thus clos'd that merry summer's day;
And would you ask me how
You might the busy scene survey,
And see those faces now?-

Then hither turn-yon waving grass
And mould'ring stones will show;
For these transactions came to pass
A hundred years ago.

LISTENING THE LITTLE BIRD'S SONG.

JANE and her brother Edwin wandered out into the fields one fine afternoon in autumn, and, being tired with their rambles, sat down on a bank to rest themselves. They had not sat there long before they heard a little bird fluttering and chirping among the branches over their heads. As they did not wish to disturb it, they gathered themselves up closer together under the branches, and listened to the notes of the little warbler. At length Jane whispered, "What is it Edwin ?" "I dont know," said Edwin, "but I think it is a Linnet." And they were still again, and for half an hour or more they listened to the sweet songs their happy little visitor sung to them, and sweeter they could not have been if the Prince of Wales and his sister had been there to listen.

But they could not stop to listen much longer, for the sun was sinking down in the far sky, and then it