SOLEMN WARNING TO YOUTHFUL

READERS.

I KNEW a Sunday-school boy,
Who many warnings had,
And yet he still remained, alas!
A reckless, wicked lad.

The Lord saw fit to lay him down

Upon a bed of pain,

But sickness could not turn his heart --
All warnings seemed in vain.

To health he was restored again,
By blessings from above;
Ungrateful still he did appear,

Nor cared for Jesu's love.

How sad, how dreadful 'twas to see
A lad so young begin

To curse and swear, as he was heard,
And follow on in sin.

He left his home at length to go
To Sunday-school once more;
Called for some lads who used to go,
But they were gone before.

He left the house, and off he ran,
Until he lost all power,

And in the road a corpse he fell

Before another hour.

How sad my tale, and yet 'tis true.
Dear child, what is your trust?
Your precious soul, where will it be
When you return to dust?

T. G.

This dear lad ruptured a blood-vessel while on his way to a Sunday-school, and died instantaneously. He was about fifteen years of age. What a solemn warning! Are you, reader, prepared to meet God?

SEARCHING THE SCRIPTURES.

THE FRENCH BLACKING VENDER AND HIS BIBLE.

An old man, a seller of blacking, took his stand for many years in a very crowded quarter of Paris. A Bible was presented to him. This poor creature was only permitted by the police to sell his blacking after sunset in the day he was occupied in preparing it; but after standing in the street till late, to obtain fivepence or seven pence by his blacking, he devoted many hours of every night to studying the sacred volume, and reading it to his wife, by the light of a glimmering lamp, till one or two in the morning. It was astonishing to those who visited him how rapidly he proceeded, not merely to read and comprehend, but even to compare different parts of the word of God together. In a few months, at more than seventy years of age, he had obtained such a harmonious view of the Scriptures, as to be much better acquainted with their historical contents than his Christian instructor. When he discovered the doctrine of justification by faith, he was overwhelmed, and could not believe that any one had discovered it before, or, at least, so clearly as himself. His wife being ill, she was obliged to go to the hospital, and her husband contrived to carry the Bible in a bundle of clothes, that he might read to her. The priest soon heard of his having the Bible, and attempted to frighten him from reading it, offering him a comfortable support for life if he would give it up and return to confession. He replied, "I should then be a hypocrite; I would rather die from want than become one. Since I read this book, I can no longer give up my conscience to another.”

ADDRESSED TO A DESIRING YOUTH.

YE tender ones, come lisp His name

To whom archangels sing;

Whose matchless love, whose glorious fame,
Make heaven's high arches ring.

Is sin your burthen, sin your grief?
To this sweet Refuge fly;
In Jesus you shall find relief:
He hears the softest sigh.

Ob, may you early seek His face,
Be led to cry to Him,

That He would of His sovereign grace
Remove your load of sin.

His blood can cleanse from every sin,
His Spirit sanctify;

Go, guilty youth, and wait on Him,
Till He in love draw nigh.

Seek till you Abba, Father! cry;
Jesus will hear your voice;
Call thou on Him, on Him rely,
Make Him your only choice.

How many little ones above,
Array'd in robes of white,
Bask in the sunshine of His love
With joy and sweet delight!

Do you not long to know that there,

On Zion's holy hill,

You in their bliss and joy shall share,

Where love each soul doth fill?

Then seek Him, find Him; then you'll sing,

In that bright world on high,

Sweet hallelujahs to the King,

Beyond the azure sky.

Walworth.

MARY ANN.

JOHN STOUT, THE VILLAGE FRIEND.

BENEATH a large old sheltering oak

A "lean-to" might be seen,
Behind it was a wretched barn,
In front the village green.

L

It scarcely could be called a house,
It looked more like a shed;
But it had a little kitchen,
And a closet for a bed.

I wish you could have seen the man
Who lived in that queer place,
His shaggy brows, his long grey hair,
And his very sallow face.

He was so very, very short,
But very big about;

I am not sure about his name,

But they called him Master Stout.

He knew the neighbours called him sc,
And did not mind the name;
And just to show he was not hurt,
Would call himself the same.

He mostly worked at Farmer Brown's;
But, as he was not strong,

'Twas seldom he could stand a week
Of labour all day long.

And so, of course, this kept him poor;
For we all know "half day"
Means very plainly that you'll get
No more than just "half pay."

But though Stout was so quaint and queer,
His face was nice and kind;

And its gentle, calm expression

Bespoke a peaceful mind.

Suppose that now we take a peep
Behind that closed door,

And see how Master Stout goes on
When the day's work is o'er.
The hearth all nicely tidied up,
Though no womankind was there;
The sticks just waiting for a light,
And close by stood the chair.
Stout was not given to company,
So one chair was enough:

A small square stool there was besides,
But made quite in the rough.