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not leave thee to the care of angels: he will take care of thee himself." The following day, his father being left alone with him, he again asked the same question, whether or not the Doctor thought he would recover. His father replied, "Do you ask this, my dear, because you are afraid to die?" He answered, No, father: I am not afraid to die; but I should like to know what he thinks about me." Being told that the Doctor entertained very little hope of his recovery, he calmly said, "The will of the Lord be done." He was then suffering severely; and being told that if the Lord should please to take him, there would be no pain-no suffering no tears in heaven, he seemed to muster up all his little remaining strength, and in an ecstasy of joy exclaimed, "No-no-no!" The next day he continued much in the same state. But on the following morning (being the day previous to his death) he appeared to revive a little, and once more attempted to sing; but he could do little more than make the attempt. From this time his strength rapidly declined; and before the next day had closed, his happy and triumphant spirit had taken its flight to the mansions above, to sing the song of Moses and of the Lamb for ever. Thus lived, and thus died, my late and lamented brother George; another striking instance of the brevity and uncertainty of human life. Respected and beloved by all who knew him, he was followed to his grave, as a last expression of regard, by the scholars connected with that school in which he had continued so long with unabated attachment. They preceded the corpse, singing that appropriate hymn,

"The morning flowers display their sweets,

And gay their silken leaves unfold,
As careless of the noontide heats,
As fearless of the evening cold."

JAMES KNAPTON, JUN.

2. JOSEPH KEY was born at Over-Darwin, near Bolton, September 10th, 1821. From infancy his disposition was mild and gentle; and, as he grew up, it became exceedingly affectionate to all. To his parents he was respectful and obedient. When reproved by them for any fault, he did not rudely answer again, but listened with silent attention, and promised to do better. To his mother he was very attentive. Often after his own day's labour, in the factory, he has hastened home, and cheerfully assisted her in every thing in his power. Having to work in the factory at an early age, he had not the opportunity of attending a day-school; but being very desirous to learn to read and write, he went to an evening-school as often as he could, and also became a Sunday-school scholar; and by diligence and perseverance he made considerable proficiency.

When Joseph had arrived at the age of fourteen, his father, and an older brother, were deeply awakened to a sight and sense of their sinful state. They earnestly sought, and in a short time obtained, "peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ," and became members of the Wesleyan society. A few months afterwards,

Joseph, his mother, and sister, were convinced of sin, and soon "obtained like precious faith." From this time his profiting appeared to all; and having the love of God shed abroad in his heart, he was very anxious that others, especially all the members of his own family, his neighbours, and his fellow-workmen, should enjoy the same happiness. Hence he became earnest in reproving them of sin, warning them of their danger, inviting them to hear the Gospel preached, and offering up fervent prayers in their behalf. From the time he was taken ill, which was only eleven days before he departed this life, he was fully resigned to the will of God. When asked by his father where he believed he should go, in case of his death, he replied, "To heaven." Being further asked, on what his hope rested, he referred at once to Christ, and to his enjoyment of peace through the blood of sprinkling. Some days after, being asked how he was, he said, "Very ill, and in great pain. But the Lord is good to me: I feel him to be a present help in this my time of need." Lifting up his eyes and hands, he said, "Thou art my hiding-place. Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all within me, bless his holy name." At another time, being in much pain, a friend remarked, "You are now in the furnace of affliction." He replied, "Yes; but the Lord has promised to be with me in the fire, and I feel his presence with me now:" adding, "In due season we shall reap, if we faint not." One morning, early, his father, going into his bedroom, and finding him harassed with painful temptations, remarked to him that it probably was Satan's last effort, and that, by looking to Jesus for strength, he would be more than conqueror. He replied, "Yes; I feel he cannot harm me, for God will take care of me." He soon after exclaimed, “I have oil in my vessel, and my lamp is burning bright;" and endeavoured to sing, "I'll praise my Maker while I've breath," &c. The Sunday before he died he was exceedingly happy, and wished to be gone; but said, "The Lord's will be done." A friend softly said, "The Lord loves you;" and immediately he replied, "Yes; and I love him.

'My Jesus to know, and feel his blood flow,
'Tis life everlasting, 'tis heaven below.""

The day before he died, his anxious father asked him again if he thought he was ready for the solemn change. To this important question, he replied, "Yes, father; ready to go, when the Lord pleases to call." During the day, he suffered much pain, but his mind was kept in great peace. On the morning of the day on which he died, his father said to him, "Is there no cloud before you?" He answered, "None! I see all clear, all open; all is ready!" Some medicine being given him, he said, "Father, there is no physician like Jesus Christ; and on Him I rely for all." Soon after this, to the astonishment of all in the room, he began to sing with a loud voice, "Come, let us join our cheerful songs," &c.; and then repeated the fourteenth chapter in St. John's Gospel. At the end of the first verse, he added, "And there is a mansion for me!" Soon after this, the silver cord began to loosen, and the

golden bowl to break. The last words he was heard to articulate were, "I have fought a good fight!-Wash me, wash me quite clean;" adding, after a few minutes, "It is finished." Soon after, he breathed his last, and "passed through death, triumphant home." He died at Harper-Hey, in the Manchester First Circuit, September 12th, 1838, aged seventeen. JOHN SMITH.

POETRY.

THE BIRDS IN AUTUMN.

BY MRS. SIGOURNEY.

NOVEMBER came on with an eye severe,
And his stormy language was hoarse to hear,—
And the glittering garland of brown and red,
Which he wreath'd for awhile round the forest's head,
With sudden anger he rent away,

And all was cheerless, and bare, and grey.

Then the houseless grasshopper told his woes,

And the humming-bird sent forth a wail for the rose;
And the spider, that weaver of cunning so deep,

Roll'd himself up, like a ball, to sleep;

And the cricket his merry horn laid by
On the shelf, with the pipe of the dragon-fly.

Soon, voices were heard in the morning prime,
Consulting of flight to a warmer clime:

"Let us go! let us go!" said the bright-wing'd jay :
And his gay spouse sang from a rocking spray,
"I am tired to death of this humdrum tree;
I'll go,-if 'tis only the world to see."

"Will you go?" ask'd the robin, "my only love?"
And a tender strain, from a leafless grove,
Responded, "Wherever your lot is cast,
'Mid summer skies, or the northern blast,
I am still at your side, your heart to cheer,
Though dear is our nest, in this thicket here."
The oriole told, with a flashing eye,

How his little ones shrank from the frosty sky,-
How his mate, with an ague, had shaken the bed,
And lost her fine voice by a cold in her head,
And their oldest daughter, an invalid grown,
No health in this terrible climate had known.

"I am ready to go," said the plump young wren,
"From the hateful homes of these northern men;
My throat is sore, and my feet are blue,-
I'm afraid I have caught the consumption too;

And then I've no confidence left, I own,
In the doctors out of the southern zone."

Then up rose the thrush, with a trumpet call:

And the martins came forth from their box on the wall, And the owlet peep'd from his secret bower,

And the swallows convened on the old church tower;
And the council of blackbirds was long and loud,-
Chattering and flying from tree to cloud.

"The dahlia is dead on her throne," said they;
"And we saw the butterfly cold as clay;
Not a berry is found on the russet plains,
Not a kernel of ripen'd maize remains,
Every worm has hid;-shall we longer stay,
To be wasted with famine? Away!-away!"

But what a strange clamour, on elm and oak,
From a bevy of brown-coated mocking-birds broke!
The theme of each separate speaker they told,
In a shrill report, with such mimicry bold,
That the eloquent orators stared to hear
Their own true echo, so wild and clear.

Then tribe after tribe, with its leader fair,
Swept off, through the fathomless depths of air.-
Who marketh their course to the tropics bright?
Who nerveth their wing for its weary flight?
Who guideth their caravan's trackless way,
By the star at night, and the cloud by day?

Some spread o'er the waters a daring wing,
In the isles of the southern sea to sing,
Or where the minaret, towering high,
Pierces the gold of the western sky;
Or amid the harem's haunts of fear,
Their lodges to build, and their nurslings rear.

The Indian fig, with its arching screen,
Welcomes them in to its vistas green;
And the breathing buds of the spicy tree
Thrill at the burst of their revelry ;
And the bulbul starts 'mid his carol clear,
Such a rushing of strange wings to hear.

O wild-wood wanderers! how far away
From your rural homes in our vales ye stray!
But when they are waked by the touch of spring,

We shall see you again, with your glancing wing,-
Your nests 'mid our household trees to raise,

And stir our hearts in our Maker's praise.

THE BLIND BOY'S SOLILOQUY.

How beautiful! how beautiful!

On heaven's bright orb to gaze;
To hear the songsters of the grove
Their notes melodious raise;
To see the smiling fields display
Their varied hues of green,
And not a cloud obscure the sky,-
How beautiful the scene!

They tell me, it is beautiful,"
And beauteous it may be;
But all the fairest things of earth
Possess no charms for me:
The sun may glorious beams emit,
And shed a lustre round;
But in this dark and gloomy cell
No ray of light is found!

Alas! those glories of an hour
Will quickly droop and die;
For nothing firm and durable

Is found beneath the sky.
But, then, I have a hope above
These transitory scenes,

And look by faith to that blest world
Where my Redeemer reigns!

'Tis there I quickly shall unite
In the eternal song,

And bear the palm of victory

With yonder blood-wash'd throng:

And though the' alluring things of time
I ne'er on earth may see,

A holier, happier, brighter scene
In heaven awaiteth me!

O, then, it will be beautiful,—
Be beautiful to gaze

On HIM, around whose glorious throne
My ceaseless songs I'll raise:

And "day and night" behold the Lamb

Who bled and died for me!

How beautiful! how beautiful!

To all eternity!

Barnard-Castle.

JAMES KNAPTON, JUN.

London: R. Needham, Printer, Paternoster-Row.