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this town; and the inhabitants are remarkable for their thrifty and tidy habits. John could not understand the language that the people spoke, so he felt that he was indeed in a strange land.

All being ready for their return, John and the dog went on board again for their homeward voyage; and he was not sorry, for he missed his mother's care for him and began to feel rather dull and lonely. One day as the little vessel was skimming through the waters, a storm came on; the heavens became dark with black and angry clouds, the rain fell in torrents, and the wind, which had been gradually rising, became tempestuous, and tossed the boat from side to side, threatening every moment to ingulph her in the abyss of waters. The thunder rolled and vivid lightnings flashed. John crept down below and sat crying in great terror, wishing he had never asked his father to let him go with him.

At length, though the rain yet fell in torrents, the violence of the storm abated; and, wearied with crying, John fell asleep. In the morning all traces of the storm had passed away. The vessel now sailed very slowly during the day ; but when night came on, they crowded all sail and tried to reach their landing-place. Suddenly they heard the report of a gun from their companions on shore, warning them of danger; and soon after they dimly discerned through the darkness one of the Government cutters making all sail for them. Turning the helm they stood out to sea again; but it was too late, for the cutter was too close and too fast sailing to allow them to escape. With anxious faces the men crowded

together to decide on what they must do. At last they decided to fight. John's father took him down below, and charged him to remain quiet until he fetched him up again. Soon a voice was heard through a speaking trumpet sum · moning them to surrender, but the smugglers only replied by firing a gun in defiance, and one of the officers in the cutter fell. Both sides now prepared themselves for the worst. More shots were exchanged, and several more fell. The cutter then drew closer in order to board the smuggler's vessel. In the meantime, John had heard the reports of the guns and the groans of the wounded, and, too terrified to remain below alone, he crept slowly up the steps on to the deck. Seeing his father, he made his way to him, but when he had got half way, a bullet from the cutter struck him in the chest, and he fell on the deck with the blood pouring from his wound. His father saw him, and though he was a rough and wicked man, he felt deeply to see his own little boy in such a condition. John gave his father one look, so sorrowful and sad, and then his eyes closed in death! Poor John!

Finding it vain to resist any longer, the smugglers threw down their arms and were made prisoners. They were landed and sent to prison, and their boat and its cargo were forfeited to the crown. At length their trial came.

One by one they were arraigned and convicted before the judge, who passed sentence of transportation upon them. John's father was condemned for life, and bitter was the parting between him and his wife. The next Sunday, the dead body of poor John was borne to the grave and buried under an old yew

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tree in the little graveyard of N. and his

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mother returned home with a desolate heart.

The smugglers were all sent off to their distant place of exile. There, John's father thought of his past life, how foolhardy and wicked he had been, and blamed himself as the cause of the death of his poor lad. Then he thought that he should soon have to be arraigned before another judge, and be transported to another place far more dreadful than even that where he then was. At length one of the convicts lent him a bible, and from reading the New Testament he found out the wonderful way by which even such a transgressor as he had been might be forgiven of God. With all his heart he sought and found forgiveness and salvation, through faith in the sufferings and death of Jesns Christ, whose blood cleanseth us from all sin ; and when he died he cherished a humble hope that he might yet meet John again in a better world.

Should you not learn from this to pity all those boys who have wicked fathers, and who bring up their children in their own wicked ways? If poor John's father had been a good man, he never would have gone or taken John with him. Ever be thankful if you have parents who fear God and desire to see you walking in the ways of piety and peace.

And does not this little narrative teach us how true are those words of holy writ?—“The wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ

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our Lord.

THE NATIVITY OF THE SAVIOUR -IN MEMORY OF A SISTER.

THE NATIVITY OF THE SAVIOUR.

A STAR appeared, and peaceful threw

Around its holy ray;
It caught the faithful Magi's view,

It led the wondrous way,
From far-famed Persia's smiling bowers,
Fair land of beauty, fruits, and flowers.
Each heart throughout the gazing throng,

What anxious gladness fills,
While slowly moved that star along,

O'er Judah's sacred hills,
And softly fixed its mellow light
On distant Bethlehem's joyful night.
There, unknown to rich and great,
In the perfumed halls of state,
Where the strains of music tender,
Rise and fall 'mid scenes of splendour-
The Prince of Peace, so young, so fair,

In lowly state was sleeping;
While near, with kind parental care,

His mother watch was keeping;
The Magi viewed the bless'd of Heaven,

Their joy was full—their gifts were given.
Let the sound of the sweet harp of Judah arise!
Let the hymns of the Gentiles ascend to the skies!

IN MEMORY OF A SISTER.

FAIR prison of earth's fairest clay!

Thy chains are burst, thy bars are broken,
And I with mingled grief survey

Each silent mark, each icy token.
Thy cheek is fixed, thy brow is bare,

Thy lips are pale, thine eye is faded;

Yet never seemed thy face so fair,

Though bower'd in locks thy fancy braided.

Pleasure and health attract the view,

Life lights the eye, and gives it splendour: But death can shed a softer hue,

A smile more sweet, a grace more tender.

And while upon thy face I gaze,

Where once the flush of pleasure lighten'd, My memory turns to other days,

And pictures hours that thou hast brighten'd.

Perchance the smile I loved to trace,

May give one day a better greeting, And beam upon thy brother's face,

A welcome to a deathless meeting. And thou, sweet spirit! now set free,

Afar from all that love encumbers, I must, must weep-yet envy thee,

Thy place among the ransom'd numbers.

I love thee-yes, bear witness here

Thou heart, that felt so hard to sever; I love thee still in death more dear;

Parted awhile, but not for ever!

Thy grief, thy bitterness is o'er,

Pardon'd thy sin, and heal'd thy sorrow; And not one cloud shall hover more,

Across thy everlasting morrow.

Then far be grief, I will not mourn;

Why should I view thy gain with sadness? I felt a pang when thou wast torn,

But love hath melted it to gladness.

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