infancy, and a considerable number of the remainder were prepared for death, by repentance of their sins, and faith in the Lord Jesus, then does it appear that God is rapidly replenishing his kingdom with holy and happy subjects—that heaven has already become the most populous portion of his empire. Christ already sees of the travail of his soul, and divides the spoil with the strong. For, mark, the doctrine is not that salvation is confined to the deceased infants of believing parents, but that the children of irreligious parents, of infidels, and of heathen, who die before they are of sufficient age to incur personal guilt, are all saved. The thousands of infants that perished in war, or by pestilence, or famine, went to heaven. Thousands upon thousands, offered as victims upon pagan altars, have been borne by angels to heaven. Those ministering spirits are sent not only to christian but to heathen shores, to bear the immortal spirit of the dying infant to the presence of that Saviour who said, "Suffer little children to come to me." With all the numberless infants who have been thrust into the flaming arms of Moloch, offered up in the groves of the Druids, or left to perish in the Ganges, or to die in the streets of Pekin, it is well.

"It seems to me," says an intelligent American missionary, we need infant choirs in heaven to make up full concert to the angelic symphony. Who will sing like unto them of the manger, and the swaddling-clothes of the Lord of all. These are themes of infinite interest, and the delight and wonder of angels. But oh! they are too tender for the archangel's powerful voice-too gentle for the thundering

notes of cherubim and seraphim. We must have infant choirs in heaven." As James Montgomery wrote

"The harp of heaven

Had lacked its least, but not its meanest string,
Had children not been taught to play upon it,
And sing from feelings all their own, what men
Nor angels can conceive of creatures born
Under the curse, yet from the curse redeemed,
And placed at once beyond the power to fall,-
Safety which men nor angels ever knew,
Till ranks of these, and all of those had fallen."

ON SEEING A DECEASED INFANT.

BY PEABODY, THE AMERICAN POET.

AND this is death! how cold and still,
And yet how lovely it appears;
Too cold to let the gazer smile,
But far too beautiful for tears.
The sparkling eye no more is bright,
The cheek hath lost its rose-like red;
And yet it is with strange delight
I stand and gaze upon the dead.

But when I see the fair wide brow,
Half shaded by the silken hair,
That never looked so fair as now,

When life and health were laughing there,
I wonder not that grief should swell
So wildly upward in the breast,
And that strong passion should rebel
As if it could not be suppressed.

I wonder not that parents' eyes,

In gazing thus, grow dark and dim,
That burning tears and aching sighs
Are blended with the funeral hymn:

The spirit hath an earthly part,

That weeps when earthly pleasures fly;
And Heaven would not condemn the heart
That melts to see an infant die.

And yet why mourn? That deep repose
Shall never more be broke by pain;
Those lips no more in sighs unclose;
Those eyes shall never weep again.
For think not that the blushing flower
Shall wither in the graveyard sod;
'Twas made to gild an angel's bower
Within the paradise of God.

Once more I gaze-and swift and far
The clouds of death in sorrow fly,
I see thee, like a new-born star,

Move up thy pathway in the sky:
The star hath rays serene and bright,
But cold and pale compared with thine;
For thy orb shines with heavenly light,
With beams unfailing and divine.

Then let the burthened heart be free,
The tears of sorrow all be shed,
And parents calmly bend to see

The mournful beauty of the dead;
Thrice happy, that their infant bears
To heaven no stains of wilful sin;
And only breathed life's morning airs
Before its evening storms begin.

Farewell! I shall not soon forget!
Although thy heart hath ceased to beat,
My memory warmly treasures yet
Thy features calm and mildly sweet.

But no; that look is not the last;

We yet may meet where seraphs dwell,

Where love no more deplores the past,

Nor breathes that withering word-"Farewell!"

THE PEREGRINE FALCON.

ENGLISH boys who live in the country know the bird called

a kite. They know too that it is a bird of prey. may have seen it with its wide wings steadily

Often they spread out, not seeming to move, as if it stood in the air. Then quick as lightning it will dart down and seize some poor mouse for

its prey.

Falcons are of the same class, only larger in size; and it is a curious fact that these birds were trained to hunt for birds, hares, and other game used as food by the higher

classes of society, and that this was a fashionable amusement centuries ago. A man of rank, in former ages, scarcely ever went out without his falcon; nor were ladies averse to these sports of the field, but were frequently found in exercises of this unladylike character. So much was the sport, of which we are treating, a mark of distinction, that the likenesses of the nobility, lords and ladies, were generally taken with their favourite falcon perched upon their hand. In the reign of Edward III. it was made felony to put one of these birds to death; and imprisonment for a year was the punishment awarded to any one who stole their eggs.

The plumage of the Peregrine varies at different periods of its life, as its name varies also. When full-grown, the upper parts of the head, neck, and body, are bluish black and lead colour; the wings and tail are of dusky black; the tail is crossed by ash-coloured bars, and tipped by yellowish white. The under parts, except under the throat, are white, barred with brown. It is found on the rocky shores of England and Scotland, and throughout Europe and North America. It builds in inaccessible cliffs. We are told, also, that birds of this species take up their abode every year, from October or November until the spring, upon Westminster Abbey and other churches of the metropolis; and that they make great havoc among the pigeons belonging to the pigeon fanciers of London.

The late Colonel Johnson, of the Rifle Brigade, was ordered to Canada with his battalion, in which he was then a captain; and being very fond of falconry, to which he had devoted much time and expense, he took with him two of his