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waiting. She went back to the nursery, where Mamma was already sitting, with Lulie on her knee, prepared for the happy ten minutes' talk which the children always loved so well. But to-night Maggie did not enjoy it much. The broken doll had been put carefully away, but her thoughts were with it still.

Side by side they knelt, the brother and sister, to offer their evening prayer. Sweet and clear rose the little reverent voices, as they repeated together—'Our Father which art in heaven ;' but Maggie's tones sunk almost to a whisper when she came to the words, 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us.' And then they kissed one another, as usual, and again Lulie's arms pressed tightly round his sister's neck; but her's was not a kiss of peace.

Maggie did not sleep soon that night. She tossed restlessly about; for the quiet voice had begun to be very troublesome again, and now she could not help listening to it. Once she was half inclined to get up and creep to her brother's crib in the next room; but it was very dark, and after all, she thought, Lulie will be asleep. So she lay still, and at last fell asleep herself, though not before she had started up more than once, thinking she heard Lulie say, “Dear Maggie, kiss and be friends.'

(To be continued.)

THE SWALLOW.
When cherry blossoms brighten

Like silver on the bough,
And open daisies whiten

The lawn with summer snow;
When from the lilac blowing,

Warm fragrance floats along,
And the skies are bluer growing,

And the air more full of song ;

The children mark a light wing dart

Across the sunny plain,
And we hear them cry with voice of joy,

• The swallow's come again !'

Where tender young leaves quiver,

And drop amid their play
Small sheaths that down the river

In brightness float away;
Where merry May-flies dancing

By myriads o'er the stream, In purple twilight glancing,

Are hovering like a dream ;-
A wing of jet is seen to fret

The surface crystal clear,
And the children say right merrily,

O swallow, welcome here!'

Yes, swallow, welcome hither!

Thou bearest not alone
Good news of summer weather,

And days of winter gone;
But thy coming here doth show us

How watchful is the care
Of the God who led thee to us,

Far wandering through the air:
And we know that He who o'er the sea

Hath been the swallow's guide,
Will much more hear His children dear,
And for their wants provide.

M. A. S. M.

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C

HINA at last! The Chinese city of Amoy,

-small strange-like houses, narrow streets, with fruit-stalls at the corners, and Chinese men, women, and children sauntering about;

bleak hills surround it, and give a somewhat dreary appearance to the whole scene. But yonder sparkle the blue waters of the sea. And close on it are the Mission Buildings—large airy dwellings, with broad verandahs, and over-canopied with bamboos and orange trees.

What odd-looking boats, or junks, as they are called, we see ! Whole lines of them lie in the harbour, with their high sides and curiously shaped sterns. Look at that small boat into which two gentlemen are entering; one of the two is looking round, and a glance tells you that you have gained a peep at David Sandeman in China. He holds a packet of tracts in his hand, which he is distributing to some English sailors who are near him.

For several months he has been at Amoy, labouring in the cause of the Master he loves; gladdening by his helpful words and holy life his brother missionaries, and all with whom he came in contact; taking sweet counsel with those who loved the Lord, and aiding the mission work in many ways. Busily did he study the Chinese language,—the strange letters of which some of my readers may have seen,-and now, to his great joy, he can speak of Jesus, in their own language, to these poor ignorant ones.

It rejoiced him to find many of the Chinese converts full of zeal, and anxious to do all they could to tell others about Jesus. One day, he tells us, he was out in a boat with a Chinese Christian, and a rower who was an idolater. At once the Chinese Christian began speaking to the idolater about Jesus, telling him how useless it was to worship pieces of wood. When they landed, Mr Sandeman saw some curious-like thing in the Christian's hand, and asked what it was. And what, dear readers, do you think it was? The boatman's idol, which he had given up, after hearing the Christian's words about Jesus !

The peep we have given you of Mr Sandeman in China, is on the occasion of his going along with another missionary on a preaching tour to some neighbouring villages, where many Chinese had become followers of Christ. Wherever they stopped, the people came to meet them with great joy, and loved to hear the gospel. But these were only a few bright spots in the midst of darkness; and Mr Sandeman's whole soul longed to see multitudes around brought to the feet of Jesus. “Pray and plead,'

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he writes home, 'for the coming of Christ's kingdom in this vast empire.'

Only one year and a half had he laboured, when cholera broke out in Amoy. From one house to another Mr Sandeman went, comforting and helping; addressing to some the warning, 'Be ye also ready; saying to one he met, “We can't tell which of us may be next; but none of us liveth to himself, and no one dieth to himself. Whether we live, we live unto the Lord ; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord.' In one house, he finds a mother weeping over a dead child; he prays with her, speaks words of sympathy, and kindly plaits a wreath of flowers to lay on the little coffin.

Ere many days he too was laid low; and it soon became evident, the hours of the much-loved zealous missionary were numbered. Loving friends were with him, and to him all was peace. Jesus, whom he loved so much, was very near him then. “The blood of Jesus cleanseth from all sin,' said a friend. 'I know it doesI know it does,' was the quick reply. Christ always

• has been exceedingly precious, from the first moment I knew Him till now,' was his declaration. 'Oh the height and depth, and length and breadth of the love of Jesus!' "Oh, pray--pray earnestly for China and its perishing millions,' were amongst his last words. Then, after loving messages to dear ones at home, he repeated the lines of a favourite hymn

“I would be where Jesus waits me,

I would be where Jesus is, -
All too long have we been parted;

Let my spirit speed to His !' And shortly after, the soul of David Sandeman entered into the King's palace,' with joy and rejoicing,—his earthly work done,-to see the face of Him, whom having not seen he loved.' His body rests in a small island opposite Amoy. The inscription on his tombstone tells his name and date of his death, and age, - July 31st, 1858; aged 32, and below, the words, ‘Even so come, Lord Jesus.' A

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