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meeting was not held until October, 1867. And then, having been at work only a few months, the sum of £1 19s. was raised by us. Yet the interest of our young friends was awakened, and we determined to do something creditable to ourselves and beneficial to the missions. The children set to work in right good earnest, and the money was brought in every month. We held our fourth meeting on Sunday, November 1st, 1868; our esteemed friend, Mr. J. S. Robinson, presiding. The boys had collected the handsome sum of £2 4s. 51d.; and the girls, £2 3s. 34d.; the collection at the meeting, 14s. 3d.; making a total of £5 2s. This, for a school numbering a hundred scholars, we think is very creditable. We had very interesting addresses from the chairman and Mr. P. J. Smith, with a dialogue and other pieces recited by the scholars. Appropriate hymns were also sung by the scholars, and we had the chapel well filled. It was one of the most interesting meetings we ever had. We intend, if spared, to try to do even better next year.-Aмos HEATH.

EDWARD WHITEHOUSE,

OF NETHERTON.

Biography.

EDWARD WHITEHOUSE, son of William and Elizabeth Whitehouse, was born April 14th, 1853. He attended our Sabbath-school about nine years, during which time the labours of the teachers were not in vain. The good seed of the kingdom sown in his heart brought forth fruit to the praise and glory of God. The Bible, the best of books, was his companion. When left at home hy his parents to take care of the house, they generally found him on their return reading thatWord which was able to make him wise unto salvation.

Monday, August 24th, was a high day in Netherton, for then William Woodall Smith, son of William Smith, Esq., of Netherton, came to age. To celebrate the event he gave a treat to all the Sabbath-schools in

He

Netherton, numbering about
2,100 children and 362 teachers.
All walked in procession through
the neighbourhood. Edward
joined in the procession.
went home, was taken ill on
Saturday, the 29th of August,
and died on the 31st. A number
of teachers and scholars from our
school attended the funeral.

His father had often advised him to remember his Creator in the days of his youth. He felt that he was a sinner and needed a Saviour, and therefore, when he was taken ill, his prayer was, "Lord Jesus, convert my soul." The Lord heard and answered his prayer. His father explained to him the nature of faith, and he was led to believe to the saving of his soul.

On Thursday, 27th August, he was asked by a friend, Mrs. Darby, if he loved the Lord. His reply was, "Oh, yes;" and then she encouraged him to look to the

EDWARD WHITEHOUSE.

Lord Jesus Christ. After she had engaged in prayer, he said that he was very happy, and had no fear of death. From that time, though at times in great pain, he was fully resigned to the will of God. To his mother, who was weeping by his bedside, he said,

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Mother, do not cry. I should like to live a little longer, but I do not fear death. I shall soon be in heaven."

On the morning of Friday, 28th, I went to see him. He was calm and composed. I spoke to him about Jesus and about heaven, and then prayed and exhorted him to look to Jesus, the children's Friend. About one o'clock his father said, "My lad, I hope you love the Saviour." He replied, "Yes, father

"I have seen him on the tree;
I the chief of sinners am,
But Jesus died for me.'

During the afternoon he called his mother to him, kissed her, and said, "I am going home to glory, and I want you to meet me there." Then he called his brothers and little sister Mary to him, and told them to be good children, and meet him in heaven. To a friend who asked him if he was still happy, he said, "Oh, yes; I shall soon be in heaven. Pray for me-pray that my pain may cease a little." After prayer he spoke of his acceptance with God, and said that he could trust Christ as his only Refuge. To a young female who went to see him, he said, "Will you promise me to try to meet me in heaven?" She replied, "Yes;" and then he rose up in bed and said, “I want you all to meet me there. In heaven there will be no more pain." In the evening, about seven o'clock, I went again to see him, and found him in a

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happy state of mind. He was singing that beautiful hymnn, "My Jesus, I love thee." His strength would not allow him to finish the hymn, but his father sang it for him. He joined in at times, as well as he could. In a short time after, I asked him if he was sure of going to heaven. With a voice full and clear, he said "Yes, because Jesus Christ died for me." He then sang

"On Jordan's stormy bank I stand, And cast a wishful eye."

About ten o'clock in the evening his sight began to fail, and he asked what it meant. A friend replied, "It is death approaching." "Oh, then," said he, "I shall soon be in heaven." Afterwards he shook hands with his grandfather Richards and his grandmother Whitehouse, hoping they would meet him in heaven. A short time after he inquired what time it was. He was told between ten and eleven o'clock. He then said, "I shall be in heaven in the morning." During the night, he told them that were with him that he was passing through the dark valley and shadow of death; but he exclaimed, with all his strength, "I fear no evil. Christ is with me; his rod and staff they comfort me." In this happy frame of mind he continued until about half-past two o'clock on Saturday morning, when, released from the shackles of mortality, his blood-bought spirit entered that world where sighing is unknown.

On Sunday, Oct. 11th, 1868, a sermon was preached to the young in St. John's Chapel, Netherton, improving his death, by the writer. DAVID PARRY. Netherton.

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Our Children's Portion.

WINTER.

"Sure Winter reign'd within that cavern drear,
Array'd in frozen state and kingly gear!

From grey-crag dome keen icicles hung down;
And near its inland mouth, o'er frozen sands,

Were drifted wreaths of purest snow;

While tangled wrack of sea-weed, green and brown,
Trail'd o'er the rocky floor in elfin bands,

There late upborne by ocean flow.

Slow down from humid crags the sea ooze falls,

And gathering, flow'd o'er weed, and wrack, and shell,

Till rest it found in sea-pools, cold and deep.

Afar off, seen through craggy, seaward slit,

A wintry sky, all cold and grey,

Sank downwards on the ocean's surge to sleep;
A light tow'r, built on distant headland, lit
The glooms that night threw o'er pale day!"

WINTER again holds stern sway over the land, and to howling blast,
and beating surge, and whirling snow-storm, adds a wild and restless
grandeur.
Full of hidden and revealed beauty is this season, upon
which we, alas! too often look with impatience. Surely we ought to
accept it as a type of our own seasons of trial and care, when there
is darkness and gloom about our path, and we are being tried, that
our faith may be tested, and through affliction, strength and vigour be
added to our souls. It is God's great wisdom that has decreed that
the earth shall have its season of rest, that nature shall outwardly
slumber, whilst the great inward work of restoration is going on.
For the folly of man might task the earth to yield its abundance, and
famine and misery ensue, if God had not placed on the impoverished
earth the seals of his power, and compelled man to desist from his
labours.

How interesting are the landscapes of winter, with their gloom and grandeur of grey skies, wild storm clouds, and red sunsets to frame the distant horizon in weird and rare beauty! How distinctly the dark network of interlacing twigs and branches of trees and bushes show against the grey sky, and how graceful their beauty when loaded with fleecy snow or white frost! How wild is the turgid swell and surge of the river rolling between wild and frozen banks, where wind-bleached clumps of reeds shiver and bow before the keen and sweeping blast! How desolate are the wind-swept moors and plains, white and uneven with snowy sheet and drift! How comfortable the farm-houses look, guarded with hedges, skeleton orchards, and grey, portly stacks of grain! How solemn is the caw of the rook, and how pleasing the bold industry of the blackbirds, thrushes, and robins, as they hop and peer, and peck about the roots of the hedgerows!

But winter has its glooms as well as its bright scenes: comfortless is the splashing and penetrating mixture of snow, mud, and rain, when a wet thaw occurs; and the biting and wind-driven mixtures of

A TOUCHING INCIDENT.

23

rain and hail which sometimes fill the air, and pelt the traveller, might even satisfy that bard of northern blasts, the Rev. Mr. Kingsley. Such are some of the distinguishing phases of the year's death, and of its successor's birth; and meet it seems that Nature, which measures time, should, in its season of refreshing, close one chapter of 'Time's round, and commence another. E. LAMPLOUGH.

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"Ah," said the old lady the next morning, you were a little home sick last night, my dear."

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Oh, no, grandmother," Mabel replied; "I could never be homesick here."

It was just so the next night, and the next. At length grandmother thought, as the child seemed troubled, that she would sit in the next room until she went to sleep. Presently, although Mabel was tucked up, she began to rustle the quilt, and shake her pillow, and her grandmother heard a little sob, so she went to her and said

"Mabel, my child, you have a thorn in your pillow: what is it ?"

Then the little girl hid her face and began to cry aloud. Her

grandmother

was very much troubled. At length Mabel answered

"Oh, grandmother, when I am alone here, I cannot forget how I said, I won't, mother,' and I cannot unsay it; and mother is good, and loves me so much, and -I was so naughty."

And the tears streamed afresh down the child's cheeks. Here, then, was the thorn in her pillow, and she could not withdraw it. And so it will be, by-and-by, with the little boy who is selfish and unkind at home. When he is away among strangers, he will think of the home of his childhood, and the recollection of some unkind word or action will be a thorn in his pillow when he retires at night. And the little girl who does not care to help her mother now, will find a thorn in her pillow when that mother sleeps in the grave.

A TOUCHING INCIDENT. A SPEAKER at a recent Sunday School Conference related an incident of a little girl, seven years of age, who having been taken sick, was carried to a hospital to die.

"The last night," said the speaker, "nothing was heard to break the silence but the ticking of the great clock in the hall as the pendulum swung backward and forward. Then it would strike the hour-eleven, twelve, one o'clock-when there came from the couch of the little sufferer a

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OLD JORL AND THE JAGUAR.

voice of sweet melody. It was one verse of a Sunday-school hymn :

'Jesus, the name to sinners dear,
The name to sinners given;
It scatters all their guilty fear,

It turns their hell to heaven.'

Then all was silent again, and nothing was heard but the ticking of the great clock in the hall, until she broke out after a while in another verse:

'Happy, if with my last breath

I may but gasp his name;
Preach him to all, and cry in death,
Behold, behold the Lamb!'

"The nurse hastened to the bedside of the little sufferer, but she was too late. The angels had been there before her, and taken away that little Sunday-school girl, from beholding the Lamb on earth, to his bosom in the sanctuary above."

OLD JORL AND THE JAGUAR,

THE AMERICAN TIGER.

"I REACHED the carob-tree," said old Jorl, "in ample time, for the jaguar was still a long distance off, as I could tell by his roars. The ground was so uneven that I could not see him, but I heard him often enough.

"The tree was tall and slim; therein lay its value. There was only a nest of branches away up at the top, and none but a trained climber could ever have got up. But climbing is a part of my trade. I went up into that tree lively, as I can tell you. It was far from a strong tree, and my climbing it made it shake and sway; but it was of tough wood, and I managed to get into the top.

"Did you ever see a bird light on a hollyhock stalk? Then if you have, you know how the stalk will sway and quiver under the

bird's weight. Well, what that bird was to that hollyhock I was to that carob-tree. It swayed and shook under my weight just like that hollyhock under that bird. But I knew the tree was tough, and I didn't feel afraid; my thoughts were on something else very much more dangerous.

"Yonder the jaguar came, bounding along on my track, smelling the ground every now and then, like a pointer dog, and then setting up that appalling roar that no living man can hear without his flesh creeping.

He

"When he had got within about fifty rods of the tree he seemed to lose the track. He got off to one side and paused, uncertain. put his nose to the ground, sniffing eagerly, and dashing around at last in a fierce fury of rage, at having lost my trail. He lashed his body with his long tail; he bounded about; he rent the air with his screams of anger; and altogether he would have been a splendid sight to look at, if I could have felt safe.

"He was a magnificent specimen of his kind-about two feet and a half high, and six feet long without measuring his tail; his hide a fierce yellow, spotted all over with dark rings. So much I could see while he was quite a way off.

"At last he got the trail again, and being by this time perfectly furious, he set up a wild screech that made me shiver.

"A minute more, and he saw

me.

"The next instant he sprung forward and grabbed the tree with his huge paws, and was standing on his hind legs, staring at me with his fierce, red eyes. The little tree trembled under the beast's weight.

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