upon it, yet the eye is never tired with looking upon its dazzling brightness; all who enter there, cast their golden crowns before the mighty Prince, who sits upon his glorious throne; and none who enter, ever wish to retire from within its walls. “There is no night there," the music of that Palace is far sweeter than any music which mortal cars have ever listened to; the voices of the singers are clear and sweet, and when they mingle in with the strains of the harps of gold, the walls re-echo back the sweet harmonies of sound. The people, who throng this place, are from the East and the West, the North and the South; and, O what a happy train of youthful souls will be gathered there, from every clime of earth! Their robes are all of purest white; and as they enter in the pearly gates, they sing the praises of Him that sitteth on the throne of glory; and there they abide for ever. This beautiful place," the Palace of Angels and of God." There is but one way to it, but one narrow path which leads to this glorious abode; no price of gold can gain admittance there; nor any act of penance; yet the way is easy of access, and it is open to all; to the prince, the peasant, the humble cottager, and the Sundayschool scholar. The Great Builder of this Palace says, "I am the way." "In my Father's house are many mansions, I go to prepare you a place, that where I am, there you may be also." Many have heard, read, and thought about heaven; many have even made preparations for the journey, but have grown weary by the way; some have even got up to the very door, and have knocked, and cried with a loud voice "Lord, Lord, open unto us!" but having disregarded the instructions which the Prince of Life has laid down in his great law book; the Prince has said "Depart from me, for I never knew you." Let the readers take care and not forget the commands of our Lord and Saviour; then, they shall hear his welcome voice, saying, "Come ye blessed children of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world,” and dwell in this Palace of Angels for ever and ever.

Darlington.

J. HORSLEY.

THE EFFECT OF CHARCOAL ON FLOWERS.

THE following extract cannot fail to be interesting to the botanist and the chemist, as well as to every lady who has a rose-bush in her garden, or a flower-pot in her parlour. It is from the Paris "Horticultural Review," translated by Judge Meigs, of New York, for the Farmers' Club of the American Institute. The experiments described were made by Robert Beraud, who says: :

"About a year ago, I made a bargain for a rose-bush of magnificent growth, and full of buds. I waited for them to blow, and expected roses worthy of such a noble plant, and of the praises bestowed upon it by the vendor. At length, when it bloomed, all my hopes were blasted. The flowers were of a faded colour, and I discovered that I had only a middling multiflora; stale enough. 1, therefore, resolved to sacrifice it to some experiments which I had in view. My attention had been captivated with the effects of charcoal, as stated in some English publication. I then covered the earth in the pot, in which my rose-bush was, about half-an-inch deep, with pulverized charcoal. Some days after, I was astonished to see the roses which bloomed, of as fine lively rose-colour as I could wish! I determined to repeat the experiment; and, therefore, when the rosebush had done flowering, I took off all the charcoal, and put fresh earth about the roots. You may conceive that I waited for the next spring impatiently, to see the result of this experiment. When it bloomed, the roses were, as at first, pale and discoloured; but by applying the charcoal, as before, the roses soon resumed their rosy red colour. I tried the powdered charcoal likewise, in large quantities, upon my petunias, and found that both the white and the violet flowers were equally sensible to its action. It always gave great vigour to the red or violet colours of the flowers, and the white petunias became veined with red or violet tints; the violets became covered with irregular spots, of an almost black tint. Many persons

who admire them, thought that they were new varieties from the seed. Yellow flowers are (as I have proved) insensible to the influence of the charcoal."

THE DYING MOTHER AND HER BOY.

A GENTLEMAN was not long since called upon to visit a dying female. On entering the humble cottage where she resided, he heard, in an adjoining room, an infant voice. He listened, and found it was the child of the poor dying woman engaged in prayer.

"O Lord, bless my poor mother," said the little boy, "and prepare her to die. O God, I thank thee that I have been sent to a Sabbath-school, and there have been taught to read my Bible, and there learned, that 'when my father and mother forsake me, thou wilt take me up.' This comforts me now that my poor mother is going to leave; may it comfort her, and may she go to heaven, and may I go there too, and pity my poor dear mother, and help me to say, Thy will be done."

He ceased, and the visitor opening the door approached the bedside of this poor woman.

"Your child has been praying with you?"

"Yes," said she, making an effort to rise, "he is a dear child. Thank God, he has been sent to a Sunday-school. I cannot read myself, but he has read that blessed book, the Bible, to me, and I hope I have reason to bless God for it. Yes, I have heard from him that I am a sinner; I heard from him of Jesus Christ; and I do, as a poor sinner, put my trust in him; I hope he has forgiven me. I am going to die, but I am not afraid; my dear child has been the means of saving my soul. O, how thankful I am, that he was sent to a Sunday-school."

THE COLOURED GLASS.

A LITTLE fellow came running into the house exclaiming, "O sister Mary, I've such a pretty thing. It's a piece of glass, and it's all red. When I look through it everything looks red, too-the trees, houses, green grass, and your face, and even your blue eyes."

"Yes, John,” replied Mary, "it is very beautiful, and let me show you that you can learn a useful lesson from this pretty thing. You remember the other day you thought everybody was cross to you. You said father, mother and I, were all the time finding fault with you. Now you were like this piece of glass-because it is red. You were

cross, so you thought everybody around you was cross too. But when you get up in the morning in a good humour, loving and helping everybody, they too will seem kind and loving toward you. Now, remember, brother, and always be what you wish others to be-kind, gentle, loving; and they, seen through this beautiful colour of your disposition, will seem more beautiful than ever."

I SAW A CHILD.

I saw a child with summer roses playing,
I mark'd her beautiful and clear blue eye;
No thought of care, no sign of grief betraying—
Alas, and wherefore, did I heave a sigh?

I felt how soon our days of pleasure leave us,
How soon the wrinkle mars the fairest brow;
That rosy cheeks but bitterly deceive us,
And the fell tyrant layeth all things low.

But O, I thought again-if but relying

On that sweet promise of an after rest;
We need not shrink from the idea of dying,
Since Christ lives, so may we,-for ever blest.

Hence let the young in early days receive him,
Commit their spirits to his righteous care;
Gladly obey him, love him, and believe him,
And glory everlasting shall they share.

L. M. Thornton, author of "Sacred Poems."

ON PROFANE SWEARING.

Or all the fools with which our nation's curst,
Down sinks the swearer far beneath the worst ;
Search earth and hell for fools of every kind,
In highest class you will the swearer find.

When the grand injured Ruler of the skies
Descends to judge the foolish and the wise,
Then fool of fools the swearer will be found,
And vengeance will his guilty head surround.

But if no judgment, nor no Deity,

Yet, where are fools so great, as swearers be;
To call on God to damn, by him to swear—
When there's no God, nor yet a hell to fear?

Is folly's proof; for none on wisdom's list,
Will call, and swear, by that which don't exist.
But if a God, 'tis madness in extreme,

To tempt his ire, and yet of mercy dream.

Think, O ye fools, insulted Majesty
Will pass unnoticed your blasphemies by?
Be not deceived, for wrath on such will fall;
'Tis just to damn, who for damnation call.
Liverpool.

From an old and scarce book.