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parents and friends. Persons coming here, should have a good errand, and be ready for all changes, so that if they perish on the voyage, they may be ready for a better world.

Your last Missionary, with his wife and children, (the Rev. M. W. Braduey,) with myself and Mrs. T., are well. We could find work for four or five more. I will not say more at preseut, but I intend soon to write another letter, about the country, and the mission. I am, my dear young folks,

Your's affectionately,

J. TOWNSEND. King William Street, Collingwood,

Melbourne, 1st. August, 1856.

DISOBEDIENCE. Little bright-faced Willie kissed his mother at the front gate, promised her sincerely that he would go directly to school, be kind to his schoolmates, obey his teacher, and try to be a good boy.

There he goes, running down the green lane, stopping to pluck roses, violets, and other pretty wayside flowers. Ah! he has caught a butterfly; he holds it with such a firm grasp that it is almost dead. Now he sits down under the shades of the noble old oak, with a beautiful stream of water rolling over the white pebbles and dancing in the sunbeams at his feet.

A little robin red-breast hops up close to Willie, and asks him, in his musical strain, Why he has suffered this fairy spot to tempt him ? Why not obey his mother's last wishes—to go quickly to school ?”

“O little bird, I am going to spend this pretty day with you on the green grass, among these sweet flowers, and look at the cool laughing brook as it runs past me, so clear, so beautiful. I am sure I can study a great deal more here, than if I had gone to the dusty, warm schoolhouse, and have a cross teacher watching me all the time. I am like you, little bird ; I like myn freedom.”

Willie opened his book and commenced studying. Little robin flies up on a branch, and looks down upon the little disobedient boy, and begins singing to him again. “You think, little boy, that you have done right by staying here; that this is a scene of love, beauty, goodness, and purity; but be careful, your little heart is your tempter; it is becoming wicked, it has led you to one disobedient act, and can very easily lead you to another; the little spirit called conscience, which has followed you, has become weak, and unless you stop and listen to its good advice, it will be entirely lost by the loud beating of your wicked heart."

Little Willie raised his head, “Go away, naughty bird ; you make me tired of my books; make me feel as if I ought to have gone to school; go away and be still, for I am determined to spend the day here. I wonder if | there are any fish in the creek; but I have no net or line, so I could not catch any if there were. O, it would be so nice to take a bathe, and see if I cannot learn to swim ; little boys never learn if they never try.”

Willie has left his grassy couch, and is making hasty preparation to plunge into the glassy stream. There he goes; now on the surface. O, he has gone entirely from our view; he rises again, the current is fast taking him down the stream. He lifts his little white arms | above the water-cries for help; and his last words are, “My mother! my mother! why did I disobey you?" He then sank to rise no more.

My little friends, be careful ; your first act of disobedience may lead you to a more dreadful end than little Willie's. You may not rest as he did, quietly under the peaceful stream; but it may hurry you to prison, from there to the gallows; may make you a raving maniac; leave you to die as an exile on a friendless shore; or make you lower than the brute creation, and die in a gutter, without God or a heaven to expect. To such ends as these, my little friends, your first acts of disobedience may lead you.

So be watchful and beware.

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MEMOIR OF SARAH BARLOW, OF LANCASHIRE.

Sarah Barlow was born at Bury, Lancashire, on the 23rd of May, 1845: her parents, John and Susannah Barlow; the former has been a member of the Wesleyan Association for some years, and his wife, though not a member, has always maintained a good moral character. They have made it their study to train up their children to attend God's house, and the Sunday-school. Sarah, the subject of the present short Memoir, in connexion with their other children was taken by the hand to the Wesleyan Association Sundayschool, Bury, at an early age: here she was put to the class best suited to her capacity, but her disposition for learning soon enabled her to advance in reading, so that when the Secretary came round to examine the scholars, Sarah's behaviour and attention to her book, soon raised her to the Bible Class. Here she was received by her teachers with kindness, and while she read, her teachers endeavoured to impress upon her mind the important truths of the Bible. Here Sarah learnt “ all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” (Rom. iii. 23.) That “the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.” (Jer. xvi. 9.) That heart must be renewed, and that she must become a new creature in Christ Jesus, and that " withou: holiness no man can see the Lord.” (Heb. xii. 14.) God's Holy Spirit rendered the labours of the teachers, and the sermons that she listened to, useful to her, and early in the last year, several of the scholars were invited to come and seek the Lord in the appointed means of grace, and were requested to meet in class ; Sarah opened her heart to the invitation, and promised to come at the hour appointed. Her promise in this respect was made good, and she met with those that fear God and speak often one with another. She seemed to receive the advice given her by her leader in a spirit of childlike simplicity. But when the week-night writing-class was opened in the latter end of the summer, she was at a loss what to do in this matter, as she wished to learn to write and attend her class as well. At this time she mentioned to her father what she should do in the matter, as the writing-class was held on the same evening as the class-meeting. Her father not wishing to influence her in any way, she mildly replied, that she could devote half of her Thursday nights, to each.

One Thursday night, towards the latter end of last summer, one of the teachers had some conversation with her on the subject of religion, and he afterwards remarked, that she was mentally above her years, that it was rare to meet with one so young, whose experience so resembled that of an advanced Christian.

The seeds of the kingdom of God were scattered abroad where Sarah's lot was cast, and here some of them were deposited, took root, sprung up, and were manifested in her short life. Her natural disposition was mild and gentle, her love for truth was exemplified in her conversation about anything Her father states, that he never had any cause to suspect her of ever telling a wilful untruth. She was very much attached to the Sunday-school; her regularity and punctuality classed her among its best attendants. “But life so soon is gone."—the last time she should ever visit the school, or the chapel, or her class-meeting, soon arrived. She was seized with scarlet fever, her patience and resignation were manifest during her affliction ; means were used in order to her recovery, but her days were numbered, she was going the way of all the earth. The scarlet fever was

succeeded by rheumatic fever, her head was so affected as almost to deprive her of hearing; this made it difficult for her friends to converse with her. She seemed conscious of her approaching end, she requested her Bible to be brought, and attempted to read, but sickness prevented her from reading much of the great and precious promises contained therein, but she desired it to remain with her. She enjoyed sweet intercourse with her Maker, who is found of them that seek him early. She was often heard to pray; and a short time before she died, she prayed earnestly for her parents, the members of the family, and companions, and concluded with the Apostolic benediction, and shortly aftef fell asleep in the arms of Jesus, who says, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, fur of such is the kingdom of beaven.” She died on the 22nd of October, 1855, in the eleventh year of her age.

The Juvenile reader is by her early removal again reminded that life is short, and that “we know not what a day may bring forth:” and for the encouragement of the youngest we say in conclusion,

“A flower, when offered in the bud,
Is no vain sacriffce,"

CURIOUS PASTIME OF A SEA-BEAR. We pushed on for Tongue Point, and there pitched. More bears. I was busy on the Point with the instrument, watching an object, when I noticed a lady and her cub amusing themselves, as I imagined, at a game of romps, but the old lady was evidently the more excited. Possibly no such opportunity has before been afforded to auy natnralist of witnessing quietly the bumours or habits of these animals. At first the motions of the mother appeared to me as ridiculously absurd, or as if she was teaching her cub to perform a somersault, or something nearly approaching it: but the cub evinced no interest, no participation in the sport; indeed, moved off and lay down, apparently to sleep. The antics, too, of the mother were

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