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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 after fell asleep in the arms of Jesus, who says, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." 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 moiher were


too distant from the cub to prove instructive. I wil endeavour to convey my impression of the exhibition, as viewed through the telescope at a distance of a quarter of a mile, as well as the object on which she appeared intent. It must first be borne in mind that a bear of such dimensions as that before me would weigh about six and a-half or seven hundred weight. The object apparently in vieir was to break a hole in the ice. In order to affect this, the claws were first put into requisition, and, as nimbly and gracefully as a dog, did the huge creature tear vp and scatter snow and ice to the winds: having removed, as she imagined, sufficient, she then appeared to estimate her distance, calculate on her leap, and in the effort came down perpendicular on her fore-paws over the spot where she had scratched. Something she imagined had been effected. She continued to repeat this scratching and amusing mode of pounding until at length she appeared satisfied, when she assumed an attitude of "dead point," with fore-paw raised, and remained for some time immovable. The question occurred to me, “Is this a mode, by concussion and making a hole, of seducing a seal within gripe ?" for I have repeatedly noticed, that, when we cut for tide-pole, fire-hole, etc., ihese inquisitive animals will show themselves. This, however, I leave for others to verify.—Sir E. Belcher.

THE BLIND GIRL AND THE SUNBEAM. Opposite us (says a traveller) were seated a family of four, consisting of a man and his wife and two childrena boy and a girl-twins, and totally blind. Two lovelier children we never saw. The family were from the South. A southern sun had tinged each cheek, a rich olive complexion, relieved by a beautiful bloom upon the children's countenances. The boy was lightly built, had finely chiselled features, and hair of dark brown, clustering in rich curls around his neck. The girl was yet more slender, as fragile as a leaf, and of the most spiritualized beauty,

Her habit was dark. Her hair was as black as night, its heavy, glossy tresses confined by a golden band, which glittered brightly upon the dark back ground. They both seemed happy, conversing with an intelligence beyond their years.

The train stopped for moment on the route. The windows were all raised, and the children leaning out as if to see. The little girl heaved a long sigh, and leaned back in the seat exclaiming, “O mother! I cannot see anything!” A tear trembled in her eye, and her voice was so sad and low that it went to the heart of every passenger who heard the beautiful, but sorely afflicted child. “ Veither can

I see, Bell; but I know everything is beautiful,” said her brother, as the light winds lifted the locks upon his check. “You're beautiful; are you not Bell ?”

Just then a flood of sunshine gushed from the white clouds to the West like a flash, and fell full and warm upon the cheek of the sad girl, and upon the tears in her eyes. Quick as thought, she put up her hand, and attempted to grasp the golden pencils that were playing through her thick braids upon her neck and cheek. Eagerly she shut her hand upon vacancy, and a shadow fell upen her countenance as she failed to touch the sunshine. “Mother, I cannot feel it; has it fled out of the window ?

“What, Bell ?” said her brother. “The sunshine, Marion. It touched my cheek, but I cannot touch that.” The mother's eyes swam in tears, as did those of nearly all in the car. A blind girl feeling for a sunbeam upon her cheek! That beam was radiant with beauty, yet she could not behold it. It gleamed upon a world, but all was night to her. Its silver bursting in the East, or its golden fading in the West, followed as day followed day; but it burst not upon ber vision, nor faded at decline of day. It glowed in the sky, upon forest and field, and flower, and lake and river ; but not in the blue orbs of the sightless girl.

By a singular coincidence, the boy tried to feel for the breeze that came cool upon the cheek as the cars sped swiftly on. The breeze swept over the yellow fields, and meadows and still waters, and coquetted with the locks of the blind boy; but its footsteps were unseen by him.

We involuntarily thanked God that we could look upon the beautiful world that he has made, and dropped a tear for the hapless children who must grope their way to the grave through a long night. But the light of bliss will burst upon them!

Long shall we remember the two blind children.

Reader ? have you discovered yet that your heart's eye is blind to the glories of “the kingdom ?" And hare you come to Him who can touch the eye that it may see?

Is not Jesus saying to thee now_"What wouldst thou have me to do? Canst thou not respond—“Lord, that I may receive my sight ?” It is quite certain He would not say to thee, Nay.



A SEED WELL PLANTED. Some twenty-three years ago, in a small rural village in Western New-York, one Sabbath morning, as a pious young man was going to church, he observed a group of children at play in the street. He kindly spoke to them, and asked them to accompany him to the Sabbath-school. They refused to go. One, however, a bright-eyed little fellow, expressed his willingness to go, if his mother would permit him. The teacher kindly took him by the hand, called and obtained permission of the widowed mother, that her little boy might become a member of his class. Thenceforward, he was in constant attendance. By his fixed attention, rapid improvement, and meek and gentle disposition, he won the esteem and affection of all.

At the age of twelve, during a revival, he became a convert to the religion of the meek and lowly Jesus, and united with the church. When he came to the years of manhood, he left his native village and settled in the far West. Here, in his new home, where sacred associations held no kindly influence, he felt the need of the saving

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