their reason, and blessed with innumerable privileges, yet reject at the hands of Christ, not the bitter cup which He drank for them in the garden, but the sweet cup of mercy. Such persons wilfully shut against themselves the gate of Heaven, dry even mercy's tears, and compel her to concur in their eternal destruction. "He that being often reproved hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy." The mariner may still cling to his canvass-riven and mastshattered vessel, even when the life-boat is within reach, thinking that because she has carried him safely over many a fearful storm, she will do so in this instance, if he remain where he is, and he may escape a watery grave, but it is not so with those who still cling to their sins, worldly-mindedness, and carnal pleasures, instead of giving up all for Christ, and flying at once to Him for salvation. Shipwreck, eternal shipwreck with all its untold horrors and miseries, inevitably awaits all such persons. They will sink, unsaved and unpitied, into hell, the place of hopeless because endless despair, whence though they cry long, loudly, and earnestly, to a loving and an omnipotent Saviour, He will stretch out no hand to save them. But He will laugh at their calamity, saying, "Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand, and no man regarded, but ye have set at nought all my counsel, and would none of my reproof: I also will laugh at your calamity, I will mock when your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind, when fear and anguish cometh upon you." Hence how solemn is the question, "How shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation?" Reader, are you saved? Have you repented of sin, and believed in Christ for salvation? If you are still unsaved, listen to the entreating voice of God, saying, "Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord, though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow, though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." Delay not a day-an hour, or even a moment, may prove eternally fatal in your case, as it has done in the case of millions before. "Now, only now, against that hour, Of hell our spirits hide." R. BRICKWOOD. THE PIMENTO TREE. My dear young Friends, I am about, for the first time, to write a few lines for your little, but very interesting Magazine. Nevertheless, I hope that the subject to which your attention will be called, may prove serviceable and instructive. You have no doubt either seen or heard your parents speak of Jamaica's "all-spice or Pimento," and perhaps your little minds have often wondered what sort of a tree it is that bears the seed, how it is gathered, and by what process it is cured. Well, I shall endeavour to satisfy your curiosity on these points. In this parish (St. Ann's) where I have been for the last fourteen years preaching the Gospel, I have had an opportunity of travelling to different places where it grows in rich abundance, and have seen some of the trees, from thirty to sixty feet high, their circumference varying. Their leaves are evergreen, which when boiled in water, sweetened with sugar, and milk, make a delightful and pleasant beverage. The wood of the Pimento Tree is very hard and durable, and those trees that do not bear (which are called He Trees) are sometimes used by the humbler class of persons in erecting their cottages, or houses. So much about the tree. Now let me tell you about the berry or seed. All seeds, or fruits, you know, are produced first by blossoms, and it would delight your eyes to see its blossoms, so pearly white and fragrant just at the peep of day. The Pimento tree begins to blossom in March, and continues to May and June, the blossoms of May are the best, as they are more sure of producing the berry, not being subject to the heavy rains which invariably fall in March and April. It begins to knit (that is to show forth its seed) in June; in August and September, it is fit to be gathered, when persons are employed to break down the branches which contain the berry, or seed, and is picked either by rubbing it between the fingers, or flogged on a cloth with a small rod; for a large one would bruise the berry too much, and cause it to weigh lighter, and thus be a loss to the owner. You see then how it bears, and how it is gathered. The seeds being now gathered, they are exposed to the burning heat of the sun, on what is called a Barbicue. Perhaps you don't know what a Barbicue is. Well! I will explain this also. It is a platform made of stones and mortar, and beautifully plastered. The seeds thus exposed, begin soon to lose their lovely green hue, and being daily turned up with rakes for three or four days, become dry. They are then taken up, and put into a fanner, for the purpose of getting rid of the dry leaves, and stems with which they are encumbered. After this, they are put into bags, sold, and shipped to various parts of the world for consumption. I hope you will now have some idea of the tree, the spice, and the manner in which the seeds are cured. Wishing you all a pleasant voyage over life's rough sea, I am, yours sincerely, St. Ann's, Jamaica. T. J. HAYES. "IF NO ONE WILL PRAY WITH ME, THEN I WILL PRAY ALONE." From the German. In the village of Bergheim, in Germany, lived a peasant named Jacob, with his wife and one little boy. This child had the blessing of a pious grandfather, who, from his very earliest years, had made him an object of earnest prayer. When he was brought as an infant to church to be baptised, his grandfather chose for him the name of John, saying, "May he be beloved of God in time, and throughout eternity." Although this good old man lived six miles from Bergheim, he often visited the little boy; and often would he lay his hand upon his head, and say, "The Lord bless thee, my child; the Lord bless thee, and keep thee as the apple of his eye." And, as we shall presently see, his prayers were not left unanswered by that tender Saviour, who has said, "Suffer the little children to come unto me." On the day on which his grandfather celebrated his sixtieth birthday, Jacob and Anna drove over, with their little boy, to see him; and John was delighted at the idea of spending the whole day with his grandfather. Jacob could not stay long, but returned home, promising to come again in the evening. However, when evening came, just as he was harnessing the white horse, a terrible peal of thunder was heard, and such a storm came on that he decided it would be better to leave his wife and child to spend the night at their grandfather's. Accordingly Anna had to stay, though she would have preferred going home, for she always felt rather ill at ease in the good grandfather's presence. Little John, on the contrary, was so delighted, he would not leave the side of the old man. When evening came, the whole household were assembled together. John's grandfather opened the large Bible, read a portion of it aloud, and then offered up an earnest and childlike prayer, out of the fulness of his heart, alluding with particular emotion to his birthday. Every one then retired to rest, after a kind "Good-night." The following morning Anna set off, to walk back with her child. It was a lovely summer's day, and the walk, in the cool of the morning, through the birch woods and past several little waterfalls, was most inviting. John was very fond of flowers, and seldom passed them by ? to-day, however, he walked through the gaily-coloured meadows, behind his mother, as seriously and quietly as though not a single flower were to be seen. Neither did Anna feel much inclined to talk her mind was uneasy, she did not know why. All on a sudden the child stood still, looked up in her face inquiringly, and said, "Mother, why does not father do as grandfather does?" His mother was somewhat confused: "Go and look for flowers," she said, and continued to walk on. : So they went on silently; but the child did not care about the flowers. Presently they came to the top of a hill, from which was a beautiful view of the distant mountains. Anna sat down to rest for a little while, and John beside her. "Mother," he then began again, for the second time, "why does not father do as grandfather does ?" Anna felt impatient. "Well," she answered, rather sharply, "and what does grandfather do ?" "He takes the great Bible," said John, "and he reads and prays." His mother coloured. "You must ask your father about it," said she. When they reached home, Jacob was not there. He was gone out to reap in a field some way off, and would not be back till evening. This the mother knew, and she thought she would persuade the child to go to bed early, hoping that by the morning he would have forgotten his question. But she was mistaken. As she was going to undress him, he began,-" No, mother; just let me wait till father comes home." So, at eight o'clock, his father returned. John ran up to him directly, and asked quickly, "Father, why don't you do as grandfather does?" His father looked hard at him; the question came unexpectedly. "What are you doing up here John ?" said he; "go to bed; it's late." John was silent, but went sorrowfully to bed. He got up the next morning still more sorrowful; he seemed quite another child from what he generally was. He sat silently and sadly at the breakfast-table, with folded hands and his head down, without touching his milk. "What is the matter, John? why don't you eat?" asked his mother. John was silent. After a little while, she asked again, "What is it, then, child?" He looked up at his mother with an expression of sorrow, and let his head sink again. His father and mother had finished, and were just going to clear away the breakfast, when his mother asked him a third time, "Child, tell me, what is the matter." Then the little boy answered, "I want so much to pray, mother; and if no one will pray with me then, I must pray alone." This was too much for Anna. Tears filled her eyes. She hastened into the next room to tell her husband what the child had said. He had heard, however, what had passed, for the door was left open; and his conscience was touched. "John is right," said he, "and we are wrong." Then |