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THE NIGHT PREVIOUS TO AN EXECUTION.
creatures might be counted by scores asleep in the doorways, on the pavement, and against the barriers in the street. There they lay coiled up together like bundles of rags till disturbed by the police, the occupants of the houses, the workmen engaged in fixing the barriers, or the noise of the crowd. Meanwhile scores, probably hundreds of thieves were either hanging listlessly about, or amusing themselves by "chaffing' each other, or ill-treating any respectable person who presented himself on the scene. Anything like a respectable hat was beaten flat on the head of the unfortunate wearer, generally by fists, sometimes by sticks, and then tossed about for amusement while the owner was being robbed. Oaths, blasphemies, obscenities, and filthy and comic songs were freely and continuously indulged in.
Only once were the preachers set upon by these ruffians. It was at three o'clock. We had just sang Luther's hymn, Great God, what do I see and hear,' &c., and one of our brethren had commenced preaching, when we were suddenly surrounded, laid hold of, and robbed of whatever we had in our pockets. Of course we had not much with us, having deposited our watches, &c., at the Mission-house. At twelve o'clock we had a most attentive audience, while three addresses were given; and between five and eight o'clock, we generally kept from four to six stations supplied with preachers in different parts of the crowd. One would go about giving tracts, and speaking a few words as he
Many of the tracts were at once taken and read under the lamp-posts. Others stood and explained the texts of Scripture painted on canvass. When daylight came, these texts were read by thousands of persons.
One of these banners was lighted by a naptha lamp, and could be read by the lookers-on all through the night. Thus the preachers and tracts exercised a sobering influence upon the majority from time to time.
At eight o'clock we found ourselves wedged up in different parts of that crowd of 20,000 persons, without the possibility of stirring till all was over. The heat produced profuse perspiration, and the effluvia which arose from that dirty mass of human beings made us glad to edge our way out as soon as they began to disperse. We cannot speak of the results of this night's work, but the tears of penitence seen on many faces, and the rapt attention of many more, induce us to believe that this seed thus cast upon the waters shall be found, even though it be after many days.
THE GOOD WIFE.
It is just as you say, neighbour Green,
A treasure indeed is my wife; Such another for bustle and work
I never have found in my life. But then she keeps every one else
As busy as birds on the wing;
She is such a fidgety thing!
Her pies are a perfect delight,
Her crullers and puddings just right. But then while I eat them she tells
Of the care and the worry they bring, Of the martyr-like toil she endures
0, she's such a fidgety thing! My house is as neat as a pio,
You should see how the door handles shine, And all of the soft-cushioned chairs
And nicely swept carpets are mine. But then she so frets at the dust,
At a fly, at å straw, at a string,
She is such a fidgety thing !
If a child has the measles or croup,
Her dainty-made gruels and soup. But then she insists on her right
To physic my blood in the spring; And she takes the whole charge of my bile
0, she's such a fidgety thing! Sbe kpits all my stockings herself,
My shirts are bleached white as the snow; My old clothes look better than new,
Yet daily more threadbare they grow. But then if å morsel of lint
Or dust on my trousers should cling,
She is such a fidgety thing!
So meek that it never opposes,
ANECDOTES AND SELECTIONS.
Its own it dares never to speak
Alas! I am meeker than Moses,
The subordinate always to sing ;
She is such a fidgety thing!
A treasure to me has been given ;
To lay up my treasure in heaven ;
Most pleasures on earth have their sting;
But she's such a fidgety thing!
Inecdotes and Selections.
THE DEATH OF MOZART.—When a musician dies his song ceases, but his music lingers, an ever-abiding cadence in our hearts, influencing all our after lives. The wealth of mines seems poor when compared with the compositions which some of our eminent writers of music have left behind them and bequeathed as legacies to all the lovers of song. Music is full of magic, has charms for the living and the dying, and furnishes study and enjoyment for the inhabitants of heaven. Sometimes the spirit, while taking final leave of earth, seems caught away by the sweet strains of the skies, and, amidst the tears and sighs of loved attendants who witness the closing scene, departs with an ecstacy of joy and unspeakable delight. This has been the case with a number of eminent composers in the dying hour. The death of Mozart, the great German Musician, was most touchingly interesting. Few are favoured so highly. Wolfgang Mozart died at Vienna in the year 1791, and to ine there is something strikingly beautiful and touching in the circumstances of his death. His sweetest song was the last he sang, and is entitled “The Requiem.” He bad been steadily employed upon this exquisite piece for several weeks, his soul all the time filled with inspiration and already claiming kindred with immortality. After giving to it its last touches and breathing into it that undying spirit of song which was to consecrate it through all time, as his cygnean strain," he fell into a gentle, quiet slumber. At length the light footsteps of his beautiful daughter Emilie awoke him. “Come here,” said he, “my Emilie my task is done, the Requiem-my Requiem is finished.” Say not so, my dear father," said the gentle girl interrupting him as the great pearly tears stood in her eyes. " You must be better; you look better, for even now your cheek has a glow upon it. I am sure father we will soon nurse you well again. Let me go
ANECDOTES AND SELECTIONS.
and bring you something refreshing." “Do not deceive yourself, my precious child," said the dying father, “this wasted form can never be restored by human aid. From heaven's mercy alone I look for aid in this my dying hour. You spoke of refreshments, my Emilie-bere, my child, take these my last notes,-sit down to the piano here,—sing with them the hymn of your sainted mother-let me once more hear those tones which have been so long my solacement and delight." Emilie obeyed, and with a voice enriched with tenderest emotion, sang to her father's heaven-born composition the following stanzas :
“Spirit! thy labour is o'er!
Thy term of probation is run,
And the race of immortals begun.
Or the pleasures of earth with regret,
To mourn for the thing that is set.
No wicked have power to molest;
A haven, a mansion of rest.
For which thou art now on the wing,
Their glad hallelujah to sing.” As Emilie concluded, she dwelt for a moment upon the low, melancholy notes of the piece, and then turning from the instrument looked in silence for the approving sinile of her father. It was the still, passionless smile which the rapt and joyous spirit left,—with the seal of death upon those features. Let me die such a death.
SUFFERING FOR CHRIST'S SAKE.—No one endured more persecution than Paul, yet he was happy, and in this state of mind he continued till the close of life, exulting in the most triumphant strains. The primitive Christians, though persecuted in like manner, fully the spoiling of their goods,” knowing that they had " in heaven a better and an enduring substance.” The first Christian reformers met with opposition on every side, but they held fast to their integrity. The first missionaries sent out to the heathen bad difficulties to encounter; but singly and alone they persevered. No matter what were the obstacles before them, whether persecution, peril, or death, all was cheerfully met with becoming resignation.. Taking a consistent view of the gospel, they could, without a complaining word, endure reproach and be happy in their work. This accounts for the resignation and happiness of Paul when beaten with many stripes ; of Luther, when persecuted by the Roman Catholics; of Bunyan, when confined in Bedford jail. The love of Christ overcame all things. It made their labours pleasant, their burdens light, their prospects cheering. They could endure all things for Christ, that, through suffering, they might be worthy of him.
“ took jogo
CHRIST AND SINNERS.—By going to the lowest stratum of human nature, Christ gave a new idea of the value of man. He built a kingdom out of the refuse of society. To compare small things with great, it was pointed out by Lord Macaulay that in an English cathedral there is an exquisite stained window, which was made by an apprentice, out of the pieces of glass which had been rejected by his master, and it was so far superior to every other in the church that, according to tradition, the envious artist killed himself with vexation. All the builders of society had rejected the “sinners," and made the painted window of the “righteous." A new builder came; his plan was original, startling, revolutionary; his eye was upon the contemned material; he made the first last and the last first, and the stone which the builders rejected he made the head stone of the corner. He always specially cared for the rejected stone. Men had always cared for the great, the beautiful, the righteous; it was left to Christ to care for sinners.
A LOVING REBUKE.-John Howe once observed two men in a violent quarrel. Their mutual cursings shocked his religious sensibilities. He looked at them, raised his hat, and said in a solemn voice: “I pray God to bless you both!" This prayer so impressed the quarrelsome men that they ceased their strife and thanked Mr. Howe for his supplication.
GIVING JOY TO A CHILD. BLESSED be the hand that prepares a pleasure for a child, for there is no saying when and where it may again bloom forth. Does not almost everybody remember some kind-hearted man who showed him a kindness in the dulcet days of his childhood ? The writer of this recollects himself at this moment as a barefooted lad, standing at the wooden fence of a poor little garden in his native village, while with longing eyes he gazed on the flowers which were blooming there quietly in the brightness of a Sunday morning. The possessor came forth from his little cottage; he was a wood-cutter by trade, and spent the whole week at work in the woods. He had come into the garden to gather flowers to stick in his coat when be went to church.-He saw the boy, and breaking off the most beautiful of his carnations—it was streaked with red and white-he gave it to him. Neither the giver nor the receiver spoke a word, and with bounding steps the boy ran home.And now here, at a vast distance from that home, after so many events of so many years, the feeling of gratitude which agitated the breast of that boy expresses itself on paper. The carnation has long since withered, but now it blooms afresh.