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E. I have counted them, mother, and there are three hundred and sixty-five.

M. That is right: there are three hundred and sixty-five days in one year, and if I were to make as many marks again, they would amount to as many days as there are in two years. Now, suppose I were to fill all the slate full of marks on both sides, how many years do you suppose they all would represent?

E. I do not know, mother. Perhaps they would represent as many as ten years.

M. Well, they would,-about that. Now, suppose I were to fill ten slates full, how many years would that amount to?

E. One hundred, mother; because ten tens make one hundred.

M. Suppose this room were full of slatesas full as it could hold, one piled on the top of another, and every slate were full of marks, and every mark made one year, how many years would they all make?

E. Oh! I do not know, mother-I could not count them.

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M. Suppose every room in this house were full of slates, all covered with marks, and every house in this town full of them, and you should carry them all into a large field, and pile them all one on the top of another, how many years would they all make?

E. Oh! mother, nobody could tell. It would take you all your life to count them.

M. Well, my child, your soul will live as many years as could be represented by all the marks on all the slates.

E. And will my soul die then, mother?

M. No, Eliza, it will not die then; but will keep on living. It will live as many years again as all the marks on the slates in the great piles, and then it will not die-it will still keep on living. It will live as many years as all the marks would amount to on a hundred such piles; of slates—on a thousand such piles of slateson as many such piles as you can think of, from the ground away up to the sky, one on the top of another. And even then your soul will not die -it will still keep on living. Your soul will live for ever. It will never, never die!

Ē. Oh, mother, mother, how long my soul will live! I cannot think how long it will live. But where will it live? Where will it go to when I die? Who will take care of my soul? What will it do? Will it keep thinking? Will your soul, and mine, and dear sister Julia's, go, to the same place, mother, after we are all dead? Do you know? If you do, do tell me. I wish to know all about it very much indeed.

M. Eliza, I am afraid we have not time now, but it shall not be long before I will tell you more. You will have a great deal to learn about your soul; and about where it is going to, after your body is dead and laid in the grave; and what you must do, that your soul may be happy

for ever. Never will you forget, I hope, that Jesus Christ died to save your soul. If you do not love him, you can never be happy.

Eliza then went to bed; but she did not go to sleep for some time. She kept thinking about her soul, and wondering where it would go to, after her body should die, and be laid in the grave.



THE leaves of autumn pass away
The summer's brightest flowers decay;
The fairest things below the sky
But bloom awhile, then fade and die;
And all of beauty, all of bloom,
On earth, is passing to the tomb.

But there is something that will live,
When light no more the sun shall give;
When moons no more shall set or rise,
And stars shall quit the silent skies;
And, vanish'd in eternity,

Time and this earth shall cease to be.

It is the soul, the better part,
That which is thinking in my heart;
'Tis that which never can decay,
Though all things else should pass away:
My body in the dust shall lie,
My soul can never, never die.


A GREAT Missionary Meeting of Sabbath School Children and their Teachers has been held at Exeter Hall, London. A gentleman who was present says ;-This day has witnessed one of the most affecting spectacles ever exhibited in our metropolis, or in the world. The Directors of the London Missionary Society wisely resolved to assemble the senior Sundayscholars, and Juvenile Associations connected with them, in Exeter Hall, that their attention might be formally and specially called to the subject of Missions. The call has been heartily responded to by parents, pastors, and teachers. Between five and six thousand young people met this morning, besides a multitude of the three classes just specified. The heavens seemed to smile upon the object; the day was singularly fine; the sun shone forth with power, and diffused a general gladness, in delightful keeping with the joyous occasion. Between the hours of eight and eleven, clusters of young people, and troops of Sunday-scholars, were seen pressing through the main streets which conduct to the Hall. Some of the more distant schools came in vans, containing from forty to sixty persons each. We saw a number of these vehicles moving along Fleet-street in the line of carriages and omnibuses, the drivers of which seemed not a little amused with their new com

panions in travel. Passing some of the vans, we heard the voice of melody sweetly issuing from their living loads, which appeared to be very little distracted by the strange position which they occupied, and the strange objects that surrounded them, both inviting attention and rewarding it.

Long before the hour for the commencement of business, the Great Hall was crowded in every part; the overflowing mass was received in the Lower Hall, which was also soon filled; and the excess were accommodated in a third


We must now endeavour to give our readers some idea of the scene which the Hall presented. Long as we have been accustomed to public movements and Missionary meetings, we confess that, to-day, we felt ourselves in a somewhat novel situation. The objects by which we were surrounded, were of a character calculated to excite the most intense emotion. The first figure presented, was the stately form and the dark, tranquil, but expressive visage of

Mr. Moffat, who, after some suitable observations, called up the young African, Sarah Roby, whom, sixteen years ago, he rescued from the grave in which maternal hands had placed her. There he stands in all the honest pride of Christian philanthropy, with the objects of his compassion at his side, in the face of the wondering myriads to whom he recites the

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