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LUCY GREEN.

LUCY GREEN was born at Preston, May 13th, 1830. Her parents, John and Mary Green, were situated in very low circumstances: they had to labour hard to procure food for themselves and their small family. Lucy's means of gaining instruction were limited, as the humble circumstances of her parents made it necessary that she should work for her living, six days of the week. Her small store of knowledge was, therefore, principally obtained at the Sabbathschool. It afforded great pleasure to her parents to observe her anxiety to improve to the utmost the means she had. She paid steady attention to the instruction given her, and gave prompt and correct answers to such questions as were put to her.

When Lucy was turned eight years of age, she became very ill. During the former part of her illness, no particular care about her soul was observed; but she was very patient and humble. About a month before her death, she told her mother that she was a great sinner. In consequence of this conviction, she began to seek earnestly for the pardon of her sins; and, in the course of two or three days, expressed herself as having obtained mercy; and her pleasing countenance and expression proved that a delightful change had taken place. After this period, it did not appear that she had any hope

or desire to get better. In speaking, one day, to her younger sister, she entreated her to be good and obedient, and continue to attend the Sundayschool. She told her she was going to die, and leave father and mother, brother and sister; and that she should see her little brother who was gone to heaven, and how she should like to meet her also there. One day, when very ill, she said, "I shall soon see Jesus, who loves little children." On being asked whether she would rather die than live, she said, "O I had rather die, and live with Jesus." On another occasion, when alluding to her approaching change, she told her mother that she remembered reading of the pilgrim finding it hard to cross the river, but that he got safe over; and added, that she believed Jesus would be with her in death, and not suffer her to sink.

In this state of mind this happy girl died, aged nine years, and has left an example worthy to be imitated by every Sunday-scholar.

A Lover of Sunday-schools.

"FARE THEE WELL!"

Lines written on hearing of the happy death of Marianne, eldest daughter of the Rev. T. Jackson, who deqarted this life April 28, 1840, aged fifteen years.

YOUTHFUL Stranger, fare the well;
Thou hast found an early grave:
Go, with Jesus Christ to dwell,-
Prove his utmost power to save.

In afflictions furnace tried,

Pardon'd through a Saviour's blood,Here thy soul was purified,

Meeten'd to behold its God.

Why, then, should'st thou longer stay
In a world of grief and sin?
Jesus calls thee-" Come away

Now thy heavenly life begin.

"Come, and by my side sit down,—
Take the palm, and yield thy breath."
Go, receive thy glorious crown,
Youthful victor over death.

Join the spirits of the blest,—

Sing the saints' triumphant song,Go, enjoy an endless rest,

With the blood-besprinkled throng.

Weeping friends will mourn thy loss,-
Grief thy parents hearts o'erflow:
But to mourn and bear the cross,
Is the christian's lat below.

Yet their grief will turn to joy,

And supporting grace be given; Faith, while pointing to the sky,

Shows their first-born safe in heaven.

God has heard their earnest prayer,-
Granted all they ask'd-and more;
Now thou'rt safely landed where

Pain and death are known no more.

R. P. J.

THE SON OF GOD.

BEHOLD where, in a mortal form,
Appears the Son of God!

To save our souls from sin and guilt,
He left his bright abode.

The noblest love-the kindest grace,
Inspir'd his holy breast;
In deeds of mercy, words of peace,
His kindness was exprest.

To spread the rays of heav'nly light,—
To give the mourner joy,-
To preach glad tidings to the poor,-
Was his divine employ.

Lowly in heart, by all his friends
A friend and servant found,

He wash'd their feet, he wip'd their tears,
And heal'd each bleeding wound.

'Midst keen reproach, and cruel scorn,
Patient and meek he stood:
His foes, ungrateful, sought his life;
He laboured for their good.

In the last hour of deep distress,
Before his Father's throne,

With soul resigned, he bow'd, and said,
"Thy will, not mine, be done!"

Be Christ my pattern, and my guide;
His image may I bear:

O may I tread his sacred steps,
And his bright glories share!

J. W., aged 14.

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"Is that a Printing-Press, Uncle," said little Henry, as they entered the press-room in which some workmen were employed in printing a new Monthly Magazine and various other works. "Well, I'm sure I had no idea how so many thousand copies of a work could be printed every month and yet something new every time; but now I see a little how it is done, I am not so much surprised."

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