which has gained access for this little work to many a Christian home, and we have reason to believe, to many a Christian heart."

The circulation of this cheap Christian periodical-sixteen double-columned beautifully printed royal octavo pages, for three-halfpence is very great-some tens of thousands-and it has often made us happy to see it in solitary places. It is adapted for perusal on week-days as well as Sabbath—for there is a permitted difference in the rest that the labourer enjoys after work from that which ought to pervade all the hours of the seventh day. The names of upwards of a hundred contributors are found among our clergy-the sermons and discourses would fill several volumes printed in the usual form-so would original papers on subjects belonging to the moral or social nature of man; and the extracts, which occupy but a limited portion of its pages, are selected with judgment from a wide range of knowledge. Let us read aloud to you, our worthy friends, a small sacred poem, which we have by heart. Christian, keep your eye on the page, and if we go wrong do not fear to set us right. Have you many psalms and hymns by heart? But we need not ask-for

"Piety is sweet to infant minds,"

what they love they remember-and then how easyhow happy—to get things by heart! Happiest of all— the things held holy on earth as in heaven-because appertaining here to eternal life.

TO THE SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD. BY THE REV. DUNCAN GRANT, A. M., MINISTER OF FORRES.

"Beauteous on our heath-clad mountains,
May our HERALD's feet appear;

Sweet, by silver lakes and fountains,

May his voice be to our ear..

Let the tenants of our rocks,

Shepherds watching o'er their flocks,

Village swain and peasant boy,
Thee salute with songs of joy!

"CHRISTIAN HERALD! spread the story Of Redemption's wond'rous plan; "Tis Jehovah's brightest glory, "Tis his highest gift to man; Angels on their harps of gold, Love its glories to unfold; Heralds who its influence wield, Make the waste a fruitful field.

"To the fount of mercy soaring,
On the wings of faith and love;
And the depths of grace exploring,
By the light shed from above;
Show us whence life's waters flow,
And where trees of blessing grow,
Bearing fruit of heavenly bloom,
Breathing Eden's rich perfume.

"Love to God and man expressing,
In thy course of mercy speed;
Lead to springs of joy and blessing,
And with heavenly manna feed
Scotland's children high and low,
Till the Lord they truly know,
As to us our fathers told,
He was known by them of old.

"To the young, in season vernal, Jesus in his grace disclose;

As the tree of life eternal,

'Neath whose shade they may repose,
Shielded from the noontide ray,
And from ev'ning's tribes of prey;
And refresh'd with fruits of love,
And with music from above.

"CHRISTIAN HERALD! may the blessing
Of the Highest thee attend,
That, this chiefest boon possessing,

Thou may'st prove thy country's friend:
Tend to make our land assume

Something of its former bloom,

When the dews of heaven were seen

Sparkling on its pastures green.

"When the voice of warm devotion
To the throne of God arose-
Mighty as the sound of ocean,
Čalm as nature in repose;-
Sweeter, than when Araby

Perfume breathes from flow'r and tree,
Rising 'bove the shining sphere,
To Jehovah's list'ning ear."

You have heard of Mungo Park, we daresay, Christian? What! Your mother says he was a cousin of hers-and that she was born in the forest-the forest of Ettrickand that she knew the Shepherd! These verses here we remember having read two years ago—and we shall now refresh our memory by a perusal aloud. Stand between our knees, child, and hold the paper well up.

ON MUNGO PARK'S FINDING A TUFT OF GREEN MOSS IN THE AFRICAN

DESERT.

"The sun had reached his mid-day height,
And poured down floods of burning light
On Afric's barren land;

No cloudy veil obscured the sky,
And the hot breeze that struggled by
Was filled with glowing sand.

"No mighty rock upreared its head
To bless the wanderer with its shade
In all the weary plain;

No palm-trees with refreshing green
To glad the dazzled eye were seen,
But one wide sandy main.

"Dauntless and daring was the mind
That left all home-born joys behind
These deserts to explore-

To trace the mighty Niger's course,
And find it bubbling from its source
In wilds untrod before.

"And ah! shall we less daring show,
Who nobler ends and motives know

Than ever heroes dream-
Who seek to lead the savage mind
The precious fountain-head to find
Whence flows salvation's stream?

"Let peril, nakedness and sword,
Hot barren lands, and despot's word
Our burning zeal oppose—
Yet, Martyn-like, we'll lift the voice,
Bidding the wilderness rejoice
And blossom as the rose.

"Sad, faint and weary on the sand
Our traveller sat him down; his hand
Covered his burning head,
Above, beneath, behind, around-
No resting for the eye he found;
All nature seemed as dead.

"One tiny tuft of moss alone,
Mantling with freshest green a stone,
Fixed his delighted gaze-
Through bursting tears of joy he smiled,
And while he raised the tendril wild
His lips o'erflowed with praise.

“‘Oh, shall not He who keeps thee green,
Here in the waste, unknown, unseen-
Thy fellow exile save?

He who commands the dew to feed
Thy gentle flower, can surely lead
Me from a scorching grave!'

"The heaven-sent plant new hope inspiredNew courage all his bosom fired,

And bore him safe along;

Till with the evening's cooling shade
He slept within the verdant glade,
Lulled by the negro's song.

"Thus, we in this world's wilderness,
Where sin and sorrow-guilt-distress
Seem undisturbed to reign-
May faint because we feel alone,

With none to strike our favourite tone,
And join our homeward strain.

"Yet, often in the bleakest wild

Of this dark world, some heaven-born child,
Expectant of the skies,

Amid the low and vicious crowd,
Or in the dwellings of the proud,
Meets our admiring eyes.

"From gazing on the tender flower,
We lift our eye to him whose power
Hath all its beauty given;
Who, in this atmosphere of death,
Hath given it life, and form, and breath,
And brilliant hues of heaven.

"Our drooping faith, revived by sight,
Anew her pinion plumes for flight,
New hope distends the breast,
With joy we mount on eagle wing,
With bolder tone our anthem sing,
And seek the pilgrim's rest.”

R. M'Ch, Larbert. The clergyman? The verses are beautiful-we wrote some ourselves many years ago on the same incident-but not nearly so good as theseand they have utterly faded from our memory-all but some broken images-two or three lines-and here and there a few floating words.

Three minutes from seven by your house-clock-she gives a clear warning-and three minutes from seven by our watch-rather curious their coincidence to such a nicety-and when she has struck—we must take up our staff and go. Thank thee, bonnie Christian, we had forgot our wallet. There, in with the bannocks and the ham and the eggs-that chicken is really too bad, friends -you must take us for a sad glutton.

"Zicketty, dicketty, dock,

The mouse ran up the clock;
The clock struck one,
Down the mouse ran,
Zicketty, dicketty, dock."

Come closer, dear Christian, and let us
ear. What a pretty face of wonder!

put this to your 'Tis a repeater.