THE CHILD AND FIELDFARE.

CHILD.

FIELDFARE! with thy spotted breast,
Thou art not a welcome guest;
When I see thee, then I know
We shall soon have frost and snow;
Therefore, if thou can'st not come
When 'tis summer, stay at home:
But if thou hast aught to say
Self-defensive, I will stay,-
And if I've said aught to grieve thee,
I will ask thee to forgive me.

FIELDFARE.

Prater, I will prove you wrong,
For too much you use your tongue;
Though myself, and friend Redwing,
Have no voice at all to sing,
Yet we have a place assign'd
By our Maker good and kind;
And perhaps it is to shew
What you mortals are below.
We have no abiding home,

But sometimes to yours we come
When you have some bramble-berries;
Hips and haws are fieldfares' cherries;
But as soon as winter ceases,
Off we fly to colder places;

For, if we should stay till spring,
We have got no voice to sing,
So we always haste away,
When all other birds are gay.

Think then, child, when I am gone,
Thou, too, art a wandering one;
Thou art but a stranger here,
As all thy forefathers were:
Seek, then, when thou too must fly,
A better home beyond the sky;
And, if we should meet again,

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Treat me not with such disdain.

S. S.

A DEATH-BED SCENE.

"Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord."

ONE morning in August last year, I received a letter acquainting me with the severe indisposition of a young gentleman who had been my companion at school. His dwelling was a consi

derable distance from mine; but I determined, if agreeable to the will of the Almighty, to see my friend as speedily as possible, for, as the letter told me, he was "sick unto death."

The day was beautiful and clear, and the reapers plied their cheerful task, amidst richly laden fields of waving corn. The sun shone brightly; but there was a darkness around my soul, as I thought on my sick friend little prepared to enter an unknown eternity, and the presence of an all-righteous God. He was the eldest son of a large family, and the object of his doting parents' love. Kind, affable, and generous, he was beloved by all who knew him; as well by his father's servants and dependents, as by his friends and relations. Being liberally supplied with money, he entered the world young, and liable to many temptations; but, by the grace of God, through means of a sound moral education he avoided many of the rocks and quicksands of sin. For several years we had been together partakers of each other's joys, and of each other's griefs; but during that time I had never heard him mention his need of salvation, nor the means of salvation offered to him in the gospel. For the previous nine months I had not seen him, and now I was about to see him stretched on the bed of death, about to bid farewell for ever to all earthly friends, and fall into the hands of the living God.

It was late in the afternoon that I reached my

friend's residence. His father met me at the door: I eagerly inquired of him how Henry was; he shook his head, and said, "Henry is dying fast, but I am glad you are come, for he wishes anxiously to see you," and then added, with a smile in his tear bedimmed eyes, "Oh! sir, he is greatly changed." I was presently ushered into the apartment of death, where, on a couch, in the midst of splendour, and every comfort that wealth could procure, and surrounded by his weeping mother, brothers, and sisters, lay my dying friend.

He was asleep when I entered, and consequently was unconscious of my presence. I gazed upon his thin wasted features, his sunken eyes, and his drooping chin; I touched his emaciated hands, and felt how cold they were; then turning to his father, said, “Truly he is greatly changed." "Ah! sir," the father replied, "it was not that change I meant; his body may have been changed by sickness, but his soul has been turned from satan unto Godhe is a follower of the Lamb." Tears of joy coursed down my cheeks at this welcome intelligence, my heart was full, and I sobbed aloud; my tears fell on Henry's face, and he awoke. For some moments he appeared bewildered, but at last his eyes falling on me, he clasped me to his bosom, saying, "This is kindness, indeed," and continuing, "this is a happy moment; now I can leave the world without a tear." Then

turning more immediately to me, he said, in a low voice, "A few months ago, and I was a hardened, ignorant sinner, but God in his mercy beheld me, he sent his Holy Spirit unto me to show me the error of my ways; then was my soul filled with doubts and fears; but when I was about to fall, Jesus, the ever-blessed Saviour, came to my support, he strengthened me with a holy strength, he washed me from my sins in his own precious blood, he changed my heart, and gave me grace to love him; he has passed through the gates of death before me, why should I fear? I will not be afraid, for the Lord is my strength and my portion for ever."

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At this time, the minister of the parish entering the room, asked Henry if he was willing to join in prayer. O yes !" he eagerly answered, pray; it is a glorious privilege to pray-it is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord for all his tender mercies." The man of God knelt by the bed-side, and poured forth the effusion of a contrite heart towards his maker! every word was echoed in the bosom of Henry: his eyes seemed lit with a holy flame, as he recounted all the blessings bestowed upon him by his heavenly Father. That prayer was not the prayer for mercy to an impenitent sinner, but it was praise and thanksgiving offered up to God for his unspeakable gift, in that he sent Jesus Christ into this world to die for wicked men; in that he hath sent the Comforter, who is the Holy Ghost, to