was directed towards the altar with an expression of intense anxiety, and more than once he buried his face in his hands, and his whole frame shook with emotion. He was the father of one of the young missionaries, and of the lady who knelt in the vestibule. On a signal given by the superior, all present knelt, and the service commenced. There is always something sublime, but more especially under such circumstances as these, when a crowd of human beings enter into communion with their GOD by pouring forth together some of the simplest and most instinctive sentiments which can emanate from the human breast "We thank Thee, O GOD, for all the mercies which Thou hast bestowed upon us during the past day!" A silence then ensues, during which each one meditates over the evil he has done, and the good he has left undone. Once more, the superior breaks the silence, and implores pardon and grace for all. Finally, he asks for the Divine protection and blessing during sleep-that sleep which is a type and foreshadowing of death and the resurrection to life after death. This short prayer concluded, the congregation sat down, and the superannuated missionary commenced his address. It was brief, and might have been summed up in these two words: "Be strong and of good courage," and "your strength cometh from above." He spoke, indeed, briefly of the self-devotion required for a missionary life; but upon this subject he touched but slightly, lest it should seem to reflect honour upon his own career. But we need not fear to speak of this noble self-devotion—a selfdevotion which is to endure as long as life itself-for our four young missionaries pledged themselves by a solemn vow to pass their whole life in China, and never to return unless the voice of their superior should recall them in their old age to impart to others the benefit of their experience. It was indeed a spirit of disinterested love which moved their hearts. It was not the love of gain, for they had nought they could call their own. It was not the love of glory-theirs was to be a spiritual triumph, invisible to human eyes. It was not the love of ease-rice was to be their chief subsistence; and they knew that imprisonment and death had terminated the career of more than one amongst their forerunners. The venerable preacher, at the close of his discourse, pronounced these few words, which seemed to be the ordinary formula by which the concluding ceremony is introduced. "And now, my brethren, admiring your apostolic devotion, we would desire to bestow upon those feet which are to bear you forth upon your labours of love, the kiss of reverence . . . . and then we would embrace you, in token of our ardent_affection, whilst all present unite their voices to sing in chorus,How beau tiful upon the mountains are the feet of them that preach the Gospel of Peace, and bring glad tidings of good things."" The preacher paused, and there was a movement amongst the congregation. The chapel master had promised to sing something on this evening. One of the directors sought him out in a remote corner of the chapel, where he had placed himself, and led him to the organ. He intoned in a voice of deep emotion the words we have just quoted, "Quam speciosi pedes evangelizantium pacem, evangelizantium bona!" They were then repeated by the choir, accompanied by the full swell of the organ; and at the same moment, the venerable superior, almost blind, and bowed down by the weight of eighty-seven years, rose from his seat, and leaning on one of the young pupils of the seminary, approached the altar. Good old man! bowing himself to the ground, he kissed the feet of the departing missionaries, bathing them with his tears; and then, rising up, he clasped them affectionately to his bosom. The chapel master, deeply moved, suffered his fingers for a few moments to wander over the notes, and then, to a deep and soul-stirring melody, chanted these appropriate words, " Videte regiones, jam alba sunt ad messem.” (“Behold the fields, they are white already to the harvest.") And all the choir responded: "How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the Gospel of Peace!" The two bishops and the directors of the missions then followed the example of the superior, and as the ceremony proceeded, and thoughts of the suffering and the sacrifices which awaited these young apostles of the faith rushed upon the chapel master's mind -another chant, a chant which spoke of victory in death, burst from his lips, and he sang: "They shall bring you before their judgment seats; they shall goad you to death: but rejoice, for your names are written in heaven." A moment of deep silence ensued; after which all present, one by one, pressed towards the altar-Priests, laywomen, soldiers, friends, and relatives-all bestow the kiss of peace, and all join in the touching chant, “How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace." At this moment a cry of anguish bursts from one among the crowd, and is echoed from the vestibule. It was the voice of the poor father, who could no longer control his deep emotion. Hitherto he had been enabled to maintain an outward calm; he had advanced to the altar with the rest; but when he threw himself at his son's feet, and bathed them with his tears, the voice of nature could no longer be controlled, and sobs convulsed his aged frame. The young man with streaming eyes raised his father from the ground, and pressing him to his heart, spoke words of comfort to his soul. This was the bitterest drop in the cup of trial of the departing missionary. Once more the choir sang the oft-repeated words, "Quam spe ciosi pedes," and the assistants tenderly supported the old man's trembling steps to the vestibule, where he was anxiously awaited by his weeping daughter. They departed together; and many a prayer ascended on their behalf to Him Who alone can comfort the desolate and bleeding heart. Next day, the railroad and the steamer conveyed the four young missionaries to Paimbœuf, near Nantes. Nantes, which had witnessed the first birth of our young hero's lofty aspirations, also saw their fulfilment. From Nantes he sailed for his distant field of labour. The vessel which bears him to the shores of China now ploughs the ocean. May GOD speed it on its way, and bless his labours with success! VIOLET. "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."-S. Matt. vi. 21. THE following recital fell from the lips of an elderly woman, whose perishable remains have long been mouldering with the dead; the solemn and beautiful warning of the happy soul's parting flight, however inexplicable or mysterious, is not a solitary instance deserving credence. My hairs are white-my eyes are dim-and with words of truth only upon my lips, dare I prepare to quit this world of woe. It is a simple narrative which I would fain impress on your memory; many years have glided away since the circumstances occurred; but imagination vividly conjures up the picture of other times, and my heart throbs (cold and weary as long pilgrimage hath made it) when I recal the actors and scenes of that passage of my life. Well do I remember the balmy summer evening, when I drew nigh the home of those relatives, with whom I was about to sojourn for a lengthened period, and whom I had not met since our days of youth. The narrow lane winding through rich woodlands, and pasture fields; the streamlet, meandering like a silver thread through the verdant valley, then lost amid the distant green hills; the ivied tower of the venerable Church, peeping forth from a leafy screen; the homestead in the back ground, now to be my home; the vermillion and golden tinted sunset glancing on the latticed windows; the sacred repose and stillness of the sylvan scene-all, all this, do I faithfully remember. This homestead was a comfortable, though an unpretending abode; thousands such there are in our favoured isle, with their emerald lawns and shady shrubberies, rich in all the graces of a refined yet humble home. The impression I retained of my relative was a pleasing one, and years had produced but little change; I found him immersed in the occupations and pastimes of a rural existence, as contented and careless an individual as it ever was my lot to encounter. I had heard of his marriage with Mellicent, the wild but affectionate compeer of giddy, girlish days; one whose exceeding loveliness had not been unattended with danger, from worldly snares and vanities. I knew that no family had blessed this union, and I had frequently wondered how the gay and ambitious Mellicent performed her duties as the help-meet of a plain country gentleman, whose means scarce gained for him the distinctive title of Squire.' “Great therefore was my surprise on beholding very slight and faded traces of beauty in my early friend, and also on finding a little girl domesticated, who called her mother;' this little creature was a mortal, assuredly; but far more like our imperfect and faint conceptions of heavenly innocents, than aught I had realized in my waking dreams of poetry or painting. Violet-so the child was called-was an adopted one; I never heard her history, only that she was an orphan, and had no ties by blood to claim the sympathy of her protectors. We read of mother's love-we see it in all its exclusive devotedness; but the love of Mellicent for this fair child of her adoption was beyond a mother's-it amounted to idolatry: I might say that none ever felt as she did; it seemed to me a concentration of past happiness and cherished memories—all involved in the being of this fragile flower. A flower of earth indeed was little Violet a pure and stainless lily! White and transparent as albaster, of a perfectly moulded form, her dark silken hair clustered in massive rings down her shoulders; but the depth, the softness, the intelligence of that child's midnight orbs, may never be described by me. I once said in my foolishness of speech, that I could fancy a beatified spirit sometimes took up its abode in her fair form, and gazed on earth through her serious eyes: when I thus spake, Mellicent turned on me a sad half-smiling look, 'Perhaps the angels breathe dulcet music in my Flower's ear,' she whispered; and all unheard by us, she communes with them.' "A presentiment gained possession of my mind, as I closely watched this good and gracious child. I watched her sporting among the flowers; how well she loved these perfumed treasures! and the song of birds at the evening hour, ere she and they went to rest, ever fell somewhat sadly on her tender spirit; gentle little Violet! Her laugh rang clear and joyously as a peal of silvery festal bells; when chasing gaudy butterflies, they always escaping, she clapped her tiny hands in glee: winning little Violet! But it was when she knelt in daily 1 prayer, childish, simple, but touching prayer to her dear REDEEMER then it was this presentiment clung to my soul; I could not shake it off; it was a foreboding of her early death. Her untiring delight in all the beautiful Bible stories suited to her young years, her perfect comprehension of her SAVIOUR'S sacrifice and love, her intense yearning after these blessed truths, her unselfish, docile, affectionate disposition, warned me that angels of paradise were impatient to claim her as their own. Every night that child's sweet voice was raised in hymns of praise to GOD; her memory was singularly retentive, and verse after verse of sacred poetry she warbled forth; then it became Mellicent's turn to sing her adopted one to sleep; songs of heaven she breathed, with the small hand clasped in hers; the dark eyes gradually closing, and a smile playing round the dimpled mouth, as Violet drank in the tones which told of the better land,' where shining bands, with palms enwreathed and victor crowns, struck their golden harps beside the crystal waters of everlasting day! Often on the still starry night, I have felt that guardian angels hovered near that sleeping innocent, and her devoted watcher. Alas! alas! poor Mellicent, thine idol is of clay; and He Who has fashioned it, will not tolerate idol-worship! "Mellicent seldom alluded to her darling; she was usually silent and reserved to every one; oh! how changed! yet with anxious kindness tending her household circle. She communed with her own spirit and was still. But when the loving Violet called her mother;' when the sweet little girl's gushing affection was poured forth in Mellicent's encircling arms, I scarce dared marvel at my friend's idolatry, while my woman's nature taught me to look deeper than the surface, to look for hidden and mysterious links. * * * * * "An old woman hath a quaint way of gossiping; I have not much more to relate, so may be permitted to tell it in my own way. The child had sickened and drooped rapidly, and we watched her night and day; I say we, because I shared with Mellicent her unceasing watch: she never complained-never sank under her sufferings, though her frame was a feeble and delicate one; every thought and feeling was concentrated on the dying babeself was obliterated altogether. It was a holy star-lit summer night in the depth of that still night, we had silently noted the caim, peaceful slumber of the precious innocent for some hours; it continued apparently refreshing and unbroken, and we could just discern by bending down the almost imperceptible but regular respiration. : "I took Mellicent's unresisting hand, and led her into the |