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And nowe this littule flye thinkes hym of home,
Thinkes of hys nooke so snugge on gardenne walle,
Alasse! hys path is all en wrapped in glome,
Night-chylles and darkness grymme hys hearte appalle.
Benumbed wyth colde a shelterre fayne he'd seeke
Beneath some friendlie flowerres droopyng cuppe,
Fatigue and colde hath made hym passing weake,
From ye wette earthe hee cannot rouse hym upp.
Alasse! Alaffe! a heartless birde of nyght
Dothe seize hym as hee colde and tremblyng lies,
Crushed is ye forme which erst was fayre and brite,
Wrything and quivring in its beake hee dyes !

YE MORALLE.
Good readerre ! do not scorne my symple tayle,
But een theyrfrome a usefull moralle drawe, -
When giddilie on plesures sea you sayle
Think of ye poore morbes end, thinke tbenne of pale deathes jawe.

H. ATTWELL.

THE BISHOP OF NEW ZEALAND'S MELANE

SIAN MISSION. PASSING Eaooi, or Middleburg Island, we followed Cook's sailing directions with perfect confidence, till & native pilot boarded us, and took charge of Her Majesty's ship. Then, for the first time, as we threaded through the narrow passages of the coral reef, I saw the marvellous beauty of colouring which has been so often described : the deep blue of the unfathomable sea ; the dazzling whiteness of the surf breaking upon the reef; the delicate tint of light green on the shallow waters of the lagoon; and, on shore, the tufted fringe of cocoa-nut trees overshadowing the native villages, each marked by its row of canoes, drawn up upon a glittering beach of coral sand. There are, no doubt, some portions of the Mission field,--and especially Sierra Leone,-where true faith and Christian courage is required in the Missionary, liable, as he is, at any moment to fall a victim to the “pestilence that walketh in darkness, or the sickness that destroyeth in the noon-day;" but in these favoured islands in the Pacific, as well as in New Zealand, I must say, without disparagement to the zeal of our Mission

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aries, that the self-denial would be shown, not in residing in them, but in consenting to leave them. The ordinary drawbacks arising from human infirmity and sin, must be the same everywhere ; and it is most true that every Mission-field is not the paradise which it seems to be: but to any one who has been conversant with parochial duty in an English town, it becomes impossible to think of a residence in our lovely islands as an exercise of ministerial self-sacrifice. It is a pure enjoyment to walk round such an island as Tonga, passing along open and level paths, shaded by groves of cocoa-nuts and bananas, and halting, from time to time, in some grassy glade, where a wide-spreading ovava, with its thousand clustered stems, marks the meeting-place of the chiefs; and where the slender Toa (Casuarina,) crowded with enormous bats (beka,) droops over the coral tombs of the dead. A walk of a few miles more through the same shady paths, lighted up with glimpses of a cloudless sun, and rustling with the restless trade-wind, brings the visitor to a village, where the incessant tapping of the mallets used for beating out the native cloth, gives an air of industry and cheerfulness to the place. Every house is partially concealed under the shade of its own fruit-trees, and within its light fence of reeds; but the stranger may freely enter everywhere, and finds a hearty welcome wherever he

goes. On going down to the beach, the maritime habits of the islanders are seen; fine double

canoes,

under spacious sheds, each with its mat-sail and large steering paddles carefully laid by its side, lying ready for use on state occasions, and for long voyages ; with a swarm of smaller canoes, some drawn up upon the beach, and others passing to and fro upon the smooth water of the lagoon. It was a noble sight to see King George and his feet of war canoes on a visit to the Navigator Íslands. He is a worthy " Lord of the Isles," and his fleet, entirely of native style and workmanship, is worthy of its monarch.

At Tonga, as in every other Mission field of late years, & special interest is felt in the education of the young. It was found in some cases too late that men converted to Christianity in adult age, seldom acquire that regularity and systematic steadiness which is necessary for the education of the young. It was a natural, though a most

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fallacious thought, that parents, deeply impressed themselves with the blessings of the Gospel, would labour diligently to impart them to their children. The zeal with which they discharged the duties of native teachers, favoured this delusion. It was not seen at first that it requires a very different, and, in some respects, a higher order of mind to teach a child, than to preach to an adult. In some instances, before this error was discovered, a whole generation, though born of Christian parents, was almost lost for the time. A threatening broil among this upstart class, neither heathen nor Christian, and therefore worse than either, was the only interruption to the peaceful enjoyment of my visit to Tonga.

The hope is brighter for the rising generation. I could not leave the island without special prayer for those two hundred children whom I saw assembled at Nakualofa, and who, when the school-examination was ended, formed themselves into a procession, and laid each its little gift of a shell, or a fruit, or a flower, at my feet; and then, accompanying me to the boat, threw into it the garlands from their heads as a parting offering of friendship.Colonial Church Chronicle.

PRAYER NEVER DIES.
PRAYER dever dies 1–From human tongue
First utter'd when the world was young,
Down through the changeful scenes of earth-
Each plaintive cry of solemn birth,
E’en to sad misery's latest moan
Wrung from the lips of outcast lone
For ever breathes God's Throne around-
A quickening soul-a living sound i
Prayer never dies 1-Man may forget,
By mists of faithless doubt beset,
To wait the merciful reply
Vouchsafed to man's beseeching cry:
But God remembers :-blessings flow,
Meed of the heart's convulsive throe,
An utterance register'd above,
And own'd of Him Whose Name is Love.

Prayer never dies !-Ah! who shall say
How many a plan in this our day,
The glory of God's Church to prove,
Or demon thraldom to remove,
For welfare of Christ's blessed poor,
Hath sprung (as saith the promise sure,)
In answer to some prayer of old,
Some litany of martyr bold ?
Prayer never dies !-Rose faint and dim,
The incense of our votive hymn;
Cold were men's hearts—forgot the creed
For which fore-elders dared to bleed :-
Whence those sweet tones ?—(perchance the last,
Ere England's day of grace be past)
The marvel of that warning plea,
Mirror of Christian ancestry?
Prayer never dies !—The chanted calls
Which ceaseless soar'd from cloister-walls ;
The plaint the hermit-spirit swells
Though ruin stains those vocal cells;
Live in the souls, who, wean'd from earth
By consciousness of second birth,
Favour the dust of Zion's stones,
And pine for Salem's long-hush'd tones.
Prayer never dies !—The answer here
Accorded-patient faith to cheer,
Contains a germ of deathless power,
A web to weave from hour to hour,
All time throughout,—all time beyond, -
For, burst the film of mortal bond
In Him Whose Priesthood pleads on high,
Prayer's potent influence cannot die.

Rosa.

The Children's Corner.

THE LIGHT OF HOME.

(From the German of Krummacher.) A PILGRIM once was returning to his home, after having long wandered in distant countries, and his soul was full of sweet hope. For many years he had not seen his

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dear parents and brothers and sisters, and therefore he hastened onwards. But even as he reached the mountains, night overtook him, and so dark was it that he could not see the staff in his hand. As he descended into the valley, he lost his way, and as he wandered sorrowfully hither and thither, he sighed, and said, “O! could I only meet one who would guide me to the right path, how thankful should I be to him."

Thus spoke he and stood still waiting for a guide. Whilst the benighted pilgrim stood thus full of doubt and anxiety, behold, far off in the distance appeared a wandering light, and its glimmer shone cheerfully in the surrounding gloom. “Mayst thou be blessed to me, O messenger of peace," joyfully exclaimed the wanderer,

for I perceive I must now be near the dwellings of men. Thy pale glimmer shines as brightly in the darkness of night as the first rays of the sun. He hastened now quickly to the gleam in the distance, desirous of meeting (as he supposed) the bearer of the light. But ah! it was a Will o' the Wisp that arose from the marsh, and hovered over the surrounding lake, and the pilgrim had unknowingly wandered to the edge of a precipice.

Suddenly a voice behind him exclaimed, “ Stop, or thou art a child of death.” He stood, and looked quickly around him. It was the voice of a fisherman who called to him from his boat.

• Why," said the traveller, “should I not follow the friendly light? I am an erring pilgrim.”

Ab," said the fisherman, “dost thou call the deceitful glimmer that lures so many to destruction a friendly light ? Wicked and unearthly spirits raise from gloomy swamps the nightly vapour that imitates the brightness of a friendly light. Look! already the restless offspring of night and darkness vanishes from our view."

Even as he spoke, the deceitful gleam disappeared. The Will o' the Wisp was extinguished, and the weary pilgrim thanked his preserver with heartfelt gratitude. But the fisherman answered, “How should a man see another in error and not guide him to the right path ? We must both thank God; I, that He permitted me to be the instrument of performing a good action; thou, that

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