ministered the sacrament once, without titles, and it is only necessary for us any refreshment save two drinks of milk; to say, that they are as well conyet, blessed be God, I neither felt hungry ceived as they are admirably executed. or fatigued." Like many distinguished The advantage of associating interesting men, he was much indebted for his future facts with names and places, will be seen excellence of character and usefulness to at a glance; and we are sure that no inearly religious training, and the early telligent teacher can introduce these impressions made upon his mind by books into his school or class, without his maternal grandmother were never conferring an immense benefit upon his erased. pupils. The object of the "Book of Bible History" is, to furnish a series of graduated reading-lessons, according to the order of events in the Old Testament. The first gradation, printed in a clear bold type, consists of a mere outline of events, expressed in short sentences. The second gradation embraces additional circumstances; more fully expressed, and the third gradation is a still larger amplification of the same subject, adapted to those whose minds are more developed. It affords us much pleasure to give our warm commendations to the whole of the work. To parents they will prove of great value.

The interpositions of Providence in guiding Mr. Averell in the ministry were remarkable, and no doubt greatly assisted to produce in his character that settled trust in God's providence which always supported him in every trial and difficulty. Though he lived in stormy days, when the rebellion in Ireland made it dangerous to travel, yet duty was paramount with him, and no love of ease, no fear of personal danger, no dread of persecution, could turn him from his path, his work, confident in the protection and blessing of his great Master. No one can read this most interesting and valuable memoir without being impressed with the mutual adaptation of "the hour and the man.'

Did

THE

SUNDAY-SCHOOL MAGAZINE.

BUXTON'S LOVE TO CHILDREN.

AMONGST the many admirable traits by which the character of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton was distinguished, observe (says Mr. Binney, in his admirable lecture on that noble man,) his interest in young people; his sympathy with them in their pleasures; his participation of their amusements; his anxiety to see them happy :-his readiness to ride or shoot with them in a morning, and to suggest to them words for their charades at night. But his delight in children! This is always the indication of a genial nature-a pure, unworn, and unselfish heart. "Never," says Lavater, "make that man your friend who hates bread, music, or the laugh of a child." Certainly, to hate any of these would very bad.

be

I think I could even explain the philosophy of the first. There may be something of insensibility to the second, without amounting to positive dislike, that may not materially affect the character--as in the case of our friend before us; but, if the gleeful, leaping laugh of childhood is distasteful to a man, especially if he hates it, or hates to hear it-believe Lavater, and have nothing to do with him. Depend upon it, he is either thoroughly without a soul, or he has so soiled and blackened it by sin, that the sound issuing from young and innocent lips pierces to his heart like the constrained remembrance of a forfeited inheritance. You may be sure he has got about him no common guilt. To him, in a worse sense than the poet meant it, the beautiful but melancholy verse applies:

"I remember-I remember

The fir trees dark and high:
I used to think their spiry tops
Were close against the sky.

"It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy,

To know I'm further off from heaven
Than when I was a boy!"

Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton delighted in children, and they, with their instinctive perception of those that like them, delighted in him. He NEW SERIES, VOL. II.] DECEMBER, 1849.

M

used to walk with them, and talk to them, and try to turn their attention to God in his works. He was fond of pointing out the skill that was displayed in the packing of a bud, and of drawing other interesting lessons from flowers. On this account, his little nephews and nieces, (bless their young hearts!) when they saw the snowdrops and violets in the early spring, used to welcome them as " Uncle Buxton's Sermons.”

His paternal character would seem to have been beautiful. Only think of the leader of a section of the House of Commons-the man bending under the weight of public business, absorbed by interests the most momentous, and fighting with difficulties that demanded, and had, nights and days of anxiety and labour-think of him coming along the Strand from some parliamentary committee, stepping into a shop to purchase a picture, hiding it when he got home among the torn-up letters and envelopes in his basket, that when his little children should rummage amongst them, or turn them out, he might hear their exultation at discovering the treasure, and join in a joy that would ring like the news of a nursery California! He was lying one day very fatigued and tired on a sofa; one of his sons was lying on another: their eyes were alike just opened, though each supposed the other to be asleep. Presently, the great, giant-like man-the man that swayed the senate, was looked up to by thousands as a leader, and who seemed born for authority and command-slowly and quietly rose up from his positiontrod softly and stealthily across the room-placed chair-lifted the feet of the young sleeper, and as they seemed to be hanging uneasily from the sofa, laid them gently on the chair, and then crept back again as carefully as he had gone, and laid down to his own repose! All had been seen, though he thought not so. It would never have been mentioned-it might not have been remembered by him-had it only been a thing known to the father. It was the irresistible impulse, the gushing out of irrepressible affection. I daresay he turned away from the lad with a glow at his heart and a prayer upon his tongue; a prayer whose answer he had already, though unconsciously, secured; for the impression of that act on the heart of the son must have given such sacredness to the wishes of the father, as could not fail, I should think, to have done more for the youth's virtue than any mere preceptive teaching could have secured.

The same traits appear in his letters about his children, and in his correspondence with them. He is always anxious, indeed, about their possessing a strong, decided character; but he betrays constantly not only the strength but the tenderness of his own. Little things indicate character more than great ones. How much there is in his promising the boys half-a-crown for the repetition of some poetry, and then, if visitors -grown-up people-happened to be present, asking them to rehearse something, and handing to each of them a half-crown too! Or in his playful letters to his little children-his asking after the dogs and ducks, -and his description of a pony. Why, there's poetry in all this. Buxton, indeed, did not write poetry; but what was better, he acted it, lived it, by his practical combination of the beautiful with the true.

THE SABBATH,

HAD the Sabbath no other benefit of which to boast than that of educating the incipient mind of the children of the working classes, it would be entitled to our warmest gratitude and commendation. Sunday-school instruction is one of the most hopeful and influential of all labours, and in the present perilous times is emphatically required! If the wide under-growth of youthful mind be not carefully watched and directed, in its earliest stages of development, small success will attend any subsequent efforts to improve it, when it has attained a dwarfed, misshapen, and stubborn maturity. If good impulses are not given to the rising intelligence of the labouring population in childhood, there is painful reason to fear, that, in very many cases, the impressing season is irrevocably lost. Other teachers are in the field. Other influences are busy all around. Life opens up its beguiling scenes to the inexperienced eye. Harlotry lavishes its blandishments, and weaves its snares. Scepticism insinuates its doubts. Profanity next approaches, flashing its witty jests and blasphemies. Enticements to dissoluteness and sensuality ply the unguarded victim on every side, till at length the time not spent in the duties of his calling, is wasted in awful wickedThus the fallen one becomes a wretched outcast from all good And thus minds that, with timely training, might have struggled into light and usefulness, become blasted by early neglect, and the fierce onset of earthly temptations.

ness. men.

But if youth will push its way to the brink of destruction, let us, nevertheless, fence the path with all possible resistances and obstructions. Since the road to ruin is so easy, and congenial to the heart of man, let us lodge in his mind every principle that is calculated to retard his progress and damp his guilty ardour. This object is blessedly achieved by the Sunday-schools of our country. What a fund of blessing is thus hoarded up in the Sabbath! Its uses, in relation to MIND, are not at present fully understood; for its rich available sources have never yet been half explored. The present Sunday-school system, for instance, is but the embryo of a more perfect scheme for intellectual elevation hereafter to be disclosed.-Heaven's Antidote to the Curse of Labour.

THE SAD FALL.

SOME years since, (says Dr. Morison, in his "Voice to the Churches,") the writer was called, as a Christian minister, to visit a poor dying girl in the immediate vicinity of his own residence. As he entered the wretched apartment, in which she lay on a pallet of straw, she burst forth into an agony of tears, which completely choked utterance, and which issued in a deep faint, from which she did not recover for some minutes. As soon as consciousness was restored, the writer gently intimated to the dying creature that there must be some cause of

agitation which it would be well for her to disclose. Laying her hand upon a little volume which lay on her pillow, and which proved to be Legh Richmond's Tracts, "There, Sir," said she, "is a reward-book which I received from your hand, at the anniversary of your Sundayschool, five years ago; but, O Sir, what would I give to recover the innocence and peace I then enjoyed!" The fact was, she had fallen a prey to the arts of the seducer, and had proceeded from bad to worse, till, then prostrate in body and mind, she was on the brink of an eternal world, full of anguish and despair. "Oh," said she, "I left the school in a fit of pride, because my teacher very properly complained of my dress as unsuitable to my station. This, alas! Sir, was the commencement of my ruin. I fell out of acquaintance with the good, and became intimate with a wicked young man, above my rank in life, who first flattered my vanity, and then destroyed my peace; and here I am, in this miserable abode, the victim of my own folly and crime, without one friend to care for me whether I live or die. Oh, Sir, is there any hope for one so guilty as I am?" The writer did not fail, with due discrimi nation, to lay open to the view of this unhappy wanderer the fountain of Divine mercy, and to point her to the exhaustless compassion of Him who" is able to save them to the uttermost who come unto God by him." After three days and nights of extreme bodily suffering, borne with exemplary submission, she died, expressing an humble but earnest reliance on the merits of Him who alone is able to save. Never was confession of sin more unreserved, nor the sense of unworthiness more oppressive. She looked through her tears to the cross, and was doubt less received by Him who casts off none who come unto him.

But there was one request which she made to the writer, which he can never forget. In describing and condemning the feelings of pride which led her to leave her Sunday-school, she said, with tears in her eyes, "Oh, Sir, if you should ever hear of any other thoughtless creature like myself, in your Sunday-school, tempted to leave it for some imagined offence, pray do ask some kind lady to visit the unhappy offender, and persuade her to return to the forsaken path of duty. I do think, if this had been done in my case, before my virtuous principles were destroyed, I should have gone back to my school, and then, Sir, you would never, perhaps, have heard the sad details with which I have made you acquainted."

THE CLASS OF A THOUSAND-AND-ONE: A SUNDAYSCHOOL MEMORIAL.

No. XII. CONCLUSION.

In the preceding papers I have endeavoured to put before the reader & few recollections of the children composing my class, and notices of their parents, interspersed with reflections. Had my limits permitted, other papers might have been added, but I must content myself with the space I have already occupied, and finish the subject with a few concluding

remarks.