MISSIONARY BOXES.

I got fifty or sixty Missionary Boxes, which I gave amongst my friends around me; and all that I requested for them, was a place on their mantle-piece. They neither ate nor drank, would make no noise; but thankfully receive even the smallest offering. I was asked how the box was to be filled? To answer this question, I drew up a list of hints, and it is surprising how much good they have already produced. On those, who were late at family prayer, or at meals, a forfeit was imposed. Money suffered to lie about the house, always became the property of the box. Instances of untidiness were regularly visited with a fine. When tradesmen decline the odd pence of a bill, which is often the case, the box becomes the receiver-general. If any squeamish feeling arises about receiving postage for a letter, &c. &c. the Missionary box has no delicacy of the sort, and speedily ends the controversy. Our children, who obtain money by committing Scripture to memory, now and then contribute; and it is astonishing at the end of the year, to find what the box contains.

SCRUTATOR.'

LETTER.

MR. EDITOR,-I love the Church Missionary Society, and am always glad to recommend it to my people. In this however, as in many other instances, I find that I have to work with corrupt nature. I find that the contributors to Bible and Missionary Societies are often influenced by inferior motives. Their neighbours subscribe their penny a week, and therefore they do not wish to be singular: or the minister asks it, and they are unwilling to refuse. Now, though we hope that such contributors may in the end be influenced by a right motive; yet in the mean time we are held in doubt, as to what may be our quarterly receipts. They prosper or decrease, just as the minister and collectors are in good favour. Any offence of ours, whether real or not, is visited upon the head of the poor Society. Upon the whole, my people have the cause of their Redeemer much at heart, and take a deep interest in the spread of the Gospel. But our Missionary funds were not a little threatened a little time since by the following curious occurrence: á travelling pedlar, who most likely supposed that the institution had interfered with his profits in the village, tried to poison the mind of a contributor, by gravely telling him, that our per contage

was too great. "What do you mean, (said the cottager ;) I am sure the collectors gather the money for nothing, and have only their trouble for their pains." "O! (says the pedlar,) you dont know so much of the affair as I do. I tell you, they have threepence in every shilling; and I say that is more than is reasonable." You know, Mr. Editor, that men are fond of any argument which saves their pocket; and even this idle story gained some credit among those, who wish to find a cloke for their covetousness. I remember being once told of a good woman, who was a true friend to the Bible Society, but who had often been assailed by its enemies with the most alarming accounts of the Society's extravagance. It so happened, that an agent of that Society fell in her way; and she seriously asked him, whether he did not think that a pair of horses would do for Lord Teignmouth, instead of four: adding, if the Society were to allow him only a pair instead of four, what a deal of good they might do with the savings! The poor woman was delighted when she heard, that the noble president of the Bible Society always travelled at his own expence !-Really, Sir, it is too bad, that designing persons should thus act upon the credulity of others. One of my collectors called at a house, where he was in the habit of receiving a penny a week from three of its inmates. He found a son of the old man just arrived from London, where he had been in service. When the son learnt his errand, he said to his father, "why, father, you are not such a fool as to give away your money for them negers. My master says it is all gammon, the money never gets to them." "Well, (said the collector,) I don't believe that; but still, if your father gives his penny out of a love to Jesus Christ, his intention will be accepted, whether the money gets to them or not."

Hoping you will admit the soundness of this argument, I remain, Mr. Editor, your's faithfully,

SCRUTATOR.

AWFUL DEATH.

An inquest was held at Foxearth, in the county of Essex, on the body of William Clark, aged 75. It appeared that the deceased was a pauper of the parish of Glemsford; and that about seven in the evening, he left his house, in good health, with the intention of stealing wood. Not returning home during the night, search was made for him the next morning; and in a field in the parish of Foxearth, he was

found lying upon a bank, quite dead. No marks of violence appearing upon his person, the Jury returned their verdict, “died by the visitation of God.” A circumstance of an awful nature was disclosed on the examination of one of the witnesses, who stated that the deceased had been in the habit, during the greater part of his life, of trespassing upon the property of the farmers, and cropping their trees, cutting up their hedges, and stealing their wood: but being spoken to by the witness, only a few days before his death, upon his improper conduct, he seemed sensible of the sin of his offence; and declared that if he ever went out again in the night for the purpose of stealing wood," he hoped he might not return home alive!" It appeared, however, that he soon forsook his good resolution; and again left his house for the same purpose; but it was decreed by an all-wise providence, that it should be his last attempt to rob his neighbours; he being found the next morning, as above stated, a lifeless corpse, with the wood he had stolen lying by his side!

THE WALDENSES.

Before they go to meat, the elder amongst the company. says, God, who blessed the five barley-loaves and two fishes before his disciples in the wilderness, bless this table and that which is set upon it, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.'

And after meat he says, "the God which has given us bodily food, grant us his spiritual life; and may God be with us, and we always with him!”

HENRY MARTYN.

The following lines were composed on reading the life of this pious, zealous Missionary. The last sentence which appears in his Diary is the following: "I sat in the orchard, and thought with sweet comfort and peace of my God; in solitude, my company, my friend, and comforter. O! when shall time give place to eternity! when shall appear that new heaven and that new earth, wherein dwelleth righte ousness! There-there shall in no wise enter in any thing that defileth. None of that wickedness, which has made men worse than wild beasts; none of those corruptions, that add still more to the miseries of mortality, shall be seen or heard of any more."

Scarcely had he breathed these holy thoughts, when he was called to enter into rest. At Tocat, in Persia, on the 16th of October, 1812, either falling a sacrifice to the plague, which then raged there; or sinking under a disorder which had greatly reduced him, he surrendered his soul into the hands of his Redeemer, aged 32. Far from his native land, no friendly hand stretched out to succour him-no word of sympathy to soothe him-no human bosom, on which he could lean his head in the hour of languishing! But the Saviour, doubtless, was with his servant in the last conflict; and he with him the instant it ended.

Alone, and dying, hadst thou not a friend,

O'er thy low couch in anxious hope to bend ;
Watch thy last conflict, catch thy parting sigh;
Press the faint hand, and close the expiring eye?
Wast thou alone? was not the Saviour there;
And the lone stranger his peculiar care?
Yes, he was with thee; thy Redeemer shed,
His rays of glory round thy humble head.
His Spirit led thee, as thou journey'dst on,
His eye beheld thee from the eternal throne.
Thine the meek temper, thine the lowly mind,
The heart obedient, and the will resigned;
Prudence, that never slept, love uncontrouled,
And holy zeal, unconquerably bold.
Not the disciple favoured of his Lord,
Spread with more fervour tidings of his word;
Not the Apostle to the gentile world,
The Saviour's banner with more joy unfurled,
Than thy rapt spirit hailed the dawning day,
That shed on Pagan night the gospel ray :
Saw Bethlehem's star arise in Persia's plains,
Heard hymns of triumph peal-"Messiah reigns:"
Beheld the Saviour's ensign raised on high;
Viewed the bent knee, and marked the uplifted eye;
Mohammed's conquests wither in the tomb,
And truth's bright rays succeed to error's gloom.
And when thy failing steps to Tocat strayed;
When the weak frame refused to lend its aid ;

And the soul anxious to begin its flight,
Sought to adore in uncreated light;

Though no loved eye was there to pour the tear,
O'er thy wrecked hopes, thy meteor-like career,
Wast thou alone? when heaven to thee display'd
The crown of glory, that could never fade;
When Seraph spirits tended as thou slept,
And hymns of Zion soothed thee as thou wept?
Wast thou alone?-when God himself was there,
Heard every sigh, and answered every prayer?
No;-As to Calvary oft thou turnedst thine eyes,
And, more than conqueror, saw'st thy Lord arise;
Saw'st that the grave, the power of death and hell,
Against the eternal Son could not prevail ;
With dauntless steps the vale of death thou trod,
And found thy home in heaven, thy rest in God.

FUNERAL HYMN.

By the Bishop of Calcutta.

Thou art gone to the grave !-but.we will not deplore thee,
Tho' sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb;
The Saviour has passed thro' its portal before thee,
And the lamp of his love, is thy guide thro' the gloom.

Thou art gone to the grave!-we no longer behold thee,
Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side;
But the wide arins of mercy are spread to enfold thee,
And sinners may hope, since the sinless hath died.

Thou art gone to the grave !-and its mansion forsaking,
Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt linger'd long:
But the sunshine of heav'n beam'd bright on thy waking,
And the sound which thou heard'st, was the seraphin's
song.

Thou art gone to the grave!-but 'twere vain to deplore thee,
When God was thy ransom, thy guardian and guide;
He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee,
And death hath no sting, since the Saviour hath died.

Printed by A. Foster, Kirkby Lonsdale,