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God. At noon I addressed another party, assembled before my abode, and distributed tracts. In the evening I again went to the river, and placed myself before the entrance of a small temple, where I was secure from the pressure of the people; an immense mass of people sitting before me on the sand. At first I read a portion of a tract; and then I preached the word of God, till my voice was gone, the noise of the people rendering great effort in speaking necessary. By illustrating the meaning of what I said, through some parables and allegories, I succeeded in fixing their attention. All admired the Ten Commandments. As I had become quite exhausted by speaking, I desired the men to come to me, and began to distribute tracts. The demand for tracts was now greater than ever, and many said that I was gathering a great deal of merit by distributing them. The pressure was such, that many people screamed; turbans were flying in every direction; and, with all my caution, I could not prevent some tracts being torn in pieces, because so many hands laid hold on them. On my return, others were waiting before my abode, and demanded tracts. I gave them, and spoke to them till it became time to retire. A quiet conversation with a small number of people I should think more useful than such a noisy one; but to all the Gospel must be preached. The Lord mightily aspraised be his name!'

sisted me to day

(To be Continued.)

LINES DEDICATED TO A BROTHER FAR

AT SEA.

PALE trembling moon, night's gentle queen!
Whilst by thy light I love to stray
And gaze upon thy orb serene,
1 think on one far, far, away.
Now in this blest, this tranquil hour,
Below, above, so sweet so calm,
I love to court thy soothing power,
My wearied bosom seeks a calm.
Oh gentle moon, could'st thou convey
Some news to me of one so dear,
Companion of my childhood day,

Inscribed upon thy glittering sphere.

What kindred thoughts would'st thou reveal,
How many a sigh would'st thou disclose!
Would'st tell how oft he loves to steal

From thee an object for his woes.

What is thy magic power, say?

Oh, lovely regent of the night!

That whilst we watch thy soft beam play,
With absent friends we thus unite.

And thus does sweet remembrance warm,
And kindred spirits seem to soar,
And half subdue each real alarm
By whispering other joys in store.
Oh then when next thy placid ray,
Thou gentle moon, return'st to him,
O bid him think on that sweet day
No earthly vision e'er will dim-

Nor time, nor distance, aught avail,
And pleasures only bloom to die,
-But when escap'd from every gale
We'll converse in a purer sky!

M. B. B.

REV. H. A. SIMCOE, (PENHEALE-PRESS) CORNWALL.

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