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mercy. Thus they trust in a vile impostor, instead of believing in the only true Mediator between God and man, the only Saviour, our Lord Jesus Christ. It is supposed that there are eighty millions of Mohammedans. We hope our readers earnestly desire, that those deluded millions may soon be converted to the faith of Christ.



MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS,-I purpose writing a series of Letters to you. I will tell you what led me to form the resolution of doing so. As I was looking over the Magazines in my book parcel, on New Year's-day, I noticed on the cover of our large Magazine, a request, from the Editor, that friends would send "instructive and interesting communications, suitable for insertion" in the Juvenile Companion. The thought crossed my mind-" Cannot you do something? Can you not write a series of Letters to the Young?" The thought impressed my mind, and enlisted my sympathies. I therefore resolved, that very day, that I would try.


Do you know, my young friends, that the little word 'try," was the very word that impressed itself so deeply on the mind of the great and good Robert Raikes, Esq., when he thought "Cannot something be done to instruct the young on Sabbath days? Cannot these boys that I see running about, breaking the Sabbath, learning to be vicious and bad, be brought together, and taught to read the Bible and know the Saviour; and thus not only be kept from learning and doing evil, but made virtuous and wise? Cannot something be done?" Some good spirit then impressed his mind with the word "try." This little emphatic word coming home to his mind with power, led him to put forth the effort which God has so very greatly blest. His example and influence stimulated many more. Sabbathschools soon became numerous. Many were taught to read who had before been neglected. Christians now found an

interesting sphere of usefulness, who had before been inactive. Talent was now taken out of the napkin in which it had been hitherto wrapped up. Crime was prevented. Mind was awakened. The fold of Christ was enlarged. Many little ones became pious. Good has been done-the half of which will not be known until "the Great Day." Now, my young friends, let us often think of the word try." You have a lesson to learn that seems too difficult. You know you ought to learn it. But you think it so


hard. Play is much more inviting. It is so much more agreeable to your minds to be free and thoughtless. You think you cannot succeed. Remember the word "try." Look at it. Think of it. Don't be frightened. Don't be careless. Be determined. You may master the difficult lesson, if you only master yourself.

"It is a lesson you should heed-try, try, try again. If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again." Every time you have a hard lesson to learn in which you feel a difficulty-or a painful duty to perform-or an evil temper to conquer-calmly and firmly let your mind think of the word "try." Make the effort. Ask God to help you. Be decided. You will find that-" The work is half finished when it is well begun.'

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I thought, my young friends, that the subject of my first letter should be yourselves. I will write about those that I write to. Do you know, my young friends, that very much importance belongs to you? That little boy or girl whose bright blue eyes are looking on this Magazine-admiring its beautiful new cover-and thinking, if my Magazine could speak, would it not with a smile say, "I wish you a very happy Year." You may grow to be a man or a woman. Your mind can contain a great amount of knowledge. Your heart can be filled and swayed either by good or evil dispositions. Your feet can walk either in the narrow road that leads to heaven, or the broad way that leads to hell.


"For there is beyond the sky,

A heaven of joy and love;

And holy children when they die,

Go to that world above."

You are perhaps learning to write, and you may in future years write that which will make others either better or worse. Your mind may think strong, burning, thoughts. Your soul may be moved by the inward fire of earnest feeling. You may exert great influence upon others. You may give great joy to your parents; or you may cause them to weep such tears as only broken-hearted parents shed. You may be a great blessing; or you may be a great curse. You may evince the most amiable disposition, and be beloved by all your friends, or you may become so unlovely that others will shun your company and despise you. All that is good and beautiful may adorn you. All that is bad and vile may pollute you. Yes, my dear young readers, all this may be said of you. I want you to think of yourselves. You can do so. Let me put words into your mouths, and thoughts into your minds. Think then, "I that hold this little book in my hand-that am now reading this Magazine-shall grow up and become either a bad or a good, a wise or a foolish, a virtuous or a vicious, man or woman. My mind is a field in which will either grow useless weeds, poisonous nightshade, or beautiful flowers and good fruit. That dear mother, whose hand is so often placed kindly on my head-whose eye looks on me so tenderly and affectionately, will either feel proud and happy to own me, or she will be ashamed to think that I am her child. I should feel ashamed if I thought I should ever become what I see many are-rude, ignorant, and wicked. How can I avoid what would make me ashamed of myself? I have read the line somewhere, 'As the twig is bent the tree's inclined.' I am now a young twig. Am I a crooked one? Do I lean toward idleness, thoughtlessness, rudeness, self-willedness? If I wish to become a wise and good man or woman, I must often consider what am I? How am I growing? What is my disposition? Is it amiable or unamiable? Do my dear parents see me cultivating a kind, diligent, obliging spirit? Am I like that amiable child, of whom the teacher seems so fond,-who is never too late for

school,—who is never unkind to me,-who is always busy? Do I love books or play the best? Should I admire another if I saw him manifest the same dispositions that I manifest ?"

You see, my young friends, I want to help you to think of yourselves. Others think of you. Parents, teachers, ministers, think of you. For your good, schools are built, books are written, magazines are printed. Angels-good ones and bad ones-think of you. Jesus thinks of you. He, the Good Shepherd, does not forget the lambs of his flock.

"See Israel's gentle Shepherd stand,

With all engaging charms;

Hark! how he calls his tender lambs,

And folds them in his arms,"

Think, then, every time your parents sends you to school, - every time your teacher takes pains to instruct you,every time any minister addresses you,-every time a good book is put into your hands,-every time that Jesus invites you to come to him,-all this is done that you become wise and holy. Hopes are placed on you. Affections centre in You will be wicked if you disappoint these hopes. Say that by God's help you will not do so. But will earnestly seek to excel in knowledge and goodness. Will aim at being amiable, intelligent, and pious.


Happy, my dear young friends, shall I be, if anything that I can say or do, shall help to secure such a result. I don't want to tire you. I therefore close this letter--promising, if spared, to write you for next month, a letter on Home. Sincerely imploring on you the blessing of Him who said, "They that seek me early shall find me."

I remain, dear young friends, affectionately yours,




THE subject of the following brief sketch was born at Poynton, in Cheshire, September 5th, 1841, and died February 28, 1851. Alas! how short her earthly career. How truly may it be said of her,

"This fair flower scarce blossom'd for a day;

Short was the bloom, and early the decay."

Like other little girls, she had her imperfections; but these seemed to be completely eclipsed by her many excellences. Her tender and delicate frame, like the sensitive plant in Hervey's Meditations, was scarcely able to bear even a touch of the hand of affliction. No sooner had the morning flower displayed its sweets, and unfolded its silken leaves, than it "died away." Her parents grieve on account of her death, but hope to

"See her again, when, with all the bright train,
She will descend in the luminous clouds."

Elizabeth was remarkable for her strong attachment to her parents, this was manifest in all her deportment towards them. She attended to the Divine command, "Honour thy father and thy mother," and was ever solicitous to know, and used various means to ascertain, whether they considered her affectionate and obedient. Nothing seemed to give her greater pleasure than to know that her behaviour had secured the approbation of her father.

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