CHASING THE BUTTERFLY.

Boys and girls are very fond of running after butterflies. We wish we could persuade them not to do so; and we will tell you why. It is very often labour in vain. They wont let you catch them. Henry has been running after that I dont know how long, and he cannot catch it. And then if he should, it is such a very tender and delicate creature that it will almost be sure to die in his hands. He had better stop and say :"Poor harmless insect! fly away, And life's short hour enjoy! 'Tis all thou hast, and why should I That little all destroy?

Why should my tyrant will suspend
A life by wisdom given;

Or sooner bid thy being end,

Than e'er was meant by Heaven?
Lost to the joy which reason knows,
Thy wings, so fair and frail,
Love best to wander where the rose
Perfumes the summer gale.

To bask upon the sunny bed,
The damask rose to kiss:

To rove along the garden-walk,

Is all thy little bliss.

Then flutter on through summer's hours,

Nor care nor grief be thine,

But rest thee on our prettiest flowers,

Like them awhile to shine!"

THE PIOUS FATHER.

IT could be easily shown that he who disbelieves Christianity and persuades others to disbelieve its divine revelations from God to man,-so full of mercy, goodness, and love—is an enemy not only of his fellowmen, but of society at large. For, apart from the truth or falsehood of Christianity, it is admitted by its greatest foes to be not only conducive in the highest degree to the best interests of society, but to individual happiness. Bolingbroke, Hume, and many other deists or atheists of note, have volunteered their testimony to the beneficial influence, even in this life, of the religion of Jesus. Taking the unbeliever, therefore, on his own showing-availing ourselves of his ample and candid admission, that Christianity is most intimately interwoven with the well-being of society, and the happiness of individuals,—does he not prove himself the enemy of both, when he embarks in the unholy enterprise of doing all he can to destroy the belief of his fellow-men in the divine origin of the Christian system? Genuine benevolence would dictate a directly opposite course. Even did the religion of Jesus only possess the negative merit of being harmless to society, and not detrimental to the individual himself, the infidel would not be able to offer any justification of his conduct in seeking to unhinge the Christian's faith. He would subject himself to the imputation of mischievously disturbing the peace of those who had reposed their faith in the truth of the scriptures, and who regarded those scriptures as containing a special revelation of the mind and will of heaven. How then shall we sufficiently denounce the wretched taste, and the unredeemed heartlessness of the man, who comes deliberately forward to attempt to rob the christian, amid all the disquieting and distressing circumstances of life, of that which sheds abroad in his own bosom an ineffable bliss, and contributes in so material a measure to the happiness of society at large?

If there could be a doubt or a diversity of opinion, as to whether or not the piety of the New Testament is conducive to human happiness, the point could be instantly and conclusively set at rest by an appeal to facts. All that would be needed in the supposed case, would simply be to ask the man who had been converted to christianity in advanced life, whether he felt most happy before or after his conversion to God.

Or, were it possible that the force of prejudice and of hostility to the religion of Jesus, could obtain so firm a hold

THE PIOUS FATHER.

on the depraved mind of man, as to create a suspicion in any breast against the honesty of the testimony given by christians, to its beneficial effects on him who has submitted to its authority and felt its power,-were, we say, this possible, we would refer such a person to the statements made on a dying bed by those who had once been under the influence of christian principle, but had abandoned themselves again to the ways of the world. Every such person who has, in his dying moments, left any record as to the comparative happiness of a religious and irreligious life, has spoken in the most impressive unequivocal manner, in favour of religion. And surely no one will pretend to question the truth of testimony given under circumstances of such awful solemnity, as those which surround the expiring moments of a fellow-creature.

Wisdom's ways are, indeed, ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. Gospel piety is, indeed, profitable unto all things; not merely to those things which relate to the world to come, but to those also which immediately relate to that which now is. We have often thought, that could the men of the world be sensible of the temporal advantages of real religion, they would seek to live a pious life, if it were only from a selfish desire to enjoy its blessings.

But perhaps of all the periods of pure, we had almost said perfect bliss, which the believer in Jesus is privileged to enjoy on this side the tomb, there is none, with the single exception of that in which, when in his own closet, he shuts out the world, and is alone with the Saviour whom he worships,—that can be compared with the period in which, in his capacity as the head of a family, he assembles around him those over whom he possesses controul, and conducts their devotions. Independently of its religious interest, there is something singularly impressive and poetical in seeing a venerable man summoning to his presence his family and domestics, and after solemnly reading a portion of the Divine word, all falling down on their knees, and in that attitude of becoming humility and reverence, offering up their united devotion to Him in whom we not only live and move and have our being, but who has so loved us as to give his own Son to die for our sins.

Perhaps there is not in the wide range of either poetry or prose, a more truthful or graphic picture of a pious father conducting the devotions of his family, than is given in Burn's "Cottar's Saturday Night." Alas! that one who could so

THE PIOUS FATHER.

write, but above all, so feel as he must have done who penned the following lines, should have lived-we pronounce no opinion as to the state in which he died—a stranger to the power of Divine grace!

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,
They round the ingle form a circle wide;
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,
The big ha' bible, ance his father's pride:
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,
His laggart haffets wearin' thin and bare,

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide
He wales a portion wi' judicious care,

AndLet us worship God,' he says, with solemn air.
They chant their artless notes in simple guise,
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim;
Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name,
Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays:

Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they wi' our Creator's praise.

The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
How Abraham was the friend of God on high;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage

With Amelek's ungracious progeny ;
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie
Beneath the stroke of heaven's avenging ire;
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;
Or rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic fire;

Or other holy seers that tuned the sacred lyre.
Perhaps the christian volume is the theme,

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He, who bore in heaven the second name,
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head;
How his first followers and servants sped,
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land;
How he, who lone in Patmos banished,

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,

And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by heaven's command.
Then kneeling down to heaven's eternal King,

The saint, the father, and the husband prays;
'Hope springs exulting on triumphing wing,'
That thus they all shall meet in future days;
There ever bask in uncreated rays,

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
Together hymning their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear,

While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.

POETRY.

Compared with this, how poor religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method and art,
When men display to congregations wide,
Devotion's every grace, except the heart!
The power, incensed, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ;
But haply, in some cottage far apart,

May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul,
And in his book of life the inmate poor enrol.

Such scenes as are here so beautifully and touchingly pourtrayed, are quite common in the land of Burns. In many districts, indeed, there is hardly a cottage to be found, in which the voice of family praise and prayer does not, morning and evening, ascend to the Most High. How beautiful!

Poetry.

THE PILGRIM AND HIS CROSS.

SHALL Simon bear his cross alone,
And all the rest go free?
No! there's a cross for every one,
And there's a cross for me!

The cross the Christian must sustain,
Whate'er the cross may be;

If thou expect with Christ to reign,
Then there's a cross for thee.

My Lord and Master bore the cross,
Was nailed unto the tree;

Shall I disdain and count it loss,
Since there's a crown for me?

My consecrated cross I'll bear;
Till from that cross set free,
I will go on my crown to wear,
Since there's a crown for me.

Farewell, poor sinner, O farewell,
From sin and satan flee;

Fly unto Christ-escape from hell,
And there's a crown for thee.

But if thou dost refuse the grace

Which for mankind is free,
Thou wilt not see the Saviour's face,
And there's no crown for thee!