They're weel grunded in the reasons o' their faith, for I never could see onything in the Bible but Episcopacy, as far as the government of the Church is concerned; besides, schism gangs sic lengths here that it warks its ain cure. There's aboot us here three or four kinds o' Methodists, and three or four kinds o' Presbyterians, and four or five kinds o' Baptists and Unitarians, who profanely ca' themselves Christians, an' I ken na how mony mair. They're aye splittin' up into different societies, and tearing ither to pieces. Noo, I've been always showing ma young folk frae Holy Scripture, that the Church of CHRIST is one, and that it's just clean impossible that thir bit sects that spring up the day and split up the morn, can belong to the one Church o' CHRIST, which He Himsel' planted eighteen hundred years ago, and which is to continue even unto the end of the warld."

"These truths appear so evident, both from Scripture and common sense," replied Harry, "that the only wonder is that men can deny them."

"It's just a mystery to me," returned the old man; "if there's one thing in Holy Scripture that's clear to the plainest body that reads it, it's the unity o' the Church. There's some differences, nae doubt, in the opinions o' some o' the folks belanging to it; but for a' that, her ministry, her creeds, her sacraments, and her prayers, are a' one and the same, wherever they're to be found."

The conversation on these and kindred topics continued for some time, until the invalid began to show signs of weariness and exhaustion. Vernon then read to him some of the most devotional and suitable passages of Holy Scripture, pausing now and then to dwell upon some portion of peculiar beauty or fitness to the sick man's case.

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'Noo, sir, if ye please," said M'Farlane, on Vernon's making a longer pause than usual,-" let us have the Evening Prayer. O, sir, I love the Evening Prayer."

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Certainly," replied Vernon; "but would you not prefer uniting in the Office for the Visitation of the Sick?"

"I'd like weel to hae them baith, sir," answered the sick man; "but as I'm getting verra weak, it'll maybe be better to hae the Visitation Office; but," he added, "I'd be thankfu' if you'd read some o' the collect, sir; I love the collect of the Evening Prayer."

The household were accordingly assembled, and after having reverently joined in the devotions which were offered by his bedside, the old man sunk into a peaceful sleep; and all, save one who watched beside him, betook themselves to the adjoining apartment.

During the remainder of the evening, Vernon listened with much interest to many details connected with the Scotch Episcopal Church with which the family were able to furnish him. They spoke with the greatest reverence of many of the bishops and pastors, especially of Bishop Jolly, whom they had known. "His time," said a son-in-law of old M'Farlane, 66 was spent either in study or prayer. He went regularly to the church, morning and evening, and spent a good while in prayer; and when he was in his own house he was mostly at his books or on his knees. He was an auld man, and had little duty to do, and this was just the way he passed his days."

'Hech, sir, if ye'd only hae seen him in his robes inside the communion rails," said old Mrs. M'Farlane, "ye wad na hae forgotten him for a while; he was vera tall, and sae thin that he looked as if he'd got nae flesh upon his bones; his head was quite bald, and the skin o' his head and face was so white that ye could scarce see the fringe o' snaw-white hair that cam round the back o' his head to his temples; his eye was clear, and his thin lips were bright red; and I'm sure whan I used to see him reading the Communion Service, I used to think he was na' human."

"And his death was vera wonderfu'," said one of the daughters, an expression of awe coming over her face.

"Deed, ye may say that," replied the old woman: "he lived alane, and naebody except a young man he was preparing for the ministry cam' near him. One night he went to his bed as weel as he was in ordinar' and took some gude book that he was readin' wi' him-he locked the door, which was his way, and when the young man cam' next mornin' the door was still shut, an' nathing to be heard. The door was forced, and there lay the gude bishop dead and cauld; he was lying on his back as straight as if he had been laid out; his book was closed by his side, his hands were crossed upon his breast, and a white napkin was drawn ower his face. Noo, sir," added Mrs. M'Farlane, it wasna in human nature to do sic a thing as that, and it's hard to believe ought else but that the angels laid him out."

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These and many other minute details, told with a simplicity, and at the same time an earnestness, that showed how deep a hold they had upon the memory and affections of the several speakers, caused the time to pass swiftly; and at rather a late hour Vernon retired to rest. When alone he reflected on what he had that evening witnessed, and felt that he was beneath the rooftree of a family among whom the fear of GOD was a powerful and ruling principle. There was a quiet staidness, and a due subordination and regularity about the whole household that struck him much, though it would have been most difficult to

describe; and the declaration of Holy Scripture came strongly to his mind, that God hath chosen the poor in this world, rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom of heaven.

At a very early hour next morning, Mr. Broughton, according to Vernon's anticipation, rode up to the door. He had arrived at home late on the preceding evening, and on learning that M'Farlane was very ill, he rose as soon as it was light, and rode fast, fearing he would be too late. The invalid, who still continued easy, was much gratified by his arrival, and shortly afterwards preparations were made for the administration of the Holy Communion. While they were going forward, Vernon and his friend walked out alone; and the former expressed the gratification he had experienced from his visit.

“He is, indeed, a most excellent old man," said Broughton, "and I am so glad you were able to come and see him. When I arrived at home last night and heard of his illness, my regret for it was much increased by the fear of his dying without his seeing a clergyman,- -a circumstance which he would regard as a very great trial."

On their return to the house, they found everything in order. The whole family had made some change in their dress, and looked clean and tidy, and each member of it was present. On entering the sick man's room, every preparation was made for the decent administration of the holy rite. It was a homely apartment. Three sides were formed by the rough logs of which the house was built, while the other consisted of the board partition which divided it from the common room which answered the purpose of kitchen and sitting-room together.

The rays of the morning sun were streaming brightly through a window that looked towards the east. In the middle of the room stood a table covered with a fair linen cloth, on which the elements were placed. Across one end stood the bed of the invalid, his white head propped up by pillows and his hand grasped in that of his aged and afflicted wife. Round the room, the family, who were all grown up, and who were eight or nine in number, had ranged themselves with noiseless reverencetheir Prayer Books open at the Communion office, and ready, with heart and voice, to join in the sacred ordinance.

The service commenced; and Broughton's impressive tones added to the solemnity of the scene. Soon, however, the voices of the assembled household rose, as the voice of one man, in the deep and reverent response; or, if one tone could be distinguished from the others, it was owing to the greater fervency of the sick man's petitions. The priests having received, the sacred elements were distributed to the communicants in order; not one among that well-trained household held back. The left hand of

each was opened, and across it was laid the right hand, "in" the palm of which they received the consecrated bread, and reverently bent the head over it to consume it. Last of all, the sufferer partook of the blessed memorials of his Redeemer's dying love-the succeeding prayers were said- the hymn of praise and thanksgiving was offered with united voice-the blessing was solemnly pronounced-and the holy rite was over.

Vernon had seldom been so impressed. He had supposed the age when such scenes were beheld had long since passed away, and that ere it would return long years of labour, teaching, and self-denial must necessarily elapse. He little thought to find the realisation of what he sometimes thought might, perhaps, be hereafter, if GOD's servants were faithful to the cause of truth, in a neglected township in Upper Canada; and he thanked GOD from his heart for affording him so striking and encouraging an example of what is meant by "the communion of saints."

About the middle of the day Vernon was obliged to bid the aged patriarch farewell. He saw his face no more; but he had abundant testimony to show that "his end was peace.”—Sketches of Canadian Life.

THE DYING SISTER.

BY J. ROBERTSHAW.

COME, sister, mine!

One parting sight at these dear scenes below,-
One glance I fain would take ere hence I go,-
Ere they are hidden from my sight.
Come, gently bear me to my favourite seat,
Whence through the leafy lattice I may greet
Morn's rosy streaks of cheerful light,
And view the grove
Where our fond love

Has oft encircled us, and led our thoughts above.

We breathed our thoughts and feelings to each other's mind.

See how the sun,

In splendour rising, pours a sparkling tide

Of golden light adown the dewy side

Of that green hill, which now appears

Like one huge pyramid of brilliant pearls!
And see ascending slow the azure curls

Of smoke, from that sweet home, which rears
Its humble head,

O'er its fair bed

Of cottage flowers, that all around their odours shed.

It rises like

The holy incense of believing prayer,
From off the sacred household altar there,
Which-from humility's low vales,
Ascending gently through the air serene
To Him who dwells the cherubims between-
Before the throne of love prevails;

When troubles cease,

And gentle peace

Comes to the grief-fraught heart, and gives a sweet release.

But sunny rays

Light all their days,

And blest contentment scatters flowers through all their ways.

And there still lies

The shady wood-path, leading to the glen

We loved; 'tis skirted still with flowers, as when

We trod it in the days gone by.

And by its side still flows that limpid stream,
Discoursing music,-glitt'ring in the beam
Of morn, beneath the dappled sky;
And songsters free,

From bush and tree,

Attune their lays, and fill the vale with melody.

'Tis such a morn

As we erewhile have spent together, love,

When through these scenes delighted we would rove,

And sweetly dream of joys to come;

But ah! 'tis over now-those times are past,
And hark! the gentle summons comes at last
That calls me to my future home.

Oh, sister dear!

Art thou still near?

Come to my heart; nay, weep not, thou hast nought to fear.

For listen how

The gladsome strains of earth now sweetly blend
With heavenly harmony; and earthward bend
Bright visitants their shining way.

Come, let me lean my head upon thy breast,
And, like the soft tints of the fading west,

There close my sweet, but short-lived day.
Yes, sister mine!
There I'd recline,

And breathe my soul away near that dear heart of thine.