and final loss of liberty, never to be redeemed by their friends, and with the further stipulation that if transferred to other masters, it shall be on condition of their being compelled to work from morning to night to the utmost limits of their strength. Their property has been also taken away. Of those who were married, their wives and children whether professing Christianity or not, have also been reduced to slavery, but with the mitigating circumstance of permission to be redeemed. The total number thus affected is said to amount to nearly one hundred.

The last moments of the honoured Proto-martyr of Madagascar are thus described by Mr. Johns.

On the books being found near her house, her whole property was given up to plunder, her person seized, and her hands and feet loaded with heavy iron rings. She was threatened in vain during a period of from eight to ten days, to induce her to impeach her com. panions. She remained firm and perfectly composed, and was put to death by spearing, on the 14th of August, 1837. She had said repeatedly by letter to her friend Mrs. Johns, "Do not fear on my account, I am ready and prepared to die for Jesus, if it be the will of God." She was most wonderfully supported to the last moment of her life. Her age at the time of her death was 38 years. Many even of the old people remarked that they had never seen any one so stubborn as Rafaravary, for although the Queen forbade her to pray, she would pray even when in irons, and continued to proclaim Christ to the officers and to the crowd that followed her for nearly three-quarters of a mile, from the place of public condemnation to the place of common execution. Here she continued to pray and exhort all around her to believe in Jesus Christ, even till the executioner's spear thrust through her body deprived her of the power of utterance. If the blood of the martyr is the seed of the church, we may trust that Rafaravary will not have died in vain.

In all seasons of extremity the church has sought its safety in prayer, and it is earnestly hoped that our brethren in Christ, when pleading for Madagascar, will implore for our persecuted friends the support they require, that they may fear none of these things, and be in nothing terrified by their adversaries.

The afflictive intelligence was to be noticed in all the congregations on the 4th Sunday of this month, and the evening of the 29th was fixed upon for united prayer for the suffering Christians in Madagascar.

SECOND LETTER FROM A CONVERTED HINDOO.

It was

HOLY FATHER!- William in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, writes at your command. This day is a day of great sorrow to us all. My liver is wholly dried up, (or my heart is faint.) I begin to feel that I am alone, and after your departure I shall feel more than I do now. you who brought to me the blessed Gospel; it was you who saw me a vile idolater; it was you who told me of Jesus; it was you who convinced me of sin; it was you who espoused me to Christ; it was you who taught me to sit at his feet; it was you that nourished me up in the true faith: you have been my shepherd hitherto, and led me into green pastures; you taught me to pray, and to preach: I have gone with you through the towns and villages to teach and to preach the kingdom of God for four years; and now you are going, and I shall be desolate, and without heart.

Cannot you take me with you? I should like to go with you. You asked me to tell you what I wished you to tell good Christians in England about India. First, tell them that William

a servant of Christ, by the grace of God, was once a servant of sin, and would have been a servant of sin now, had they not sent you to tell me of Christ crucified for sinners. Tell them my heart thanks them. Oh! when I think that had not English Christians sent Jesus Christ to me, I must have been for ever lost, I cannot help loving them. I always pray for them, and I daily thank God, first for myself, and next for them; for myself, that through their mercy I have obtained mercy, and next for them, that God put it into their hearts to send Jesus Christ to India; because, had they not so done, they would have been guilty of a brother's blood; but now they rejoice with poor William. Then, tell them that we wonder much that they only send one or two missionaries: what are one or two? Do they not know how many millions of my poor Hindoo brethren are yet without God? Oh! tell them that William, who thanks them for himself, blames them on account of others. I have heard you say that there are many millions of people in England, and then I think-Well! many millions, and only one, two, or three come to India to save millions of those who are perishing in sin. Tell them we have 33,000,000 of gods, whose slaves we are; and oh! tell them that, though these gods never spake before, in the day of judgment the God of English Christians will give each a tongue to condemn them for not sending the Gospel and those Missionaries to India. Do they think Hindoos cannot believe? will not hear of Christ, the only Saviour? Then, tell them to come with you, and see how many here have forsaken sin, for Christ, and are now willing to die for Christ. Had they sent 100 more with you, 200, nay more would have blessed them, as we now do, and pray for them, and love them.

Give William's love to English Christians, and when you return, bring with you 100 missionaries. God gave you to us, God pre

erved you to us a long time, now God will take you away from us-and God will again bring you back to us. Pray for poor William, whose heart is very sorrowful.

A LETTER FROM A MASON'S WIFE IN AMERICA TO HER SISTER IN ENGLAND.

DEAR SISTER,—I have a small bit to write on, as my paper is nearly filled. I hope you are all living, and well. I was very glad to hear from you, and to find you were doing well for this world; but O! my dear sister, let us look beyond this. What will this world do for us on a dying pillow? It is passing away, and all its vanities and pleasures will soon have an end; and if our souls are not right with God, where shall we appear? Dear Jane and Thomas, I often think of you, and say to myself, O! if we can but meet in heaven at last! You both know it is the right way, to serve the Lord. You may think yourselves blest that you are in a Gospel land, where you have the Gospel, and can always hear it preached; and, my dear sister, it will be more to our sorrow at last, if we do not obey it, for there are thousands who have never heard the Gospel sound yet. I have wept and mourned when I have thought of what a happy place England was, if the people did but know their privileges. When we came here at first, there was no kind of public means of grace. I can see nothing in this world worth a thought; but I am trying, with the help of God, to press through to fight on the heavenly road. We shall meet with many difficulties, with many hindrances in the way; but, my dear sister and brother, what are all our sufferings or trials here? we must take up the cross, if we would obtain the crown. May the Lord bless you both, and your dear children, and make you meet for heaven, and us and our children, then we shall meet to part no more. Farewell.

THE MORNING OF THE RESURRECTION.

Ye saints of God! the Lord is come
To bear his wearied people home,
Beyond the reach of care;

Where guilt and sin are terms unknown;
The Lord is come to bear his own,
And place them with him on his throne,
To dwell for ever there.

Methinks yon burnish'd cloud reveals
The rolling of his chariot wheels,
His bright attendant choir;
What mighty signs arrest the eye!
While earth proclaims the Lord is nigh,
One blaze of glory fills the sky,

The baptism of fire!

M. T. S.

The resurrection morning breaks,
And each imprison'd saint awakes,
Call'd forth to life again;

Entranc'd awhile in dumb surprise,
Earth sees her shrouded tenants rise,
And wend their way to yonder skies,
Call'd up with Christ to reign.
But oh! that wonder-teeming hour,
The season of Jehovah's pow'r,
Immanuel's harvest home;
I see the living saints on wing,
Each consecrated priest and king,
While heaven's lofty arches ring

Throughout her vaulted dome.
Envelop'd in no other shroud
Than yonder bright ethereal cloud,

Through trackless space they move;
Transform'd to breathe in other spheres,
They rise above this world of tears,
And wing their way till each appears
Before the throne above.

May I be one amidst that throng,
To join the everlasting song

Of glory, honour, pow'r;

That when creation's pillars yield,
And nature's Lord shall be reveal'd,
His sov'reign arm may prove my shield
In that decisive hour.

EPAPHRAS.

THE PILGRIM'S SONG.

BY THE REV. H. F. LYTE.

"There remaineth a rest for the people of God."
My rest is in heaven; my rest is not here;
Then why should I murmur when trials are near?
Be hushed, my dark spirit, the worst that can come
But shortens thy journey, and hastens thee home.

It is not for me to be seeking my bliss,
And building my hopes in a region like this:
I look for a city which hands have not piled-
pant for a country by sin undefiled.

The thorn and the thistle around me may grow-
I would not lie down upon roses below:
I ask not my portion, I seek not a rest,
Till I find them for ever in Jesus's breast.

Afflictions may damp me, they cannot destroy:
One glimpse of his love turns them all into joy;
And the bitterest tears, if he smile but on them,
Like dew in the sunshine, grow diamond and gem.

Let doubt, then, and danger, my progress oppose,
They only make heaven more sweet at the close;
Come joy, or come sorrow, whate'er may befall,
An hour with my God will make up for it all.

A scrip on my back, and a staff in my hand,
I march on, in haste, through an enemy's land;
The road may be rough, but it cannot be long,
And I'll smooth it with hope, and cheer it with song.