But there is another tree called the black gum, which is very much like our English elms. There is a fine clump of them near my house.”—“ House !” exclaimed little James," Have you got a house, uncle ?"-" Yes, my boy, I have a house and a little patch of land, and if you will go to New-Holland with me, and be a smart boy, you will own houses and lands before you are as old as I am. Seriously, mother, I want to take you and all the children back with me. They can earn three times as much there as they can in England; and they shall never want for a friend so long as I live."-" But I am an old tree to be transplanted, William," replied Dame Trueman. "Old, but with a heart of oak," said her son, smiling; "and, mother, we will move you to a kindly soil, and tend you carefully." The old lady pressed his hand, and answered, "I am willing to do what is for the good of the little ones. England is over full, and has more mouths than bread to spare. But your namesake, William, is no great hand for hard labour. He is altogether given to book-learning; and the chaplain up at the hall has been kind enough to teach him a great deal. What will he do in such a new country?"— "Oh, mother, education is the very thing we want in New-Holland. We want ministers and we want schoolmasters. William will be worth his weight in gold if he is a good scholar."-"Then God be praised that a way is opened for him!" replied the old lady: "I would fain have died within sight of the churchyard, where your good father and Margaret sleep. But they are in heaven; and heaven will be as near to me in New-Holland as it is in England."—" Yes, my mother," said the young man, in a tone of deep reverence, "such as you are always near to heaven."

From that day it was determined that all the family should accompany William; and busy preparations were made for their departure William had selected for his wife Betsy Newman, the daughter of a respected widow in the neighbourhood, who had recently died after giving her blessing to the young pair. They were soon after married at the village church; and the good squire who lived at the great hall invited all the family and many of the neighbours to supper, in honour of the wedding; and when he bade them good-night, he gave young William many useful books, and maps, and mathematical instruments. "Continue to be eager in

the pursuit of knowledge, my lad," said he; "for in every corner of the earth it will prove a blessing."

The next morning Dame Trueman led the orphans to their mother's grave at early sunrise; and bidding them kneel around it, she prayed fervently that God would bless them in their distant home, and make them good children on earth, fit to become angels in heaven. Then taking a last look at her cottage, she placed them all in the wagon that was waiting by the roadside; and with a serene countenance bidding farewell to her native village, she set off for the vessel that was to convey them to their new abode.

During the voyage little Meg sometimes complained of the cold; and the boys were frightened when the ship rocked in the gale; but Dame Trueman, aged as she was, and unpleasantly affected by the smell of the bilge-water, had always a word of comfort to bestow upon her grandchildren. The lighthearted creatures soon became accustomed to the ocean, and found sufficient entertainment in watching the seabirds and porpoises.

The family arrived at Van Dieman's Land in safety; and though every thing looked new and strange, they all agreed that it would soon seem very much like home.

William's house was larger than his mother's cottage in England, but it was not so comfortable; being built of logs and planks, well plastered with sand and clay. In the warmest and most sheltered corner of the dwelling was prepared a neat apartment for Dame Trueman. Two cows, two goats, some sheep, and some hens, feeding in the adjoining pasture, gave the scenery an air of rural comfort and quiet beauty. But what pleased little Meg more than any thing was a tame kangaroo, that lapped tea from her bowl, and picked a bone like a monkey. The odd manner in which these animals jump along upon their hind legs amused the children exceedingly. They thought, too, that it looked very strange to see the bright parrots flying about among the trees, without needing any cages to live in; they never seemed fully to understand why there were no such creatures in England.

Dame Trueman loved the cows and the sheep better than any of the strange animals. "Old folks," said she, are apt to like such things as they have been most used to. But with a bright sky, and pleasant fields, and

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William and Betsy, and my grandchildren round me, I can truly say, with a thankful heart, that I feel at home in this distant land. I have sometimes thought it was rather hard that people willing to work could not get food in England. But I can see the hand of Divine Providence in this. The clever, industrious, and honest people, who are driven from England by poverty, are settling in Asia, in Africa, and America; and who can calculate the good they will do? I sometimes think," she continued," that all the world will become one England-and that, too, when England is far better than she is now."

Thus, ever looking on the bright side, and finding blessings where others saw nothing but evil, Dame Trueman passed her useful and blameless life. When too old to perform any other labour, she managed to knit stockings for all the family, and to tell Betsy's children the same stories that used to amuse little Meg. At threescore years and ten, she quietly passed into the world of spirits; leaving the precious influence of her example to bless her children and her children's children.

THE BLESSED FAMILY.

In a certain little village not far from hence, there formerly dwelt a poor but pious widow. The time had been when she had been happy in the company of a beloved husband, and when many little children had played round the door of her cottage. But of these not one now remained to her; but all were gone to that place from whence there was no hope of their return. We cannot always see wherefore it pleases the Lord to exercise some individuals with very severe trials, while others appear to pass through life with comparatively few afflictions; but this we learn from Scripture, that many are afflicted for their good, and are exercised with outward trials, in order to bring them to their Saviour. Therefore, the apostle says, "My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him: For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth; and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the Father chasteneth not? Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous; nevertheless, afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby." Now this poor widow knew that it was her duty to endeavour to make religion her comfort under her afflictions, but as yet, through the weakness of her faith, her comfort had been small, and she had lingered out her life, since her afflictions, in much mourning and heaviness. Neither had she been yet able to find in her blessed Saviour those beloved relations from which she was separated. Nevertheless, she had a little book, in which all the sweet promises in Scripture were collected and printed together; but although she read these promises day by day, and prayed over them, yet she was unable to receive comfort from them, because her heart still clung so close to that which she had lost for a while; insomuch so, that a spirit of dissatisfaction mingled itself with all her religious exercises. And thus passed many a long year

since she had committed to the grave her last earthly prop; and those who visited her little cottage always found her weeping; and those who entered into discourse with her were always condemned to hear her long tale of wo.

But though the comfort of this poor widow was withheld for a time, yet it was not withheld for ever. 66 'For though the Lord cause grief, yet will he have compassion, according to the multitude of his mercies. For he doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men." According to which promise, this mourner was at length made to see and feel that all the Lord had done for her was good. It happened one Sunday, on a fine summer afternoon, as she was walking to church, leaning on her stick, that she was overtaken by one of the neighbouring families, consisting of a prosperous couple of about her own age, followed by a large company of their children, gayly dressed, and in high spirits. The neighbours accosted each other, and the delighted grandmother informed the mourning widow that she was carrying her first grandchild to church to be christened. The widow sighed; and looking sorrowfully at the infant, which was brought to be presented to her, she blessed it, with tears in her eyes, and, falling behind, allowed the party to proceed before her. The family who were carrying the infant to church were not pious persons, but they were full of riches, and had known few troubles in the world; and as the poor widow followed them at a distance, she fell into a comparison between the situation of the mother of this family and her own. "This happy parent," said she to herself, "is surrounded by all her children; and even is so far favoured as to be allowed to carry her children's children in her arms: but I am a dry and barren branch; my leaf is fallen off, and my root withered; all my beloved ones are contained in one cold grave, and I alone am left a widow, and childless." Full of these sorrowful thoughts she entered the church, and sat down in a corner of the aisle, where she remained till the service was over, and nearly every one was gone out of the church. She then crept out softly behind the rest of the congregation, and turning round the corner of the church, sought the wellknown spot, where a high blue stone marked the place where were interred the remains of all those lovely and beloved ones which once dwelt round her now solitary