Perchance, all thoughtless as they tread
The hollow sounding floor,

Of that dark house of kindred dead,
Which shall, as heretofore,
In turn, receive, to silent rest,
Another, and another guest,—

The feather'd hearse and sable train
In all its wonted state,

Shall wind along the village lane,
And stand before the gate:
-Brought many a distant county through,
To join the final rendezvous.

And when the race is swept away,
All to their dusty beds,

Still shall the mellow evening ray
Shine gaily o'er their heads;
While other faces, fresh and new,
Shall occupy the Squire's Pew.

THE WHOLE FAMILY.

WHOLE FAMILY! It is not easy to find two words that would awaken so many tender associations.

You probably recollect when you were one of a whole and happy family, sheltered by the same roof, and grouped at the same fireside. Then, thrice a-day, you surrounded the same table. Then you "went to the house of God in company." Then, morning and evening, you sat in reverent silence, and heard a chapter read from the family Bible-a peculiar book, whose shape and appearance you can never forget. Then you formed an unbroken circle,

"When kneeling down to heaven's eternal King,

The saint, the father, and the husband prayed." Then, as you had one home, and sought no other, your joys, griefs, and interests were one. You had

THE WHOLE FAMILY.

"all things common." Then, as affection bound all together, the thought of separation was inexpressibly painful. You deprecated the rupture of the family tie as an evil of unsurpassed magnitude.

Those days of home comfort—of sweet domestic endearment-are fresh in your recollection, and only by the annihilation of your being can they be extirpated from your memory. Your thoughts love to linger about those sunny scenes, and from them extract the honey that sweetens the bitterness of present cares and disappointments.

But that circle of home-kindred, once so long complete, has been broken. That family, once whole, has felt the touch of the breaker's wand, and some of the fragments are mouldering in the tomb. Other portions, widely sundered, have become centres around which new circles are forming, that are soon, in like manner, to be broken and dispersed. O how tender and subduing are the reminiscences of family connexions and family scenes! Father! mother!-blessings on their memories!-where are they? Brothers! sisters! where are they? Husband! wife! children! where are they? Youthful readers, how little do you know what lies before you in the pathway of life. These touching, melting recollections, will soon be yours. While the family, in whose warm bosom you now nestle, remains whole, prize the blessing as from Heaven, and improve this season as the happiest of your present existence.

"We all are here,

You that I love, with love so dear;
This may not long of us be said-
Soon must we join the gathered dead,
And by the hearth we now sit round
Some other circle will be found.
O, then, that wisdom may we know,
Which yields a life of peace below;
So, in the world to follow this,
May each repeat, in words of bliss,
We're all-all here!"

THE DYING MISSIONARY.

We love to record the faith and pious deeds of those, (be they of what denomination they may,) who love our Lord Jesus Christ, and aim to promote the knowledge of his blessed name in the world,—and whether born in England, or America, or any other country, we would regard them as worthy of esteem and honor.

Among the devoted christian labourers in the Eastern world, and there have been many,—the name of Boardman will be had in everlasting rememberance, as one of the brightest luminaries that arose on hitherto benighted Burmah, giving to that dark land the pledge of a brighter day. This most devoted man expired on the mountains of Tavoy, in February, 1831. Mr. Mason says:

"At my arrival, last month, I found that twentytwo Karens had been baptized, and brother Boardman preparing to go into the jungle to examine others for this ordinance. He told me the Karens were building him a zayat near the foot of the mountain which he crossed two years ago, and were coming in to carry him out there. When he met me on the wharf, I clearly saw the characters of death in his countenance. He was unable to walk to meet me, yet unwilling to shew me anything but the kindest attention, he had himself brought in a chair to the jetty, to welcome me on my landing. Though I looked upon him as a dying man, yet, as I saw his heart was set on visiting his Karens, and as the physician not only approved, but even encouraged the journey, I did not advise against his going. Indeed, I felt unwilling to deprive him of the privilege of exhibiting so fine an illustration of the 'ruling passion strong in death.' Accordingly we proposed to start on the thirty-first of last month, the Karens having come in two days previous.

It was not contemplated, at first, that Mrs. Boardman should accompany us; but on the morning of our departure, she felt unwilling to be absent from him,

without any one to perform the kind offices which his situation required, and which no one can perform like a wife. We therefore all started together in the afternoon, leaving the mission premises under the guard of a couple of sepoys, with which the military commander here readily furnished us. Brother Boardman was carried on a cot-bed all the way, except when the path round precipitous hill was too narrow for two to walk abreast, and arrived at the place of our destination on the evening of the third day, without any particular exhaustion.

Last Wednesday morning, however, it became so apparent that he could not live long, that we deemed it expedient to return without delay; and on condition we completed the examination of the females and of the old men that day, and baptized in the evening, he consented to return on the day following. Accordingly, a little before sunset, he was carried out in his bed to the water-side, where lifting his languid head to gaze on the gratifying scene, I had the pleasure of baptizing, in his presence, thirty-four individuals, who gave satisfactory evidence to all, that they had passed from death unto life. After this, he seemed to feel that his work was done. He had said, in the course of the day, that if he could live to see this ingathering, he could in special mercy say, 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.'

On Thursday morning we started on our return; when we arrived at the first house its inmates refused us admittance. With some difficulty we got him into a covered corner of the verandah, in a very exhausted state. Through the assiduous attention, however, of Mrs. Boardman, he appeared to revive, and he did not seem materially different, on the succeeding morning, from what he had been several days. Still, it was evident that the close of his earthly existence was rapidly approaching, and we concluded, with his appro