THE DEATH OF CHATHAM.

To show how right-minded and far-seeing a statesman was Lord Chatham, it is only needful to make a few extracts from his noble and eloquent speech on the approaching war with the Americans.

"My Lords, deeply impressed with the importance of taking some healing measures at this most alarming, distracted state of our affairs, though bound down with a cruel disease, I have crawled to this house, to give you my best counsel and experience; and my advice is, to beseech his majesty to withdraw his troops."..." Thus entered on the threshold of this business, I will knock at your gates for justice without ceasing, unless inveterate infirmities stay my hand."... I will never fail of my attendance on it at every step and period of this great matter, unless nailed down to my bed by the severity of disease." Nor did he fail in this noble resolution. In the month of March, 1778, although overwhelmed by "inveterate infirmities," he was carried to the House of Lords, wrapped in blankets, and, while speaking on the same subject, was seized with a convulsive fit, and carried speechless out of the house. In the following month he died. It was a privilege to die in the advocacy of so great and christian a cause; and the more mankind comes to understand that conciliation and forbearance are the truest policy between nations, as well as of conduct between individuals, the more will the memory of this great statesman be honoured.

BY MARY HOWITT.

LIKE winged lightning sent

Through the night blackness of the firmament,
Rending with arrowy force the clouds asunder,

So pealed the living thunder

Of thy true heart, the nobly eloquent!

Though death-pale was thy cheek,

And thy limbs feeble, yet thou wast not weak,
There stood at thy right hand an awful three,

Truth, Death, and Liberty;

And in their mighty spirit didst thou speak!

And long as human eyes

Shed holy tears o'er deeds of high emprise;
And long as good men's hearts have pulses strong
That quicken for a brother's wrong,

Thy name shall be revered, thou greatly wise!

Oh, nobler thus to die,

Thou advocate of peace and liberty,

Than to have fallen with crimson banners flying,

Amid the dead and dying,

In the hot front of some red victory!

DORMEILLEUSE,

THE SCENE OF PASTOR NEFF'S CHRISTIAN LABOURS.

Thrice honour'd Neff! the child of deathless fame

Sacred to every Alpine heart thy name.

Sires to their sons shall tell of thee, who trod

These hills, these vales, the messenger of God.

Ir was the distinguishing merit of Felix Neff, that he dedicated himself to God, and to the instruction of God's children, the feeding of his flock, in the most literal sense of these phrases, without any compromise or reservation-without any regard to self, to personal comfort or consideration; he served his Master, where service was most arduous and most repulsive.

A native of the banks of the fair lake of Geneva, he might have chosen scenes enlivened by the Rhone's blue waters, for the exercise of his spiritual exertions; he might have remained amongst relatives and friends and early associates, whose affection and companionship would have encouraged him in his hours of trouble. Or, if he felt still that the stranger stood in greater need of his holy help than those around him, he might have visited the sunny plains of Languedoc, and at least had the benefit of a salubrious climate. Amidst the High Alps there are churches, ancient and exclusive, strict in their observances, but requiring the advice of an humble pastor; these, Neff might also have visited with advantage, and without much risk of injuring his constitution, for the air of their mountain-homes is bracing and exhilarating. But those less arduous duties he left to others less devoted than himself, and, in the true and genuine spirit of a missionary, set out for the most remote, neglected, uninhabitable regions of his native land. This is a rare quality of courage, and of the very highest order. We can conceive the possibility of a true and zealous believer elevating his mind to endure a martyr's death, on the scaffold or at the stake; but we feel amazed, beyond expression, at seeing a man, in the bloom of youth, and full enjoyment of human faculties, deliberately and considerately select for the scene of his services, the last refuge of mortal wretchedness, content to fade away, inch by inch, amidst all that is most chilling, squalid, and appalling.

Retiring to the upper part of the valley of Tressynière, a stern region, from which comfort and the common necessaries of life seem to be utterly excluded, Neff commenced his pastoral labours. The hovels of the mountaineers are rude constructions of mud and stone, where cleanliness, fresh air, and wholesome food never enter. The climate is indescribably severe, and the nakedness of the surface so disheartening, that nothing but concealment from persecution could ever have induced human beings to settle there. It was at Violins, the most wretched village of the valley, that Neff preached

Dormeilleuse, High Alps, the scene of Felix Nef's labours.