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grave which marks the wound I then received, through the cap of my knee striking against a stone while searching for him at the bottom of the river. It was a melancholy picture was that scene on the banks of the Trent! We looked over the water, on which the sunshine streamed, trying to fix upon the very spot where he last arose, as if we expected to see him appear once more; but the river rolled on as if it had never closed over a human being. After waiting long, we dressed ourselves in silence, each eyeing the clothes which our companion would never wear again. Then we began to ask one another, who would undertake the painful task of carrying home the clothes of the drowned boy.

At length we divided his garments amongst us: his little waistcoat was borne by one, his jacket by another; each carried something, from his neckerchief to a single boot. We entered the town by the back way, as being less frequented; we passed the school, where he had that very morning received a reward of merit. One of us went and informed the schoolmaster of his death. We left his clothes in the schoolroom, and good Parson Preedom* was sent for; and he carried the sorrowful tidings to the poor drowned boy's mother. I have heard the neighbours say it was a heart-breaking scene; that she had been to the door many times to look for us ; had cut up the plum cake, and prepared the tea;—but that day none of us dared to venture near her. It was the first heavy sorrow that many of us had ever felt, for he was a great favourite with us all."

* Either the printer or the writer has spelled the name wrong; it was Pridham. He was a pious and very useful clergyman,



THERE is not a more lovely sight on earth for angels to see than a little child lisping its first prayers to its Father in Heaven. It is one of the first duties of parents to teach their children that they have a Father in Heaven who loves them, and is willing to hear them when they tell him what they want. And children do want many good things from God as well as grown-up people. They want health and strengti, and food and clothing they want to be kept from harm by night and by day-and above all things they want pardon for their sins through Jesus Christ, and a new nature that they may love God with all their heart. All these things, and many more, the Lord can do for them, for he is the great giver of every good gift and every perfect gift. Here are some verses about praying, which we hope you will read with care, and our prayer for you is that God would bless you vith a wise and understanding heart, that long as you live you may be thoughtful and prayerful, always looking to the Lord that he may guard and guide you all your days and then take you to heaven to praise him for ever!

These verses some of you may have seen before, but they are the best we ever met with about prayer, and as some of you may not have seen them, we give them again; and hope rvery one of you will get them off perfectly, and never forget them as long as you live; for there may come a day when you will be glad you ever learned them. They were written by one who has lately gone to heaven.

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,

Utter'd or unexpress'd; The motion of a hidden fire,

That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burthen of a sigh,

The falling of a tear,
The upward glancing of an eye,

When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech

That infant lips can try; Prayer the sublimest strains that reach

The Majesty on high. Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,

The Christian's native air, His watch-word at the gate of death

He enters heaven by prayer.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,

Returning from his ways;
While angels in their songs rejoice,

And say, 'behold he prays.'

The saints, in prayer, appear as one

In word, and deed, and mind,
When with the Father and the Son,

Their fellowship they find.
Nor prayer is made on earth alone,

The Holy Spirit pleads;
And Jesus on the eternal throne,

For sinners intercedes.

O Thou, by whom we come to God,

The life, the truth, the way;
The path of prayer thyself hast trod,

Lord! teach us how to pray.

"OH, THAT MOTHER'S PRAYERS!" In the spring of 18—, a convict was committed to the charge of Friend W—, warden of one of the State prisons in America. The warden felt deeply interested to reclaim him from his vicious course, if possible, but the prisoner seemed resolved to maintain his proud and baughty bearing. He received every act of kindness with ingratitude and disdain. In vain did the warden attempt to gain bis affection or his confidence. He would sometimes enter his cell and read to him from the Bible. But the prisoner would turn his back towards him, and stop his ears. He would sometimes try to talk with him in accents of kindness and affection; but he could rarely get any more than the monosyllables, “yes,” and “no," uttered in a harsh, guttural tone, in reply. His three years of punishment passed away, and he left the prison the same hardened, ungrateful villain, that he was when he entered it. But a few months had elapsed, and he was again convicted of a crime and brought back, sentenced to ten years' imprisonment. Again did the pious and faithful warden renew his efforts, and try to awaken in the prisoner some virtuous emotion. But he seemed dead to all moral influence. He maintained the same obstinate, surly, sullen mood, as when in prison before, and, if possible, was more morose than ever. Still friend W— was not entirely discouraged, and he resolved to make one more effort. With his Bible in his hand, he entered the prisoner's cell one evening, just after he had been released from his toil. He began to read Psalm li. The prisoner turned his back as usual, and tried to seem

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