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indifferent to what he read. When the warden had done reading he said, “Friend K-, how old art thee?” After a sullen pause, he replied surlily—“ Thirty-five.” “Thy

" parents are dead; are they not ?"

66 Yes."

“They died when thee was young."

“ Yes." “ Dost thou remember thy father?" "No." “Dost thou remember thy mother ?" In a soft and tremulous voice he replied, “ Yes, I remember my mother.” The warden saw that there was one chord of feeling still alive, that he had then touched that chord, and it vibrated, and be continued, “How old wast thee when thy mother died ?” The prisoner raised his eyes, and looked the warden in the face, and the tear-drops started as he replied, “I was eight years and five months old when she died.” The warden resumed—“Was thy mother a pious woman?” “Oh, yes-my mother was a godly, pious woman, and she is now in heaven." "Didst thou ever hear thy mother pray?" "Yes, she prayed every night and morning, and she taught me to kneel by her side and to pray also. Ok, that mother's prayers !"

Here the prisoner burst into tears, the pious quaker wept also : they mingled their tears and their prayers. The prisoner seemed melted into contrition; he asked the warden's forgiveness, and the forgiveness of his God. From that time he manifested an entire change in conduct and feeling. He seemed humble, submissive, and penitent. After some months, the governor of the state was petitioned, and the prisoner was released. He had now become a new man; he removed to a distant part of the country, joined the church, and is now an honest man and a devoted christian,



A NEGRO BOY'S PRAYER. HERE is a beautiful instance of child-like confidence in God. Those who please may smile at the idea that this boy's prayer had any connexion with the result, but the anecdote was related by a missionary at a meeting in London.

A boy who had been liberated from a captured slave vessel was landed at Sierra Leone, and placed under the care of a schoolmaster named Thompson. On one occasion, the boys not being in school, and the door being shut, Mr. Thompson, on passing, heard a murmuring; he listened, and discovered that this boy was engaged in prayer. His petitions were :

"My Lord Jesus, me tank thee that wicked man come and catch me; and that good King's big ship come and catch wicked man's ship, and bring me here, and Massa Thompson teach me to read, and teach me to know thee.

Me one very great favour to ask; send more wicked man, catch father and mother, and send good King's big ship, catch wicked man's ship, and bring father and mother here, and Massa Thompson teach them read, and teach them know thee, and we all go to heaven together.

Some might say, What a prayer! But the boy told what he wanted, and in the words which his wants suggested. Mr. Thompson then went and spoke to him, and asked him whether he thought Jesus Christ would hear such a prayer ; to which he replied, that he, Mr. T., had said Christ would hear all prayer. In the evening of that day, Mr. Thompson was walking on the beach, and there saw little Tom. On asking him what he was doing, he replied, he had come to

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see whether Christ heard his prayer. He continued frequently to visit the beach, and one evening returned, dancing and clapping his hands. Mr. Thompson inquired the reason. He answered, “Prayer answered; father and mother come;" and dragging Mr. Thompson to the beach, he pointed out two negroes, who had just been saved from a slaver by a man-of-war-they were his own parents. Thus Tom exemplified not only the spirit of prayer, but showed a confiding spirit, anticipating the reception of the blessing asked.

THE DYING SABBATH SCHOLAR. SHOULD We not record the happy departure of those that fall asleep in Jesus, especially if they be the lambs of his flock ? The more Sunday Schools are conducted in the spirit of faith and prayer will their good efforts be manifested in the godly lives and happy deaths of the children; for God will fulfil his ancient promise, and will pour his Spirit on our seed, and his blessing on our offspring. A fulfilment of this promise I have recently witnessed while visiting a scholar of our sabbath school, on whose beautiful form dire consumption had laid its withering hand, and whose strength, like the expiring lamp, gradually decayed till the flame of life burnt out, and her ransomed spirit took its flight to that happy land where saints and angels dwell

“Where everlasting spring abides,

And never withering flowers." At an early age the subject of this brief memoir entered our sabbath school. She was very regular in her attendance,

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and diligent in acquiring knowledge. A short time before her death it was evident that God was preparing her for a brighter and a better world. Her mind was in a gloomy state for some time; but light from heaven burst on her soul, and the still small voice of mercy whispered, “ Thy sins which are many are all forgiven thee."

I visited her many times during her illness, and found her, with childlike simplicity, resting her hope on the atoning blood of Jesus. With great earnestness she repeated

“There is a fountain fill'd with blood,

Drawn from Immanuel's veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood,

Lose all their guilty stains.” I asked her if she was afraid to die? In a moment she answered, lifting up her languid eyes,

"Jesus, lover of my soul,

Let me to thy bosom fly." From this time she continued rapidly to sink, until on Friday morning, March 11, at three o'clock, she fell asleep in Jesus, at the age of fifteen years.

She was sensible to the last moment, and desired that her father and mother, brother and sisters, and several of her fellow scholars, should be called to witness her happiness; when they received from her quivering lips her last words, and her dying charge to attend the means of grace, and to love the Saviour, that they might be prepared to meet her again beyond the tomb where Jesus is they stood watching

Till from her eyes came one bright ray,

That bound them like a spell;
And as her spirit passed away,
They heard her sigh Farewell.'

E. G. W.





MORNING is the commencement of day; or, strictly speaking, the first part of it, for it lasts from dawn till noon, or twelve o'clock. We find morning mentioned the first time in Genesis, first chapter and 5th verse—“And the evening and the morning were the first day."

Morning is the best part of the day; and those that practise getting up early in the morning, and going out into the open air, find it exceedingly pleasant. For the air is fresh, and when the sky is cloudless, the sun shines gloriously upon the earth, and the breeze is fragrant to inhale, being laden with sweet odours. Then the warbling of the lark, who has already risen from his grassy bed to greet fair morning, and the singing of many little flutterers, possess a charm difficult for words to express. The silence, also, which generally prevails, makes us love our early mornings still more. These feelings are in store, more or less, whether we bid the day good morrow on a town bridge, or on a country hill; but the

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