breathe; and on the next inquiry which was made about him, the reply was, "He is gone home." Yes, he had gone home to that dear Saviour who loved him, redeemed him, sanctified and saved him, and whose love to him was unquestionable, because of the evident love which it enkindled in him. "We love him because he first loved us." "IT WAS MY BROTHER'S." WHILE passing rapidly up King Street, we saw a little boy seated on a curb-stone. He was apparently about five or six years old, and his well-combed hair, clean hands and face, bright though well-patched apron, and whole appearance, indicated that he was the child of a loving, though indigent mother. As we looked at him closely, we were struck with the heart-broken expression of his countenance, and the marks of recent tears on his cheek. So, yielding to an impulse which always leads us to sympathise with the joys or sorrows of the little ones, we stopped, and putting a hand upon his head, asked what was the matter? He replied by holding up his open hand, in which we beheld the fragments of a broken tin toy-a figure of a cow. "Oh! is that all? well, never mind it. Step into the nearest toy-shop and buy another," and we dropped a fourpenny into his hand. "That will buy one, will it not ?" "Oh, yes," replied he, bursting into a paroxysm of grief, "But this was little brother Tommy's; and he's dead!" The wealth of the world could not have supplied the vacancy that the breaking of that toy had left in his little heart. It was Tommy's; and he was dead! THE CHILD'S CONFESSION.-TO THE DEPARTING YEAR. THE CHILD'S PRAYER. My Saviour, at thy gracious throne I bend a willing knee; O never leave my soul alone, But keep me near to thee. Through all my childhood's sunny years Still keep my wayward spirit right, THE CHILD'S CONFESSION. A WEAK and thoughtless child, I come And sadly I remember too, Whene'er I think of time that's gone, O pardon me, my God, I pray, Teach me to do thy holy will; TO THE DEPARTING YEAR. A FEW short hours, and thou, O year! shalt be A sparkling drop in Time's fast filling sea- One setting star among a countless host, Like mortals, once this dying year was young, Upon its youth Spring sweetest flowers flung, For its decline we heard sad Autumn sigh; Thy many hours have fled, O bygone year! And voices which I loved, no more are here But memory lends to thee a cheering ray, Old year! we know full well what thou hast been, And now for thee we grieve; The stranger year as yet we have not seen, That Heaven upon its dawning hours shall cast A halo brighter even than the last? Farewell! farewell! though 'mid departing years And passing time shall bring new hopes and fears Thy hopes like angel voices oft shall come We may not bid the coming year farewell, Earth may have claimed her kindred dust e'erwhile; WINKS & SON, PRINTERS, LEICESTER. M.S.H. |