in the evenings to hear the services.

"Mrs. B. told me of her son, who used to attend the Sunday-school, and now is gone to Manchester. He writes, saying he is very ill; dying, his doctor says, but quite happy, and sure of going to heaven. He says Of all places on earth I would rather be in the room in Townsend-street.' She sends him the papers with the Sunday verses every week. They are a very great comfort,' he says, and I ask myself all the questions, and fancy myself in Sunday-school.'"

At the close of school many questions are asked and answered, a hymn sung, and then the mothers and fathers go home taking their babies with them.

BREAD CAST ON THE WATERS.

Ir is now several years since an orphan girl, the daughter of a convert, was sent to a Mission-school in Dublin, where she was treated with great kindness, and learnt the precious truths of the Gospel in the words of Scripture. She left the school to enter a situation, and for a time appeared to go on well. But gradually she fell into careless habits, lost her place, and was exposed to many trials. The downward course is always a rapid course, and few would have recognized the former bright and happy Mission-child in the wretched and miserable object who in poverty and neglect crept with fear and shame into a little room in a large city where a Christian lady was teaching Scripture

truth to a number of very poor women. The words she heard brought back to the poor wanderer's mind the doctrines once so familiar in the happy days of her youth. That night was the turning point of her life. God arrested her with the arrow of conviction, and we believe with the message of peace; forgotten truths returned with more than their former power, and the bread cast upon the waters was found after many days.

THE CHURCH-GOING BELL OF
ANAGH.

ANAGH is a small island on the coast of Mayo, where there are many converts from Romanism. A traveller in that district lately writes:

"Our road was anything but easy:

several wide gullies to be crossed, a river to be forded, and a creek to be passed, knee-deep in the salt water. Just as we ascended a hill

over this creek, the curlew began to cry-one of the wildest and most musical notes of the British sea-birds.

"Mr. B-,' said one of the converts, tis time for you to be off.' I asked him the meaning of this; and it appeared that the curlew begins to cry at a certain stage of the ebb tide, when it goes in search of its finny food."

At this time every Sabbath day, the water being then sufficiently shallow to allow it, Mr. B-wades through the channel up to his loins to preach the Gospel in an island near the shore. Here was a pleasing testimony in favour of the zeal of the missionary, and, as a friend has