he had acted the first scenes in life, his memory recalled to his mind all those "happier days," while fancy whispered deceitfully that hours equally agreeable would again be realized. He now saw the rising hills over which he had so often roamed, the grove through which he had so often wandered while it echoed with the music of the feathered tribe, the gentle stream on whose banks he had so often sported, and all tended to inspire the most interesting sensations. He drew near the cottage of his mother, and there all was stillness; nothing was to be heard save the gentlest murmurs of the unruffled waves, or the distant barking of a village dog. A solemnity seemed to be breathed around him, and, as he stopped at his mother's door, his heart misgave him, though he knew not why. He knocked, but no one bade him enter; he called, but no answer was returned save the echo of his own voice: it seemed like knocking at the door of a tomb. The nearest neighbour, hearing the noise, came, and found the youth sitting on the steps of the door. "Where," cried he with eagerness, 66 where is my mother, and my brother?-Oh, I hope they are not"

"If," said the stranger, "you inquire for Widow

I can only pity you. I have known her but a short time, but she was the best woman I ever knew. Her little boy died of a fever about a year ago, and in consequence of fatigue in taking care of him, and anxiety for a long absent son at sea, the good widow herself was buried yesterday."-"Oh," cried the youth, "have I stayed just long enough to kill my mother! Wretch that I am! Show me the grave-let me die with my mother-my poor broken-hearted mother!" Hold," said the astonished neighbour; "If you are this woman's eldest son, I have a letter for you, which she wrote a few days before she died, and desired that you might receive it, should you ever return."

66

They both turned from the cottage, and went to the house of a neighbour. A light being procured, the young man threw down his bundle and hat, and read the following short letter, while his manly cheeks were covered with tears:

"My dearest, only son! when this reaches you, I shall be no more. Your little brother has gone before me, and I cannot but hope and believe that he was prepared. I had fondly hoped that I should once more have seen you on the shores of mortality, but this hope is now relinquished. I have followed you by my prayers through all your wanderings. Often, while you little suspected it, even in the dark cold nights of winter, have I knelt for my lost son. There is but one thing which gives me pain at dying; and that is, my dear William, that I must leave you in this wicked world, as I fear, unreconciled to your Maker! I am too feeble to say more. My glass is As you visit the sods which cover my dust, oh! remember that you too must soon follow. Farewellthe last breath of your mother will be spent in praying for you that we may meet above."

run.

The young man's heart was melted on reading these few words from the parent whom he so tenderly loved; and I will only add, that this letter was the means, in the hands of God, of bringing this youth to a saving knowledge of "the truth as it is in Jesus;" and that he is now a very respectable and pious man.

What encouragement does this little narrative afford to mothers to pray for their children-even the disobedient also! Rightly is it said that no lessons are remembered better, or with more delight, than those which were received at a mother's knee-no prayers are more earnest and heartfelt, and therefore more likely to meet with a gracious reception, than those offered by a mother. Let mothers never cease to pray for their children. God will hear them.

THE INFANT'S PRAYER FOR GLORY.

PARENT, ever kind to me,

I bow before thy throne;
Thy mercies, manifold and free,
I thankfully would own;

And while I leave my foolish play,
Lord teach a little child to pray,

O guide my feet into the way

To Glory!

Guardian of my infant days,

Whose power prolongs my breath,
Thy love and goodness claim my praise,
Nor shall it end in death!

For when the grave shall hush my tongue
In gloomy silence sad and long,

My soul shall sing the enraptured song

I dwell beneath this lowly cot

That crumbles and decays,

In Glory!

But there's a house that moulders not,
Eternal are its days;

'Twas built by God, 'tis in the skies,
My soul would to that mansion rise,
And dwell with wonder and surprise

Lord I would come, a little child,
And ask thy daily care,

In Glory!

"Subdue my sins, my passions wild,"
Shall be my constant prayer;
I cannot of thy goodness doubt,
I cannot but thy praises shout,
I cannot, must not, be shut out

From Glory!