since she had left her mother's arms. A few hours more, and the dark night would be around her, the stars would look down upon her, and her hair would be wet with the dew.

She knelt on the ground and prayed. Her mother in the cottage was beyond the reach of her voice, but her heavenly Father she knew was always near, and could hear her feeblest cry. Mary had been taught to say, "Our Father," and in this time of sorrow, when friends were far away, and there was none to help, she called upon Him who has said to little children, “Come unto me.”

Mary had closed her eyes in prayer, and when she opened them, comforted in spirit, and almost resigned to her fate, willing to trust God for the future, and to sleep, if needful, in the grass, with his arm around her, and his love above her, she espied a lamb. It was seeking the tenderest herbs among the tall grass, and had strayed away from its mother and the flock, so that Mary saw at a glance she had a companion in her solitude, and her heart was gladdened as if she heard the voice and saw the face of a friend.

The lamb was happy also. It played at her side, and took the little tufts of grass from her hand, as readily as if Mary had been its friend from infancy.

And the lamb leaped away, and looked back to see if its new-found playmate would follow. Mary's heart went out after the lamb, as it gamboled before her. Now the little thing would sport by her side, and then would rush forward as if about to forsake her altogether, but soon it would return or wait until she came up with it. Mary had no thought, no anxiety

whatever as to whither the lamb was leading her. She was lost-she had no friend to help her in her distress the lamb had found her in her loneliness, and she loved it, and loved to follow it, and she would go wherever it should go. So she went on, until she began to be weary of the way, but not of her company.

The sun was just setting—a summer sun, and her shadow stretched away before her, as if she were tall as a tree. She was thinking of home, and wondering if she should ever find the way back to her mother's house and her mother's heart, when the lamb, all of a sudden, sprang away over a gentle knoll, and as she reached it, her sporting playmate had found the flock from which it had strayed, and they were all, the lamb and Mary, within sight of home. The lamb had led Mary home.

Who has not sometimes felt as this child, away from his father's house, in search of pleasure till he is lost? He knows not whither to look for some one to guide him homeward. He prays. His eye of faith, blinded just now with tears of grief because he has wandered, catches sight of the Lamb who leads him to his Father's house, where his tears are wiped away, and he is welcomed and folded in the arms of eternal love?

G

To labour she would leave her homeFor children must be fed;

And glad was she when she could buy A shilling's worth of bread.

And this was all the children had,

On any day to eat;

They drank their water, ate their bread,

But never tasted meat.

One day the snow was falling fast,
And piercing was the air;

I thought that I would go and see
How these poor children were.

Ere long I reached their cheerless home,
"Twas searched by every breeze;
When going in, the eldest child
I saw upon his knees.

I paused to listen to the boy-
He never raised his head;

But still went on and said-" Give us
This day our daily bread."

I waited till the child was done,
Still listening as he prayed-
And when he rose, I asked him why
The Lord's prayer he had said.

"Why, sir," said he, "this morning, when

My mother went away,

She wept, because she said she had

No bread for us to-day.

"She said we children now must starve,

Our father being dead;

And then I told her not to cry,

For I could get some bread.

"Our Father,' sir, the prayer begins; Which makes me think that He,

As we have no kind father here,

Would our kind Father be.

G 2

"And then, you know, the prayer, too,
Asks God for bread each day;
So in the corner, sir, I went-
And that's what made me pray.”

I quickly left that wretched room,
And went with hasty feet;
And very soon was back again,
With food enough to eat.

"I thought God heard me," said the boy;
I answered with a nod-

I could not speak-but much I thought
Of that boy's faith in God.

LESSON LVIII.

FREAKS OF THE FROST.

THE frost looked forth one still, clear night,
And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight;
So through the valley, and over the height,
In silence I'll take my way.

I will not go on, like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they."