Pray the Lord," the sound came faintly,
Fainter still" My soul to keep; "
Then the tired head fairly nodded,
And the child was fast asleep.

But the dewy eyes half opened
When I clasped her to my breast,
And the dear voice softly whispered,
Mamma, God knows all the rest."

Oh the trusting, sweet confiding

Of the child-heart! Would that I
Thus might trust my Heavenly Father,
He who hears my feeblest cry.

Oh, the rapture, sweet, unbroken,
Of the soul who wrote that prayer!
Children's myriad voices floating
Up to heaven, record it there.

If, of all that has been written,

I could choose what might be mine,
It should be that child's petition,
Rising to the throne divine.

LEARNING TO PRAY.-MARY E. DODGE.

Kneeling, fair in the twilight gray,

A beautiful child was trying to pray;
His cheek on his mother's knee,

His bare little feet half hidden,
His smile still coming unbidden,
And his heart brimful of glee.

'I want to laugh. Is it naughty? Say,
O mamma! I've had such fun to-day
I hardly can say my prayers.
I don't feel just like praying;

I want to be out-doors playing,

And run, all undressed, down stairs.

"I can see the flowers in the garden-bed,
Shining so pretty, and sweet, and red;
And Sammy is swinging. I guess.
Oh! everything is so fine out there,
I want to put it all in the prayer,—
Do you mean I can do it by 'Yes?'

"When I say, 'Now I lay me'-word for word,
It seems to me as if nobody heard.

Would Thank you, dear God,' be right?
He gave me my mammy,

And papa, and Sammy

O mamma! you nodded I might."

Clasping his hands and hiding his face,
Unconsciously yearning for help and grace,
The little one now began;

His mother's nod and sanction sweet
Had led him close to the dear Lord's feet,
And his words like music ran:

"Thank you for making this home so nice,
The flowers, and my two white mice,-
I wish I could keep right on;
I thank you, too, for every day-
Only I'm 'most too glad to pray,
Dear God, I think I'm done.

"Now, mamma, rock me - just a minute-
And sing the hymn with 'darling' in it.
I wish I could say my prayers!
When I get big, I know I can.
Oh! wont it be nice to be a man,

And stay all night down stairs!"

The mother, singing, clasped him tight,
Kissing and cooing her fond “Good-night,”
And treasured his every word.

For well she knew that the artless joy
And love of her precious, innocent boy,
Were a prayer that her Lord had heard.

INFAMOUS LEGISLATION.-EDMUND BURKE, Since I had the honor-I should say the dishonor― of sitting in this house, I have been witness to many strange, many infamous transactions. What can be your intention in attacking all honor and virtue? Do you mean to bring all men to a level with yourselves, and to extirpate all honor and independence? Perhaps you imagine a vote will settle the whole controversy. Alas!

FF

you are not aware that the manner in which your vote is procured is a secret to no man.

After

Listen. For, if you are not totally callous, if your consciences are not seared, I will speak daggers to your souls, and wake you to all the pangs of guilty recollection. I will follow you with whips and stings, through every maze of your unexampled turpitude, and plant thorns under the rose of ministerial approbation. You have flagrantly violated justice and the law of the land, and opened a door for anarchy and confusion. assuming an arbitrary dominion over law and justice, you issue orders, warrants, and proclamations, against every opponent, and send prisoners to your Bastile all those who have the courage and virtue to defend the freedom of their country. But it is in vain that you hope by fear and terror to extinguish the native British fire. The more sacrifices, the more martyrs you make, the more numerous the sons of liberty will become. They will multiply like the hydra, and hurl vengeance on your heads.

Let others act as they will; while I have a tongue or an arm, they shall be free. And that I may not be a witness of these monstrous proceedings, I will leave the house; nor do I doubt but every independent, every honest man, every friend to England, will follow me. These walls are unholy, baleful, deadly, while a prostitute majority holds the bolt of parliamentary power, and hurls its vengeance only upon the virtuous. To yourselves, therefore, I consign you. Enjoy your pandemonium.

THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY.-REV. R. H. BARHAM ABRIDGED AND ADAPTED FOR RECITATION.

The Lady Jane was tall and slim,

The Lady Jane was fair;

And Sir Thomas, her lord, was stout of limb,

And his cough was short, and his eyes were dim,

And he wore green "specs" with a tortoise-shell rim,
And his hat was remarkably broad in the brim,
And she was uncommonly fond of him,—

And they were a loving pair!

And wherever they went, or wherever they came,
Every one hailed them with loudest acclaim;
Far and wide,

The people cried,

All sorts of pleasure, and no sort of pain,

To Sir Thomas the good, and the fair Lady Jane!

Now Sir Thomas the good, be it well understood,
Was a man of very contemplative mood,—
He would pore by the hour, o'er a weed or a flower,
Or the slugs, that came crawling out after a shower;
Black beetles, bumble-bees, blue-bottle flies,
And moths, were of no small account in his eyes;
An "industrious flea," he'd by no means despise,

While an "old daddy-long-legs," whose long legs and thighs
Passed the common in shape, or in color, or size,
He was wont to consider an absolute prize.
Giving up, in short, both business and sport, he
Abandoned himself, tout entier, to philosophy.

Now as Lady Jane was tall and slim,

And Lady Jane was fair,

And a good many years the junior of him,

There are some might be found entertaining a notion
That such an entire and exclusive devotion

To that part of science folks style entomology,
Was a positive shame,

And, to such a fair dame,

Really demanded some sort of apology;
Ever poking his nose into this, and to that,-

At a gnat, or a bat, or a cat, or a rat,

At great ugly things, all legs and wings,

With nasty long tails, armed with nasty long stings;
And eternally thinking, and blinking, and winking,
At grubs-when he ought of her to be thinking.

But no, ah no! 'twas by no means so

With the fair Lady Jane.

Tout au contraire, no lady so fair

Was e'er known to wear more contented an air;
And let who would call-every day she was there,
Propounding receipts for some delicate fare,

Some toothsome conserve, of quince, apple, or pear;
Or distilling strong waters, or potting a hare;
Or counting her spoons and her crockery ware;
Enough to make less gifted visitors stare.

Nay, more; don't suppose

With such doings as those

This account of her merits must come to a close;
No!-examine her conduct more closely, you'll find
She by no means neglected improving her mind;
For there all the while, with an air quite bewitching,
She sat herring-boning, tambouring, or stitching,
Or naving an eye to affairs of the kitchen.
Close by her side,

Sat her kinsman MacBride,

Captain Dugald MacBride, Royal Scots Fusiliers;
And I doubt if you'd find, in the whole of his clan,
A more highly intelligent, worthy young man ;
And there he'd be sitting,

While she was a-knitting,

Reading aloud, with a very grave look,
Some very "wise saw," from some very good book.
No matter who came,

It was always the same,

The Captain was reading aloud to the dame,

Till, from having gone through half the books on the shelf, They were almost as wise as Sir Thomas himself.

Well it happened one day

I really can't say

The particular month, but I think 'twas in May,

"Twas I know in the spring-time, when "nature looks gay," As the poet observes, and on tree-top and spray,

The dear little dickey birds carol away

That the whole of the house was thrown into affright
For no soul could conceive what was gone with the knight.
It seems he had taken

A light breakfast,-bacon,

An egg, a little broiled haddock, at most

A round and a half of some hot buttered toast,
With a slice of cold sirloin from yesterday's roast,
But no matter for that,—

He had called for his hat

With the brim that I've said was so broad and so flat, And his "specs" with the tortoise-shell rim, and his cane.