THE CHILDREN'S CORNER. school was instituted-and then commenced the usual modes for getting the children from the dissenters school to their school. In addition to which the worthy rector was in the habit of carrying a beautiful bound book, with gilt edges, in his pocket, and when he met with a child of the village, he would ask, "Do you go to the dissenters Sunday school?" If answered in the affirmative, he would take the book out of his pocket, and display it before the glistening eyes of the child, with, "If you will leave, and come to our church school, you shall have a book like this," which promise, though often made, was, I understand, never kept. A short time since one of these dissenters lost a child by death, and this clergyman waited on the afflicted mother, and asked if the child had been christened at church, when, on being answered in the negative, be said, "Then your child is gone to hell; I wont bury it," and walked out of the house. And this man is a successor of the apostles! What working man, in shop or field, with his New Testament in his hand, will believe that he is? The Children's Corner. "BURY ME IN THE GARDEN.". Poor thing! in the morning it had gone out behind its father in the field; and while he was there engaged in his labour it had patted around among the meadow flowers, and stuck its bosom full, and all its burnished tresses, with carmine and lily-tinted things; and returning tired to its father's side, he had lifted it upon the loaded cart; but a stone in the road had shaken it from its seat, and the ponderous iron-rimmed wheels had ground it down into the very cart-path, and the little crushed creature was dying. We had all gathered up closely to its bedside, and were hanging over the poor bruised thing, to see if it yet breathed, when a slight movement came over its lips, and its eyes partly opened. There was no voice, but there was something beneath its eyelids which a mother alone could interpret. Its lips trembled again, and we all held our breath-its eyes opened a little farther, and J. S. W. then we heard the departing spirit whisper in that ear which touched its ashy lips-"Mother! mother! don't let them carry me away down to the dark, cold graveyard, but bury me in the garden-in the garden, mother." THE CHILDREN'S FRIEND. From thee our daily mercies flow- Teach us to prize thy holy word, And to its truths attend; Oh may we feel a Saviour's love; To him our souls commend, Lord, draw our youthful hearts to thee, And when this life shall end, J. F. WINKS, PRINTER, LEICESTER. |