me to love thee, and to love my brethren, as Jesus Christ loved us. Amen.'

My child! my child! cried the Countess, pressing the boy in her arms, thou art my sonmy Charles!

My mother! said the child, where is she? It was thus she used to call me, Charles! Charles!

I am thy mother, I tell thee; and sobs stopped the voices of the mother and child; they both wept, but they were tears of joy. The mother knelt by the side of the child, and exclaimed in the fullness of her heart, 'My God! My God! forgive me for having offended thee by my unbelief; pardon me for having doubted thy promises; forgive my impatience. I have prayed for his conversion, but I was unwilling to wait; and yet thou hast heard me, and answered my prayer. Teach me, O Lord, to confide in thee teach me to remember that thou hearest always; but if thou deferrest to answer, it is in order to bless the better; but if thou dost not as we would wish, it is because thy ways are not as our ways, and thou knowest better than we what is for our good. Henceforth, let thy will, not mine, be done.'

Here the master sweep entered the saloon, and was much surprised to find his apprentice and this great lady both upon their knees. She

asked him how he had become possessor of the child. He answered that a man, calling himself his father, placed him in his hands for a sum of money; that this man for some time past had been ill at the hospital, and perhaps was now dead.

Lady B. now hastened to the hospital, and found a dying man, who confessed to her that about three years since he had stolen a child who was jumping over a garden wall; and that he committed this crime in the hope of gaining some money, by letting him out as a chimneysweep. Lady B., too happy at this moment to reproach him, and thinking that God had permitted this event in order that Charles might be placed in circumstances more favourable for the good of his soul, freely pardoned the unhappy man, and saw him die in the hope that God had pardoned him also.

From this time Charles was the joy of his mother; and she, to perpetuate this event in his history, assembled every year, on the first of May, (the day on which she found her son,) a large number of the sweeps of his age to give them an entertainment, and to relate the history of Charles, to teach them that God always hears our prayers, and answers them; but oftentimes in a manner that we do not expect.

FREDERIC and GEORGE were delighted when their father took them to see the young calf. It was such a pretty creature-all red and white -and so quiet. It was only a week old then, but it would let them stroke its smooth skin, and then it would turn round and lick their hands

and play with them. It seemed as if it only wanted a tongue to say "I am very glad to see you boys: I hope you wont play me any tricks."

These two brothers had always been very fond of the calf's mother-the old cow; which gave them such nice sweet new milk for their breakfast and supper every day-and one reason why they admired the calf so, was, it was so much like its mother. They would be. pleased, they

said, when it grew up to be a cow, and gave milk every day too.

By and bye the calf was taken from the cow and put into the nice little orchard that was behind the house, where it could run and jump and leap about as it liked.

Frederic and George paid great attention to their pet calf. Every morning, before they had their own breakfast, they took it a bowl-full of nice warm milk. They took it in turn to feed it-George feeding it one morning and Frederic another.

The calf thrived very fast, and soon grew bigger than its little friends, but it always knew them; and whenever they went into the orchard, it would come running to them, as much as to say "How do you both do this morning, I am very glad to see you!"

In time the calf became a cow, and gave milk, but it never forgot the two little boys; and they, though they afterwards grew up to be young men, always felt a particular attachment to their pet calf.

Yes; and if girls and boys would only treat animals with kindness, they would be much pleased with the many curious ways in which the poor dumb creatures will express their gratitude and affection.

OR, 'THY WILL BE DONE.'

"WHAT Occasions that melancholy look," said I, to one of my young favourites just come into the school one morning. He turned away his face to hide a tear that was ready to start from his eye. But his brother answered for him. "He would not say his prayers last night, and he cried all day because a sparrow died of which he was very fond."

The little mourner hastily turned round, and looking at me, exclaimed, "I could not say 'thy will be done,' because of my poor bird."

I took him by the hand, and addressing his school-fellows, said, "Mark this, from the youngest child amongst you: it explains the nature of prayer, of which perhaps some of you are ignorant; for many persons repeat prayers who never prayed in their lives." Then turning to the mourner, I said, "My dear boy, I am very glad to find you were afraid to say to God what you could not say truly from your heart, but you may beg of him to teach you submission to his will."

WHAT CHILDREN CAN DO.

A. J.

A PROPOSITION was made to the children of the sabbath school connected with the Rev. Dr. Tyng's (Episcopal) church, in Philadelphia, to