Instruct and teach, and guide me then, O God,
And may I truly tread from day to day,

The blessed pathway marked with His dear blood,
Who only is the Truth, the Life, the Way.
All other paths I'd fly through Godly fear,
And, placing my soul's hand alone in Thine,
In Thy sweet light I'd see my pathway clear,
And tread the living way by strength divine.
And when my journey brings me near
To Jordan's rapid, cold and bridgeless flood,
May faith in Jesus banish then all fear,
And guide my footsteps in the way of blood.

Christ be my constant way, and Christ alone,
Christ be my hourly Leader, Friend and Guide,
Christ be my constant Keeper, lest I roam
Far from the sure protection of His side.
Christ Jesus be my safe, my blood-mark'd path,
Until I reach the glorious world of day.
In Him I'd walk till death by living faith,
Then ever triumph in my Saviour's way.

STIMULANTS FOR CHILDREN. IGNORANT people, especially of the lower classes, have an unbounded confidence in the curative powers of spirits, and they not unfrequently inflict a good deal of injury on young children by the administration of pure brandy to them. A large dose of undiluted spirits to a child may even prove fatal; an instance of which recently occurred at Greenock, on board a Liverpool steamer, in the person of a little girl, aged five years, to whom an overdose of brandy had been given during the voyage as a remedy against sea-sickness.-Lancet. [Parents, take particular notice of this article, coming as it does from high medical authority.EDITOR.]

THE PRAYER OF FAITH.

(Authentic.)

A FEW years ago, a poor little negro boy was liberated from a slave ship by some English cruisers, and brought to Sierra Leone, where he was well instructed by the good missionary, Mr. M. They had a large school-room, which was always filled, either with adults or children, except twice in the day, when it was cleared out for one hour to be ventilated. When the children were turned out to play during this hour, all went very gladly to run about, excepting this one Hottentot boy, who always crept back alone into the school-room. At last Mr. M- watched him, and heard the child's voice in prayer. This was his prayer:-"0 God, I beseech Thee, let one of the wicked men's ships go to my place, and let my father and mother be taken prisoners, and packed up; and then, I pray Thee, cause that one of the big English ships should come and take the wicked man's little ship, and bring my father and mother here, that they may learn about Jesus Christ and about going to heaven." As time passed on, ships were continually arriving at Sierra Leone, with cargoes of liberated negroes. This little boy used always to watch on the shore till the last person was landed, and then returned sorrowful. But he always continued his prayer, and so things went on for a very long time.

At last, one day Mr. M- met the child returning from the shore with a countenance full of joy and gladness. "Oh!" he cried, "God has sent my father and my mother now,-they are come; and you must teach them about going to heaven, as you have taught me." His prayer had been heard, and granted in every particular, and he

had just seen his parents landed from an English cruiser.

Thus did the Lord, who feeds the young ravens that cry to Him, grant the petition of this simple, believing child,-" Suffer little children to

come

unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven."

E. J.

A HORSE GETTING A CHILD OUT OF A

:

POND.

On

A FRENCH paper gives the following striking instance of the affectionate instincts in animals. a small farm in one of the French departments was a young horse, whose temper was so untractable, that all attempts at taming him failed. The farmer would have parted with him, but for his youngest child, a boy about six years old, to whom, strange to say, the animal showed a great liking he would come to his young friend, and receive food from his hand. He seemed pleased to have his shaggy neck patted by the little fellow. One day, all the adult members of the family were out in the fields excepting the mother, who, being engaged in the house, left the child playing in the yard, when he fell into a pond, and would have been drowned but for the timely aid of his friend the horse. The animal, happening to be loose in the stable, and hearing the familiar voice, came out at a trot, and, perceiving the poor child struggling in the water, seized him by his garment, and drew him out at the very moment the mother came to look after him. L. HUARD.

D

THE DOG OF ST. BERNARD'S.

THEY tell that on St. Bernard's mount,
Some earnest monks abide,
Still mindful of misfortune's claim,
Though dead to all beside ;
The weary, wayworn traveller

Oft sinks beneath the snow;
But, where his faltering steps did bend
No track is left to show.

'Twas here, bewildered and alone,
A stranger roamed at night;
His heart was heavy as his tread,
His scrip alone was light.

Onward he pressed, yet many an hour
He had not tasted food;

And many an hour he had not known
Which way his footsteps trod;

And if the convent's bell had rung
To hail the pilgrim near,
It still had rung in vain for him—
He was too far to hear;

And should the morning light disclose
Its towers amid the snow,
To him 'twould be a mournful sight-
He had not strength to go.

Valour could arm no mortal man
That night to meet the storm-
No glow of pity could have kept
A human bosom warm.

But obedience to a master's will
Had taught the Dog to roam,
And through the terrors of the waste,
To fetch the wanderer home.

And if it be too much to say
That pity gave him speed,
'Tis sure he not unwillingly
Performed the generous deed.

For now he listens-and anon
He scents the distant breeze,,
And casts a keen and anxious look
On every speck he sees.

And now deceived, he darts along,
As if he trod the air-

Then disappointed, droops his head
With more than human care.

He never loiters by the way,
Nor lays him down to rest,
Nor seeks a refuge from the shower
That pelts his generous breast.

And surely 'tis not less than joy
That makes it throb so fast,
When he sees, extended on the snow,
The wanderer found at last.

'Tis surely he-he saw him move,
And at the joyful sight

He tossed his head with a prouder air,

His fierce eye grew more bright;

Eager emotion swelled his breast

To tell his generous tale

And he raised his voice to its loudest tone

To bid the wanderer hail.

The pilgrim heard-he raised his head,
And beheld the shaggy form—
With sudden fear, he seized the gun
That rested on his arm;