upon herself and friends, she remembered that she was a mother-she prayed for her darling sons.

After recounting over the goodness of God towards them, through the past day in sparing their lives, preserving them in health, bestowing upon them food and clothing, and all things necessary for their comfort, she besought the Lord in the most tender and importunate manner to pardon them, if they had sinned by disobedience through the day adding, in language suited to their years, that if they had, while absent from her, sinned against the Lord by disobeying any of her reasonable commands, the Lord knew it, for, although hidden from her view, his eye had been upon them.

The prayer was ended--the mother rose from her knees at that moment the youngest son, aged about seven years, began to weep immoderately-the children all wept. Their mother having used no language to excite fear in their minds, and not being conscious of any previous ef fect produced by prayer, was unacquainted with the cause. of their weeping. She called the youngest of the three to her side; and inquired why he wept thus bitterly She inquired again, "What makes my little son weep so?" "Mother," he replied, while he continued to weep, "I have been disobedient to-day; I went into Mr. L's house without asking your permission, and was in company with a boy who used bad words." And he could not be pacified until frequently assured by his mother, that if he repented of his faults, the Lord would pardon him. The second son then, with tears in his eyes, remarked to his mother, that when absent from her, he remembered her instructions, and he intended to be an obedient good boy. The oldest also weeping, confessed that he had disobeyed and offended his mother, was sorry for it, and wished to be a better boy. There seemed to be a reality in their penitence-their hearts were affected, and their confessions were uncalled for. Now may I be alowed to inquire, what produced this effect? What caused these children to confess faults which, till then, were entirely unknown to the mother? Was it the simple language of the mother's prayer? or was it not a consciousness in them that they had done wrong, while the eye of the heart-searching Jehovah had been reading the

thoughts and intentions of their hearts? Ye christian mothers! who have precious souls committed to your care, be encouraged by the narration of these simple facts, to go and do likewise.

Anathema Maranatha.

MR. FLAVEL, on one occasion, preached from the following passage-"If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be Anathema maranatha." The discourse was unusually solemn, particularly the explanation of the words Anathema maranatha-"cursed with a curse, cursed of God with a bitter and grievous curse." At the conclusion of the service, when Mr. Flavel arose to pronounce the benediction, he paused, and said, "How shall I bless this whole assembly, when every person in it, who loveth not the Lord Jesus Christ, is Anathema maranatha?" The solemnity of this address affected the audience; and one gentleman, a person of rank, was so overcome by his feelings, that he fell senseless to the floor. In the congregation was a lad named Luke Short, then about fifteen years old, and a native of Dartmouth. Soon after he went to America, where he passed the rest of his life, first at Marblehead, and afterwards at Middleborough, Massachusetts. Mr. Short's life was lengthened much beyond the usual time. When an hundred years old, he had sufficient strength to work on his farm, and his mental faculties were very little impaired. Hitherto he had lived in carelessness and sin; he was now, "a sinnner an hundred years old," and apparently ready to "die accursed." But one day as he sat in the field, he busied himself in reflecting on his past life. Recurring to the events of his youth, his memory fixed upon Mr. Flavel's discourse above alluded to, a considerable part of which he was able to recollect. The affectionate earnestness of the preacher's manner, the important truths he delivered, and the effects produced on the congregation, were brought fresh to his mind. The blessing of God accompanied his meditation; he felt that he had not "loved the Lord Jesus Christ;" he feared the dreadful "anathema;" conviction was followed by repentance, and at length this aged sinner ob

tained peace through the blood of atonement, and was "found in the way of righteousness." He joined the Congregational Church in Middleborough, and to the day of his death, which took place in his one hundred and sixteenth year, gave pleasing evidences of piety.

On reading the foregoing, the author was forcibly reminded of the words of the divine Watts :

Though seed lie buried long in dust,
It can't deceive our hope;

The precious grain can ne'er be lost,
For grace ensures the cup.

Affecting Incident.

THE following affecting incident shows that the religion of the Bible rests its evidence as much upon the testimony of the heart, as upon the dictates of the understanding. The wise may reason, the skeptic may doubt, and the infidel may scoff, and each respectively may plume himself upon his fancied superiority of understanding and keenness of mental acumen; yet the pride of reasoning is laid prostrate in the dust before the unsophisticated workings of the feeling heart. The adaptation of the system of truth revealed by the gospel to the otherwise unsatisfied cravings of our fallen humanity, is often felt by him, whose mental faculties may be altogether incapable of pursuing the shortest train of reasoning, or of comparing a few very simple ideas. Thus does God choose "the foolish things of this world to confound the things that are wise."

The incident occurred at the farm of Abingdon, in the parish of Crawford-John, Scotland, and must have been well nigh a century from the present day. It was then as it is in a greater or less degree, still the practice among the farmers occasionally to lodge the way-faring poor, and as the farmer's accommodation is frequently but small, and the characters of such random guests sometimes doubtful, they are furnished with blankets and straw in some of the adjacent houses, where, nevertheless, they are very comfortably sheltered. It was in the practice of this species of generous hospitality that the

character of the humble subject of it was revealed to view.

Says the narrator to his brother, "I remember an anecdote of my mother's, which Sir Walter Scott would have valued:-A poor wandering simpleton, or idiot, came to her father's house one winter evening, and sat by the kitchen fire. It was soon noticed that he was unwell. On being asked what ailed him? his reply was, 'I'm unco cauld.' After giving him warm gruel, he was put to a comfortable bed in the kiln. At a late hour, one of the maid servants came in, saying, 'the poor thing in the kiln was muttering and speaking to himself. My mother and others went to listen, when they distinctly overheard him repeating over and over again, the following bit of rhyme :

'Three o' Ane,

And Ane o' Three:
And Ane o' Three

Will save me.'

The next morning dawned, but the soul of the poor wanderer had gone to the bosom of that 'Ane o' Three,' whose mercy he had so affectingly supplicated." "My mother," the relator adds, "could not relate the anecdote with dry eyes."

Is there not in the simple language of this poor wanderer, the distinct recognition of the doctrine of the Trinity, and of the mediatorial work of the Savior, together with his divinity, as that "Ane o' Three" to whom the unsophisticated soul committed itself, in full confidence, that, in its own appropriating language, "he will save me?" Such a testimony-the testimony of the heart is worth a thousand arguments put forth in the pride of reasoning, and addressed exclusively to the understanding. It affectingly reminds us of the Savior's striking language, "I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes. Even so, Father; for so it seemeth good in thy sight."

The Blind Boy.

SEVEN children gathered around the board of William Halleck; and though poverty lay like a dark mist on his prospects, and sometimes pressed heavily on his heart yet the hardy and pious farmer toiled patiently along the thorny path he found marked out for him. Death had never entered his doors; but sickness had come often, with fatigue, expense, anxiety, and sorrow in her train; and beneath his roof dwelt one being, at once a living joy and a living sorrow. His fourth child was a beautiSul boy; but God had shut out from his mind the perception of all visible loveliness. Henry was born blind. 'The hearts of the parents were troubled when the terrible suspicion first came upon their minds, that the fair infant on whom they gazed, lay in a world of darkness.

Many and various were the experiments they tried to ascertain the truth, and it was long after every friend and neighbor that looked upon the child had expressed his melancholy conviction, ere the father and mother would shut their hearts against all hope. But the boy grew and strengthened; his little limbs became active; he stood by his mother's knee; he grasped her hand, and walked tottering at her side; language came in due season to his tongue, and his artless prattle and happy laugh were the loudest and the liveliest in the house. Yet vision was still wanting, and the house and all it contained, even the faces of those he best loved, were shut from his gaze. He was born to be a poor, useless, helpless blind boy; and the hearts of his friends sometimes ached to the core, as they looked on his blooming cheek and sightless eyes, and thought of the future.

But the voice of complaint was a sound unknown beneath the roof of William Halleck, and the hymn of thanksgiving ascended every evening from the lips of his family circle, ere the deep sleep of the weary came on their eyelids.

Three winters in succession had a rheumatic fever laid one of the daughters of William Halleck on the bed of sickness; yet she, too, like the rest of that humble household, was industrious, contented, and pious. She was two years older than Henry; and the mutual sense of in