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helpless and inactive, except as she hobbles about upon crutches. One day her crutches needed repairing, and so Freddy was told to leave them at the cabinetmaker's, and to call without fail at noon and get them. But noon passed, night came, and school was dismissed, and Freddy went off skating with the boys; and when he rushed in at tea time, full of rosy health, just tired and hungry enough for comfort, and saw his grandmother looking so pale, weary, and sad, then he thought for the first time of his neglected duty; but the cabinet-maker's shop was closed, and grandmother had to wait another night. It was well that Freddy's father had strong arms and a loving heart, and could lift his aged mother and lay her gently on the bed; and that he remembered to go before she was up the next morning and bring the crutches, and put them by her bedside. It seems almost cruel to blame Freddy when he rushes in from play, so full of kindness and sweet temper, and seems so sorry that he has forgot. Yet it is a sad fault, and a great evil, which, unless cured, will make him an affliction rather than a blessing to his friends.

I read a short time since of a loss of life on a railroad. A man was told to deliver a telegraphic message to the engineer, to inform him of an approaching train. The man forgot; the train rushed on, and terror and death followed. Ah, vain excuse! miserable consolation to that thoughtless man, as he looks upon the shattered cars and miserable state of the passengers, to be able only to plead I forgot.

Well is it for us that God never forgets, else how fearful might be our case. Children, do not learn to

say, I forgot; you have no right to forget, when your daily bread, your life, your health, depend upon your being continually remembered.

LORD, before thy throne we stand:
Once again thy children see;
Smile upon a youthful band,
Suffer us to come to thee.

Suffer us to come and pray;

Daily do we stand in need;
And if thou shouldst turn away,
Lord, we should be poor indeed.

Suffer us to come and own

How unworthy we have been,
Since we look to thee alone

For the pardon of our sin.
Suffer us to come and praise;

Condescend to hear our songs;
All we have, ten thousand ways,
Comes from thee-to thee belongs.



SCHOOL was over. The village children rushed into the open air, joyful at their freedom, and, after the first burst of pent-up fun was over, they began to turn to their homes. 66 Come, Patty, let us go by the green lane and Farmer Pike's wheat-field," said Jane Smith to her little sister, "the high road is so hot and dusty. I like to go that way, for we can get woodbine in the hedge, and I shall make a wreath for my hair."

The children went slowly on, for the evening was No. 200. AUGUST, 1861.


fine; at length, however, they reached the stile that led to Farmer Pike's fields. "Now, Patty, we must not touch the wheat," said Jane to her sister, as she stretched out her hand to pull some; "that would be wrong, you know, for it does not belong to us; if we took this wheat the farmer might be angry." 66 'Perhaps God would, too," said Patty; "please hold my hand, and I shall not touch it."

The little girls had not walked far before they met the old farmer himself, leaning on the shoulder of his grandson Harry; but there was no hurry in their manner, as would have been the case if they had been doing mischief; so, dropping a courtesy they both said, "Good evening, grandfather," for the village children loved the old man so well that they often called him by that fond name. Many a good turn Farmer Pike had done for his neighbours, but the oldest man or woman in that place could not recollect that he had ever done a bad one; so he was a general favourite, and his old age was cheered by the attentions of his family, and made bright by the prospect of that heavenly home, which Christ has prepared for all those who believe in him. Seventy winters had brought grey hairs on the fariner's head, but no cold chill had fallen on his heart.

Harry, a boy of eleven years, was the companion of his grandfather's walks, delighting to listen to the old man's words and support his feeble steps, or, as he called it, to be "grandfather's walking stick."


'Well, my little birds, so you have escaped from the cage and are flying home to your nest," said Farmer Pike, as Jane and Patty approached. "You have done

with lessons for to-day, I suppose. Mine are never done; I was just learning one out here in the fields."

Patty looked up in wonder-old Farmer Pike learning a lesson, and without a book. The farmer guessed the reason of her surprise and said, "My book has golden letters and tells me much about the wisdom, power, and goodness of our Father in heaven."

"You mean the corn-field, Sir ?" said Jane. "Exactly so; shall I tell you something about it ?"

"Oh, please, Sir, do," cried both children; and Harry looked as glad as either of them to listen to a page from his grandfather's lesson-book.

"Let me see; where shall I begin? The children know the uses of wheat, I must tell them something about how it grows. You are all fond of bread, I am sure, and of cakes and puddings when you can get them, and so are young people in other parts of the world. Now God is so good as to give some kind of bread-making plant to almost every country of the globe. Here we have our wheat and barley, the colder north has oats and rye, while the sunny lands of the south are not left without rice, maize, and millet. Thus God provides food for his children, giving each climate the kind best suited to it. Asia is the native land of rice, America of maize, or Indian corn; but as my friends here live principally on wheat, I shall read to them from this golden page of my book. Come now, little Patty, pull one of those long stalks, and let us examine it."

The child obeyed, and held the yellow corn in her hand. "Was this field always full of wheat ?" asked the farmer. "Oh, no,” replied Jane, "last autumn

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