think we are, when we don't return to dinner, and then to supper? I am so hungry! Do you think it is supper time yet?" he continued, and he began to cry. "No, not yet," said George; "but don't ye fret so." They sat down completely exhausted, and neither spoke for some time: at last Willie looked up. "Georgy, dear, I'm afeard we are very bad boys, to come away without asking leave of father or mother. I thought so once before, but you told me not to tell." Poor George! his sin was now meeting with its own punishment, and he knew it. The thought that they might both die of cold and hunger came with fearful intensity to his mind. He tried once more to look around him for some place to go to for shelter, but it was of no avail, and he gave it up. more. "I am so sleepy, George!" said the little boy once "I think I can go to sleep here, only I will first say my prayers, and will ask God to forgive me." And he knelt with folded hands as he was wont, and repeated the Lord's Prayer; and after commending himself and all dear to him to His gracious keeping, he lay down underneath a tree, while his friend tried to cover him with his own coat. George watched till it was quite dark, and he too prayed for forgiveness; and then, with a mind more at peace, lay down by Willie's side. The night passed on; hour after hour flew swiftly by; the cold was intense, and their clothes and hair became stiff and frozen. George could not sleep, and a strange feeling came over him. He looked at his companion, and he saw him with a face like marble; he touched him, and he was cold and rigid. Still the truth was not clear to him, and it was only in the grey dawn of the early morning, when he tried to awaken him, that he found that little Willie had left this world for ever. Then the wood resounded with the cries of the unhappy boy, till at last he fell back completely exhausted. In this state he was found some time after wards by his parents, who had sought him for hours. He was carried home, and put into a warm bed, but so weak that no one expected him to live. But who can describe the agony of poor Willie's mother, when her child was brought to her? It was only after my cousin had been with her, and told her how to bear this grief, that she could be at all comforted; it was not until then that she could try to say, "Thy will, not mine, be done!" George lingered for two days, and then expired. His sorrow was deep and sincere, and an hour or so before his death he asked to see Willie's mother, to beg her forgiveness for having led her son astray, and for the grief he had brought on her. "Let me be buried with Willie, mother; and on the same day," he said, "and plant some flowers on our grave." These were the last words he spoke; and he died that evening. * It was the Sunday following, after the evening service, that the funerals took place. Mr. G- had arranged that all the school children should be present; and those belonging to Georgy's and Willie's class bore their coffins. In less than a week the place that had known them knew them no more; a week before they had worshipped in God's church for the last time on earth; and now they were come to be committed, earth to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes, we will hope in prospect of a joyful resurrection. It was an affecting sight, and there were few who did not deeply feel it. After the solemn, but beautiful and touching, service was over, Mr. G– returned to the church, and addressed the children. He told them they might learn a great lesson from the event that had taken place-the greatest lesson in life, namely, obedience. By disobedience man fell, and all were made sinners; but by the obedience of One Man many were made righteous. He told them that they must try to follow in the footsteps of this great pattern; and that whenever they felt inclined to be tempted to disobey, they must remember how our blessed Saviour gave us an example of great humility when a child like themselves, how He was subject unto His parents, and how He increased in favour both with God and man. Months and years have passed since then, but I am sure there are several who will not easily forget that Sunday. The pretty village, the old church, the quiet river—all is the same still. I walked through the churchyard last summer, and I paused on the brow of the hill, and looked beneath. I saw some children standing by the river side, and I heard a little girl repeating, "To obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams." Georgy and Willie came to my mind, and turning away, I walked quickly to the spot. It was a simple headstone, with a cross carved thereon. Underneath it was written: SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF GEORGE FORSTER, AND WILLIAM BRETT, WHO DIED THE —TH AND —TH DAY OF JANUARY, 184-. "Children, obey your Parents in the Lord, for this is right." (By permission of Mr. Masters.) EVENING. REV. JOHN KEBLE. SUN of my soul, Thou Saviour dear, When round Thy wondrous works below Or, by the light Thy words disclose, When with dear friends sweet talk I hold, When the soft dews of kindly sleep Abide with me from morn till eve, Thou Framer of the light and dark, We are in port if we have Thee. The rulers of this Christian land, "Twixt Thee and us ordain'd to stand, Guide Thou their course, O Lord, aright! Let all do all as in Thy sight! Oh! by Thine own sad burthen, borne Teach Thou Thy priests their daily cross, If some poor wandering child of Thine Have spurn'd, to-day, the voice divine; Now, Lord, the gracious work begin; Let him no more lie down in sin! Watch by the sick, enrich the poor Come near and bless us when we wake, Ere through the world our way we take: Till, in the ocean of Thy love, We lose ourselves in heaven above. (By permission of the Author.) THE HAPPY BLIND GIRL. J. E. CARPENTER. OH! stranger, do not pity me, My mind has conjur'd up a world I mark no change-I know not what I never doubt-I never fear, |