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“ Grace and peace in Christ to my dearly beloved little son. I am glad to know that you are learning well, and that you say your prayers. So do, my little son, and persevere; and when I come home, I will bring with me a present from the annual fair. I know of a pleasant and beautiful garden, into which many children go, where they have golden little coats, and gather pretty apples under the trees, and pears, and cherries, and plums; also beautiful little horses, and golden bridles, and silver saddles. When I asked the man that owned the garden, · Whose are these children?' he said, “They are the children that love to pray, and to learn, and are pious.' Then, I said, “Dear Sir, I have also a little son; he is called Johnny Luther; may he not come into the garden, that he may eat such beautiful apples and pears, and may ride such a little horse, and play with these children?' Then the man said, “If he loves to learn and pray, and is pious, he shall come also into the garden ; Philip too, and little James; and if they all come together, then may they have likewise whistles, kettle-drums, lutes, and harps : they may dance also, and shoot with cross-bows.' Then he showed me a beautiful green grass-plot in the garden prepared for the dancing, where hung nothing but golden fifes, drums, and elegant silver cross-bows. But it was now early, and the children had not yet eaten ; therefore I could not wait for the dancing; and said to the man, 'Oh dear Sir, I will go instantly away, and write about all this to my little son John, that he may pray earnestly and write well, and be pious, so that he may also come into this garden. But he has an Aunt Magdalene; may he bring her with him ?' Then said the man so shall it be-go and write to him with confidence;' therefore, dear little John, learn to pray with delight, and tell Philip and James they must learn to pray; so shall you come with one another into the garden. With this I commend you to Almighty God; and give my love to Aunt Magdalene; give her a kiss for me. Your affectionate Father,
The Little Child's Poet's Corner.
BY MARY HOWITT.
In the fair isles of the main ;
Wheresoe'er a foot hath gone;
Blessings on them! they in me
Little children, not alone
THE LARK. .
BY CHARLES MACKAY.
Whither, O sweet lark! whither away,
O for a wing and a voice like thine,
Floating aloft on thy russet wing,
Whither O sweet lark! whither away,