prayer to God. A most affecting, and striking little memoir accompanies this picture; altogether it is such a book as should be given to children when first they begin to read. No doubt the Lord will greatly bless this little messenger to many tender minds.

Little Hattie was born in London, in 1845; in 1857, she sailed to New York; and then she became a sweet little Sunday School child; received grace; believed in Jesus; loved His name, His word, His house, and His people; and then she fell asleep in Jesus; and her happy spirit is gone to swell the blissful song,— Worthy the Lamb. The following paragraphs are taken from Mr. Woollacott's memoir of this darling little Hattie.

Less than fourteen years brought this dear child to the end of her earthly pilgrimage. Her life and death declare what great things the Holy Spirit can make known even unto babes.

In the winter, after her arrival in America, she took a severe cold, which was followed by rheumatic fever. She had also a troublesome cough, attended occasionally by a slight discharge of blood. Her aunt was alarmed at this; but the medical attendant assured her that his little patient would soon be well again. And it was as he said, for as the spring advanced, Hattie was so much better, that the fears of her friends were quite removed.

But Hattie was an altered child. She was as affectionate and as cheerful as ever; but she was more thoughtful; we had almost said-more womanly. The following extracts from letters written at this time, will explain the nature and the cause of the change. She says, I suppose you have heard of my illness long before this; but I am happy to tell you that I am quite well now. Dear uncle and aunt were so kind to me, that feel as if I can never be grateful enough for all they have done. I love them dearly, and am exceedingly happy. I am very thankful to God that he has preserved my life, and my

earnest desire is, that I may be enabled to love and serve him. I often pray that he will pardon my sins, and make me his child.' From her aunt's letter, we copy the following:When Hattie first came here, she was much pleased with the little parties to which she was invited; but since her illness she has no wish to go to any of them, preferring the prayer-meetings, to which I often take her. The other day I overheard her in prayer. She did not know that any one heard her but her heavenly Father; and she prayed so simply and sweetly, that it made me weep and rejoice. Be assured that our dear Hattie is a praying child!'

One of the hymns which Hattie loved to sing, is well known to Sunday-school children :

"I think when I read that sweet story of old,

When Jesus was here among men ;

How he call'd little children as lambs to his fold,—

I should like to have been with them then.'

Indeed, the fact of his having received little children, was such a proof of his condescension, that the remembrance of it, always seemed to fill her with joy. But another hymn, to which perhaps she gave the preference, indicates the earnest longing of her soul. It is the following:

'I want to be an angel,

And with the angels stand:
A crown of gold upon my head,
A harp within my hand.'

After singing it one day, she said to her aunt, Jesus had a crown of thorns on his head; and the thorns pierced it. His love must have been great indeed, to bear that for such a sinner as I am!'

'The last conversation we had together, was just a week before she died. The doctor had just left, and I had seen from his look, that she was very ill. It was a beautiful summer evening, and we were sitting alone by the open window. I said to her 'Hattie, do you love Jesus now?" She answered me, saying with a sweet smile, 'Yes, indeed I do.' I then asked her, if she believed the Saviour loved her. Her answer was given with evident feeling, 'I know he loves me, I feel he does : indeed, he first loved me.'

Her aunt, also, referring to Hattie, says,-'I asked her whether she thought that God was unkind, in afflicting her.

She immediately said, 'Oh, no; not unkind. Did not the Saviour suffer far more than I have done! He suffered willingly for me; and I feel that sufferings only make me love him more." At another time, she said, I have been trying to think what kind of a place heaven is, and I fancy that it must be too beautiful for us to have any idea of it until we are there. But there is one thing we do know-the Saviour will be there; and that is enough for me.' I said to her just to try her, 'When you get well again, you will not care for those things as you do now. Oh, aunty!" she said, almost reproachfully, I see the world to be so empty and vain, that nothing but the pleasures of religion can ever make me happy. I can never cease to prefer them, and I am resolved to serve the Lord.'

She never kept her bed. Her aunt says,-'On the day before her death, she followed me about the house, and would not let me leave her a moment. She seemed as if she could not love me enough. Her breath was short, and her cough was sometimes very troublesome; yet we fancied that she was better, and almost hoped that she would be spared to us a little longer. At night, when I put her to bed, she put her arms round my neck, and in her usual manner said to me- Dear aunty, I love you very, very dearly. She slept quietly until six o'clock in the morning; but as soon as she awoke, I observed a change, that told me Hattie was no longer mine. We sent for the doctor, but before he arrived, the dear child just breathed one gentle sigh, and the spirit left its frail tenement to become a bright gem in the crown of Jesus.'

A CHEQUE FOR £1000.

CHEERING WORDS IN THE ORPHAN HOUSES, ON ASHLEY DOWN, BRISTOL.

Mr. George Muller is one of those highly-favoured servants of the Lord in this our day; to whom has been assigned the great work of erecting and maintaining Homes for Orphan Children. We wish to call attention to this excellent enterprize: this work of faith, this labor of love; this answer to persevering prayer: and therefore, from time to time, we desire to devote a corner of a page, that our readers may be gladdened in seeing how the Lord prospers the work of those who seek to do good in his thrice holy name.

WORDS?

VOLUME IX.

"A Christian's life is laid in the loom of time to a pattern which he does not see, but God does; and his heart is a shuttle. On one side of the loom is sorrow, on the other is joy; and the shuttle struck alternately by each, flies back and forth, carrying the thread, which is white or black, as the pattern needs; and in the end, when God shall lift up the finished garment, and all its changing hues shall glance out, it will then appear that the deep and dark colours were as needful to beauty as the bright and high colours."

LONDON:

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