fortitude, were so heart-rending to witness, that I almost longed for the time when he should be set at liberty; and thus was my first petition answered.

With regard to the second, when I had almost begun to despair, and endeavoured to rest satisfied with the beautiful evidences I daily witnessed of his having received a new heart, and a right spirit-exactly three weeks before his death, my utmost wishes were fulfilled.

I had been in the habit of praying and conversing with John, after the other children had gone to rest; a season he seemed peculiarly to prize, often reminding me of it, and after prayer, saying, "Now, mamma, let us have some conversa-. tion." On the evening alluded to, immediately after the doctor's visit, he said, “ Mamma, could you conveniently pray with me now, lest I get drowsy?" On my assuring him that it would afford me much pleasure to do so, he put his little wasted hand into mine, and fixed his eyes with much earnestness on my face; when the idea was immediately suggested to me, "It may be that God has heard my prayers, and this dear child may now be more communicative than he has hitherto been."

"Have you.

I sat down by him, and endeavoured gently to draw him into conversation, regarding his hopes and feelings in the near prospect of death; when the following short but satisfactory answers were given to several of the questions I put. After pointing out to him some of the mercies which were mingled with his affliction, I said, “Do you not love the gracious God, who, besides sending his Son to die for your sins, has granted you so many temporal blessings?" He answered, "O, yes." 66 Had you always the same love for Christ which you now, have?" "No." “ Who do you think implanted the love of Christ in your heart?" "God's Holy Spirit." anything in which you can trust to recommend you to God?” "Nothing but the righteousness of Christ." "Do you not still feel yourself a sinner?" "Yes; and my sin is exceedingly hateful and burdensome to me." "Tell me, my beloved child, what is it that makes sin so hateful to you; is it because God punishes sinners ?" "No, it is not that so much, as because God hates sin." "Have you any other reasons?" "Yes; because it made Christ suffer." I now said, “You are aware, my dear boy, that you and I must shortly part : have you no fear of death, nor any doubt of your eternal hap

piness?" He answered, "None." "Had you never any fear lest you might not be a child of God?" "O, yes." "At

my

what time was that?" 66 Since illness." "And what, my darling, did you do when those fears oppressed your mind?" "I just prayed to God."

Observing that he was greatly exhausted, I did not talk much more with him at this time, but obtained a promise that in future he would speak to me without reserve; I likewise had the satisfaction to learn, that he was fully aware of the near approach of death, of which he spoke with as much composure as of going to sleep; and that he felt himself privileged in being thus early removed from a world of sin and suffering.

Subsequently, I had many delightful conversations with him. On one occasion, while speaking of the perfection of the Redeemer's character, I asked him whether he had ever experienced that feeling so common to children, and even to maturer age, as if the character of God the Father were more awful, and less lovely, than that of God the Son.

His answer was striking. "No, I cannot say I ever have experienced that feeling; how could I, when He sent his Son to die for me?" At another time, expecting he would name his beloved father, I said, "When you get to heaven, my darling, whom will you first wish to see?" He answered, "Christ."

Two nights before his death, he fell asleep earlier than usual, and, being much exhausted, I lay down beside him. Shortly after he awoke, and said, "You did not pray with me to-night, mamma." I answered, “I remember you, my love, both in the family, and in private." "But do, mamma," he replied, "just sit up a few minutes and pray with me!" and on his request being complied with, he bade me good night, and, with my hand clasped in his, quietly composed himself to sleep.

His sufferings for two months previous had been unspeakably intense. The spine had become quite curved, and the whole back was covered with abscesses; the bones, too, being for many inches entirely bare, protruded frightfully through the flesh, exciting the most violent irritation and profuse discharge. Notwithstanding every precaution, the skin had also sloughed off both thigh joints, so that he could scarcely lie five minutes on one side; but except the frequently repeated expression, "I am weary, weary," and the

constant request, "O turn me, mamma,” no complaint ever escaped his lips.

On the last evening which he spent on earth, after the other children were in bed, he pointed out two or three beautiful psalms and paraphrases, which he wished me to read; but immediately recollecting that I had been spitting a little blood, he added, "but not unless you are perfectly able." The reading being concluded, he made no remark; and on my asking him if he wished to join with me in prayer, he looked at me, but did not answer. I added, "If you wish me to pray with you, love, but are unable to say so, press my hand." The signal was immediately given, and he appeared to join in the exercise with his wonted fervour. After receiving his customary draught, he revived, and was able to converse a little; then addressing those of the family, who were present, by name, he bade each of them good night, and shortly after fell into a quiet slumber. About five o'clock in the morning, I observed that his breathing had acquired a slight moaning sound; and, on approaching him with a light, his eye was fixed on me with its usual calm, steady expression, but he could not swallow nor articulate. Shortly after I went to another part of the room, to procure some restorative to wet his lips. During my absence I observed that the moaning had ceased; and ere I could reach his bed-side he had closed his eyes, and fallen asleep in Jesus, so gently, that it was some time before we were aware that his spirit had indeed fled!

SIR,

THE STOLEN CLIMBING-BOY.

[An Extract from a Letter.]

* It is well known that those boys are often stolen; an authentic and affecting instance of which I can relate to you. It was communicated to me by Mrs. B, an aged parishioner of mine, now long since dead.

Mrs. B- on a winter day, when the streets were covered with pretty deep snow, was obliged to go out and leave her infant in its cradle. Her attention was soon called to a piteous spectacle, a sweep followed by a poor shivering urchin, whose feeble steps could not keep pace with those of his impatient master. She felt convinced that the child was

́stolen; and instantly formed the purpose to effect his rescue. With this view she followed the objects of her pursuit from street to street, till the distance between the boy and his tyrant should become so great as to afford hope of success. Can a woman forget her sucking child? Mrs. B

was

not wanting in maternal affection; yet so strongly did she yearn over this victim of oppression, that she persevered hour after hour, till seeing the master far in the advance, she seized the child's hand, and said, "Come along with me." She gained some ground ere the sweep, who was going in a contrary direction, perceived the fugitives. He immediately gave chase, and would have overtaken them had he not in his fury thrown his brush at them. This Mrs. B- picked up, and with great presence of mind threw it beyond him, and while he ran back to recover it effected her escape home with the child. She had but just time to bolt her door, when he came thundering to recover his lost property, which she said she would not give up unless the magistrates decided that she should. The matter was brought before them-the man could give no satisfactory account how he came by the boy, whose condition was such, so starved, so emaciated, as to draw tears from the beholders. The issue was that Mrs. B- was allowed to keep the child; but his bowels were in such a state that it was some time before nourishing food could safely be given him. He was, however, restored; Mrs. B, though a woman in very humble circumstances, kept him as her own son, and sent him to school.

On one occasion he was detained at home through indisposition. Mrs. B was sitting at her spinning-wheel with the door open, and the child near her, when a woman rushed in, and said, "Oh! my bairn!" and kissed the boy. "Is this your child?" said Mrs. B"It is." “Well, then, you shall have it as soon as I am satisfied that you are really the mother; but to none but the mother will I give him up." Sufficient proof was given to satisfy Mrs. Bof the justice of the claim, and the boy was restored to his parents.

Their residence was in a distant town of the same county, from whence he had been kidnapped and taken to C▬▬▬▬▬▬▬. By occupation the father was a travelling tinker, who frequently traversed the country with his family for employ

ment.

Some years after the restoration of the boy, he with

his family visited C

with that object: and when he

drew near to the place, "I will go before," said the boy, "and see my Cmammy." This was the last time she saw him, for not long after he died, perhaps from the injury his constitution had received in his youth.

It is, Sir, I believe, more near to forty than thirty years, since I heard this narrative from the lips of Mrs. BBut it will never be effaced from my memory. And if I could tell it word for word, as she told it to me, though it would be five times as long, it would be ten times as interesting; nor do I think your fair readers would have read it without tears. Yet, even then it would want her look, her tones, which made the story so very moving. "You would think," said she, "that Dr. was a strong man; yet he could hardly see the child without weeping." You have, however, the substance of the story, in which I am correct in every material circumstance.

I am, Sir, yours,

C, May 9, 1839.

AMICUS.

THE EFFECTS OF CHRISTIANITY ON THE MORAL CONDITION OF THE POOR.

WHEN the Christian dispensation was first made known to mankind, corruption of morals had risen to a most alarming height. Human sacrifices were very generally offered up on the altars of their pretended deities; infants were exposed to suffering and death by their unnatural parents; slaves were treated by their masters with the utmost harshness and severity, and were frequently deprived of life upon the smallest provocation; the most inhuman sports were encouraged by the Legislature, and formed the highest delight of the people; polygamy universally prevailed, and every species of licentiousness was indulged in without a feeling of remorse, or even a sense of shame. Awful is the picture which St. Paul gives us of the state of the Roman empire at this period, and his account is fully verified by their own historians and poets. The city of Corinth had reached to such a degree of moral degradation, that even the Roman Legion was not permitted to enter within its gates, lest they should be completely corrupted by luxury, effeminacy, and vice.