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in serving me, they remained standing at the door, waiting his leisure. These women were strangers to me; but I heard myself named, and then could not avoid listening to their words. "I saw his poor silly face," said one of them: "I stood by the coach ere now, and saw him press his lips, and flatten his nose against the window of the coach; and then he drew faces with his thin finger in the mist which he had breathed upon the glass. I wished to see the sickly creature, for they say he can't live long, since the horrid father gave him that blow on the head. I got one to point out the coach to me; and in it, sure enough, I soon saw the poor boy. My Lady, his mother, looks half broken-hearted: no one could mistake the one or the other. That Lord A-1 must be a sad brute. Ah! here comes the coach," she continued, "they have let down the glass. See how he leans down his cheek upon the top of the window, and looks out sideways just as a babe would do. Ah, poor lad! sure enough he won't live; he is wasted away to nothing but skin and bone. Now I don't know what to call his father but

a murderer." This was too much. I had for some little time scarcely heeded the man who was attending to me; I looked up, and beheld his face, all expressive of sincerest pity, turned full upon me; he would have spoken, but my glance stopped him. I drew my hat over my eyes, and walked towards the door, but as I advanced the voice of the other woman met my ear; she also pronounced my name, but with all that tenderness and balm-like sympathy which dwells only in womanhood. I cannot remember her words, but the tone went at once to my heart, and quite overset me. walked out of the shop, weeping aloud.

Sunday, September the 7th.

I

I have just returned from divine service in the chapel attached to my house. While the chaplain was reading the psalms, Maurice walked softly down the aisle and entered my pew. He stood before me, with his eyes fixed on my face. Whenever I raised my eyes, I met that fixed but vacant gaze. My heart melted within me, and I felt tears rush into my eyes his sweet but vacant look must

often be present with me it seemed to appeal to me, it seemed to ask for my prayers. Sinner as I am, I dared to think so. It must be to

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all an affecting sight to see an idiot in the house of God. It must be a rebuke to hardened hearts, to hearts too cold and careless to worship there, it must be a rebuke to know that one heart is not unwilling, but unable to pray. Bitterly I felt this as I looked upon my child. He stood before me, a rebuke to all the coldness and carelessness which had ever mingled with my prayers. His vacant features seemed to say, "You have a mind whose powers are not confused-you have a heart to feel, to pray, to praise, and to bless God. The means of grace are daily given to you, the hopes of glory are daily visible to you." O God! my child stood before me as a more awful rebuke, as a rebuke sent from Thee! Did not his vacant look say also," Look "Look upon the wreck which your dreadful passions have made? Think upon what I was? Think upon what I am?" With a broken heart I listened to the words of life; for while I listened, my poor idiot child leaned upon me, and seemed

to listen too-When I bowed my head at the name of Jesus, the poor boy bowed his. They all knelt down; but just then, I was lost in the thoughtfulness of my despair: my son clasped my hand, and when I looked round I perceived that we alone were standing in the midst of the congregation. He looked me earnestly in the face, and, kneeling down, he tried to pull me to kneel beside him. He seemed to invite me to pray for him; I did fall on my knees to pray for him, and for myself; and I rose up, hoping that, for my Saviour's sake, my prayers were heard, and trusting that our Heavenly Father feedeth my helpless child with spiritual food that we know not of

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