in-land; how the evil ones would not suffer her to sleep,
lest, in her slumbers, the good spirits might visit her and take her
away;--that they would not let her walk among the flowers, for good
spirits are there. And for a long time they watched her very closely,
and directed her steps in their pathway.

But, at length, when she become faint and weary, the ministering angels
came to her assistance, took her in their arms, and folding her weary
limbs in their white robes, bore her back to her anxious companions. No
one rejoiced more than did Agatha, that the heavenly messengers had led
Mary back.

Their teacher said that her school was a little garden of flowers, which
she was rearing for heaven. But Agatha was the most innocent flower
there, and ready to bloom in the garden of paradise. The kind heavenly
guides thought her too pure for earth, and they would fain have her
companionship in their purer regions. So they bore her away on wings of
love to their heavenly home.

May every Sabbath school scholar be, like Agatha, led by celestial
spirits.

RESPONSIBILITY.

That teacher alone, whose eye is open to the immense value of religious
influences, and who perceives the importance of trifles in morals, can
properly feel his great responsibility, or be qualified to guide the
young in the way of life.

DUTY OF PARENTS.

Parents should see that their children understand their lessons, and
that they commit them perfectly. They will thus both aid and encourage
the superintendent and teachers.

A SCHOLAR'S REMEMBRANCE OF THE PIC-NIC OF 1850.

How bright, my dear mother, this sweet summer morning,
Does everything round me appear;
The sun the tall steeples with gold is adorning,
And lights up the skies blue and clear.

All freshly around me the west wind is blowing;
And, mother, I smell the sweet hay
Which was left on the Common from yesterday's mowing;
How I wish they'd not take it away.

I'm sure 'tis too pleasant of school to be thinking,
Its tasks this bright day I should hate;
Much better I'd like the fresh air to be drinking,
Than puzzle o'er book and o'er slate.

O if it were Pic-nic to-day, my dear mother,
How happy and gay I should be!
How joyful without any studies to pother,
Away in the woods to roam free.

I'm sorry 'tis over; how great was my pleasure
The whole of that beautiful day;
I jumped, and I danced, and I sung without measure,
But ah! it so so