added the one who told me the story, "the waters abated." They prayed to be delivered from the bad air; and "the Lord was so well pleased," said the collier who took some pains to explain what he called "the manner of it" to me, "that he caused one of the door-ways at the end of one of the hatches"-(I understand by this word a long passage in the mine running upward)—" to break down," and the falling mass of coal and clay stopped up the passage, so that whilst it confined the boys there, it prevented the foul air from reaching them. The boys themselves appear fully convinced that this preservation was an answer to prayer. May the impression abide with them. "And what didst say in thy prayer, my son?" said the father. The boy's answer was a touching specimen of natural eloquence: "Lord!"-his prayer begun-" Lord! thou know'st how bad 'tis to go to work in health and strength, and to be carried home to poor father and mother upon a long board."-Poor dear boy, as he spoke the remembrance of the agony from which he had so lately been delivered so agitated his weak frame, that he with difficulty restrained a violent burst of tears: the father was much affected: "there," said he, "that

word went to my heart more than any thing, that he should remember his poor father and mother in his trouble." Another who had had a little brother born only the day before the accident, told me he thought of the baby when he was down in the pit, and thought to himself, "If the Lord takes me away, there is another to stand in my place." This poor fellow was beyond measure distressed at finding his mother so ill. She had suffered very much, and her strength was nearly exhausted, for she had mourned for him all the time she was awake, and dreamt of him during the few restless minutes that she slept. She fainted when she was told that he was alive, and was, I think, insensible at the time he was carried in. "Don't mind me," said the boy, though his life and that of his companions hung for many days on a thread, "I don't look after myself at all, but it hurts me to see poor mother: I'm afeared mother 'll die." But, Oh no! the Lord brought down and lifteth up; he killeth and maketh alive; and in a very few days when I saw the mother, there was only left on the pale brow that expression of peace, of which I before spoke-a calm

whose depth alone told through what a tempest she had past.

And now is my story done, or could I fully enter into the beauty of the text which I taught the children of my class the Sunday morning after, by way of preparing them to join heartily in our church's thanksgiving that day;—“It is meet that we should make merry and be glad, for this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found." Could I so deeply feel the natural application of the text, and not say to every reader of my true story, "There is joy in the presence of the angels of God”—greater than these poor parents felt at the resurrection of their buried sons- over one sinner that repenteth." Have they had cause, my dear reader, to rejoice over you? Shall I lay down my pen without marking once more the providence of a God ruling every where in the sea and in all deep places; and without charging on my own heart and on yours to acknowledge Him in all your ways? and let us both try to come to the same conclusion to which an old man, to whom I talked on the subject, brought me. He remarked many striking particulars which made it almost a miraculous preservation, and ended by

saying, "To think-there was bad air enough in the place to kill all the horses in the world seemingly, and these boys were to be kept alive; -'tis no use to say no more about it," added he, throwing out his hands in the attitude of one who casts from him a piece of work that he has completed, "'tis no use to say no more about it, the Lord do hear prayer!" Does he? Then we will add to the poor collier's stock of prayers one in verse.

THE COLLIER'S PRAYER.

Dark is the mine and drear below,
We hang upon a breaking cord;
Hear us, as down the pit we go,—

Save or we perish, gracious Lord!

Watch o'er us on the stormy night,
When dark and chill the midnight wind;

As forth we go, be thou our light,

And bless the babes we leave behind.

Thou know'st how oft by sudden death,
The young, the gay, cut down we see;
But lengthen out our fleeting breath
Till we are fit to dwell with thee.

Oh! save us from the hurtful air,
From spreading fire and rushing wave;
But chief, good Lord! in mercy spare
From the proud sinner's hopeless grave!

Oh! thou art merciful we know;

We own thy power, we trust thy word; Hear us! as down the mine we go!

Save or we perish, gracious Lord!

May 21, 1833.