QUITE recently I visited a German widow living in a delightful country seat, with a little son of eight years and a daughter of five. As we sat down to a well-spread table, the little boy, folding his hands and closing his eyes, thanked our Father in heaven for the food before us, and asked Him to bless it. Then the little girl, in childish accents, repeated, “Lord Jesus, be our guest. Come, and this table bless, and do us good.” The little ones were taught by their pious mother to think whom they were addressing. At several places where we visited in Scotland, the youngest child at the table asked the blessing; and the memory of those sweet, low, reverential, childish voices haunts us yet, as the echo of some rich carol. In some families there prevails the beautiful custom of joining in the Lord’s prayer at breakfast; and in one that we visited often last summer, this was sometimes omitted, and in its place the twenty-third psalm recited. In other families the silent blessing is the custom; and very touching it is, too, for it seems to make us realize that God is indeed near, when we can give Him thanks tho our lips move not.—Anon.