Many of the little girls in India are very pretty. They have dark eyes, and sweet, expressive countenances. This little child grew to be a very beautiful girl; and when she was eleven years old, some of her relations ventured to bring her to her father. They thought that he would be struck with the sight of his sweet child, and that he would love her for the sake of her mother who had died. The little girl fell at his feet and clasped his knees, and looked up in his face and said, "My father." And what do you think that father did? Do you think that he took her up in his arms, and kissed her? No. He seized her by the hair of her head, drew his sword from his belt, and with a single blow took off her head.
Now, my dear children, do you not think that you ought to pray for the poor heathen--to pray that God will send the Gospel to them? I want to tell you of a little boy who heard me preach some time ago about the heathen. One night he said his prayers, and went to bed. After he got into bed, he said to the nurse, "I have forgotten to pray for the heathen, and I must get out of bed and pray for them." The nurse then told him that it would not be necessary for him to get up, as he could pray for them while in bed. "No," said he, "I must get out of bed and pray for them." And the dear little boy would not rest until he got out of bed and prayed for them. Now I want all of you, my dear children, every morning and evening, to kneel down and pray for the heathen, as this little boy did. And I want you to do something more. I want you always to be punctual in attending _the usual monthly concerts of prayer,_ provided there are no juvenile monthly concerts to which you can go. I have long wished to see juvenile monthly concerts of prayer established. They would be very interesting if I am to judge from the account of one which I some time ago received from a friend of mine, the Rev. Mr. V----. I will give you some extracts from his letter. He writes, "According to promise, I send you an account of the first children's monthly concert, so far as I can learn, held on Long Island. As notice was not given either in the church or Sabbath-school, the attendance was smaller than it otherwise would have been. Still, about sixty interesting children attended. After a few remarks concerning the object of the meeting by the superintendent of the Sabbath-school they sung with melting eyes the hymn that describes the wretched heathen mother casting her lovely babe into the jaws of the monster of the Granges. Prayer then was made, of about two or three minutes in length. Then I gave some of the most affecting accounts of the cruelties and ignorance of the heathen, as related by the devoted Williams, that martyr missionary. Their silent attention and subdued countenances told that their hearts were with the wretched idolaters. After having thus spent about ten minutes, the children sung in a sweet manner, a hymn--a prayer for those laboring amid the heathen: