"Wherewith to clothe us, wherewith to be fedd, for without Thee we wante our daily breade "Wee want, but want no faults, for no day passes But wee doe sinn forgive us our trespasses "Noe man from sining ever free did live forgive us Lorde our sinns as we forgive "Yf we repent our faults Thou ne're disdainest us We pardon them y't trespasses agaynst us "forgive us that is past, a new path treade us Direct us alwaies in thy fayth and leade us "Wee thine owne people and Thy chosen nation into all truth, but not into temtation "Thou that of all good graces art the giver Suffer us not to wander but deliver "Us from the fierce assaults of worlde and divell and flesh, so shalt thou free us from all evil "To these petitions let boath church and laymen w'th one concent of hart and voyce say Amen." WM. DURRANT COOPER. FOLK LORE. _Suffolk Legend._--In the little village of Acton, Suffolk, a legend was current not many years ago, that on certain occasions, which, by the way, were never accurately defined, the park gates were wont to fly open at midnight "withouten hands," and a carriage drawn by four spectral horses, and accompanied by headless grooms and outriders, proceeded with great rapidity from the park to a spot called "the nursery corner." What became of the ghostly _cortège_ at this spot, I have never been able to learn; but though the sight has not been seen by any of the present inhabitants, yet some of them have heard the noise of the head-long race. The "Corner," tradition says, is the spot where a very bloody engagement took place in olden time, when the Romans were governors of England. A few coins have I believe been found, but nothing else confirmatory of the tale. Does history in any way support the story of the battle? Whilst writing on this subject, I may as well note, that near this haunted corner is a pool called Wimbell Pond, in which tradition says an iron chest of money is concealed: if any daring person ventures to approach the pond, and throw a stone into the water, it will ring against the chest and a small white figure has been heard to cry in accents of distress, "That's mine!" I send you these legends as I have heard them from the lips of my nurse, a native of the village. W. SPARROW SIMPSON, B.A.