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THE WILD ROSE AND THE CORN-FIELD. as the fair roses of God's harvest-field. He It was the end of June: the tall, green has all beauty wherewith to clothe you, ears of wheat, not yet ripened by the golden Spirit-graces which shine brighter as the sunshine, waved gently in the breeze, and body decays. Though withheld from all gave promise of a most abundant harvest; active service, you shall be living witnesses while the air was filled with the delicate for Him. Your love, your patience, your scent of the wild roses, which hung in pro- gentle thankfulness, shall be a holy, soothfusion over the leafy hedge.

ing influence to all around; while you may Those beautiful roses ! how graceful were never know here below how many a holy the festoons formed by their light green thought you have awakened in the hearts of boughs! how pure the tender blush, which others, and how, when you seemed to be an touched their pearl-like blossoms! The little idler, you were really working in the choicest child who played beneath the hedge, had part of the Lord's vineyard. rejoiced in their wild profusion, and learned

ELIZABETH BICKERSTETH. his first infant lesson of thanksgiving, as he praised the God who made the lovely flowers.

THE MYSTERIES OF PRAYER. The maiden, with her heart so quickly re- Thy way is in the sea, and Thy path in the great sponsive to the touch of beauty, had looked

waters, and Thy footsteps are not known."

Psalm lxxvii. 19. at them till soft tears filled her eyes, as she

I ask'd for grace to lift me high, thought of the fulness of beauty which must Above the world's depressing cares; dwell in Him who could make earthly things God sent me sorrows: with a sigh so fair. The anxious, careworn child of sor- I said, “ He has not heard my prayers.” row had looked on them with a lightened heart, I ask'd for light, that I might see repeating to herself the sacred words, "If God 50 clothed the grass of the field, should He But clouds and darkness shadow'd me not much more clothe you, Oye of little faith?"

When I expected light from God. But the rose knew nothing of all this. I ask'd for peace, that I might rest She hung there in her unconscious beauty,

To think my sacred duties o’er, and drooped her fair head in sorrow, because

When, lo! such horrors fill'd my breast

As I had never felt before. she was useless to all; whilst the waving corn before her would supply the food of hundreds.

“And oh," I cried, “can this be prayer Yes, the corn would supply the bodily

Whose plaints the stedfast mountains move?

Can this Þe Heaven's prevailing care, Fants of hundreds; but had the rose done

And, O my God, is this Thy love ?! less in ministering to the higher wants of

But soon I found that sorrow, worn man's immortal spirit-in teaching thank

As Duty's garment, strength supplies, fulness to the child, devotion to the maiden, And out of darkness meekly borne patient confidence to the poor? God had Unto the righteous light doth rise. clothed her with beauty, and by that beauty And soon I found that fears, which stirr'd she fulfilled His work.

My startled soul God's will to do, Even thus is it with many of His children On me more real peace conferr'd

Than in life's calm I ever knew. upon earth. They would fain, as the cornplant, be employed in some mission of Then, Lord, in Thy mysterious ways manifest usefulness.

They would feed the Lead my dependent spirit on, hungry, clothe the naked, and relieve the

And, whensoe'er it kneels and prays,

Teach it to say, “Thy will be done.” distressed. But His providence forbids it. Sickness, or some other hindrance, withholds

Let its one thought, one hope, one prayer,

Thine image seek—Thy glory see; them from the work; and they hang their heads

Let every other wish and care, in sorrow, under a painful sense of uselessness. Be left confidingly to Thee. Not so, afflicted Christian! You may be


Pleasant Readings for our Sons and Daughters.






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thing in her face that alarmed Beatrice-80 There is a reaper whose name is Death.”

sallow, so sunken, so wan, and with such a LONGFELLOW.

strange dim wandering look in the eyes-it EATRICE!”

was so different to her usual cold, hard, exYes, papa! Did you want me?”

pression. The old harsh dry manner, too, had “I wish you would manage to go

given place to trembling weakness and nervous over to Miss Vivian this afternoon."

excitement. And this change had taken place "To-day! If you particularly wish it, papa," in only twenty-four hours, for Beatrice had said Beatrice, rather hesitatingly. “I have

seen her the day before looking much the same an engagement, but-"

as usual. Her beart now sank at the sight I do particularly wish it, if you can possibly

before her. manage to go. She is very unwell, Beatrice, Papa says you are not well, dear Miss and very unlike herself to-day,—so nervous

Vivian,” she said gently, kneeling down by the and excited. She ought to have some one with

chair, and taking one of the wasted bony hands her besides Bentley, and I can send no one but

in her own. "I have come to take care of you.”. you."

“You are a good girl, Beatrice," was the Beatrice stood thoughtfully a minute,- answer, in a restless dreamy tone, “but you

“I must send word to Mrs. Thompson that can't do anything for me; no one can.” I cannot come to her this afternoon. Could “Dear Miss Vivian, I don't understand," you leave the note as you pass by, papa ? then said Beatrice, anxiously. “I love to take care I will go to Miss Vivian at once.'

of you. Why can I not do anything for you?” “I think it will be best. I am afraid she is No use," muttered Miss Vivian; then rousfailing fast, Beatrice. I should not be sur- ing herself a little, she added, There's prised now at any sudden change. In a few nothing to make a fuss about, Beatrice; Mr. hours we shall see if this is anything; if she Wentworth is always inclined to croak,should be taken worse, you can send for me at

always thinks the worst of everything. And once."

after all he didn't say much. I am only a Beatrice shivered slightly.

little—a little feverish, to-day. Bentley made " Papa, do you think so badly of her as that?', me eat too much dinner. She is ruinous in “I hardly know what to think; she may

her ways." rally and be quite herself again in a few hours, Bentley had been in the room on Beatrice's but as I tell you, I shall not be surprised what. entrance, and was now leaving it. She paused ever happens. She ought to go to bed, but a moment at the door, and shook her head neither Bentley nor I can persuade her to leave sadly at the last words, giving Beatrice a the drawing-room. You must use your in- glance full of meaning. fluence.”

“But if you are feverish, dear Miss Vivian, In a few minutes Beatrice was dressed, and would it not be better to go to bed ?" asked traversing the streets with a rapid step; in Beatrice, soothingly. “It would rest you far three-quarters of an hour from the time her more than staying up. You look so tired.” father first spoke, she was at Vivian Mansion. “I shall go to bed at my usual time-not Miss Vivian was in the drawing-room in her before. I never have for years, and I don't usual armchair, but leaning back heavily, intend to begin it now,” said Miss Vivian, try. as if she had no power to sit upright; and from ing to speak in her old dry tone, but she failed, the first moment she saw her, there was some. for her voice shook, and a low groan escaped her.


“Are you in pain, Miss Vivian ? Beatrice Beatrice-very kind; but you don't under. gently inquired.

stand.” "Nonsense," said Miss Vivian, testily. "It “Has anything happened to try you?” is only-only- You worry me, Beatrice. I

asked Beatrice, gently. can't talk."

“Nothing you can understand; it is of no Beatrice was silent, and for a minute or two use to talk, Beatrice,” was the reply, in a Miss Vivian was equally so; but then she peevish tone; and another silence followed. started, shuddered, and groaned again; and Beatrice remained where she was, without in the dull gathering twilight of that gloomy stirring a finger, for nearly ten minutes, and room her face appeared to Beatrice to wear an then she was startled by a sudden remark from unnaturally pinched, worn, haggard expres- her companion, in low faltering tones, very sion. Beatrice rose to her feet with sudden different from her usual voice, resolution,

“ Beatrice! Leonard Vivian was right !” "Miss Vivian, I am going to call Bentley, and “About what?” asked Beatrice, calmly, we will help you into your room.

You must though greatly alarmed by the tone and let me, for you are not fit to sit up."

manner. Even Miss Vivian's spirit-broken by weak- “You know, Beatrice, very well. He was ness and suffering-yielded to the calm com- right. What was it that he said 9” continued mand of her tone and manner, and she made Miss Vivian, in a low dreamy voice of supbat feeble opposition. Bentley was summoned, pressed pain.

pressed pain. "Something about lending to and she and Beatrice together supported the the Lord. I have never lent anything to God, feeble, aged, tottering form into the bedroom. Beatrice." So weak she seemed, that Beatrice thought “Dear Miss Vivian, that is not the question more than once she would have fallen to the for you now,” said Beatrice, pressing her ground in their short transit across the passage,

hand. “ You must not think of the money, but the business was at length safely accomplished. Once there, however, Miss Vivian's Ay, it is easy to say, don't think,” said resolution returned, and though she submitted Miss Vivian, in the same low strained absent to being partially undressed, and placed in the tone, and again she repeated, -—"Beatrice, I deep, low easy chair, in which she could lie have never lent anything to God,-never given back almost as on a sofa, she utterly refused to Him anything,-neither money, nor time, nor go to bed, much to Beatrice's disappointment. | talents, nor anything that belonged to me. Remonstrances and entreaties were alike use- He owes me nothing in return. He has noless, and, thinking the excitement of the debate thing to pay me again. I never lent Him was more hurtful to her than even sitting up, anything-never, Beatrice !” they ceased to urge it. Bentley left the room, “Miss Vivian, if God gives us any reward after obtaining a promise from Beatrice to call for what we do in His service, it is not because her in a moment if she were needed.

we deserve it. Forgiveness and salvation are Beatrice drew a low chair to the side of Miss free gifts, offered alike to all. Vivian, and sat down silently to watch and *Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast wait. Not a sound broke the stillness, except out.' The thief on the cross had done nothing an occasional restless movement or low moan. for God in all his life, yet the moment he For nearly half an hour they remained thus, prayed to Jesus he was forgiven and saved.” and then Beatrice could bear it no longer. * I know nothing about that, Beatrice. At Again there was a groan as if of intense mental least, it is of no use to talk of it to me now. suffering, and she rose and knelt down by the My head is too full of other things. I am not old lady's side, taking her hand to draw her like the thief, for I have known better all the attention.

time. Beatrice, is there not something in the « Dear Miss Vivian, won't you let me help Bible about dividing the sheep and goats,you? Will you not tell me wbat is the matter? those who have given away, from those who If you feel so ill, had I not better send again have not? What is it? Read it to me." for papa P or if anything distresses you, may · May I not choose the part I should like to I not know what it is, and try to comfort read ?” asked Beatrice, as she drew a Testayou?”

ment from her pocket. Lately she had always "Mr. Wentworth can do no good,” hoarsely brought one to the house, in the hope of being returned Miss Vivian. “You are a kind girl, permitted to read it.

Jesus says,



No,—do as I tell you,” said Miss Vivian, and waited with longing impatience for her in her old sharp tone; and, turning to the father's arrival. He came at last, bent over twenty-fifth chapter of St. Matthew, Beatrice the bed, felt the pulse, listened to the fitful obeyed.

breathing, and then stood up. Beatrice looked It was too to see much of the print, | fearfully in his face. but she knew the words almost by heart. Miss “Papa! what is it po Vivian followed her with riveted attention, "She is sinking, Beatrice,” he said, in a low until the forty-first verse was reached, and tone. “She will hardly rally again.” then, as Beatrice in a low voice finished the Beatrice turned deadly pale, and put her few remaining verses to the end of the chapter, hands over her face,she shuddered visibly.

“Papa, don't say that, she will surely speak Beatrice,” she said, slowly and hoarsely at again-if only once more,—she will be conthe close, “that is what I mean.

I have never

scious again,” and Beatrice shuddered at the given a penny to those in need, -not even a remembrance of those last words. Were they, crust of bread. I have saved and hoarded, and indeed, to be the last? Oh, why had she not I have made an idol of my money. I have spoken herself with more warmth and earnest. loved nothing but money,—and now I love it, ness P-why had she said no more, while she Beatrice. I am too old to change. It is part had the opportunity ?” of my nature,-nothing can change it now,- " It is possible, but not likely,” Mr. Wentthe love of gold I mean. It has not made me worth answered, gravely. He took Beatrice happy. I have been selfish and miserable. by the arm, led her to the window, and made Hush, Beatrice," as she attempted to speak. her sit down. “Is this too much for you,

I can't argue about it now. I can only feel, Beatrice?" -and I feel that it is too late now for me to “Not for me—that is nothing! Oh, papa, change. What was that text that Leonard what can we do for her p” she asked, in bitter Vivian quoted ? Something about he that distress. hideth his eyes' having 'many a curse.' I Nothing now, Beatrice; nothing except to have hidden my eyes from all who needed pray for her, my girl," he added. help,—and the curse is coming upon me now, Beatrice's face sank lower in her hands, and if it has not already been on me all my life. for nearly five minutes she sat without moving. Beatrice, take warning !” and she shivered. Then, with renewed composure, she rose and Don't leave such things till too late. Don't returned to the bedside, to watch by the dying make an idol of money or anything else,-it woman. Mr. Wentworth was right: the feeble comes between God and you,-it keeps you flame of life was slowly flickering out, and from seeking Him till it is too late.”

there seemed small likelihood that she would Miss Vivian, it is not too late," said look or speak again. A few hours passed, Beatrice, with impassioned earnestness. “It slowly creeping by. Nothing could have inis never too late, so long as life lasts. The duced Beatrice to quit the room, and Mr. Lord Jesus is ever ready to help and save all Wentworth also remained, though he could do who ask Him."

nothing except give his daughter comfort and There was no answer, and, looking more support by his presence. Poor Bentley was closely in the dim light, Beatrice saw that her not to be drawn away, and her distress was head had sunk back, and that she was in- painful to witness. In spite of all Miss Vivian's sensible.

coldness, and irritability, and parsimony, BentIt was the work of a moment to spring to ley really loved her mistress. For thirty years her feet, and to ring the bell violently for she had patiently served her, borne with her Bentley, who appeared almost immediately. failings, watched over her with unwearied care, The little maid-servant was despatched in and soothed her as she would have soothed a quest of Mr. Wentworth, and Beatrice and fractious child. No wonder the parting would Bentley together undressed and laid Miss be painful to the faithful creature. Vivian in her bed, using such restoratives as The Mansfields by this time knew of Miss were within reach, to bring back conscious. Vivian's state, and Leonard went backwards ness, but in vain. Still and senseless she lay, and forwards for news more than once, till the half-shut eyes so glazed and dim, and the night came on. Captain Gifford, too, made features already so fallen and sunk, that his appearance, walked into the drawing-room, Beatrice could hardly bear to look upon her, and was not to be satisfied without a personal

interview with Mr. Wentworth. He showed wan, haggard face looked almost ghastly in great apparent solicitude, but perhaps it was the yellow light of the lamp. Beatrice sat by somewhat too great to be genuine, and Mr. the bed, looking pale and weary, but no enWentworth, after answering his inquiries treaties could make her leave the room even rather shortly, went back into the bedroom. for half an hour ; and her distress at being Beatrice lifted her eyes inquiringly, and came urged was so evident, that her father let her away from the bed to ask in a low tone,- have her own way. But they were all alike Who was it, papa ?”

powerless to help the dying woman. She was "Captain Gifford! I've no patience with past human aid, and Beatrice felt that it was him, Beatrice,” whispered Mr. Wentworth, so, though hoping almost against hope for at with unusual warmth. "Pretending to feel least a few moments of consciousness before her illness so deeply, and to be so distressed the end. at her danger, and all the time thinking of She was not entirely disappointed. At midnothing but the money. You should have night the summons came, and during the last seen his eyes light up when I said I feared few minutes, as Beatrice bent over her, watchshe could not survive many days; though the ing tearfully the feeble gasps and struggles next moment he expressed his sorrow and for breath, there was a gleam of conscious regret in the most proper of terms. Hush! intelligence upon the sunken face,-just a last was that a movement P” and they both glanced opportunity for the utterance of a few simple towards the bed, but the aged form lay sense- words in Beatrice's clear low voice, pointing less and motionless still.

the sufferer to Jesus, as the way, the Truth, 'Has he gotie, papa ?" Beatrice asked. and the Life. But whether they were heard "No, I left him in the drawing-room. He with any degree of comprehension, Beatrice said he should stay a little while,-implying had little power to determine. She thought that he was in such suspense that he could not the dim glazed eyes were fixed upon her with remain quietly at home,” added Mr. Went- an expression of unwonted softness, but it was worth, speaking scornfully again.

only for a moment. Unconsciousness quickly It was nearly three-quarters of an hour later returned, and even as she gazed she could see that Beatrice heard the drawing-room door the drawn, pinched features already settling opened and shut, and Captain Gifford's foot- into a look of repose. Mr. Wentworth came steps passing down the long passage, and she round the bed, and took her hand gently :: only wondered that he had not tired sooner “ Beatrice, it is all over now. You have of his sontary vigil. Mr. Wentworth could done all you could, my dear girl. You must not help whispering to her, “ Ansiotis about come away now." Miss Vivian, indeed! why, he has gone off Beatrice did not resist. One long shudderwithout another word of inquiry. What did ing glance she cast on the silent form, one the fellow come for, I wonder P" A question passionate appeal went up from her very more easily asked than answered, Beatrice heart,--" If it were possible ! oh, might she thought.

not, even at the last lour, have been saved P” It was growing late now, but as yet there Then Beatrice allowed her father to lead her was no change for better or worse, though the from the room.

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LTHOUGH mice are not guests whom and examine every object in the room, and its

we desire to see multiplied at “Our timidity causing it to dart off at the slightest Own Fireside,” we should not alto. movement.

gether like to consent to their utter But, besides this natural attractiveness, it is extermination. Many people, who have a by no means difficult to tame mice. Particugreat objection to a rat, rather admire a larly if taken when young, they can be taught mouse, and are willing to overlook its depre- to approach with confidence, and to gambol dations for the sake of its elegant form, its about the room without running off to their graceful movement, and its timid curiosity- holes. its curiosity leading it to come out of its hole Mr. Wood, to whom every lover of natural

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