thanked her cousins for her pleasant day, and departed, wondering to herself how it could have been a pleasant day, as after all it had been in spite of doubt and anxiety and care.

She told Mrs. Lyddell when she came in that she had seen Lionel.

"How were his eyes ?" asked Caroline.

"I am afraid they were more dazzled than usual."

No one made any remark, and after a pause she went on. "Edmund remarked a sort of indistinctness about the pupil, which he said was not a good sign."

"What was that?" said Mr. Lyddell looking up, and Marian startled, yet glad to have attracted his notice, repeated what she had said. "Did not Wells look at his eyes last winter?" he said, turning to his wife.

"Yes, he said he could not see anything the matter with themthey must be spared-and he sent a mixture to bathe them. Lionel has been using it continually.”

"How would it be to have him up here to see some one ?" said Lyddell.

Mr.

"Better wait for the holidays," answered his wife. “It would be the worst thing possible to set him thinking about his eyes in the middle of the half-year. Little as he does now it would soon be less, and his eyes have kept him back so much already that he really cannot afford to lose any more time."

There it ended, Mrs. Lyddell was not to be alarmed, she had been too long used to prosperity even to contemplate the possibility that harm should come nigh to her or to her dwelling. Mr. Lyddell, who left all family matters to her, forgot all about it, and though Marian talked Caroline into some fears on the subject, Caroline could do no more than she herself.

MY FATHER'S PICTURE.

"Angels hover round her path, for whom such tears are shed."

My father's picture! one look more on this his day of birth;
'Tis beautiful! he ranked among the gifted of the earth.
A stern, deep sadness resteth,-and in the clear, proud eye,
I read the love of power and fame that marked his destiny.

Prophetic sadness resteth-he was young and ardent then-
His gentle mien, his noble heart, I have heard sung of men;
I may not dwell on this dear theme, nor raise the shadowy veil,
Enfolding memories of the past-the past-that buried tale.

He took me from my nurse's arms to press me to his breast-
His tears fell on his youngest one, as thus he wept and blest.
Dear father! I remember well those blessings ou my head,
Though thou hast long been numbered amid the slumbering dead.

That fond and last embrace, in silent haste and tears,
That yearning last farewell, and childhood's trembling fears,
Round my heart strings are entwined; for once I heard it said,
That Angels hover round her path for whom such tears are shed.

?

What heritage hast left thy child? what hope doth she espy
Hath her pilgrimage been brightened by the Angel-presence nigh?
What heritage hast left thy child? how hath her lot been sped?
Have flowers celestial strewed her path, and fragrance o'er it shed?
C. A. M. W.

"THE RESURRECTION OF THE BODY."

A THOUGHT FOR EASTER-TIDE.

In the lonely village of Kirkwood is a pretty little Church, whose white spire peeping from the dark beeches and yew trees which surround it, arrests the eye of the spectator, and as it points with silent finger up to Heaven, reminds the wanderer of the home that awaits him, and tells him that here he is far below the object of his hopes which are hidden from his eyes. To me, at least, it seemed to speak thus, for I was a wanderer on the face of the earth, and had no resting place; often did I repine when like Noah's dove I found no rest for the sole of my foot, yet, sometimes, I could thank GOD that I had no where to lay my head, for then I wished to go to my Heavenly FATHER and to my home. Had I possessed a home on earth, how could I have longed for one in Heaven? FATHER, I thank Thee that Thou hast made me poor and lowly.

One evening when I was more sad and weary than usual, my steps were directed towards the little village, and the Church spire guided me through a thick wood until I reached the entrance of the grave yard. I looked for some place in which to rest before entering the holy building, and on the south side a lich-gate met my view, "the portal of the dead," the last earthly resting place. I sat down beneath its holy shade, and peaceful thoughts came to my soul, although a wish, O! how fervent that I had been then on my way to the grave, accompanied them. As I remained thus musing on the happy departed, a joyous peal from the old Church tower made me start; I looked up and saw a funeral approaching. A coffin borne by four men followed by a long train of virgins "clad in white robes" drew near; from the south porch the white-robed Priest advanced; he came to welcome to its holy resting place the body which had once been the tabernacle of the HOLY SPIRIT. Words of triumph and consolation burst from his lips-"I am the Resurrection and the Life." O Truth! most holy, most sublime! Glory be to Thee, O GOD.

The funeral train passed on, and I followed it into the Church. The setting sun, meet emblem of the dying Christian, poured a flood of crimson light through the west window, lighting up the altar, all gorgeous with the threefold shades that spake of Faith, and Hope, and Charity.

At that altar the dead had often knelt-that font had received it into everlasting life—that altar had furnished it with heavenly food. As the eye of the bereaved mother fell upon it, she seemed to see once more her darling kneeling there, and surely she was there in spirit, watching over her, and softening the trial to her heart, for He, Who in the hour of His agony, thought on His mother, did not leave her comfortless, but permitted the soul of her child to hold converse with her. My lips involuntarily repeated, "I believe in the Communion of Saints."

The mourners left the Church, and I found myself standing with them by the side of an open grave. The coffin was lowered, and as the earth fell upon it, the mother sobbed as if her heart were breaking. Her eyes were riveted on the earth, and as they rested there she saw a chrysalis lying by the side of her darling's grave. At that moment a lovely butterfly freed itself from it, and the joyous song of a skylark struck with a soothing melody the ear of the bereaved one.

Another Article of the Christian Faith presented itself to my mind, and I uttered aloud the words, "I believe in the Resurrection of the body:" a subdued voice at my side added, “ And the Life Everlasting. Amen."

I looked up and found I was once more alone in the old Churchyard; the new-made grave recalled my thoughts for an instant to earth and its sorrows, but I felt in my inmost soul the truth of the Resurrection; and as I took my solitary walk through the green fields of corn, I did not fail to recognize therein its emblems, and to thank GOD for their foreshadowings in nature, which speak so clearly, and so peacefully, to every heart. The butterfly, the corn, the lark, all spoke the same joyous language of hope! The fresh return of spring, the setting sun, the yew trees; all, all reminded me of the life to come, the Life Everlasting, and I thanked GOD for them and it, through JESUS CHRIST Our LORD!

The bright vision faded from my sight, but no sad thoughts of loneliness remained; I felt the presence of invisible watchers, I was no more alone, I thanked GOD for His Holy Angels, and I prayed that as they do Him service in Heaven, so they might succour and defend me upon earth.

May they be with thee, too, dear thoughts may harm thee, no sense of no proud feeling take root in thy heart. keep thee. Amen. Amen.

reader, that no evil loneliness oppress thee, GOD and good Angels

273

TALES FOR BOYS.

THE DISCONTENTED BOY.

THERE was once boy of a very discontented disposition; nothing could please him; whatever he was set to do, that he was sure to dislike. If his mother wanted him to go of an errand to the town, he would a great deal rather be working with his father in the field; when his father took him there he wished he might stay at home to help his mother fetch water and serve the pigs, &c. When he was a lesser boy and went to school he thought it a great hardship, never went cheerfully, and would shirk it whenever he could; and now that he could not be spared to go, he grumbled because he was taken away before he was a good scholar.

One day this boy was set by his father to tend the cows in a lane where there was plenty of grass. While his brother had been doing it, he had wished he might, it was so much easier, he thought, than working, and it would give him time to read a nice book that had been lent him; but now that he was told to do it, he was as usual discontented, and when his mother called him back to give him the book she thought he had forgotten, he was too sullen to thank her for it, but went off like one who thought himself very ill-used.

The lane to which he took the cows was a very pretty one; a river ran on one side, and upon the bank of that, under a tree, he lay down and fell fast asleep. His thoughts were confused for a time, and then he had a dream so clear it seemed like reality.

He dreamt that the tree under which he slept began to murmur. It was very hard, it said, to be fixed always on the earth, which was sometimes so dry it was quite parched. It longed to grow in the nice, cool river, where it should always have plenty of nourishment, and should be more sheltered too from the rough winds than on that high bank. Then the tree began to try to loosen its roots. It shook backwards and forwards and tore up the soil in which it grew, and at last it was free and threw itself into the river. But the roots which had clung so closely to the earth, could take no hold in water; they had not strength to keep it upright; the heavy branches, which had waved so pleasantly in the air, now fell by their own weight, and the miserable tree lay helplessly on the water, sometimes entangled in the weeds at the side, and then, when the current was stronger, carried forward at the mercy of every wave. It had injured the bank it ought to have upheld, troubled the course of the river, and destroyed itself.

Then he thought the river began to complain of its low station; it wanted to raise itself to a level with the high ground around,

and it would no longer run into the sea, as before it had ever loved to do, but stayed its foaming waves and swelled until it had overflowed the banks, and rushed upon the high ground it aspired to. Then it found its mistake. It had washed over many a field of wheat and pleasant garden, and now it lay a stagnant thing, destroying them and perishing itself. It could not return, as it gladly would have done, to its lowly home, where it had once floated calmly down to the broad ocean, fertilizing as it went, and supplying men and animals with wholesome drink; happy itself, and doing good to others; it must lie there till it could be drained, or till the sun and wind had dried it up.

After that he heard in his dream a sound like distant thunder. He listened breathlessly: a star, one of our own fair planets, was murmuring at its lot. It was so far, it said, from the sun; it took it so long to go round him, and it had no moon as the earth had; it wanted to be like her, and move in the same orbit. Then he saw the planet begin to come towards us; larger it grew, large as the moon, then far bigger, till, as it drew near, it came between us and the sun, and all was darkness. A death-like silence reigned upon the earth, and men grew pale with terror. Nearer it came; a round, solid body, far larger than the earth; there was a fearful crash, a cry of anguish from the voices of thousands, tens of thousands, and with the shock and fright the boy awoke.

The tall tree was waving over his head, as when he fell asleep; the river flowing gently by; he looked into the clear blue sky, and although he could not see it for the light of the sun, he knew the bright star was in its place, and that when night came it would shine forth from its own appointed sphere, and his conscience smote him sadly. He saw that obedience is the great law by which all things are kept in order, he knew that whatever is evil in the world has been brought upon it by man's disobedience, and then he thought over his own life, and he could trace all his bad tempers and unhappiness to the same cause. He did not like to be told anything, he wanted to have his own way, to choose for himself, he had not in short learned to obey. If he had obeyed the wish of his parents and gone regularly to school, and obeyed his teacher and done his best there, he might have been a far better scholar than he was; now when it was too late he wished he had. He could call to mind numberless instances when the same wilful temper had got him into scrapes, or deprived him of pleasure, and he knew that he often made his parents unhappy, as well as himself; and was doing much harm by setting a bad example to his younger brothers and sisters; even that very day he had behaved sullenly to his mother, and was neglecting an opportunity he might not soon have again. He determined to take a lesson from his dream and to begin at once. He drew out his book to read, minding to attend to the cows, for that was just