labour, the great truths contained in the Holy Scriptures. Mr. H. wished to educate his little pupil not only for the present world, but for another.

The May morning which dawned on the eleventh birthday of Edwin, was peculiarly balmy and beautiful. Every object seemed to invite the admirer of the lovely scenes of nature abroad. Edwin's papa was delighted with the volume of creation: he often read it with enthusiasm. He was one of those characters mentioned by a fine poet, who could find

“Tongues in the trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing."

When the tasks of the morning were ended, Edwin accompanied his papa on one of their usual excursions.

"This is my birthday, papa," said Edwin: "I am now eleven years old."

"I know it, my dear," said his father. "God has been very gracious to you, and to me also, in preserving you so long. If you had been taken away, I should have been indeed bereaved. But the good God does not lay on his servants more than they are able to bear."

"John Wallace was born, papa, the same day with myself."”

"Yes, I believe he was. It was a reflection of one of the kings of France, Henry the Fourth, that, though many came into the world the same day with himself, he was, probably, the only one among them who was born to be a king. You, Edwin, cannot say this; but you may say, to the praise of God's great goodness, that, though many were born the same day with you, they have not been blessed with so many mercies, and are not at this moment in such comfortable circumstances. You have indeed reason to say, 'Bless the Lord, O my soul! and all that is within me, bless his holy name!'

'Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.'

You rose this morning surrounded with innumerable comforts and blessings: all nature seems to smile on you."

"Yes, papa, indeed it does; and I was thinking, whilst you were speaking, of the twentythird Psalm. I have heard you say, that you thought David wrote it when he was very young, as he was looking after his father's flocks. I too may say, God has been my shepherd, and his 'goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life.""

"I am glad, Edwin," said his father, "that you think of those delightful portions of holy Scripture contained in the book of Psalms: that is a part of the volume of inspiration which has been very useful to me."

"I have noticed with pleasure, papa, how David mentions the different seasons. 'Thou makest,' says he, 'the outgoings of the morning and of the evening to rejoice. The pastures are clothed with flocks, they shout for joy, they also sing. Thou crownest the year with thy goodness; thy paths drop fatness. He sendeth abroad his ice like morsels: who can stand before his cold? Thou renewest the face of the earth.""

For

"Yes, God is indeed now renewing the face of the earth," Mr. H. observed; "and those cannot properly taste his works, who do not every where mark the divine hand, and walk with the Creator in holy meditation and prayer. my own part, Edwin, I count it one of my chiefest blessings, that I can think of my heavenly Father's loving-kindness in the midst of this his great and magnificent temple. Whilst, my dear boy, you admire the beautiful creation in which God has placed you, you should not, and I hope you do not forget, that many of the divine perfections are illustrated by every object around you. I cannot help thinking, this morn

ing, of the divine faithfulness: yes, God is a covenant-keeping God. He has declared, that 'whilst the earth remaineth, seed-time and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease;' and they have not: we, Edwin, are living witnesses that they have not. This morning's sun, shining with more than usual lustre, and writing, with his every beam on creation, his Maker's praise; these reviving gales; the new-born leaves and flowers; the lark yonder rising to heaven; all seem to re-echo the sentiment, and to say, truly they have not. 'God is not a man, that he should lie.' If we look back," continued Mr. Howard, "for a few months, we must recollect the driving snows, the showers of hail, the piercing blasts, the withered herbage, the shivering cattle, the stripped trees, and the barren fields; and why, Edwin, do we not still witness scenes like these? Who has driven away bleak winter, with his army of winds, and frosts, and snows, and hail? Who is it that has made our fields smile with flowers? Who has caused life to break forth in a thousand interesting forms, and has filled creation with verdure, fragrance, beauty, and harmony? Who has bid the valleys stand thick with rising corn? and who makes the little hills rejoice on every side? What voice is that which is heard from the heavens and the

earth, from every field, and every tree? It says,

Arise, and come away; for lo! the winter is passed, the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.' It is His voice, who spake, and it was done; who commanded, and it stood fast.""

"Papa," said Edwin, "you make me think of the beautiful lines of Cowper, which you repeated in our walk the other day."

"What were they? Can you repeat them, my dear?" said Mr. Howard.

"Yes, I think I can, papa.

'One Spirit-His,

Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows,

Rules universal nature; not a flow'r

But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain,
Of his unrivall'd pencil!'

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Truly, Edwin, the poet is correct: the pencil of the great Author of creation is an unrivalled one. We need only open our eyes to be

convinced of this."

"But you said, papa, that spring reminded you of the divine perfections. You have noticed God's power and faithfulness: will you tell me of the other attributes of God of which it reminds you?"