heavenly Father upon our worldly efforts.

CHARLES. Mamma, will you allow me to read to you a very pretty hymn my sister showed me not long ago on this subject?

MAMMA. Most willingly, my dear little boy.

CHARLES. It is by Bishop Heber.* MAMMA. Then I know it well; but I shall have great pleasure in listening to it again.

* Dr. Reginald Heber, an excellent man and very elegant scholar, born 1783. He distinguished himself greatly in the University of Oxford, was exemplary in his duties as a parish priest at Hodnet in Cheshire, and, being appointed Bishop of Calcutta in 1822, laboured unceasingly in the arduous and important duties of that extensive diocese, and fell a victim to his exertions in that unhealthy climate at Trichinopoly in 1826, most prematurely for the benefit of his fellowmortals, but not too soon for such a man to receive the approving sentence of his Maker, "Well done, good and faithful servant,- -enter thou into the joy of thy Lord!"

CHARLES.

Lo! the lilies of the field,

How their leaves instruction yield!
Hark to Nature's lesson given
By the blessed birds of Heaven!
Every bush and tufted tree
Warbles sweet philosophy;
Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow :
God provideth for the morrow!

Say, with richer crimson glows
The kingly mantle than the rose?
Say, have kings more wholesome fare
Than we, poor citizens of air?
Barns nor hoarded grain have we,
Yet we carol merrily.

Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow :
God provideth for the morrow!

One there lives whose Guardian eye
Guards our humble destiny;
One there lives who, Lord of all,
Keeps our feathers lest they fall;
Pass we blithely then the time,
Fearless of the snare and lime,
Free from doubt and faithless sorrow:
God provideth for the morrow!

MAMMA. Those are amongst the most beautiful lines written by that ornament of our age and country. Would that many more would like

him devote their talents to the honour and service of their Maker!

I will now in return read you a paraphrase on those twin passages of Saint Matthew and Saint Luke by my favourite Thomson*, who has been justly called the Poet of Nature, from the truth and beauty with which he portrays natural objects and scenes, and the pursuits and pleasures of a country life.

CHARLES. First tell me, if you
Mamma, what is a para-

please,

phrase?

MAMMA. In a

a paraphrase the sense of a passage is retained, but different terms are used, in general

* James Thomson, a pious amiable man, and a distinguished poet, was born in Scotland in 1700, but settled in England in 1725, and died in 1748. He is celebrated as the author of the Castle of Indolence in the manner of Spenser, some dramatic pieces, but chiefly the beautiful pastoral poem called The Seasons.

for the purpose of making it more clear and ample, as you will see by the lines I am going to read to you.

When my breast labours with oppressive care,
And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear;
While all my warring passions are at strife,
O! let me listen to the words of life!
Raptures deep-felt His doctrine did impart,
And thus he rais'd from earth the drooping heart

"Think not, when all your scanty stores afford
Is spread at once upon the sparing board:
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears,
While on the roof the howling tempest bears;
What further shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe these shiv'ring limbs again.
Say, does not life its nourishment exceed?
And the fair body its investing weed?
Behold! and look away your low despair-
See the light tenants of the barren air!
To them, nor stores, nor granaries belong,
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song;
Yet, your kind heavenly Father bends His eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky.
To Him they sing when spring renews the plain;
To Him they cry in winter's piercing reign;
Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain.
He hears the gay and the distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
"Observe the rising lily's snowy grace;
Observe the various vegetable race;

:

They neither toil nor spin, but careless grow;
Yet see how warm they blush! how bright they glow!
What regal vestments can with them compare!
What king so shining! or what queen so fair!

"If, ceaseless, thus the fowls of heaven He feeds,
If o'er the fields such lucid robes He spreads:
Will He not care for you, ye faithless, say?
Is He unwise? or, are ye less than they?"
CHARLES.

Those are indeed very pretty lines, and express quite the same meaning as the passage in the Gospels. I am very much obliged to you for reading them to me; but I hope we have not been talking too long of other things to prevent our going on with the history of Balaam to-day?

MAMMA. No; I think we shall have time to finish the twenty-third chapter of Numbers.

CHARLES. I will begin reading then, at the eleventh verse.

"And Balak said unto Balaam, What hast thou done unto me? I took thee to curse mine enemies, and, behold,