love to see you, and it cheers my old heart to hear you talk.'

Thank you, I believe we must be going. Mr. du Blesne is waiting for us on the other side of the hedge.'

And how is he? May the Saviour bless him and you; and may the blessing of the widow, and her that was ready to perish,

rest upon you

6

Farewell, Mrs. Arnauld. We shall see

you soon again, if God permit.'

'Do, dear, come and see me. It is my greatest earthly delight to receive you under my roof.'

(All three approaching the door together) -(Emily:) Oh! Mrs. Arnauld, what a beautiful sun-flower is this you've got here!'

'Yes, love, very pretty. It sometimes reminds me of the Sun of Righteousness,' when my wicked heart would incline to forget him.'

(Em.)

And this pretty rose-tree, too!' Yes, dear, a sweet emblem of the sweeter Rose of Sharon,' that cheers my solitude. May the Lord plant it in your breast, and it

will be better than all the admiration of the

vain world!

Well,

the

(Em. colouring :) Thank you, Mrs. Arnauld: I pray indeed that he may.' (Mrs. du Blesne and Emily together :) good evening, Mrs. Arnauld: good evening.' 'Good evening, ladies ; and may good shepherd go before you, for you know his voice.' (Looking after them:) Aye, the Lord bless them, the Lord bless them; for they have pity upon his poor,' and often ⚫ make the widow's heart to sing for joy.'

6

On the other side of the hedge, that forms the eastern inclosure of the cottage they have left, ascends a path, which leads you to a white-washed cabin, small but neat, whose front is almost covered with the embracing tendrils and leaves of the vine and the honeysuckle, mingling their blossoms and tender grapes with the light flowers of an Alpine rose-bush. Here once was sin, and its general companions, poverty and misery. But the father of the family is now reclaimed, through their instrumentality, from vicious habits, and is become industrious

and frugal. His wife and children are tidily, though coarsely, clad; and the smiling sun-burnt countenances of his little ones. discover a happiness, to which, until lately, they were strangers. His dwelling,

The shed that shuts him from the storms,'

is clean, though homely; and the Bible, once neglected, now lies on the well-known shelf, bearing many a mark, that its owners have their secret hours with God.

Descend with them the declivity on the right, and you enter a pleasant valley. It is verdant, and watered by a stream that finds its babbling way over opposing rocks, and the numerous trees, which the wintertempest has thrown across its bed. At the farther extremity stands a cottage, more respectable in its appearance than those you have passed. It is a house of mourning, but of mourning sanctified. There, lived a couple, who were' estranged from God. They were fondly attached to each other, and were as happy as they can be, whose hopes and wishes centre in earthly things.

But the hour of chastisement was at hand. Fanchette was taken ill-gave birth to her child-and died. The widowed father wandered in distraction from place to place, seeking rest and finding none, like the dove, distant from the ark. At length, Mr. du Blesne went to visit him. He prayed with him, and put a little volume upon his table -Consolations under Affliction.' For a season, it remained unopened; but casting his eye on it one evening when groaning in spirit, he took it up and read it. The influence of the word of grace accompanied the perusal, and he felt its healing virtue. He became calm, resigned, humble, pious. He looked from time to eternity-from earth to heaven; and he is now a Christian pilgrim going sorrowful, yet not refusing to be comforted, on his way.

Though that fair form, whose lips, warmed with Pentecostal fire, proclaim in every tongue, the wonders of redemption, and prepare in every desert a high-way for our God, had not yet arisen to bless the world -that form, so justly likened to the angel

Cheerful, may we attune our songs,
And join her grateful lay;

Since unto thee the praise belongs,
That we behold to-day.

With her's our mounting spirits, too,
Would range yon gloomless skies,
Where joy has flowers of ev'ry hue-
Nor storms, nor darkness, rise.

Thus would we live, through grace divine,
By thy still waters led :

In thy dear presence-sheep of thine;
And in thy pastures fed ;

Until, in thy redeemed rest,

From sin and sorrow free,

We lay us down, supremely blest,
And sweetly sleep in thee!

In such strains, you might have heard the hymn of their early adoration resounding in harmonious echoes among their hills, from voices attuned to the songs of Zion,' and from 'hearts that made melody to God.' Nor, if the day opened with notes of thanksgiving, did its close meet them disinclined for a similar sacrifice.* It was not with them, as with too many, alas! who bow the knee at stated and distant intervals, and appear in the Divine presence through

*See note i.