The Hostess.

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide

Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest He returning chide;
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?

I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or His own gifts; who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best.

MILTON (on his Blindness).

CHAPTER I..

OME
persons there may
be who can see
no charms in a flat country, and whose
only idea of beautiful scenery is associ-
ated with rock and mountain. Perhaps

they are right. I am no painter; but I can see the marks of God's goodness in every feature of every landscape, and therein find something to admire, and something for which to be grateful. It is true that sin, and sorrow, and death, have cast their shade over man and all his works; and the thorns and thistles of the primeval curse have, no doubt, marred the face of nature. Yet who can look upon this bright and sunny world without repeating its Maker's testimony, that " Behold, it is very good?” and without owning that were we ourselves meet to dwell in Eden, we need only cast our eyes around us to behold the goodly fields, and inhale the balmy airs of Paradise? God's best gifts and choicest blessings familiar by our pathway grow;" and it is their very

profusion which tends, alas! to make us forgetful of His mercies, and insensible to the charms of much which His bounty has made common to us.

How often has this thought occurred to my mind, as I have walked by the river's side from my own house to Willowford! Two or three rich meadows, and a few old willow-trees on the margin of a sluggish stream, this was all the prospect before me; and if I looked back, the only striking object in the distance was the brown tower of Yateshull church peering above the trees of the rookery which surrounds it. There is little, therefore, in such a scene on which either the pen or the pencil could dwell; and yet there is to me an indescribable charm in its calm repose:

"In this quiet mead

The lesson of sweet peace I read,

Rather in all to be resigned than blest."

How often have I paused on a burning summer's day, and watched the cattle wading in the shallow river; how often stood to listen to the hum of insects and the song of birds, and all the chorus of animated nature, hymning unconsciously in innocence and pleasure their Maker's praise, His wisdom, and power, and love, who gave the means of enjoyment to all! And then how instructive to draw close to the edge of the stream, and study the various habits and instincts of the creatures that crowd its surface! Now a water-hen darts through the sedges with her wild cry, skimming just above the glassy surface of the water, which she ruffles with her long drooping feet, and then lets herself fall with a sudden splash under the shelving protection of the opposite bank. Here a fish darts out of the water, and checks the mayfly's undulating flight; there the heron, or the kingfisher, shoot down into the stream, and bear off