she began to sing also, in a low voice, as if

unconsciously :—

"Trials make the promise sweet;

Trials give new life to prayer;
Trials bring me to his feet,

Lay me low, and keep me there.

"Did I meet no trials here,
No correction by the way,
Might I not with reason fear

I should prove a cast-away?

Others may escape the rod,

Sunk in earthly, vain delight;

But the true-born child of God

Must not, would not, if he might."

It was a calm, pleasant time. The birds, too, were singing their evening hymn. The sweet breath of the flowers came through the open window, while a few, carefully arranged, stood on the tea table. There was an air of neatness and comfort about the whole room, which rendered its poor and simple furniture the less apparent. The events of the day appeared like a dream. As usual, there was a large loaf of brown bread, and a smaller one of white. There was very little butter, to be sure-but then William never cared about butter, and had

persuaded me that I was better without it. I knew why now; and yet I could scarcely believe in the reality of what I had learned that day for the first time. At any rate, thought I, with a feeling of deep thankfulness, if we have many privations, we have also many comforts; if we have many trials, we have many blessings.

I did not know the half of God's goodness then. It is a knowledge which grows with our growth, and is never wholly realized upon earth. If I had only kept a faithful record of all the numberless instances of his loving-kindness to me from my youth upwards, it would have filled a volume. And it is the same with us all, if we would but remember not merely to notice his guiding hand in the great and leading events of our individual histories, but also in the common occurrences of every day life-the little things which so few regard.

Presently, William flung aside his spade with a glad shout, slipped on his jacket, and swinging the garden gate hastily after him, ran down the high road to meet my father. They came back laughing, and out of breath. It was long since I had seen my father looking so bright and animated. He little knows,

thought I. He seemed tired, nevertheless, and said something about the comforts of home, and such a home, as my mother took his hat and stick from him, while Alice ran to get his slippers ready. In a few moments we were all sitting round the tea-table. My father pronounced the usual blessing; and then the large brown loaf before alluded to began to grow smaller and smaller. I had no appetite myself, and felt almost angry with Alice for eating so much. Even William appeared to have forgotten what had passed between us. But then, to be sure, he had had little or no dinner, and had been working ever since in the fresh air.

"Did the wedding take place this morning, as was expected ?" inquired my mother, alluding to the intended marriage of Miss M- the eldest daughter of my father's employer.

"Oh, yes; and a very grand affair it was, I assure you. We had a bottle of wine sent in to us to drink the bride's health. I only wish that I could have brought my share home. I did manage to pocket my piece of cake for Alice," added he, laying it on her plate.

"Thank you, papa," said Alice, as she imme