God, to a sick-bed,-how little do they know whether they may then be able to think of anything but, as you say, 'how to get a moment's ease.

999

"Yes, indeed. It was when I was recovering, and able to lie on the sofa, that I began to thinkto look back on my past life, and ask myself what it had all been for."

"That was the Lord bringing you into the wilderness,' that He might yet speak comfortably' to you," observed Mrs Harpur.

"Perhaps it was; but I never got any comfort until Uncle William, papa's brother, you know, came all the way from Farleigh to see me. Was not that good of him?"

"It was indeed. I heard he was a week at the Grove."

"He stayed a whole week-that is from Monday to Saturday he had to be back for Sunday; and every day he came and talked to me, and prayed with me, sometimes twice a day; and he was such a comfort to me; and I know he prays for me still, and I love to think of that," added Fanny.

"The prayers of the righteous are a great blessing, Miss Fanny; and Christ, He through whose merits they are accepted, He 'ever liveth to make intercession for us,' and that is better still."

"I wish you knew Uncle William, Mrs Harpur. When he next comes I will bring him to see you."

"If I've not gone home before that. I think His chariot-wheels cannot delay much longer. But His time is best."

"Oh, yes; He will not forget you.”

"He could not do that.

I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands' are His words. He is ever mindful of His people."

"Yes, surely He remembers every one of us," said Fanny.

“But I think there's more than that in the word," said Mrs Harpur. Doesn't mindful mean that His mind is full of His people? And is not that a wonderful thought? The great God who made the heavens, who called the sun into being, and the moon, and the stars; that His mind should be FULL of us, His sinful creatures? We can't take in the greatness of that thought, Miss Fanny. Can we? No, not now; but we shall, when we know, even as we are known."

CHAPTER XVIII.

MISS WALLER has not yet succeeded in procuring a companion, and, though she does not like to confess it, feels very lonely. A friend has given her a canary bird, which occupies her a good deal, as she is rather awkward, and generally manages to scatter the seed, or overset the fountain, when she attempts to clean the cage.

At first, Goldie rather disliked his mistress, but now he seems reconciled to her harsh voice, and sometimes eats from her hand. Phoebe has been watching this growing intimacy with evident satisfaction, having prophesied, when Goldie was admitted into the family, that "if the mistress took to him at all, he would do her a power of good. The dumb bird," she said, "couldn't contradict her, and there was nothing angered the mistress like that ; and as he didn't understand English-how could he, and he a foreigner?—there would be no manner of use in scolding him." And so Phoebe hoped, that as she herself meant to keep out of her mistress's way as much as possible, the habit of scolding would die a natural death from the want of an object upon which to exercise it.

And she was not mistaken. By degrees, Miss

Waller's liking for her bird grew into love. As she supplied his daily wants, and listened to his merry song when she placed his cage in the sunshine, her heart warmed to the little creature, living without care or anxiety, in the full enjoyment of the life given him by God.

"Goldie, my pretty one," she said to him one day, as she opened the door of his cage to let him fly about the room,-"my pretty one, what makes you so happy?" and he replied by perching on her shoulder, and singing his sweetest carol as he put his little head aside and looked into her face.

Just at that moment Miss Harrison came in. "What friends you and Goldie have become!" she said.

"He is a happy little creature,” sighed his mistress; "no care for to-day or to-morrow, and every one loves him. Don't they, Goldie ?" she asked, as he pecked at a bit of groundsel she held to him.

"And he's a grateful little fellow," rejoined Miss Harrison, "and repays us by a song. And is not the giving and receiving love true happiness ?"

"That reminds me," said Miss Waller, "that when I was wandering about Mary's room,-the room that had been her's I mean,-yesterday, I took her old Bible from the shelf, and as it fell out of my hand, it opened at a place marked with red ink, which made me look to see what the words were. I don't now exactly remember them, but I'm

6

sure part of them were, ' God is love;' and I think there was something about living in God and living in love, meaning the same thing. I dare say you know the words I allude to, Miss Harrison."

"I do," she answered. "Those three words, 'God is love,' so easily repeated, how little are they understood! We do not, any of us, I am sure, meditate half enough upon the truth that God is love; not merely that He loves, but that He is love. And yet, if we reflect for a moment upon the meaning of the words, must we not acknowledge that they place God before our minds in the most attractive, winning light possible. But the natural heart rather regards Him as a being to be shunned and dreaded."

"I have always had something of that feeling of fear," observed Miss Waller, "for the First Person of the Trinity. It seems easier to love the Lord Jesus Christ. But is not that natural, considering that He came to this world to die for us."

"But by whom was Christ sent?" asked Miss Harrison; and as Miss Waller remained silent, she said, "God so loved the world that He sent 'You remember that verse, Miss Waller ?"

"It's in the chapter about Nicodemus, I think," she replied; adding, "I believe I've been unfortunate all my life, and have known very little of love any way. I don't say but that the fault may have been my own-partly at least. And I've been thinking, since I read those words yesterday-I've been thinking-but perhaps it's a presumptuous