FORGIVE us, thou most beautiful of Mornings! for having overslept the assignation hour, and allowed thee to remain all by thyself in the solitude, wondering why thy worshipper could prefer to thy presence the fairest phantoms that ever visited a dream. thou hast forgiven us for not clouds of displeasure these that have settled on thy forehead-the unreproaching light of thy countenance is upon us

And

a loving murmur steals into our heart from thine-and pure and holy as a child's or an angel's, Daughter of Heaven! is thy breath.

In the spirit of that invocation we look around us, and as the Idea of Morning dies, sufficient for our happiness is the light of common day"the imagery of common earth. There has been rain during the nightenough, and no more, to enliven the burn and to brighten its banks-the mists are ascending composedly, with promise of gentle weather-and the sun, so mild that we can look him in the face with unwinking eyes, gives assurance, that as he has risen, so will he reign, and so will he set in peace. Yestreen we came into this glen at gloaming, and rather felt than saw that it was beautiful-we lay down at dark, and let the moon and stars canopy our sleep. Therefore it is almost altogether new to us; yet so congenial its quiet to the longings of our heart, that all at once it is familiar to us as if we had been sojourning here

for many days-as if this cottage were indeed our dwelling-place-and we had retired hither to await the closing of our life. Were we never here before in the olden and golden time? Those dips in the summits of the mountains seem to recall from oblivion memories of a morning all the same as this, enjoyed by us with a different joy, almost as if then we were a different being, joy then the very element in which we drew our breath, satisfied now to live in the atmosphere of sadness often thickened with grief. Tis thus that there grows a confusion among the past times in the dormitory

call it not the burial-place-overshadowed by sweet or solemn imagery -in the inland regions of our soul; nor can we question the recollections as they rise-being ghosts, they are silent

their coming and their going alike a mystery---but sometimes as nowthey are happy hauntings-and age is almost gladdened into the illusions of returning youth.

Tis a lovely little glen as in all the Highlands-yet we know not that a painter would see in it the subject of a picture-for the sprinklings of young trees seem to have been sown capriciously by nature, and there seems no reason why on that hillside, and not on any other, should survive the remains of an old wood. Among the multitude of knolls a few are eminent with rocks and shrubs, but there is no central assemblage, and the green wilderness

wantons in such disorder that you might believe the pools there to be, not belonging as they are to the same running water, but each itself a small separate lakelet fed by its own spring. True, that above its home-hills there are mountains-and these are cliffs on which the eagle might not disdain to build-but the range wheels away in its grandeur to face a loftier region, of which we see here but the summits swimming in the distant clouds.

God bless this hut! and have its inmates in his holy keeping! They are but few-an aged couple-and their grandchild-a pretty creature and a good-and happy as a bird. Four or five hours' sleep is all we need. This night it was deep-and our thoughts, refreshed by its dew, have unfolded themselves of their own accord, along with the flowers around our feet. Ha! thou art up and singing, thou human Fairy! Start not at the figure sitting beside the well-tis he who read the Chapter-and knelt along with thee and them at the Evening-Prayer.

Set down thy pitcher, my child, and let us have a look at thy happinessfor though thou mayest wonder at our words, and think us a strange old man, coming and going, once and for ever, to thee and thine a shadow and no more, yet lean thy head towards us that we may lay our hands on it and bless it and promise, as thou art growing up here, sometimes to think of the voice that spake to thee by the Birk-tree-well. Love, fear, and serve God as the Bible teaches-and what ever happens thee, quake not, but put thy trust in Heaven.

Nay-weep not, though we know that thy father is dead, and that thou hast neither sister nor brother. Smile -laugh-sing-as thou wert doing a minute ago as thou hast done for many a morning-and shalt do for many a morning more on thy way to the well-in the woods-on the braes in the house often all by thyself when the old people are out of doors not far off or when sometimes they have for a whole day been from home out of the glen. Forget not our words -and no evil can befall thee that may not, weak as thou art, be borne-and nothing wicked that is allowed to walk the earth, will ever be able to hurt a hair of thy head.

My stars! what a lovely little ani

mal! A tame fawn, by all that is wild

kneeling down-to drink-no-noat its lady's feet. The colley catched it-thou sayest-on the edge of the Auld wood-and by the time its wounds were cured, it seemed to have forgot its mother, and soon learnt to follow thee about to far-off places quite out of sight of this-and to play gamesome tricks like a creature born among human dwellings. What! it dances like a kid-does it-and sometimes you put a garland of wild flowers round its neck-and pursue it like a huntress, as it pretends to be making its escape into the forest!

Look, child, here is a pretty green purse for you, that opens and shuts with a spring-so-and in it there is a gold coin, called a sovereign, and a crooked sixpence. Don't blush-that was a graceful curtsey. Keep the crooked sixpence for good luck, and you never will want. With the yellow fellow buy a Sunday gown and a pair of Sunday shoes, and what else you like; and now-you two lead the way -try a race to the door-and old Christopher North will carry the pitcherbalancing it on his head-thus-ha! The fawn has it, and by a neck has beaten Camilla.

66

We shall breakfast ere we go-and breakfast well too,-for this is a poor man's, not a pauper's hut, and Heaven still grants his prayer-" give us this day our daily bread." Sweeter-richer bannocks o' barley-meal never met the mouth of mortal man-nor more delicious butter. We salt it, sir, for a friend in Glasgow-but now and then we take a bite of the fresh-let me put another spoonful of sugar into your tea, sir-do oblige us a', sir, by eatin' as many eggs as you ha'e a mind to, for our hens are gran' layers-you'll may be find the mutton-ham no that bad, though I've kent it fatter—and, as you ha'e a long walk afore you, excuse me, sir, for being sae bauld as to suggest a glass o' speerit in your neist cup. The gudeman is temperate, and he's been sae a' his life-but we keep it for a cordial-and that bottle-to be sure it's a gae big ane and would thole replenishing has lasted us syne the New Year."

So presseth us to take care of number one the gude-wife, while the gudeman, busy as ourselves, eyes her with a well-pleased face, but saith nothing, and the bonnie wee bit lassie sits on

her stool at the window wi' her coggie, ready to do any service at a look, and supping little or nothing, out of bashfulness in presence of Christopher North, who she believes is a good, and thinks may perhaps be some great man. Our third bannock has had the gooseberry jam laid on it thick by "the gude-wife's ain haun',"-and we suspect at that last wide bite we have smeared the corners of our mouth -but it will only be making matters worse to attempt licking it off with our tongue. Pussie! thou hast a cunning look-purring on our knee-and though those glass een o' thine are blinking at the cream on the saucerwith which thou jalousest we intend to let thee wet thy whiskers-we fear thou mak'st no bones of the poor birdies in the brake, and that many an unlucky leveret has lost its wits at the spring of such a tiger. Cats are queer creatures, and have an instinctive liking to Warlocks.

And these two old people have survived all their children-sons and daughters! Last night they told us the story of their life-and they told it as calmly as if they had been telling of the trials of some other pair. Perhaps in our sympathy, though we said but little, they felt a strength that was not always theirs perhaps it was a relief from silent sorrow to speak to one who was a stranger to them, and yet, as they might think, a brother in affliction but the evening prayer assured us that there is in this hut a Christian composure, far beyond the need of our pity, and sent from a region far beyond the

stars.

There cannot be a cleaner cottage. Tidiness, it is pleasant to know, has for a good many years past been establishing itself in Scotland among the minor domestic virtues. Once established it will never decay, for it must be felt to brighten more than could be imagined by our fathers, the whole aspect of life. No need for any other household fairy to sweep this floor. An orderly creature we have seen she is, from all her movements out and in doors-though the guest of but a night. They told us that they had known what are called better days-and were once in a thriving way of business in a town.But they were born and bred in the country; and their manners, not rustic but rural, breathe of its serene

and simple spirit-at once Lowland and Highland to us a pleasant union, not without a certain charm of grace.

What loose leaves are these lying on the Bible? A few odd numbers of the SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD. We shall take care, our friends, that all the Numbers for 1836 and 1837, bound in two large volumes, shall, ere many weeks elapse, be lying for you at the Manse. The excellent editor is a friend of ours-and henceforth you shall be subscribers to the work. Well entitled is he to say-"Literature, science, subjects of general interest, philanthropic and benevolent schemes, all viewed under a purely religious aspect, and mingled with discussions upon the evidences, and doctrines, and duties of our most holy faith, have imparted to our pages a rich and varied interest, which has gained access for this little work to many a Christian home, and we have reason to believe, to many a Christian heart."

The circulation of this cheap Christian periodical-sixteen double-columned beautifully printed royal octavo pages, for three-halfpence is very greatsome tens of thousands-and it has often made us happy to see it in solitary places. It is adapted for perusal on week-days as well as Sabbathfor there is a permitted difference in the rest that the labourer enjoys after work from that which ought to pervade all the hours of the seventh day.

The names of upwards of a hundred contributors are found among our clergy-the sermons and discourses would fill several volumes printed in the usual form-so would original papers on subjects belonging to the moral or social nature of man; and the extracts, which occupy but a limited portion of its pages, are selected with judgment from a wide range of knowledge. Let us read aloud to you, our worthy friends, a small sacred Poem, which we have by heart. Christian, keep your eye on the page, and if we go wrong do not fear to set us right. Have you many psalms and hymns by heart? But we need not ask-for

"Piety is sweet to infant minds," what they love they remember-and then how easy-how happy-to get things by heart! Happiest of all-the things held holy on earth as in heaven

-because appertaining here to Eternal Life.

TO THE SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD. BY THE REV. DUNCAN GRANT, A M., MINISTER OF FORRES.

Sweeter than when Araby
Perfume breathes from flow'r and tree,
Rising 'bove the shining sphere,
To Jehovah's list'ning ear."

You have heard of Mungo Park, wc dare say, Christian? What! Your mother says he was a cousin of hers

tains,

May our Herald's feet appear;
Sweet, by silver lakes and fountains,
May his voice be to our ear.
Let the tenants of our rocks,
Shepherds watching o'er their flocks,
Village swain and peasant boy,
Thee salute with songs of joy!

"Christian Herald! spread the story
Of Redemption's wondrous plan;
'Tis Jehovah's brightest glory,
'Tis his highest gift to man;
Angels on their harps of gold
Love its glories to unfold;
Heralds who its influence wield,
Make the waste a fruitful field.

แ To the Fount of Mercy soaring,
On the wings of faith and love;
And the depths of grace exploring,
By the light shed from above;
Show us whence life's waters flow
And where trees of blessing grow,
Bearing fruit of heavenly bloom,
Breathing Eden's rich perfume.

"Love to God and man expressing,
In thy course of mercy speed;
Lead to springs of joy and blessing,
And with heavenly manna feed
Scotland's children high and low,
Till the Lord they truly know,
As to us our fathers told,
He was known by them of old.

"To the young, in season vernal,
Jesus in his grace disclose;
As the tree of life eternal,
'Neath whose shade they may repose,
Shielded from the noontide ray,
And from evening's tribes of prey;
And refresh'd with fruits of love,
And with music from above.

"Christian Herald! may the blessing
Of the Highest thee attend!
That, this chiefest boon possessing,
Thou may'st prove thy country's friend:
Tend to make our land assume
Something of its former bloom,
When the dews of heaven were seen
Sparkling on its pastures green ;
"When the voice of warm devotion
To the throne of God arose,
Mighty as the sound of ocean,
Calm as Nature in repose;

-the Forest of Ettrick-and that she knew the Shepherd! These verses here we remember having read two years ago; and we shall now refresh between our knees, child, and hold the our memory by a perusal aloud. Stand paper well up.

ON MUNGO PARK'S FINDING A TUFT OF GREEN MOSS IN THE AFRICAN DESERT.

"The sun had reached his mid-day height,

And poured down floods of burning light
On Afric's barren land;
No cloudy veil obscured the sky,
And the hot breeze that struggled by

Was filled with glowing sand.

"No mighty rock upreared its head
To bless the wanderer with its shade
In all the weary plain;
No palm-trees with refreshing green
To glad the dazzled eyes were seen,

But one wide sandy main.

"Dauntless and daring was the mind
That left all home-born joys behind
Those deserts to explore-
To trace the mighty Niger's course,
And find it bubbling from its source
In wilds untrod before.

"And ah! shall we less daring show,
Who nobler ends and motives know
Than ever heroes dream-
Who seek to lead the savage mind
The precious fountain-head to find

Whence flows salvation's stream?

"Let peril, nakedness, and sword, Hot barren lands, and despot's word

Our burning zeal opposeYet, Martyn-like, we'll lift the voice, Bidding the wilderness rejoice

And blossom as the rose.

Sad, faint and weary on the sand Our traveller sat him down; his hand Covered his burning head; Above, beneath, behind, aroundNo resting for the eye he found;

All Nature seemed as dead.

Through bursting tears of joy he smiled,

And while he raised the tendril wild, His lips o'erflowed with praise.

"Oh, shall not He who keeps thee green,

Here in the waste, unknown, unseen-
Thy fellow exile save?
He who commands the dew to feed
Thy gentle flower, can surely lead

Me from a scorching grave!'

"The heaven-sent plant new hope inspired

New courage all his bosom fired,

And bore him safe along; Till with the evening's cooling shade He slept within the verdant glade,

Lulled by the negro's song.

"Thus we in this world's wilderness, Where sin and sorrow-guilt-distress

Seem undisturbed to reignMay faint because we feel alone, With none to strike our favourite tone, And join our homeward strain.

"Yet, often in the bleakest wild
Of this dark world, some heaven-born
child,

Expectant of the skies,
Amid the low and vicious crowd,
Or in the dwellings of the proud,
Meets our admiring eyes.

"From gazing on the tender flower, We lift our eye to Him whose power Hath all its beauty given;

Who, in this atmosphere of death, Hath given it life, and form, and breath, And brilliant hues of heaven.

"Our drooping faith, revived by sight, Anew her pinion plumes for flight,

New hope distends the breast; With joy we mount on eagle wing, With bolder tone our anthem sing,

And seek the pilgrim's rest."

R. M'Ch, Larbert. The clergyman? The verses are beautifulwe wrote some ourselves many years ago on the same incident-but not nearly so good as these-and they all but some broken images-two have utterly faded from our memory or three lines-and here and there a few floating words.

It is time we were going-but we wish to hear how thy voice sounds, Christian, when it reads. Read these lines-they are by the same writerfirst "into yourself"-and then to us. They contain mysteries above your comprehension and ours-and all men's; for they speak of the infinite goodness and mercy of God-but though thou hast committed in thy short life no sins-or but small-towards thy fellow creatures-how couldst thou?-thou knowest we are all sinful-in His eyes and thou knowest on whose merits is the reliance of our hope of heaven.