trees. The weather-cock on the spire as it turned round glittered brightly. The wagon horses trotted heavily down the lane to drink water at the brook. Robert set Tiger to drive the pigs out of the garden, and the farmer's wife took over a pot of black currant jelly to poor old Jenny Deanes. "He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the LORD: and that which he hath given will He pay him again." (Prov. xix. 17.) The Old Church Clock struck eight. The sun set behind the Whetstone hills. The tinkling bell of the sheep that were being folded was heard in the distance. A wagon set off from Hill-top Farm to the Forest Pits for coal, that it might get loaded by break of day, and the ten thousand bossy flowers of the clover field embalmed the evening air. “If GOD So clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven; shall He not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith ?" (S. Matt. vi. 30.) The Old Church Clock struck nine. The landscape had become dim, the twilight gradually gathered round. Lights were seen in some of the cottage windows. The stag-beetle had crept from beneath the grass. The deer in the park were stretched in their ferny lairs. The pigeons were all safe in the pigeon-house, and the speckled hen, as she snugly squatted in the straw, hid a dozen chickens under her protecting wings. How lovingly did the SAVIOUR speak of Jerusalem! "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not.” (S. Matt. xxiii. 37.) The Old Church Clock struck ten. The moon rose behind the upper orchard. The owlet shrieked from the hollow oak. The yew tree cast a broad deep shade on the ground. The shepherd of the folded sheep was asleep; but the watchful eye of the Great Shepherd of Israel, Who neither sleepeth nor slumbereth, was on the mountains and the valleys. “In His hand are the deep places of the earth the strength of the hills is His also." (Psa. xcv. 4.) The Old Church Clock struck eleven. The wind had risen, and the silvery clouds were hurried through the heavens. Here and there a sheep tore away the short grass in the churchyard with his teeth, while the others lay quietly between the graves. The moon and stars appeared and disappeared by turns, and the sky by degrees grew brighter. "When I consider, O LORD, Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars which Thou hast ordained, what is man that Thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that Thou visitest him ?" (Psa. viii. 3, 4.) The Old Church Clock struck twelve. The moon was at the full right over Bonner's Barn. The mist again lay heavy on the brook, and the glowworm spangled the green bank with her fire. The bat flitted through the barn and rick-yard. The wind was hushed, not a sound was heard; old Jenny Deanes herself had sunk into a comfortable sleep, and night, and silence, and peace, reigned all around. Night and day should the LORD be praised. "It is a good thing to give thanks unto the LORD, and to sing praises unto Thy Name, O Most High: to show forth Thy lovingkindness in the morning, and Thy faithfulness every night." (Psa. xcii. 1, 2.)-Companion for Leisure Hours. ANECDOTE OF DR. KILBIE* AND A YOUNG THIS Dr. Kilbie was a man of so great learning and wisdom, and so excellent a critic in the Hebrew tongue, that he was made Professor of it in one of the Universities, and was also so perfect a Grecian that he was by King James the First appointed to be one of the translators of the Bible. This doctor and Mr. Sanderson had frequent discourses, and loved as father and son. The doctor was to ride a journey into Derbyshire, and took Mr. Sanderson to bear him company; and they going together on a Sunday with the doctor's friend to that parish church, where they then were, found the young preacher to have no more discretion than to waste a great part of the hour allotted for his sermon in exceptions against the late translation of several words (not expecting such a hearer as Dr. Kilbie), and showed three reasons why a particular word *One of the Translators of the Bible. should have been otherwise translated. When evening prayer was ended, the preacher was invited to the doctor's friend's house, where after some other conference, the doctor told him "He might have preached more useful doctrine, and not filled his auditors' ears with needless exceptions against the late translation; and for that word, for which he offered to that poor congregation three reasons why it ought to have been translated as he said; he and others had considered all them, and found thirteen more considerable reasons why it was translated as now printed:" and told him, "if his friend," then attending him, "should prove guilty of such indiscretion, he should forfeit his favour." To which Mr. Sanderson said "He hoped he should not." And the preacher was so ingenuous as to say, "He would not justify himself."-ISAAC WALTON. A TALE OF THE TIME OF KING JOHN. IN the days of King John, when the turbulent barons of England had no peace among themselves, but discord and dissension ruled everywhere; when the ancient jealousy between Norman and Saxon was still as active as ever, and the king surrounded by faithless ministers, each seeking his own interest, knew not how to act for the good of the community; there lived a noble of no mean pretensions in a retired spot on the borders of the magnificent forest of Dean. Far as the eye could reach extended the broad lands of this proud and haughty Baron of Severnside, whose castle, placed on the summit of the hill, commanded the country for many miles. A follower of the warlike Richard to the Holy Land, he had fought there with the mighty Saladin, and gained honours of which a noble might well be proud, and now he scarce would deign to bow beneath the hand of the less active John, who had no easy seat on his throne, undermined on the one hand by the adherents of his nephew Arthur, and on the other, by those who, having helped to raise him to the eminence on which he stood, expected more of his confidence and favour than he could reasonably bestow upon them. The Baron of Severnside had passed the best years of his life absent from his castle and his broad lands, following his royal master, King Richard, to the Holy Land, where he had accomplished deeds of valour, the renown of which had resounded through Europe, and would in another age have been handed down as wonders to posterity, but when compared with those of the Lion-hearted Richard, must necessarily sink into the dust; for he, like him, had wandered through strange lands on his return, and suffered privations which we in these days can hardly conceive. Twenty long years had passed since he had visited his fatherland, and he returned to find that sorrow, care, and age had left their sure marks on the cheeks of his once lovely and beloved bride, the Lady Elfira, whom he had wedded in the bloom of youth, and who ere his departure had blessed him with two lovely infants. Reared in the castle, with her and her attendant guards and maidens, those charms of mind and body, far from being like the boughs of a lofty tree, fettered by the restraint, had, like the leaves of the tender flower, bloomed brighter and better for the shade which had screened them from the burning influence of the world. They grew in privacy and lowliness, but not unblessing or unblessed; for to the Lady Elfira, in the absence of her lord, there was no joy like that of training her children to be such as she fondly hoped a father's heart would desire to see his loved ones. Enriched with every beauty of form and figure, the little Rhoda resembled her father in temper and disposition, in the lofty bearing of her soul, and the romantic wildness of her spirit, which loved to seek adventure in the fields and woods, which scorned the safe path guarded by her father's men-at-arms, and which, with the wild recklessness of youth, would court hidden and untried adventures; while the more tender and gentle Mary loved to commune with her holy mother, and search into the very depths of her soul. Different as were the sisters in habits and dispositions, they loved one another with that fond and deep affection which, perhaps, those only can feel whose very souls are knit into one another. They had grown up together, they had no companions, there were none within the walls of that castle but the dependants of its lord; and, though they were all endeared to them by fond ties, and though from their very birth, they had been taught to respect and reverence them, they could not feel for them that deep affection which bound their souls to one another. They had no thought apart; each was to each a guide. The wild spirit of Rhoda loved to contemplate the more holy peace which dwelt in the soul of Mary, while Mary would hear with pleasure not unmixed with wonder the adventures of Rhoda; how she had mounted the castle wall, or stood on the pinnacle of the battlements, or passed the moat, or practised with the archers in the court-yard of the castle. Thus they lived, loving each other as dearly as sisters could love, and regarding their mother as the best of beings upon earth. She was indeed-the Lady Elfira-one whom every child's heart must adore. Nursed in the school of suffering, and disciplined by trials to holy faith and love, she had learned to place her hopes and trust where only rest, and peace, and true comfort are to be found; on one arm she leaned, and that arm had been her stay. She was not one who thought that fortune and the blessings it procures are given us for our own use merely, and she had learned to look upon all that she pos |