THE EVENING DUTY.
"How happy we have been all this day!" cried Edith to Clare; "so healthy, so busy, so merry! How hungry we were for our nice breakfast of milk and bread, and for all our meals! What a charming walk we had with uncle! And, to-night, what merry tales he told us! How happy we have been to-day!" Now Clare was the eldest, and was a very nice girl; and when her sister was silent, she began her account of the day. "We have indeed been two merry damsels since rising morn to latest eve! Our lessons passed the time charmingly; and that new song I learnt is, I think, the sweetest I ever heard: and how you were pleased with that pretty drawing which mamma said you did so well. But, Edith, I think our greatest pleasure, to-day, was taking the broth, and clothes, to that poor widow."—"Yes, that to be sure was one of our best jobs, and I had not forgot it; nor, dearest Clare, have I forgot the little girl, who gave her only sixpence to the widow's sickly baby." Clare blushed, for it was she who had given the sixpence. "I am thinking," said she, "for people who have been so lucky all the day as we have been, there is one duty above all others to perform." "I know what you mean, Clare," said Edith; "we ought to offer our thanks to the great God, who has blessed us through the day; and we will do so, my dear sister."—"Yes, Edith," said Clare, "and we will make a rule, that during the time we are in our chamber, curling our hair, and taking off our clothes, we will always talk of the pleasures of the past day, so that our hearts may be full of thankful feelings."—"True, dear girl, and we will not only talk of the good we have had, but of the evil we have been saved from. This day we have been free from all pain of body or of mind. This day we have tasted many delights." Their little bosoms glowing with grateful feelings, the two fond sisters knelt down by their bedside, and poured out their hearts in praise and prayer. It was a touching sight to behold them thus kneeling, and in low accents breathing forth their artless praises, their hands clasped, their cheeks flushed, their eyes turned to heaven. All was still around them; and it was cheering to think that the low murmurs of these feeble children were wafted to our Father in heaven.
The Evening Duty.
Pubd. May 1, 1831, by J. Harris, St. Pauls Church Yard.