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.
THE JOYS OF SELF-WILL.
"There is no joy in life, but in doing just what one pleases," said Conrad. "I don't think so," was the wise answer of his friend Albert. "We shall see," said Conrad. "Now, here is a bitter cold morning; so, as I do not like to be cold, I shall not stir out of the house, but have a fine roaring fire all day, and some clever witty book to amuse me." Saying this, Conrad slipt on a loose but warm dressing gown, poked up the fire, and hung his hat and stick upon the peg behind him. "No cold walking in the mire, no plague of dressing, for me! Here I am snug, and sure of being well and free from aches and ailments." Albert laughed to see him so selfish, and so foolish, and left him. Young Albert was active, and willing to serve and oblige; so, when he quitted his churlish friend, he walked to see his sick uncle, and to carry him some game he had killed very early in the morning. His uncle was much cheered by his visit and his chat; and whilst he was with him, he wrote some letters for him, and did many other odd jobs. They dined upon the game, and his uncle said, the pheasant Albert brought was the first meat he had tasted for a long while. After dinner, Albert, leaving his uncle better for his visit, went to his father's farm, to give some orders, and took home good accounts of all that was going on there. He then went into his own chamber, and had two hours of close reading, of a book his father wished him to study. By this time, tea was ready, and his mother and the little ones were always glad when Albert joined the tea table, he was so merry, and so handy, and so funny. When tea was over, he took a lesson upon the flute, and, with the help of his master, they had some good music. At nine at night, Albert jumped up and said, "I will just run down the street and peep at my happy friend, Conrad." When he reached his room, the door was locked; so he peeped in at the key hole, and there he saw the happy Conrad in a fit of rage and shame. His book had been dashed on the floor, and there it lay; a cup and a bottle, as of physic, stood on the table near him, and he was holding his head, as if it ached very much. The servants said Conrad had been cold all day for want of exercise, and he had been sick for want of air. "Poor fellow!" cried Albert. "So much for the joys of the selfish and the idle!"