office of such a periodical." It bore the name of Miss Mary Berwick, but who she was, or where in London she lived, no one knew. She was supposed to be a governess, and although she became a household word to the readers of the weekly journal, no one, not even Mr. Dickens, had seen her. On Christmas day, 1854, he was invited to dine with his old friend

Barry Cornwall," and took with him a special issue of "Household Words," and on reaching the Procter home he remarked that the journal contained a very pretty poem by a Miss Berwick. The next day Mr. Dickens learned that he had "so spoken of the poem to the mother of its writer, in its writer's presence, and that the name had been assumed by Barry Cornwall's' eldest daughter Miss Adelaide

Procter."

In 1859 Miss Procter's "Legends and Lyrics" was published, and from this delightful volume several hymns have been taken. As an evening hymn there is nothing in our hymnology more beautiful than this:

The shadows of the evening hours
Fall from the darkening sky;
Upon the fragrance of the flowers
The dews of evening lie.

Before Thy throne, O Lord of Heaven,

We kneel at close of day;

Look on Thy children from on high,
And hear us while we pray.

The sorrows of Thy servants, Lord,
Oh! do not thou despise;

But let the incense of our prayers
Before Thy mercy rise;

The brightness of the coming night
Upon the darkness rolls;

With hopes of future glory, chase
The shadows from our souls.

Slowly the rays of daylight fade;
So fade within our heart
The hopes in earthly love and joy,
That one by one depart :

Slowly the bright stars, one by one,

Within the heavens shine;

Give us, O Lord! fresh hopes in heaven,

And trust in things divine.

Let peace, O Lord! Thy peace, O God! Upon our souls descend;

From midnight fears and perils, Thou

Our trembling hearts defend;

Give us a respite from our toil,
Calm and subdue our woes,
Through the long day we suffer, Lord;
Oh! give us now repose!

The depth of Miss Procter's seriousness and the beauty of her trust and resignation, are shown in the following hymn, which is widely sung to several fine musical settings :

I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be

A pleasant road;

I do not ask that Thou wouldst take from me
Aught of its load.

I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet;

I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.

For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead :
Lead me aright,

Though strength should falter and though heart should bleed,

Through peace to light.

I do not ask, O Lord, that Thou shouldst shed Full radiance here;

Give me but a ray of peace, that I may tread

Without a fear.

I do not ask my cross to understand,
My way to see;

Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand,
And follow Thee.

Joy is like restless day; but peace divine
Like quiet night.

Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine,
Through peace to light.

All of Miss Procter's hymns are delicate, musical, and spiritual, but I am inclined to rank the one on Thankfulness the loveliest of the eight which are in use in the United States and England. Bishop Bickersteth says it is a most beautiful hymn, and "touches the chord of thankfulness in trial, as perhaps no other hymn does." The form of the hymn has been altered in several ways— without improvement but I give the original :

My God, I thank Thee, who hast made

The earth so bright,

So full of splendor and of joy,

Beauty and light;

So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right!

I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made
Joy to abound;

So many gentle thoughts and deeds
Circling us round,

That in the darkest spot of earth
Some love is found.

I thank Thee more that all our joy
Is touched with pain;

That shadows fall on brightest hours,
That thorns remain ;

So that earth's bliss may be our guide,
And not our chain.

For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon
Our weak heart clings,

Hast given us joys, tender and true,
Yet all with wings,

So that we see, gleaming on high,
Diviner things!

I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept
The best in store;

I have enough, yet not too much,

To long for more ;

A yearning for a deeper peace,
Not known before.

I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls, Though amply blest,