served to confirm this opinion. I do not know whether my mother was beautiful-we children thought her so-but I do know that she was very gentle, and good, and the best and kindest of parents.

Sometimes I have seen her look at us, and heard her wish that she could afford to have us always so nicely and neatly dressed. Neat we always were, but most of our things were well worn, and well mended. And then my father would turn over the pages of his Bible, and read in its beautiful language that a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.

"Yes, I know," said my mother, with a tearful smile. "Only I am so apt to forget."

"We all of us are," replied my father, gently. "And now let me read you my favourite petition, in Proverbs." And he turned to the thirtieth chapter of the wonderful book: "Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain."

"But surely, father," said William, "the rich do not always deny God?"

Certainly not, my son. When God sees that his children can be trusted with riches, he gives them. Sometimes it seems to him best to withhold what he knows—although we do not-would only prove a snare and a temptation. You remember our Lord himself says, 'How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God."

"I had forgotten that," said William, thoughtfully.

"Could not God trust you with riches, papa ?" asked little Alice.

"It appears not, my child," replied he, looking at my mother with a half smile; but she only sighed.

"I am sure you would have made a good use of them," persisted the child.

"Perhaps not, Alice. God knows best: his will be done."

William was still pondering over the beautiful petition before him. "Father," said he, at length, "as you say, it has pleased God to make us poor; but I hope that we shall never be wicked enough to steal, or take his name in vain. I would die first."

"But, William, we have never been tempted

as some are: we have never yet wanted bread. God forbid that we ever should: it must be a fearful trial, a fearful temptation. Well might Solomon pray to be kept from it."

My mother turned pale, and shuddered. "Yes," said she, "it must indeed be a great temptation, and should make us feel very gentle and pitiful towards those who are thus tried."

"It appears to me," continued my father, in his cheerful tone," as if we were placed very nearly in that much to be desired position, possessing neither poverty nor riches."

"Father," exclaimed I, "there is one thing which I should like to say, only perhaps you will think that I have no right to say it; but I cannot help thinking it anyhow."

"Go on," said my father, encouragingly. "Well," continued I, "if we do not exactly want for bread, we certainly are not always able to have food convenient for us. I have frequently heard my mother wish that she could afford to purchase something more nourishing. And Dr. M- once said, I ought to have meat every day, and you know we cannot do that."

My parents looked at one another so sorrow