truly do I love them still-love to see a whole meadow of white and yellow-love to see the little children (for, alas! they soon grow beyond the love of daises,) the little children, returning from a country walk with the round white nosegay, and earnestly extorting the promise that it may be put in water. Were this all, my dear Sir, it were scarcely a subject for your SUNDAY READER; but there are few things in common life from which we may not learn a lesson; and often is the permission brought to my mind, "you may pick the daisies." Sweet emblems of the common mercies, the every-day blessings, which our bountiful Creator gives.

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As we advance in life, there is much of which our HEAVENLY Parent says, you must not touch it." Much there is, either beyond our grasp, or unlawful could we obtain it. But we cannot take a step without meeting with the free gifts he scatters largely for us all the daisy grows on every soil.

Blessings, again, there are, which, like the flowers of spring and summer, are bestowed, and may lawfully be enjoyed, in the days of our youth and health: but they pass like the bright and sunny flowers, and we return gladly and thankfully, to the calm, unfading pleasures, which extend through the whole span of our existence.

"The rose is but a summer flower,

"The daisy never dies."

Nor shall I, I trust, be accused of irreverence, if I even apply the simple emblem to the high and holy truths of the Bible. How many a Christian, not gifted perhaps with the learning and ability, which are so great a blessing where possessed, looks, almost with a feeling of despair, into the sacred volume, desiring to comprehend more of the mysteries there revealed-to look into the high things of God, desir

ing to comprehend, with all saints, what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge. And of this love we may indeed know so much, as to feel that He is all our salvation, and all our desire.

Blessed be God, there are truths, and those amply sufficient for our everlasting welfare, which, "he who runs may read"-truths, simple, cheering, and abunaant, scattered throughout the whole of the blessed book, and freely offered to us all. So, let us go on our way rejoicing, thankful for the mercies bestowed, and satisfied to turn from vain and forbidden pleasure, like the meek and humble children, of whom our blessed Lord himself has said, "Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven."

PRIMOGENITA.

CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME.

PART II.

(Concluded from page 61.)

LET us now return to the poor old man, who had been driven so rudely from farmer Hill's door. With a sad spirit and aching heart, he leaned, for a few minutes, to rest his tottering limbs against the wall, and when he heard the quarreling within,-"Ah," said he to himself, with a sigh, "I have often heard it said that Charity begins at home,' but, I have always observed, that those who have no charity for strangers, have but little amongst themselves. May God forgive them, and grant them a better spirit," said he, as-slowly raising himself from his leaning posture-he prepared to pursue his solitary way.

By this time the snow had ceased to fall, and the sun was shining bright, so that the wintry prospect wore an aspect of cheerfulness, and the warmth invigorated the old man's

limbs. Old Williams (for that was the traveller's name,) was not a beggar by profession. In his youth he had been enabled, by God's blessing on his industry and frugality, to rear a family in honesty and in the fear of God-and, up to a very late period, he had gone on, though certainly sometimes by over work, to supply the moderate wants of his aged wife and himself. They had lived together in a comfortable cottage; but having recently followed her corpse to the grave, and spent all his little stock of money, and even been obliged to part with most of his goods, to pay the doctor's bill, and defray the expenses of her funeral, he had resolved to leave the scene of his sorrows, and accept the invitation of his son, who was settled in comfortable circumstances in a distant part of the country. Hither he was wending his way, and had arrived within a short distance of the place of his destination, when he was overtaken by a heavy fall of snow, which numbed his old limbs, and almost made him drop with fatigue and exhaustion.

The old man had not proceeded many hundred yards, before he met a lady with a little boy. "Poor old man," said the little boy to his mamma," how tired he looks-he does not beg, but I am sure he is in want; do pray, mamma, let me give him some money; I am sure you will not miss it." The lady, without further enquiry, took a shilling from her purse, and the little boy gave it to the old man, who received it with much humility, and they parted. Here, I cannot but remark, that the giving of money to beggars, though certainly not altogether to be blamed, is the smallest act of charity imaginable. Indeed, sometimes, it is no charity at all. Many a person will give money to a sturdy vagabond, merely to escape importunity, when it was his duty to have resolutely refused. Some, I am aware, make a point of giving none, yet, I cannot think that this practice is justifiable. When you meet a helpless, ragged family, or a mother with a baby at her breast, it is not good to check the impulse of charity; or, when a hoary-headed traveller, like old Williams, craves alms, (which, by the bye, old Williams did not do,) it is surely right to relieve his present want. Still, it is the least possible sacrifice for rich people, to give a small sum of money, and very presump

tuous in them to pride themselves in the idea, that, in so doing, they have done a good deed. A man may " give all his goods to the poor, and yet not have charity." Indeed, generally, it is a much greater proof of genuine charity to take a little personal trouble, than to give alms. Had the lady made enquiry, she would have found that what the old man most required was, to be supported to the next cottage, where he might have got warmth and refreshment. It would have been no very comfortable reflection to the lady, if the old man had been found dead by the road-side, with the shilling in his pocket.

However, God ordered it otherwise, and gave him strength to get a little further, till he arrived at a neat cottage, with thatched roof and white-washed walls. Old Williams had never begged in his life; but, having now a shilling, he thought he might purchase some refreshment at the cottage, or, at least, be allowed to rest and warm himself. So he knocked, with a trembling hand, at the door. It was immediately opened by a good-humoured rosy-cheeked girl, who, on seeing him, cried out, "Oh, father, here is such a poor old man; do let him in." John Adams, (for that was the cottager's name,) came to the door, and asked him what he wanted?"but," said he, observing his pale countenance and trembling limbs, 66 come in, and sit by the fire, for, I am sure, you must be tired." The old man thanked him with a faint voice; the tears rolled down his cheeks, as he heard the voice of kindness. He crossed the threshold-it was all he could do-and sunk into a seat, which was placed for him by the fireside.

What a different scene presented itself, in this humble cottage, from that which we have seen at farmer Hill's. Here was John Adams, with his honest weather-worn face, and Mary Adams, his wife, an active good-humoured housewife, and eight fine chubby children. They were just going to begin their meal. John had rapped the table with the handle of his knife, and all the children stood up, before a crumb was touched, to bless God for the food which was provided for them. And thankful, indeed, they were, though it was but a poor repast. No very "dainty dishes;" only a large bowl of potatoes, some salt in a wooden trough, and half a loaf of brown bread. To be sure, Mary had made a bason of

broth, which she begged her husband would take for himself, for "you know," said she, "that you work for us all and want more support than we do." "Yes," said little Susan, one of the girls," I hope father won't think so much about us, for I am sure he pinched himself last week, to buy me a pair of shoes out of his wages."

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It was just at this moment, when old Williams, as we have described, entered the cottage, and sunk almost lifeless in the chair. The whole family immediately left their meal, and ran to his assistance. Mrs. Adams filled a pan with warm water, and took off the old man's shoes and stockings, and rubbed his feet-and when he was come a little to himself, John Adams fed him with the broth, and all the children did what they could to help. This timely refreshment soon restored the old man's strength, and, in the course of about an hour, he expressed a wish to proceed on his journey, "for," said he, "it is but a mile and a half to my son's house, and I should like to get there before night.' The kind family begged he would not think of leaving the house till he was quite recovered. "I thank you," said he, " my good friends, but I have already trespassed too much on your kindness. Here," he added, taking the shilling from his pocket, "take this; it is all I have to offer you; I wish it were more, and may God Almighty bless you." "No," said John Adams, "we will not take your money. What we have done for you, is no more than one Christian ought to do for another. We do not wish to be paid. If you are determined to go on, one of the boys shall walk with you, and see you safe to your son's house." "That we will," said John, Bill, and Joe, snatching up their hats at the same time. So away they all went together, after the old man had begged a thousand blessings on the charitable family. "I have often heard," said he," that Charity begins at home,' and, I am sure, it does in this family. May God bless and prosper you. Good-bye-good-bye."