III. 12. DAY: A PASTORAL Ο PART THIRD-EVENING. 'ER the heath1 the heifer strays Free (the furrowed task is done); Now the village windows blaze Bûrnished by the setting sun. Sinking from å gōlden sky: (To the smoking hamlet bound), See the rooks returning home. From the barn or twisted brake; 1 Heath, å plant which beârs beautiful flowers. Its leaves are small, and continue green all the year; a place overgrown with heath. 2 Re fŭl'ġent, casting a bright light; brilliant; splendid. 3 Rook (ruk), å bird that looks much like the crow, but which feeds mostly on seeds and grain. 4 Re splěn' dent, shining with luster: very bright. 5 Owl'et, å little owl; also, as here, an owl. • Bosom (buʼzum). To the banks a ruffled tide 8. Tripping through the silken gråss, 1 Allan Cunningham, å Scottish CUNNINGHAM.1 born at Blackwood in 1785, and died poet and miscellaneous writer, was in London, Nov. 5, 1842. THE IV. 13. SONGS OF THE NIGHT HE WORLD hath its night. It seemèth necessary that it should have one. The sun shinèth by day, and men go forth to their labors; but they grow weary, and nightfall comèth on, like a sweet boon from heaven. 2. The darkness drawèth the eûrtains, and shuttèth out the light, which might prevent our eyes from slumber; while the sweet, cälm stillness of the night permits us to rest upon the lap of ease, and thêre forget ȧwhile our câres, until the morning sun appearèth, and an angel puts his hand upon the curtain, and undraws it once again, touches our eyelids, and bids us rise, and proceed to the labors of the day. 3. Night is one of the greatest blessings men enjoy: we have many reasons to thank God for it. Yět night is to many a gloomy season. There is "the pestilence that walkèth in darknèss;" there is "the terror by night;" there is the dread of robbers and of fell disease, with all those fears that the timorous 1 know, when they have no light wherewith they can dişcern objects. 4. It is then they fancy that spiritual creatures walk the earth; though, if they knew rightly, they would find it to be true, that "millions of spiritual creatures walk this earth unseen, both when we sleep and when we wake;" and that at all times they are round about us not more by night than by day. 5. Night is the season of terror and alarm to most men. Yět even night hath its songs. Have you never stood by the seaside at night, and heard the pebbles sing, and the waves chant God's glōries? Or have you never risen from your couch, and thrown up the window of your chamber, and listened there? 6. Listened to what? Silence-save now and then a mûrmûring sound, which seems sweet music then. And have you not fancied that you heard the harp of God playing in heaven? Did you not conceive, that yon stars, those eyes of God, looking down on you, were also mouths of song-that ěvèry star was singing God's glory, singing, as it shōne, its mighty Maker, and his lawful, well-deserved praise? 1 Tim'or oŭs, fearful of danger; without courage; timid. THE EVENING HOUR. 83 7. Night hath its songs. We need not much poëtry in our spirit to catch the song of night, and hear the spheres1 as they chant praises which are loud to the heart, though they be silent to the ear-the praises of the mighty God, who beârs up the unpillared arch of heaven, and moves the stars in their courses. SPURGEON.2 V. 14. THE EVENING HOUR. WEET evening hour! Dear evening hour! The infant to its mother's breast. 2. Sweet hour! that bids the laborer cease; And leads them home, and crowns them thêre 3. O season of soft sounds and hues s; And God receives and answers prayer. 5. Then, trembling, from the vaulted skies 6. Sweet hour! for heavenly musing made, Spheres, globes, worlds, or stars. 2 Charles Haddon Spurgeon, a distinguished English preacher of the Baptist denomination, was born at Kelvedon, Essex, June 19, 1834. The chapel where he preaches,in London, is of great size. Several volumes of his sermons have been published. AB SECTION V. I. 15. MY FIRST LESSON. PART FIRST. BBY PUNDERSON-yes, that was the name of my first school-mistress. She was one of the stiffèst, nīcèst, and most thoroughly prim old maids that ever took care of other people's children. She taught in a little red school-house, in “Shrub-oak,” hälf a mile back of Falls Hill. I like to be particular in the geography, though I had never opened an atlas in my life, when Miss Punderson received me into her alphabet class. 2. I see her now, sitting so věry upright in her high-backed chair, solemnly opening the blue-paper covers of Webster, and calling me by name: I see the sharp-pointed scissors lifted from the chain at her side: I hear the rap, rap, of her thimble against the wooden covers of that new spelling-book-yes, I feel myself dropping that bashful little courtesy,1 and blushing under those solemn gray eyes, as she points down the long row of Roman capitals and tells me to read. 3. I remember it all: she had on å brown calico dress; her hâir was parted plainly, and done up in a French twist behind : there was a good deal of gray in that black hair, and around her prim mouth any quantity of fine wrinkles; but her voice was low and sweet. She was stiff, but not cross, and the little girls loved her in a degree, though she did give them long stretches of hemming, and over-seams to sew. 4. My first school-mistress came from some neighboring town. She was neither Episcopalian nor Presbyterian, but wōre the nīcèst little Methodist bonnet, made of silver-gray satin without & bow or bit of lace-a Quaker bonnet cut short. Then she had a dainty silk shawl, dinted like a dove's wing, and always carried her handkerchief földed when she went to prâyer-meeting. 5. The school-house stood on the bank of a small stream 1 Courtesy (kert'si), å slight bowing of the body, with bending of the knees, as a mark of respect or politeness, formerly done by women. |