"I must beg for your attention to my business. On | your recommendation I went to visit the poor labourer who has so long been ill; I find that he and his family are in the greatest distress; I wish to do them some permanent good, and should be glad if you could find out the best way of sending the poor man to town for advice. I have written to my friends to try and procure a situation for the eldest girl, and shall place a fund in your hands for the son. If he could be assisted a little at first, he might gain something towards the maintenance of his mother. I have also sent notes to some of my friends to interest them for him, and to persuade them, if possible, to give him employment. We can easily, for a time, support the others. My cousin Anna is even now busy making clothes for the children." Mary had been engaged with the baby, who was just awake, but heard enough of what passed to admire the quiet way in which this liberality had been offered. She had been convinced that Miss Stanmore was not really so indifferent to this poor family's welfare as she had appeared to be, and she rejoiced to find that she had not misinterpreted the conduct of her friend. She was, however, surprised to find that Mr. Beverley passed over this kindness without noticing it, simply promising to lose no time in attending to Miss Stanmore's wishes. But she had not much time for these reflections, for Ellen, who knew how valuable her friend's time must be, hastened to leave him to follow his duties. When they left the room she made Mary stop, and inquired what clothes the child most needed. "I wish," she said, "to give some work to a poor woman, and shall be glad to benefit two instead of one. I shall send you a new frock for the baby to wear to-morrow. As am going into the town to-day, I shall leave it on my way home."

He

Mary knew the child had no good clothing, and was rejoiced to think she could bring it to church neatly dressed. They now joined Robert, who thanked Ellen with much feeling when he found that she had promised to become his child's godmother. They talked for some little time together, and Mary rejoiced to see them acquainted. In the evening, Mrs. Stanmore's carriage stopped at Robert's little cottage, and Ellen left the frock; Anna then asked whether the child had a cap; and when she found it had only a very common one, expressed her regret that she had not bought one; and told Mary that she would give her the money if she would manage to get it. "I do not know," said Miss Francis, "exactly what it will cost; but what is over you may keep to buy something for yourself." Mary eagerly promised to try; and, when she had put Bessie in her cradle, she hastened to her aunt's, to see if her uncle or one of her cousins would go with her to the town. Martha promised to go and take care of the child, and James kindly arranged to go with her himself. begged for his father's cart; and they were soon on their road. Miss Francis had been very liberal, and Mary had never before had so much money. The discovery of Ellen's recent charity had made a deep impression upon her; and, after many struggles with her desire to get a very pretty cap for her little darling, she determined to spend only part, to be content with a plain one, and devote the rest of the money to the good of others; she was surprised to find that her resolution, when once formed, did not give way, not even in the shop, where many pretty caps tempted her; but her greatest trial was James's thinking her stingy; she would not explain her motives, but felt vexed at his having such an opinion of her. However, even this could not take away her satisfaction as she rode home with the cheaper cap, and some few shillings remaining. She was very tired, yet still talked so gaily to her cousin, that the way home seemed much more delightful than the way to the town. Before she went to bed, she laid the young ladies' presents ready for the baby the next morning. She felt fearful that Miss Francis might remark that the baby was not so smart as she expected;

she scarcely knew what she should do with the money, but put it carefully into her pocket, and decided that she would consult Ellen on the best use to make of it. She tried to remember all that Mr. Beverley had said in the morning, and fell asleep in the pleasing conviction that the blessings sent her that day had afforded her instruction, and drawn her heart nearer to her Heavenly Father, whose angels, she loved to believe, were allowed to watch over her while she slept.

CHAPTER VI.

MARY awoke the next morning with confused ideas of the events of the preceding day, but a cry from Bessie instantly recalled her full recollection of what was to take place. Robert was already engaged in making the cottage neat; Mary joined him; and they had soon completed their arrangements for the day. Little Bessie lay in her cradle, watching them move about, as if they had done so on purpose to amuse her, and crowed with animation as Mary dressed her. When she had quite completed this duty, she carried her to her grandfather, expecting him to praise her new clothes, which seemed to Mary to make her look prettier than ever; but he scarcely noticed them, and looked so sad and grave that she did not like to ask him any questions, but ventured to inquire if he did not consider Bessie would be as much benefited as Mr. Beverley did.

"I do, indeed, my child; God gives us all the promise of heaven, for the sake of our Saviour, when we are baptized; but He also requires that we should perform the vows which in baptism we take upon us; which if we fail to do, doubtless we shall be in danger of forfeiting the abundant blessings of this holy sacrament. This makes me feel fearful and sad for her sake. Suppose, Mary, a great prince were to come and offer to adopt her as his child, and to promise that if she would obey his command, he would in time bestow upon her happiness beyond everything that she could imagine, do you not perceive that although she would be perfectly undeserving of such goodness-although it would be a perfectly free gift on his part-yet, that if she refused to obey, she would most deservedly lose it!"

Mary looked anxiously in the old man's face, and softly whispered, half afraid of her own fears, "Do you not think that she will be a good child, and go to heaven; for I know that is your meaning in the story of the prince?"

"We will trust and pray that she may, if she is taught to turn entirely to God for assistance, and really try to please Him in everything; he might, in time, become as good as those saints and holy people of whom we read in the Bible."

Mary was willingly comforted about her little darling, who seemed then too innocent to learn wickedness.

The party from the farm soon arrived, and they all walked together to the church, where they were to meet Mrs. Beverley and Miss Stanmore. Mary's uncle was Bessie's godfather, and went with Robert; Miss Francis had also joined the party. Mary carried the child, who slept quietly until the end of the Second Lesson of the Morning Service; and then, as if she knew the hour had arrived, opened her eyes, and looked with confused wonder on all around her. As they stood at the font, Mary's fears vanished; and when Ellen firmly answered the solemn questions put to the sponsors, she felt no desire to shrink from the duties which she would owe to her charge. Mr. Beverley took Bessie in his arms, sprinkled her with water, marked on her the sign of the cross, and giving her back to Mary, knelt in prayer for their new member. As they were leaving the church, Mary noticed Ellen Stanmore turn aside and quietly slip some money into a box, over which was written, "Give alms of thy goods, and never turn thy face from any poor man. The action was not noticed by any one except her little friend, who had kept close by her side, with Bessie in

her arms. The thought struck Mary that perhaps she might thus apply the money which remained over after the purchase of the cap; but still she felt that she should like to know what good she had done, and this desire was increased when she reached the porch of the church. The family of the poor labourer were standing round Miss Francis, thanking her for her goodness, and she seemed quite delighted. A respectful curtsy was dropped to Ellen; but Mary foolishly regretted that it was not known that she had even been a greater benefactor than Anna. Ellen seemed to have no desire to share in the praises to which her cousin was listening, but quietly smiling to the children, and making inquiries after sick relations of the poor villagers, who were collected in the church-yard, she passed on without a sign of anxiety concerning the reception which each group gave her; and the whole party went to Mr. Beverley's, where they were to rest.

Old Robert seemed now quite cheerful, and was anxious to show Miss Stanmore as much attention as he could. Little Bessie was caressed and played with by all; the child was quite delighted, clapped her little hands, and laughed so joyously, that none could refrain from noticing her. Anna took her in her arms, and Mary's heart beat as she thought of the secret of the cap. The little frock was very neat and simple, and the cap corresponded; but Anna had thoughtlessly, yet from good nature, wished her present to be a handsome one. She observed, in a disappointed tone, that the work was not very fine. Mary's cheeks were instantly tinged, and she felt like a culpri; she did not like to explain it, but deeply lamented that all should have so unpleasant a suspicion of her, for she was sure they must think that she had spent the rest of the money on herself. Her cousin James, who knew she had not done so, changed the subject by telling Mary to take the child from Miss Francis, who must be tired of nursing it; in assuring him that she was not, the subject was forgotten; but it was some time before Mary could feel comfortable, and she began to fear she had not done rightly in keeping back the money which had, in truth, been given to Bessie.

Before the christening party left their kind friend, they were invited to visit his garden, which was so prettily laid out, that although small, it seemed to contain all the attractions of space and culture. Mary soon contrived to show Ellen that she wished to talk to her, and while their elders were examining the beauties of the green-house, they turned into a quiet, shady walk. Miss Stanmore had observed Mary's confusion when Anna noticed the plainness of the cap, and suspected that she should now have it explained, but she did not wish to intrude on the girl's motives; she was too charitable to accuse any one without just cause, and determined to wait patiently until her companion mentioned the subject. Mary was not long silent, for she knew she had not much time alone with her friend; she wished also to speak of the poor labourer's family; and looking inquiringly at Miss Stanmore, she asked why she did not wish them to know what she had done for them. "I did not recollect, Mary, that you knew any of the circumstances; but I now remember that I spoke to Mr. Beverley when you were in the room

Mary was afraid that she had done wrong in attending to what passed, but her friend instantly set her mind at rest, and asked her whether she would not like to be as rich as she was, and whether she thought the happiness she was blessed with arose from possessing so much money.

"I think," answered Mary, " that I should feel very happy if I were able to assist poor people; and I am sure you like to do good. Miss Francis told me yesterday that it was a great happiness to her to see how she benefited her fellow-creatures."

"My cousin only alluded to the comfort of being able to relieve the temporary wants of life; but do you not think there must be a higher pleasure than this?"

Mary thought for an instant, and replied, "You mean, that you please your Heavenly Father." "You have nearly expressed my meaning; but can you tell me to whom these riches belong?" "Yes; your father gives you a portion of what belongs to him, to use as you like best."

'My father, certainly, has the present power over the means placed in his hands, but he cannot consider his riches as his own. Had every one the power of obtain ing them, we should find but few poor men. If we cannot control the distribution, therefore, can we con sider that it depends on ourselves whether we have them or not? They are a trust, Mary, for which we are responsible, and we must take the most watchful care that they do not prove our greatest unhappiness."

Mary had never believed that wealth could bring misery; and told Ellen that she was sure it would add to her welfare to possess it.

"I have learnt to look upon my wealth as a trust from God; it brings heavy cares which you know nothing of. I am convinced that I ought merely to be God's instrument; that when others are benefited through me, the glory is His for so directing me. The poor are objects placed in our path to allow us the privilege of showing that we desire to be directed by God's Word."

"But it was your thought of trying to help the poor labourer to obtain advice in London ?"

"Yes, I give him the means, but it does not come from me; I only have the blessing of labouring in my Maker's cause-it is no merit of mine."

"For the first time in my life," observed Mary, "I feel very thankful that I am not rich."

"But you must not forget that although wealth brings many responsibilities, it also causes great happiness. The true Christian feels that alms-giving is one of the purest joys allowed us on earth, and the rich are thus permitted to taste and exercise this delight."

"Then, I suppose, because you felt that you were not the benefactor of the labourer and his family, you did not care whether they knew that you had assisted them, and did not wish for all the thanks which they gave Miss Francis?"

"I see you understand me better now, Mary; Mr. Beverley, as a priest, is the best person to act with me in my important duties."

"And now I should like to ask you one more question. Why did you put some money into the little box at church? I had often seen it, but never thought of its use."

"That chest of oak is placed there, by wise authority, to receive the alms for the poor; a certain number of times in the year the collection is distributed to the destitute, and we are thus provided with a way of exercising Christian charity."

"Then you do not know what is done with your money; you cannot tell who has benefited by it?"

"If we were to look upon what we bestow on the poor as an offering to our Saviour, who has left them to try our faith, we should not consider what individual assistance we give. The holy apostles, and disciples of Christ, exhort us to abundant alms-giving. Those who so help the poor, receive and honour their Maker, who, as He was poor and needy himself whilst he lived here amongst us, at His departure promised to leave with us the poor, that, by having pity upon them, we might, as it were, lend unto Him."

Mary was for some time silent before she had courage to intrude her history of the cap; but a kind encouraging look from Ellen invited her to explain what she saw to be passing in her thoughts. When she had heard it, she assured her she need not feel uncomfortable about its being Bessie's property; that Mary might believe herself authorised in acting as she had done, if she made the offering in the desire to do what she felt was right, and not from the mere pleasure of seeing others enjoy comforts through her means.

"I had thought, Miss Ellen, that I would give the

money to some poor person; but I feel now that I had better avoid the temptation which I might have to feel proud when I was thanked. Will you put my few shillings into the box at the church for me?"

"No, Mary, you shall do it yourself; we are allowed such feelings of delight when we obey the Lord, that I am sure, if you make your offering with a prayer for a blessing on it, you will experience such feelings of bliss as you have never felt before, and such as I would not rob you of."

"Then I will do so next time I go to church. And now tell me, before I go to grandfather, who is looking for me, if you think Miss Francis is very angry?"

"I will not conceal from you that I think my cousin was a little vexed; but you must not allow this to alarm you; receive it as a blessing, for it is a further trial of the virtue you desire to learn, and you must meet it with gratitude."

66

"I think I shall be able to bear her questioning now, but you will help me?"

Ellen readily promised to do this. Smiling cheerfully at her dismay, she led her back to the rest of the party. They so soon dispersed to their respective homes, that there was no opportunity for Anna's referring to the subject. Mary felt quite relieved; and when she got home and put off the neat clothes of the baby, before she laid her in her cradle, she thought they looked much prettier in the drawer than they had in the morning, when she had been inclined to desire that the cap had been handsomer.

Biographical Sketches of Eminent Painters.

GAINSBOROUGH.

GAINSBOROUGH was a contemporary of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and was born in 1727, at Sudbury, in Suffolk. Nature was his teacher, and the woods of Suffolk his academy. There he would often pass whole mornings in solitude, sketching perhaps an ancient tree, a marshy brook, a few cattle, a shepherd and his flock, or any any other picturesque objects which accident placed in his way. From delineation he proceeded to colouring, and during the tender age of from ten to twelve, he painted several landscapes.

There seems to be a blank in Gainsborough's history from that period; but it is certain that he repaired to London, and there employed himself in portrait-painting, in which branch of the art he was eminently successful.

His landscapes are universally admired for their faithful representation of nature. The brilliancy of Claude de la Lorraine, and the simplicity of Ruysdaal, a celebrated Dutch landscape-painter, appear to be combined in Gainsborough's rural scenery.

courses,

Sir Joshua Reynolds says, in one of his academic dis"If ever this nation should produce genius enough to acquire us the honourable distinction of an English school, the name of Gainsborough will be transmitted to posterity, in the history of the art, among the first of that rising name."

In another part of the same discourse, Sir Joshua expresses the delight he took in Gainsborough's works, and speaks with enthusiasm of the powerful impression of nature which that artist exhibited in his portraits and landscapes, and the interesting simplicity of his little beggar-children.

He then speaks of some of the customs and habits of Gainsborough. Among others, he says, He had a habit of continually remarking to those who happened to be about him, whatever peculiarity of countenance, whatever accidental combination of figures, or happy

effects of light and shadow, occurred in prospects, in the sky, in walking in the streets, or in company. If in his walks he found a character that he liked, and whose attendance was to be obtained, he ordered him to his house; and from the fields he brought into his painting room stumps of trees, weeds, and animals of various kinds, and designed them, not from memory, but immediately from the objects. He even framed a kind of model of landscapes on his table, composed of broken stones, dried herbs, and pieces of looking-glass, which he magnified and improved into rocks, trees, and water. How far this latter practice may be useful in giving hints, the professors of landscape can best determine. I mention it only as it shows the solicitude and extreme activity which he had about everything that related to his art."

Gainsborough painted much at night, and Sir Joshua remarks with reference to this circumstance, "I am indeed much inclined to believe that it is a practice very advantageous and improving to an artist; for by this means he will acquire a new, and a higher perception of what is great and beautiful in nature. By candlelight, not only objects appear more beautiful, but from their being in a greater breadth of light and shadow, as well as having a greater breadth and uniformity of colour, nature appears in a higher style; and even the flesh seems to take a higher and richer tone of colour."

"Another practice Gainsborough had, which is worth mentioning, as it is certainly worthy of imitation; I mean his manner of forming all the parts of his pictures together; the whole going on at the same time, in the same manner as nature creates her works. Though this method is not uncommon to those who have been regularly educated, yet probably it was suggested to him by his own natural sagacity. It is to the credit of his good sense and judgment that he never did attempt that style of historical painting for which his previous studies had made no preparation."

Gainsborough "was well aware that the language of the art,--the art of imitation, must be learnt somewhere, and as he knew that he could not learn it in an equal degree from his contemporaries, he very judiciously applied himself to the Flemish school, who are undoubtedly the greatest masters of one necessary branch of art, and he did not need to go out of his own country for examples of that school; from that he learnt the harmony of colouring, the management and disposition of light and shadow, and every means which the masters of it practised to ornament and give splendour to their works.

"He occasionally made copies from Rubens, Teniers, and Vandyck, which it would be no disgrace to the most accurate connoisseurs to mistake, at the first sight, for the works of those masters. What he thus learned, he applied to the originals of nature, which he saw with his own eyes, and imitated, not in the manner of those masters, but in his own."

In portraits, landscapes, and fancy-pictures, Gainsborough's talents were equally remarkable. "In his fancy-pictures,"-to use the words of his great contemporary, whom we have already quoted," when he had fixed on his object of imitation, whether it was the mean and vulgar form of a woodcutter, or a child of an interesting character, as he did not attempt to raise the one, so neither did he lose any of the natural grace and elegance of the other. This excellence was his own, the result of his particular observation and taste; for this he was certainly not indebted to the Flemish school, nor indeed to any school; for his grace was not academical, nor antique, but selected by himself from the great school of nature."

The peculiarity of Gainsborough's manner has been much criticised. On a close inspection of his pictures, odd scratches and marks are observable in them, which appear to be the effect of accident, or carelessness, but when viewed at a distance these strange lines seem all

to unite in their proper places, and to form a correct and striking picture. There is no doubt but that Gainsborough considered this peculiarity in his style as a beauty in his works, because it possesses the power of exciting surprise; for it is well known that he was always anxious that his pictures, at the exhibition, should be seen near, as well as at a distance.

We will now briefly speak of Gainsborough in his private relations of life. He possessed a generous heart, and was ever inclined to relieve the sufferings of poverty. When he visited a cottage for the purpose of exercising his pencil, the inhabitants of the rustic dwelling generally participated in the profits of his work. His liberality extended also to persons of a different class. He could not refuse his kindly aid to any one who needed assistance; and unfortunate friends, and poor relatives, infringed upon those resources which would have enabled him to have left his family in such a state of affluence after his death, as might have been expected, when we consider how much his works were esteemed.

A few days before his death, Gainsborough wrote to Sir Joshua Reynolds, expressing his acknowledgments for the good opinion Sir Joshua entertained of his abilities, and the manner in which, he had been informed, he had always spoken of him. He also expressed a great desire to see Sir Joshua once more before he died. This request was immediately acceded to by Reynolds, who says, that the impression this last interview left on his mind was, that Gainsborough regretted losing life principally on account of leaving his art, which he loved with so much enthusiasm. He died in 1788, at the age of sixty-one.

While Self alone

(Man's miserable god) is served and sought,
The shadow of whose throne
Dwarfs each up-towering thought-

While Earth's mean jealousies intrude
E'en on the Altar's sanctitude.
While Sin and Fear,

With noise ignoble, mar the heavenly notes,
Till scarce for watchful ear

Their faintest echo floats

Yet, hearken! In that far, dim, sound Life's din is, for a moment, drowned! "Peace upon earth!"

Nay, rather, Peace below it! Oh, great Death!
Thou new and glorious Birth!
Thou true and living Breath!

Thou only on our hearts canst lay
The Peace which passeth not away!
How long, O Lord,

Ere Thou redeem Thy promise? Ere Thy Peace Shall, as of old Thy Word,

Make earth's wild tumult cease,

And, underneath Thy brooding Dove
The waters shall give birth to Love?

Miscellaneous.

I HAVE always held that the life of man's mind, where man has a mind, (which is not always the case,) is a thing of fits and starts. I even doubt whether any one who will take the trouble to recollect, will not be able to lay his finger on the precise periods at which new views of everything suddenly opened before him, and he emerged at once, if not into new powers, at least into a new use of them. The frame may grow like a tree; the faculties may grow as imperceptibly as the frame; but the mind acquires that knowledge of life which forms it exercise, its use, and perhaps its essence, by bounds and flights.-Marston.

WHEN benefits are lost, the mind has time to recount their several worths; which, after a considerate search she finds to be many more than the unexamining possession told her of.. Blessings appear not till they be vanished.-Feltham's Resolves.

TRUE devotion consists in having our hearts always devoted to God, as the sole fountain of all happiness; and who is ready to hear and help his otherwise helpless, miserable creatures.-Bp. Wilson.

INGRATITUDE is the abridgement of all baseness, a fault never found unattended with other viciousness.Fuller.