THE SECRET OF CONTENT. "Therefore take no thought, saying, what shall we eat, or what shall we drink. for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.'

Be thou content; be still before

His face, at whose right hand doth reign
Fulness of joy for evermore,

Without whom all thy toil is vain.
He is thy living spring, thy sun, whose rays
Make glad with life and light thy dreary days.
Be thou content.

In Him is comfort, light, and grace,

And changeless love beyond our thought; The sorest pang, the worst disgrace,

If he is there, shall harm thee not. He can lift off thy cross, and loose thy bands, And calm thy fears, nay, death is in his hands. Be thou content.

Or art thou friendless and alone,

Hast none in whom thou canst confide?
God careth for thee, lonely one,

Comfort and help will he provide.
He sees thy sorrows and thy hidden grief,
He knoweth when to send thee quick relief;
Be thou content.

Thy heart's unspoken pain he knows,
Thy secret sighs he hears full well,
What to none else thou dar'st disclose,

To him thou may'st with boldness tell.
He is not far away, but ever nigh,
And answereth willingly the poor man's cry.
Be thou content.

Be not o'ermaster'd by the pain,

But cling to God, thou shalt not fall; The floods sweep over thee in vain,

Thou yet shalt rise above them all; For when thy trial seems too hard to bear, Lo! God, thy King, hath granted all thy prayer. Be thou content.

Why art thou full of anxious fear,

How thou shalt be sustain'd and fed? He who hath made and placed thee here Will give thee needful daily bread. Canst thou not trust his rich and bounteous hand, Who feeds all living things on sea and land? Be thou content.

He who does teach the little birds

To find their meat in field and wood,
Who gives the countless flocks and herds
Each day their needful drink and food,
Thy hunger too will surely satisfy,
And all thy wants in his good time supply.
Be thou content.

Sayst thou, I know not how or where,
No help I see where'er I turn.
When of all else we most despair,

The riches of God's love we learn!
When thou and I his hand no longer trace,
He leads us forth into a pleasant place.
Be thou content.

Though long his promised aid delay,
At last it will be surely sent:
Though thy heart sink in sore dismay,
The trial for thy good is meant.

What we have won with pains we hold more fast,
What tarrieth long is sweeter at the last.
Be thou content.

Lay not to heart whate'er of ill

Thy foes may safely speak of thee, Let man defame thee as he will,

God hears, and judges righteously. Why should'st thou fear, if God be on thy side, Man's cruel anger or malicious pride? Be thou content.

We know for us a rest remains,

When God will give us sweet release
From earth and all our mortal chains,
And turn our sufferings into peace.
Sooner or later death will surely come,
To end our sorrows, and to take us home.
Be thou content.

Home to the chosen ones, who here
Served their Lord faithfully and well,
Who died in peace, without a fear,

And there in peace for ever dwell.
The everlasting is their joy and stay,
The Eternal Word himself to him doth say,
Be thou content!
Paul Gerhardt, 1670.

BE THYSELF.

Be substantially great in thyself, and more than thou appearest to others; and let the world be deceived in thee, as they are in the lights of heaven. Hang early plummets upon the heels of pride, and let ambition have but an epicycle or narrow circuit in thee. Measure not thyself by thy morning shadow, but by the extent of thy grave; and reckon thyself above the earth, by the line thou must be contented with under it. Spread not into boundless expansions, either to designs or desires. Think not that mankind liveth but for a few, and that the rest are born but to serve the ambition of those who make but flies of men, and wildernesses of whole nations. Swell not into actions which embroil and confound the earth; but be one of those violent ones who force the kingdom of heaven.

While thou so hotly disclaimeth the devil, be not guilty of diabolism; fall not into one name with that unclean spirit, nor act his nature whom thou so much abhorrest; that is, to accuse, calumniate, backbite, whisper, detract, or sinistrously interpret others.

Give no quarter unto those vices which are of thine inward family, and having a root in thy temper, plead a right and property in thee. Examine well thy complexional inclinations. Raise early batteries against those strongholds, built upon the rock of nature, and make this a great part of the militia of thy life.-Sir Thomas Browne.

MAKE A BEGINNING.

Remember in all things, that if you do not begin, you will never come to an end. The first weed pulled up in the garden, the first seed set in the ground, the first shilling put in the savings-bank, and the first mile travelled on a journey, are all important things; they make a beginning, and thereby a hope, a promise, a pledge, an assurance, that you are in earnest with what you have undertaken. How many a poor idle, erring, hesitating outcast is now creeping and crawling his way through the world, who might have held up his head and prospered, if, instead of putting off his resolutions of amendment and industry, he had only made a beginning.

A GHOST STORY. 'Who's dat knocking at de door?' This phrase became first popularised among us through the itinerant minstrels whose good pleasure it was to style themselves Ethiopian Serenaders'-a monstrous misnomer, by the way, inasmuch as Ethiopia has been practically extinct as a designation for any part of Negro-land, since the days of the Father of Geography, old Ptolemy the Alexandrian. It was still more a misnomer otherwise; and the first troop of these bone-and-banjo gentry soon found it necessary to lower their pretensions, and to content themselves with the title of the 'Genuine and Original Pseudo-Ethiopian Serenaders,' any claim on their part to real Blackyhood being scouted by the world at large. Stand these things as they may, the pretended Ethiops introduced into the mouths of our commonalty not a few choral 'ower-words,' which have since kept their ground, and this special one among the rest, 'Who's dat knocking at de door?'

Quaint and trifling as the phrase may seem, it is yet most emphatically appropriate as a heading for the tale now to be told. Let the reader then suppose himself to have been introduced, in the spirit, whether by the passes of Professor Gregory, or the legerdemain of Herr Eagle, into the small parlour of a respectable farmhouse in the southern Lowlands of Scotland. The said house was in some respects superior to the common run of such dwellings a few years since, having indeed served as the manor-house of the laird of the land, until he chose to provide himself with a new habitation in a more modern style. The edifice vacated by him was a tall, narrow, square tower, and had once been deplorably scant of windows; though latterly a few of the slits, or shot-holes, scattered up and down the otherwise dead walls, had been so enlarged as to permit of the entrance of a decent measure of daylight. The parlour, at the moment when the reader has been asked to glance into it, by the aid of clairvoyance, or (which is much the same thing) fancy, was occupied by the farmer and his whole family, consisting of the good dame his wife, with the four children of the pair, two sons and two daughters. The eldest of these young folks might be about twenty-five years of age, and the youngest about seventeen. The mother of the farmer, the 'reverend |

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granny' of the establishment, completed the group.

Though the evening was a comparatively mild one towards the close of autumn, the household party now described were huddled more closely around the blazing logfire than necessity seemed to demand. In truth, few places could be more snug at all times than that parlour; first, because it was of limited dimensions; and secondly, because the enclosing walls on three sides were some six feet in thickness, having been reared in the days when masonry (not pugilism) formed the real art of self-defence.' Besides their packing themselves together so tightly, the countenances of the rural family indicated pretty plainly that something troubled one and all of its members-the girls, in particular, looking visibly anxious, if not frightened. Since the evening cup of tea had been discussed, moreover, scarcely a word had escaped from any of them, though there were tongues there prone enough to chat, and hearts usually sufficiently disposed even for merriment. At last the farmer himself broke the silence, and yet he appeared rather to be thinking aloud, than addressing those around him. 'I wonder if it will come again tonight,' said he.

You need scarcely doubt that, father,' answered the eldest of the girls; after visiting us sae regularly for four or five weeks, it is not likely to leave off without something being done to drive it awa. If you had ta'en my advice, you would have sent for the minister lang ere now.'

'Ay,' said John, the eldest son, with rather a jeering laugh, 'the young minister is the man. He is a wanter, and the new manse would be a bien downsitting. Bell would fain learn him the gate to Windyknowe.' (This was the not inapt name of the farm-steading.) Beil only looked scornfully at the interlocutor, as he thus discussed her motives; and he proceeded with his remarks. For my part,' said he, 'I winna believe yet that there is either ghost, witch, or deil in the business.'

"Then what is it, callant,' observed the old farmer, 'that lifts that knocker on the main-door nightly, and gies sic thundering raps as are aneugh to gar us loup out o' our skins? Do you ca' that naething? I'm sure you have heard it again and again yoursel. Or is it dune by naebody?'

'I dinna mean to deny that there hae been strange knockings that we canna account for,' replied the son. 'I only say I canna credit it to be the wark o' a spirit, or ony unearthly thing o' the kind.'

'Oh laddie!' cried the aged grandmother, 'be nae sae wicked as doubt what Scripture tells you is true. If it's no a visiter from the dead, it may be a leeving witch or something waur; and we read o' them a' in the Book that canna lee.'

Father,' said the youngest girl, Phemie, 'I think it a' comes frae that ugly, girning knocker o' the auld laird's, that you would insist on keeping, though there's no ane, and never was ane, about ony other steading in the country-side. Screw aff the knocker, and we'll hae nae mair knocking. How can they knock, when the knocker's gane?'

The simple remark of Phemie elicited a second laugh from her brother John. 'Phemie thinks,' he remarked, 'that ghosts and sic-like cattle want the knuckles. If they hae fingers able to lift that heavy knocker, depend on't they may easily treat us to loundering rat-tattoos with the same five or ten talons, or claws, as they are like to be if the deil has a hand in the concern."

'John,' said the father of the family, seriously, 'I am not weel pleased to hear you making light o' what sae sairly vexes and alarms your mother and the rest o' the bairns, and what, into the bargain, you canna explain yoursel. You ken that we have watched closely, and been nane the wiser for't.'

'I should mind that,' muttered John, 'since ne'er a ane about the house would watch till I stood the main brunt o't mysel.'

'You ken that we have mair than ance planted oursels inside the door,' continued the farmer, 'and burst out the moment that the rapping came; and yet that we saw naething, living or dead, near the place. You ken, too, that you and your billie stood half a night on the very outer door-stane, and that a' was quiet till ye grew tired and came in, when in a crack a knock was gien that sounded through the house frae the ground-floor to the kupples. Now, what could that be? It would be wiser-like to try and keep up folks' hearts, than to scoff at them as you do.'

'I'm no sure,' said the good-wife, put

ting in her word for the first time, ‘but little Phemie may be no sae far wrang after a'. You canna but mind, guidman, that this house was aften said to be haunted when the laird staid in it. I mind, too, what the cause was said to be. It was a waesome story. The daughter o'a cottar on the land had been misled by ane o' the wicked lairds langsyne. She was very bonny, it's like; but oh! bairns, ne'er forget that beauty, if it be a guidly gift, is at the same time a sair temptation and a snare. Weel, her folk turned her out o' doors in the middle o' a cauld winter night. She came wandering to the laird's house here; and wae's me! wi' a bairn in her arms. She knockit at the door, and wi' the same knocker that's on the same door even now. Some say that the laird heard her, and, looking through the shot-hole aboon the door, cruelly bade her be gane. Others say, that she was owre weak to mak hersel heard. Howe'er it was, the puir creature and her infant were found next day lying beneath a tree no far aff, and baith stane-dead.'

'And did her spirit come after that to knock up the wicked laird?' asked one of the daughters.

'I canna say I heard o' her knocking,' replied the mother; but weel I wot mony a ane was said to hae seen her ghaist, gaun yaumering and moaning about the woods. But the knocker's a relic o' illdeedy men; and Phemie may really be right in her notion about its unchanci

ness.

The story told by the good-wife, in all simpleness of heart, was by no means calculated to inspire her family with greater liveliness, or revive their courage. Even the eldest son, who was the first to break silence, subsequently owned to its depressing influence. 'Mother,' said he, 'I wish you would pick a better time for your ughsome stories. We are scared aneugh folk already-the mair fools we. But,' continued he, rising and stretching himself, 'I am determined for ane no to let mysel be put about mair than I can help, or than there's guid occasion for. I think, too, that for this night we may be at ease. The hour is past when our tricky customer at the door'

The young man stopped suddenly, and sank down in his chair as if he had been shot. He had some cause for the involuntary movement. At the moment when the last words were leaving his lips, a

tremendous knock was given on the maindoor, followed almost instantly by a second of scarcely less violence. The women in the parlour cowered together in profound terror, while the farmer and his sons grew pale visibly, and looked on one another with blank dismay. The senior of the youths, as usual, was the foremost to recover a little heart. 'Father,' he said, 'is there any occasion to go to the door this time? Because I'll do it if you desire.' 'I doubt it will be in vain as before,' answered the father; 'but still I think it but right to look out. Some explanation may be got at last, though it has been withheld from us sae lang. Come then, John. I am strong in innocence and a guid conscience, and weel I trust you are the same.'

So speaking, he rose from his seat, as did his eldest son at the same time. The younger was also about to join them, when the females, with one voice, exclaimed against being left alone: the goodwife, indeed, protesting it to be a tempting of Providence for any of them to go to the door at all. The farmer, however, after bidding the second son remain where he was, lighted a fresh candle, and left the parlour with John. The pair returned, after an absence of some ten minutes, and with countenances that plainly told their want of success.

'We are as completely in the dark as ever, bairns,' observed the farmer; 'neither body nor beast, in the flesh or out o't, can we see about the main-door or the hail house. Sae what to think o' the matter, I can nae mair tell than before.'

'I am convinced yet that it's a trick,' said John, who seemed to be nettled out of his fears for the time by vexation and wrath; 'and I'll be at the bottom of it, if it should cost me a month's waking and watching.'

'Oh! my bairn,' cried the mother, 'ye watched fairly before, and it cam to naething. Nane o' our ain folk, surely, can be suspected by you?'

'No, I canna suspect them,' said John, 'seeing that every mortal o' them has been in bed ere now when the knocking

came.

I twice saw them aff mysel.' 'Would ony o' the neighbours do sic a thing?' persisted the mother. 'Oh no, my bairn; it can be naething earthly or natural.'

"That's aye your gate o't, mother,' returned the son, adopting a more lively tone; you hae a knack o' looking at

You

things exactly in the wrang light. are for redding up a' natural difficulties by supernatural means, instead o' trying to explain what really seems out of the common in natural ways. By the by, mother, ye ken the cats are said to hae a king, and a powerfu king to boot-may be in boots, too, gin the fairy story tells us true. Now, there is our grey Bawdrons, sitting winking at us on the hearth as if he were musing seriously on every word we say. Pussy, Grimalkin, Cheatie, if you be the king o' the cats, can you no help us in our sair strait? Mother, he would indeed be the best scout for us just now, if we could but get him to speak. He roams aneugh about the doors in the gloamings, and can scarcely hae missed seeing this ghost o' a townpostman. What a pity it is that we dinna understand the purring alphabet!'

John rattled away in this style, with the kind purpose of rousing the spirits of the family. He partly succeeded. Answering his last remarks, the goodwife said, 'Deed ay, John, that cat is owre wild for me. And he steals, too, whenever he can manage it. I shouldna wonder, for I haena seen him sin tea-time, but he has come straight frae the milkbowies. The lasses are sae mindless o' the doors.'

John for a time kept up the conversation in the same lively strain, taking up any light theme that came into his head; and, as it had never happened that the mysterious wielder of the knocker paid two visits on one night, the family of Windyknowe gradually became more composed, if not altogether cheerful. Finally, they retired to their couches for the night, to enjoy the rest that labour, health, and innocence can confer on mortals, in despite even of the most dread apparitional alarms.

All the next day, the heir (of the lease, at least) of Windyknowe revolved in his mind the best plan of detecting the nightly visitant to the paternal abode. John was really a bold fellow, and had promised nothing overnight that he was not fully determined to perform in due time. He had before watched both close inside and close outside of the haunted door. He now resolved to conceal himself at some distance, but still within clear sight of the house; and he also settled on assuming his place early, that any one coming to play tricks might have the less chance of seeing him, and taking the alarm.

After swallowing his cup of tea, accordingly, John announced his intention of making a brief call on a near neighbour, and left the house of Windyknowe. He then stealthily entered on his design, by ensconcing himself behind some old and overgrown berry-bushes in a half-ruinous and almost fenceless garden in front of the farm-steading. There did the courageous youth remain perdu, patiently watching the shades of night, as they closed in around him. Still they left him light enough to see the mystic main-door pretty plainly; and he felt assured that no object, of any bulk, at least, could escape his unswerving eye.

One hour, two hours, three hours pass by thus. The wonted time of the visitation now approaches. The heart of the lurker begins to throb a little quicker then before; but still he strains his vision, to keep the door under close surveillance. Even a sharp though short shower moves him not. At length two thundering peals of the knocker fall upon his ear! And what at the same moment falls upon his eye? Something, assuredly, but what, he unluckily cannot well tell. A thin white body shoots palpably out of the earth like a flash of light, rises to above the height of the door, and is again, and instantaneously, invisible. It is during the very flashing forth of this apparition that the two loud peals of the knocker are heard.

Slowly did John rise from his hidingplace, and slowly, if not somewhat timorously, did he move towards the house. 'A spirit, I fear, it must really be,' thought he. Nothing human or substantial could so have burst forth, and so have vanished.' On entering the parlour, he found the family even more alarmed than was their wont.

'Oh! John,' cried the mother, 'you mustna gang out late again. We have had twa frights this night instead o' ane. The knocks can as usual; and just when we were in the midst o' our terror, a strange noise cam to the parlour-door, which, as you ken, we have had to keep open a wee at night for the smoke, but which was shut by chance. We were like to have lost our wits. But your father rase and opened the door, and what was it, after a', but only the cat, poor pussy, wanting in, as if frighted like oursels!"

'Poor pussy!' said John, dreamily; and he stooped down, and stroked the back of the domestic occupant of the hearth. The consequences of this slight act proved sin

gular exceedingly. What made the young man start back so hurriedly at the first touch of the animal? Did Grimalkin muster up its well-known electrical powers, and send an ireful shock through his frame of mortality? John was at all events affected, as said, very remarkably. After standing for some moments in a sort of thoughtful amaze, a broad smile broke out, in fine, on his visage, and he ended by throwing himself into a chair, and laughing long and loudly, if not almost uproariously. The confounded family imagined that he had been scared out of his senses while abroad, and were alarmed about him beyond measure. At first, he could only find words to assure them that he was 'quite well;' but by and by he dried his eyes, composed his looks, and observed, pointedly, 'that he was not merely well himself, but that he would soon make all of them quite well also.' He then rose carelessly, and said, 'that he wondered they thought so much about themselves as not to observe the poor cat to be starving; and, taking it up, he remarked that he would get the creature some food in the kitchen. After an absence of a few minutes, he returned alone to the parlour, and forthwith begged the grave attention of the family, who still looked anxiously and doubtfully at him, to what he was going to say. He had a secret to reveal to them, he stated, of the deepest consequence.

'I have been watching for the ghost, ye maun ken,' said he, 'this entire night; and I have found out baith him, and a' about him. He is a very harmless ghost, I can assure you; and I have him now completely under my thumb. I can make him come when I like, and gang when I like; and, to show that to be really true, I now command him to knock at the door within five minutes from this moment. I give him just five minutes;' and the speaker looked sternly around, as if menacing some unseen listener with terrible penalties in case of disobedience. 'Oh, John!' and 'Oh, John!' came from the astonished members of the family, one after another, as they heard the young man talk with such seeming wildness and audacity. But John had pulled out his watch, and affected to be wholly intent on the indications of the dial-plate. Father, mother, brother, and sisters sank meanwhile into a sort of silent stupor of expectancy. They were not kept long in suspense. One and another minute passed