chambers within. No sooner was our presence observed, than we found ourselves in the midst of a crowd of black Nubian slaves, from whose importunities we were glad to escape. Their hair and skins were glossy with castor-oil. We did not escape without one of my companions being robbed of his watch. On leaving the slave-market, we passed gradually out of the suburbs and presently traversed a delightfully fertile plain. The whole distance from Cairo to Heliopolis, is about eight miles; and half way between the two lies the pretty village of Mattarëeh, of which we stopped to inspect the Mosque, this we were allowed to do on taking off our shoes. As we approached the site of the antient "On," the fields and gardens increased in beauty; the pathway along which we rode, being shaded with Sont trees-a species of Acacia, supposed to be the antient Shittim-wood, and bearing a small yellow flower, exhaling the most delightful perfume. At a short distance before reaching the ruins of the Temple of the Sun, is the spot where it is said the Blessed Mary and S. Joseph rested, she bearing the "Sun of Righteousness" in her arms, when they first fled into Egypt; a sycamore of great antiquity marks the site, and a well of water, once salt but now turned pure, is shown. I was pleased to be able to recall our Lord's flight into Egypt, in a spot at once so lovely and so remarkable, and to think that beneath the shadow of those Sun-Fanes, where the science of ages had laboured to solve the problems of the unseen in its worship of the Light of this world, that here, even here, the Babe of Bethlehem had rested. The old sycamore, marking the site, stands in a lovely garden laid out in gay flower-beds. The well is imme diately without the garden gate. Proceeding from the garden towards the Obelisk, we passed some recent excavations consisting of the two lintels of a gateway on which the hieroglyphics were clearly and deeply cut. The cartouches were those of Osirtasen I., which would show this gateway to be of the same date as the Obelisk, and it was probably connected with the same vast temple. The Obelisk appeared to me of more graceful shape than Cleopatra's needles which originally came from hence. But more surprising than their beauty is the thought that these monuments of "On" were standing as they now stand, when Joseph was in Egypt, and that they were almost as old as our cathedrals, when Moses was studying the learning of the Egyp| tians beneath their shade. In returning homewards, between Mattarëeh and Cairo, we passed through a crowd of some three hundred of the fellahs, or poor Egyptian labourers; who had been employed, as masons, in building Abbas Pasha's palace. They are furnished to the Pasha by the villages; the Shiekh of each village being responsible for a certain number of labourers who are sent in lieu of taxes. The labourers are changed every week; at night they are enclosed in a kind of prison, lest they should be tempted to run back to their villages. When I saw them they were collected before the door of their place of confinement, and were being counted as they entered, one by one; an officer stood by, with a courbash, or whip, with which he administered punishment to those who had neglected their work. These Egyptian fellahs looked, certainly, less happy than the Nubian slaves I had recently seen in the market, and yet the fellahs are considered free labourers. MESSAGES FOR THE CHILDREN. WILD FLOWERS FOR THE YOUNGEST. EARLY in the spring Ruth Norman said to her little pupils, Fanny and Emily Weston, let us walk out my children and see if the sun has brought out our beautiful spring flowers. We will go by the brook that runs through Edith's dell, and then follow the canal bank until we But I My basket, said Emily, bring my basket Fanny; it is in the play room, and nurse will give it you, get it for me if you please. No, said Miss Norman, we shall not want a basket to-day. Yes, said Emily, I want it to put the flowers in. You will not pick them to-day Emily, said Miss Norman, there can be but few. But why not, Miss Norman; why not, said Fanny, if there are but two we can bring them home, and put them into our vases, they will look very pretty there. Yes, very pretty; you and I shall see them, smell their sweet perfume, and enjoy them, perhaps, for two or three days; but others will not see them, dear children. God has given to you many good gifts, you have had already snowdrops, and crocuses, and hyacinths, but to very many the primrose will be the first flower of the year. Shall I tell you a little story which was once told me when I was very young. Yes, said Emily, tell us, Miss Norman. Is it true? said Fanny. Yes, Fanny, the moral of the story is true; but you will understand that the word story sometimes means, that it is a work of the imagination. By this time they had come to Edith's dell. The brook was swollen with the recent rain, and ran along bubbling and making that soft noise which is so pleasant to the ear. The children saw one primrose on the opposite side of the dell; oh! what a beautiful flower! they both exclaimed, and we cannot get it. That shall be our flower then, said Miss Norman, and we will talk about it, and think what a good thing it is we cannot get all we wish. What harm could I do by picking that flower? said Fanny, if I could get at it. Perhaps none, was the reply, only remember that the sight of it has given you pleasure, and will please others'; why then should you pluck it, and selfishly enjoy what others may share, if you leave it there? Because, because, Miss Norman, if I don't pick the flower, the next person that passes may. It is true, my dear child, but are not you the better for having given him an opportunity of doing what you have done, and very much better for having thought of others' enjoyments as well as your own. Now, children, listen and I will tell you what an old gardener told me. He was a wise old man, and since I have left my home, I have found he had a wisdom not of this world, for he had learned how to live as a Christian. Now for the story. Under the bank which formed a division between our garden and the road, there were a large number of the roots of the early primrose, the sun shone upon it, and long before the other primroses shewed any sign of budding, the old man said he saw that his bank was covered with buds, and he watched them daily that he might hail the first primrose of the year. And he was not alone, he said, for he fancied that the birds sung to the flower, and he saw them luming their wings, singing love notes, and hopping along the bank; they sung of the spring time, and of the flowers. And is that all? said Emily. No, said Miss Norman, not near all the story; have patience, and you shall hear more. The old man continued to watch his flowers, and was pleased to find that many loved the flowers beside himself, one day a little girl passed by, and she stooped down to smell the primrose, and when she caught its faint perfume, shall I pick it mamma? she said. No, dear child, leave it for others to enjoy as we have done. Pretty flower, she said, I will not pluck you, mamma says you are the first flower of the year, and are sent to gladden the heart of the sick and sorrowful, and the poor suffering ones will say, it is spring. So warned by her mother she spared the flower for the love of others, and for its own sake. And I would do so now Miss Norman, said Emily, only I don't think every body is like the little girl or her mamma, and many people don't care about flowers. But how many do? said Miss Norman, do you remember the geraniums in the little broken mugs, and how Dame Crofts prized them. Yes, said Fanny, but they were her daughter's who had gone to America, they called her to mind. Yes, my dear child, but they recalled her because she had been fond of them, reared them, as the patient old lady said, from slips which she had thought could not live. Now go on with the story if you please, said Emily. The gardener was pleased to see so many respect the flower and pass it by; there came, however, one day, a little boy with his nurse: pretty primrose, he said, I'll gather you, you smell so sweet, and are very pretty, you shall be my own flower. No, said the nurse, do not pick the pretty flower, master Freddy, leave it for others to look at. No, said he, I will have it-I will have it, and he plucked it from the bank. And the old man sighed, more for the wilfulness of the child, than that the first flower of the year was gone. The weather was cold, so there were no more for a week to replace it, and the birds, said the old man, will sing no more to my flower, and he saw the sick people resting awhile, and when they missed the flower it reminded them how their young hopes had died away. And what did the little boy do with the flower, said Fanny, did he take it home and keep it alive, and shew it to his mamma? No, the old man watched him, he smelt it again and again, talked to it of its sweetness and beauty, then he plucked leaf from leaf, and threw the stem away. He had grown tired of the pretty plaything, and the flower that many had admired and loved, he was tired of and threw away. What a silly little boy, said Emily, if he only wanted to pull the flower to pieces, why did he gather it? For his own pleasure, said Miss Norman. But how soon he grew tired of it, and threw it away! Yes, dear children, he was not contented to enjoy with others, the beauties of nature, he wished to enjoy them selfishly. And was it wrong to pluck a single flower? No, not wrong, only that it shewed the child's character. And it was selfish, said Emily. Then may we not pluck the field flowers? said Fanny. Are we to be as careful of them as of our choicest geraniums? And why not, said Miss Norman ? Because they are our own, and require care; and gardener keeps them for mamma, and would be angry if we picked them. And who gives the field flowers? and who makes them grow? Almighty God, said Emily. could not tell; but most of the country legends have some truth in them, said Miss Norman. And we shall hear about Edith's dell; so clapping their hands they ran off to see the poultry. THE BIRD AND THE FEATHER. Not by Hans Christian Andersen. It was a bright warm sun; and the wind blew briskly from the river. Up, up, up, down, down, down, round, round, round, this way, that way, all ways, hither, thither, backwards, forwards, right, left, to, fro, north, south, east, west,-danced a light and giddy-headed feather, spin heart's content. Then, dear child, said Miss Nor-ning whirligigs and hornpipes to its man, do not you think that it is good to have the same spirit as He Who gives thus richly, a free and joyous spirit? Yes, said Emily, we all must wish to be good. Then when you see the sunshine, smell the sweet flowers, drink in the fresh air, hear the song of the birds, do not think only how much you enjoy them yourselves, but how many can partake of the blessings you enjoy, how many can, by a little self-denial on your part, enjoy that which would be otherwise denied them. And if we do not, shall we, like the little boy, grow tired of our flowers? Yes, dear children, and perhaps, as he did, destroy them as quickly, for no one so surely dries up the sources of his own pleasure, as he who refuses to share them with others. They were now at the farm, and Emily asked Miss Norman to tell her why it was called Edith's dell, and she promised that they should hear the account which the people gave of it, whether true or not, she At last it fell down exhausted, during a lull. hope, sir, that you have not hurt yourself," said a good-natured little skylark, tripping by gently, with a sweet and silvery voice. "Ah! my dear little fellow, is that you?" cried the jaunty feather, "hurt myself? no; trust me for that; I always manage to fall lightly, come now, let us run a race together." And, the breeze springing up again, away flew the feather; up, up, up, down, down, down, round, round, round; this way, that way, all ways, hither, thither, backwards, forwards, right, left, to, fro, north, south, east, west, as before; leaving the sober little skylark fairly in the lurch. Presently, the wind blew up a cloud or two, and it came on to rain. You would either have laughed or wept, to see the washy, sneaking face put on by the soiled and rumpled feather, as it lay dripping and shivering by the kennel there, looking fairly ashamed of itself, as it well might do. Before long, an angler came that way, towards the river, and seizing it ruthlessly between his thumb and finger, bound it fast with wax and silk to his fish-hook; so he managed to catch a few silly gudgeons, who took it for a May-fly. Meanwhile, the good little skylark flew on and on heavenwards, far above out of sight, rising steadily, and singing sweetly to its mate below; and the words of his song ran thus: The stillest are the deepest waters! But I, thou fairest of earth's daughters! Mine, like a bird to heaven's gate winging, ww THOUGHTS, HINTS, AND BOOKS FOR YOU. MEDITATIONS ON THE LORD'S PRAYER. “Our Father, Which art in Heaven: hallowed be Thy Name:" OUR FATHER, WHICH ART IN HEAVEN: What manner of love is it that Thou hast bestowed upon us, that we should be called "Thy sons," co-heirs of glory with Thy Eternal Son Christ Jesus! What must our guilt be, when we the while honour Thee not as FATHER, nor demean ourselves as children, and for the most part live as if unmindful and unthankful for Thy great and heavenly gifts? As members of Thy Church Catholic, as members one of another, in the mystical body of Thy Son, oh! would that we saw, would that we felt our shame and confusion, our mockery of Thee, our mockery of ourselves, when we thus call on Thee daily to sanctify and HALLOW THY NAME: the while passing our time of probation here, in contempt of Thy authority, neglect of Thy will, and deadness of desire after Thy glory! Merciful FATHER! and yet Thou hast not let Thy heritage be confounded! in tender pity Thou hast not sanctified Thy NAME among us, for Thy great goodness sake, in just severity! Our sins, not small, and few, and secret; but grievous, infinite, and presumptuous, against Thy express word and will, and against our own consciences, rise up in judgment against Thy servants; and yet, so great is Thy longsuffering, that through the grace of true repentance and confession, we may still dare to plead that compassion which was so mightily purchased for us, by the bloodshedding of Thy beloved Son! yea, plead that it may even prevail with Thee to turn to Thy glory all that now directly tends to blot and stain it. Yea, that according to Thy goodness, highness, majesty, and mercy; and not according to Thy justice to us as sinners, Thou, (being willing |