"And in the noontide hour, If worn by toil or by sad cares oppress'd, Thy voice shall reach Him through the fields of air, Noon is the time for prayer." The words sounded sweetly, as Mary repeated them in her rich, full voice; and the sound of the spray, as it dashed along the sand, made a sweet melody to the holy words. The sky was bright and clear, and Alice felt her mind soothingly impressed by the calm of the whole scene, as, taking a little book out of her basket, she finished the poem, as follows: "When the bright sun has set, Whilst yet eve's glowing colours deck the skies, For those who in thy joys and sorrows share, "And when the stars come forth,— When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given, Kneel to thy God! ask strength life's ills to bear,— "When is the time for prayer? In every hour, while life is spared to thee, Thy thoughts should heavenward flee; At home,—at morn and eve,—with loved ones there, Bend thou the knee in prayer! Alice paused for a few moments after she had repeated the verses (her youthful auditor standing, as it were, entranced before her), and then rose, and, bidding Mary goodbye, and saying she had not a moment's time to spare, but would teach her the new verses another day, sped lightly away over the sands to the Parsonage. * Anonymous, from "Beautiful Poetry," p. 137. "And where blue egg-shells on the ground were strew'd, And golden kingcups shone, I went, and thought how seldom in my life I had been quite alone." A Rhyming Chronicle. "So you're Alice Gray, I suppose!" exclaimed a tall, fair-haired boy of thirteen, as he rushed most unceremoniously into the drawing-room at Evesham Parsonage, next morning, where Alice was making breakfast. "I'm Herbert Aylmer-so now we're introduced. And where is my sister?" "I'll take you to her," faltered Alice, as soon as she could speak from surprise; “but perhaps I had better first tell her you are come?" she added: "she is very feverish." "Stuff and nonsense!" cried Herbert, and was about to depart as quickly as he had entered, when he encountered Mr. Gray in the passage, who soon convinced him it would be the height of imprudence to startle Lady Beatrice by so early an appearance, and brought him in quietly to breakfast. Luckily he was by no means disinclined to talk, and Mr. Gray led him on to speak of his own home and sisters; for, as far as Alice was concerned, the usually social meal of breakfast would have proved an uncommonly silent one,—she being too awe-struck by the presence of such an unaccountable animal as the wild schoolboy appeared to her, to venture on originating a single remark. "Don't look at me as if I was a wild beast," said Herbert at last, presenting his cup to her for a fourth cup of tea ;-" have you never seen a thirsty schoolboy before? Have you no brothers?" "Alice is an only child," said Mr. Gray, coming to the rescue; "and we lead such a quiet life here, making acquaintance with you all will be quite a great event to her." "You are very kind, I am sure, Mr. Gray," said Herbert, with a gentlemanlike manner, that became him very well, "to take Beaty in as you have done. When do you think she will be well?” Mr. Gray waited a minute or two, uncertain what to answer; for from the extreme state of weakness in which she was when the accident took place, he entertained the most serious fears for her ultimate recovery. "Perhaps in a month's time she may be able to be moved," he said at length; "but you know she was very unwell when she came down here, and all this pain must exhaust her strength, so that we must be very careful of her. I have a note from your father, saying business detains him at home for the present. Do you think Lady Estcourt is likely to come here?" 66 Why, she has got enough on her hands |