have the contents dressed for dinner; that part of the economy of the house being under her management, and no one could conduct it better. On the present occasion the trout were excellent the small leg of Dartmoor Forest mutton was roasted to perfection, and two plump chickens looked very inviting. Then there was the goodly codling tart, and that delicious thick cream of Devonshire, so much to be commended, and reminding us of the lines of the poet

their entertainment at the height,

In cream and codlings rev'ling with delight.

Let not this account of a vicarial feast be despised. It was spread before the happy party in all the luxury of extreme neatness and propriety, and was succeeded by a bottle of the Vicar's old port, which he kept for extraordinary occasions. Having filled his glass, and bestowed a look of admiration on its brilliant, ruby-like contents, he welcomed his son and his friend in those accents of kindness and good will, which always find their way to the heart.

In the evening Lucy played and sang, while Mary was employed in needle-work, Mr. Davenport sitting by her side, and occasionally conversing with her. The Vicar talked with his

son on his future prospects in life, while the happy mother occasionally raised her eyes from her worsted-work to gaze on the assembled group; or mentioned some little village anecdote, which she had picked up in her morning stroll.

At nine o'clock supper was announced; that hospitable meal which is now, alas! so seldom to be met with. Who, however, does not delight in those noctes cænæque, to which, in the good old times of our forefathers, neighbours were invited, and partook of a repast at which harmless jests and a social glass amply made up for the more expensive late dinners of modern times. On these occasions the heart expands with feelings of kindness and good-will to each other; and so it was with the party at the vicarage. There was that delightful cheerfulness and hilarity, which is generally to be met with in a family united together by love and affection. The Vicar called Lucy to his side, and, in a half whisper, asked her to sing his favourite song "On the Daffodil." Lucy looked at Mr. Davenport, and then at her father, with somewhat of a distressed countenance, but upon the request being repeated, she leant on the back of his chair, and holding down her head a little, she sang the following verses; which, as they are not generally known, may not be unacceptable to the lovers of ancient poetry.

Faire Daffodills, we weep to see
You haste away so soone;
As yet the early rising sun

Has not attain'd his noone :
Stay, stay,

Untill the hast'ning day

Has run

But to the even-song;

And, having pray'd together, we
Will goe with you along!

We have short time to stay as you:

We have as short a spring,.

As quick a growth to meet decay,

As you, or any thing:

We die,

As your hours doe; and drie

Away

Like to the summer's raine,

Or as the pearles of morning dew,
Ne'er to be found again.*

Lucy sang this song, which had been set to music for her by a neighbouring clergyman, with great good taste and feeling, and was rewarded by a grateful look from her father.

"I love the daffodil," said the Vicar; "it is amongst the earliest of our spring flowers, and almost seems to have been created to embellish a poor man's garden, and to decorate his little orchard; for it is there, I always think, it appears

* HERRICK.

to the greatest advantage. Shakspeare refers to

their early appearance

Daffodils,

That come before the swallow dares, and take

The winds of March with beauty.

"Well, papa,” replied Lucy, "you may admire the daffodil, but the snow-drop and the lily of the valley are my favourites. The former bursts upon us as soon as the snow is melted, and rivals it in purity; but the lily has a still more delicate whiteness, while its extreme modesty makes it hide itself amidst a profusion of leaves, and its delightful fragrance is only known when it is exposed to view." Lucy blushed while she gave utterance to this panegyric on her favourite flowers.

"A pretty moral might be derived from it," said the Vicar, while Davenport added —

To the curious eye

A little servitor presents her page

Of choice instruction with her snowy bells,

The lily of the vale. She nor affects

The public walk, nor gaze of mid-day sun :

She to no state or dignity aspires,

But silent and alone puts on her suit,

And sheds her lasting perfume, but for which

We had not known there was a thing so sweet

Hid in the gloomy shade.

To be secure,

The village clock now struck the hour for prayers, and when his servants were assembled, the Vicar read some verses from the word of God, and then offered up his little tribute of gratitude for the many benefits which had been bestowed upon him-prayed for a continuance of them, and for a blessing upon his family, his parishioners, and upon all mankind. How much is it to be regretted that the spirit of benevolence, of unaffected charity, of piety and good-will that pervaded this little family.circle, is not more cultivated, and more extended. Happy would be each individual, and happy would be mankind in general, if the pure doctrines of Christian charity, and love to each other, were more cultivated and more acted on. But how few people consider that a life which has been profitable to others conduces also to our own happiness, and produces that cheerful and thankful spirit which is a far greater and more real treasure than all the gifts which fortune can bestow.

The party assembled at an early breakfast the next morning, and as the day was fine, it was proposed that the Vicar's jaunting car should be put in requisition, in order to show Davenport a celebrated water-fall at some miles distance. Lucy was all glee at the thoughts of the excursion, and her most becoming bonnet was put on for the occasion. Mary's dress was of a quieter description,