against those false prophets, who "use their tongues, and say, He saith." They could not have been written by a bad man, for he would never have sent forth a work, the obvious tendency of which is to make us "wise unto salvation."

If the plenary inspiration of the Holy Scriptures be ad mitted, all difficulties and seeming contradictions are no longer matter for disputation, since it is in direct opposition to their testimony, to imagine that with our limited intellects, we should be able to unravel all their mysteries. It is not for us to reconcile these differences, but to believe them, satisfied that He who knows all things, and with whom all things are possible, is perfectly master of his own counsels.

THE PARTRIDGE'S NEST.

66

"What a

"The world knows nothing of its greatest men." discouraging doctrine!" exclaimed the enthusiastic Eleanor Thornton, as she flung down " Philip von Arteveld," and sauntering to the window, gazed out dreamily upon the lawn and flower garden. Surely," she continued after a few moments silence (during which the rest of the family went on reading the papers, and writing their letters, quite unconcernedly)" surely true greatness must always make itself known, acknowledged, and admired; and I cannot, and will not, believe, that lives spent in working out the noblest ends and aims, will pass away and leave no further record than those of the common-place individuals one is generally doomed to associate with."

A slight tinge of bitterness might be observed in the fair Eleanor's tone, as she reached the end of her speech; and it certainly was vexatious to be uttering such sublime sentiments, and feeling her mind wrought up to such "divine despair," and yet to find that other people could calmly peruse the columns of the "Times," or retail the gossip of the neighbourhood, quite resigned to the idea that the world should know nothing of them and their lives. True, they were not great men, but then, surely thought Eleanor, every one ought to strive to become great and famous, for that was the magical word which exercised such fascination over Eleanor's young ima

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gination. The idea of greatness and goodness, as separated from what the world calls honour and success, was new and far from pleasing to her. With a vivid imagination, and a most energetic temperament, Eleanor had always yearned for the time to arrive when she too would "mix with action," and after running an heroic course, in which she pictured herself as overcoming all difficulties with wonderful ease, receive the longed-for reward of deathless fame. Many and various were the projects she had sketched out for herself. Sometimes her imagination shewed her in possession of enormous wealth, which, after liberally endowing all who could have any claim on her, she was determined to devote to the public good. Churches and libraries, museums and hospitals, should proclaim to future ages that she had not lived in vain. But, alas! though the daughter of a wealthy man, and well supplied with money for every want, there was no prospect of her ever inheriting great or even considerable riches, so her busy thoughts turned to some other mode of becoming great and celebrated. She was an authoress, inclining the hearts of many to all things lovely and good; but then, though she certainly had imagination, and could turn her sentences prettily, she had no real talent or inclination for writing. She would suggest and carry out a plan for training male and female emigrants at a college, where all ranks should be received, and thoroughly taught their future line of life in the colonies. The college to be founded and endowed by raising subscriptions. This was a charming scheme, and Eleanor felt she could have devoted her life to completing it, but for one thing-she had an invincible repugnance to asking assistance from others, and the funds for the undertaking were not forthcoming in any other way. It would weary you were I to relate all her projects taken up and cast aside for one cause or another. In vain she fancied herself in future years (for she was only sixteen at the commencement of my tale) the wife of a statesman, a philanthropist, a missionary, sharing and even directing their labours. Reason told her that she was never likely to become either; for fate had cast the lot of this heroic and aspiring young lady in the most commonplace and unromantic station of life that it is possible to conceive. Often, in considering the character of Eleanor

Thornton, have I been reminded of the story of the German youth, who only lived in dreams, and whose waking hours were passed in languor and longing for the night which brought again in an unbroken chain the visions that were so much lovelier than the realities of his waking moments. Often have I feared that Eleanor, with all her energetic and noble qualities, would be content with dreaming of the great things she might do, instead of earnestly searching out the unobtrusive, but not less important, duties, which she could perform. The daughter of a country gentleman, of good fortune, living on his own estate, in a retired and very quiet neighbourhood, there was certainly very little chance of her being called to act the part of a martyr or a heroine; and even the rôle of Lady Bountiful was already occupied by her generous mother, who certainly left very little to be done by any one else in the way of giving. Besides, the parish was so small, only, in fact, consisting of about ten houses, beside the Hall, and these mostly cottages, inhabited by her father's well-paid labourers, that there really did seem to be no field to exercise her energies upon. So she often said, and I believe felt, for she had made experimental visits of charity to many of the cottages on her own account, besides frequently accompanying her mother on her liberal errands. I remember her laughingly telling me, after one of these occasions on which she went armed with Christmas gifts to the various cottages about, that she really had felt quite awkward, and obliged to apologise, for offering her little packets of tea and sugar to such evidently well-to-do people as she encountered. One pleasant-looking woman accepted her little present, cheerfully observing, "I have no objections, I am sure, Miss, to take it, though, thank goodness,' we want for nothing; and for the matter of that, I should be glad to do you a kindness at any time, you know, Miss." At another time, when her mother had been assuring one of the cottagers that, whenever they were in want of anything, she might send to the Hall, adding, "Is there anything you particularly want now ?"—the woman, after considering anxiously for some moments, replied, “Well, thank you, ma'am, I am sure I can't remember nought that I do particularly want just now." These circumstances had impressed Eleanor with the

idea that charity was not required by those among whom her lot was cast; and unfortunately she had never yet considered that there are more important duties to be performed towards our poorer neighbours than the giving of alms. She had not yet learnt to separate greatness from fame, or charity from almsgiving.

I have a great aversion to lecturing my young friends, and, indeed, generally find it a very useless proceeding, or perhaps I should have pointed out to Eleanor before now that she was overlooking humbler duties while dwelling in imagination on impossible situations. I trusted that her own good sense, or some unforseen circumstances, might eventually calm down her soaring imagination, and direct her attention to some attainable good; and it so happened that on the very day upon which Eleanor had exclaimed against great men remaining unknown, that a trifling incident occurred which gave me an opportunity of saying, not inappropriately, a few words, which I trusted might prove in season.

It was a fine day in May, and Mr. Thornton, who was a keen sportsman, summoned us all forth to look at some partridges' nests, which the keeper had discovered on a bank, overshadowed by a hawthorn edge, which skirted the park. At either end of this bank stood fir plantations. The keeper told us that the nests were to be found on the space between them. "Come," cried Mr. Thornton, "let us try who will first discover the nests. I can tell you they hide them so cleverly that it is no easy matter to spy them out." Eleanor came forward eagerly; and I could easily see that in imagination she was already the victorious discoverer of the nests after all the rest of the party had retired completely baffled, from the contest. There is certainly some excitement in searching in company for something which you dread every moment may be discovered by your companions; and even I felt stimulated to grope anxiously among the high grasses and withered leaves, which covered the bank, but all in vain; and no wonder that my efforts were unsuccessful, when not the Squire himself, nor Eleanor, nor any of the party, could discover the eagerly sought nests. In vain did Smart, the keeper, exclaim, "I thought Mr. Thornton would have found them before now;" and presently, "You are

close upon one now, Miss Eleanor." No one could detect the carefully-covered nests; and at length, when all gave up the search, Smart pushed away some withered leaves, which lay quite naturally near the top of the bank; and there, sure enough, were eight or ten yellow-brown eggs, lying in a hollow, close to us. The other nest was made beneath some tall grass and nettles, the eggs in both being thickly covered over with withered leaves. Smart was all triumphant. "Well I am surprised that Miss Eleanor never thought of pushing aside them leaves, nor Mr. Thornton neither."

"Very strange, indeed," said Eleanor, " as I have been poking about with my parasol over the very spot, but never really thought of finding anything there. Singular that we should overlook what was so close to us." As she said this thoughtfully, and we two were walking on slowly together, I ventured to "Do you not think, my dear, that we generally do overlook many things which are close to us-home duties and every day charities for instance? while perhaps we aspire to accomplish prodigies and sacrifices, which will never be thrown in our way?"

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Eleanor turned and gave me a scrutinizing glance, but I flatter myself that my face told no tale, however applicable my words might be to her case. She replied musingly, "Yes, no doubt we all cherish delightful visions of doing and being something great. I at least frankly acknowledge that hitherto my happiest moments have been passed in picturing the noble part that I might perchance play in future scenes-not that there is any chance," added she sorrowfully, "of my being called to any such high destiny. My life is a very useless one, and as to overlooking home duties and charities, I have often vainly sought to discover any that I might perform.”

"You have

"That is exactly what I mean," said I quietly. sought, but not sought aright, just as we all looked in vain for the partridge's eggs, which were covered up so deeply in the leaves." "But," said Eleanor, eagerly, "we should never have seen them had not Smart uncovered them at last, and so as you tell me there are duties I may fulfil, I hope you can discover them to me, for I confess I am puzzled myself. If I attempt to assist in the regular routine of household duties,