the duke and little Lillie were in the presence
of the duchess and Carl. It was a happy meeting, far beyond my power
to describe. Their gratitude to their heavenly Father for preserving
them to each other knew no bounds. It was an hour of such happiness as
is seldom permitted any one to enjoy.

They sat up late that night and recounted their experiences to each
other, and then the duke revealed the secret of his coming to that
house; that it was a canary bird which had been the instrument of his
finding her and Carl. They spent a few days in great happiness there,
and made a bargain with the man who owned the canary bird which had
escaped from Carl's cage to get it back again.

Two years passed on, and peace and quiet were again restored to
France. The duke and his family were permitted to return to his
castle, and the government made him ample reparation for all the
losses that he had incurred. They took with them their little canary
bird, which had lost none of its sweet notes by the lapse of time.

One day a magnificent new piano arrived from Paris, and after tea the
duke said,--

"Now we will try the piano in our own quiet home. What shall we sing?"
asked he.

The duchess, and Carl, and Lillie all answered with one voice,--

"We must sing our bird song."

"Take courage, bird;
Our Father says,
In winter's storms
And summer's rays
You have no barns,
You sow no wheat,
But God will give you bread to eat."

THE SHEEP AND THE GOAT.

Not all the streets that London builds
Can hide the sky and sun,
Shut out the winds from o'er the fields,
Or quench the scent the hay swath yields
All night, when work is done.

And here and there an open spot
Lies bare to light and dark,
Where grass receives the wanderer hot,
Where trees are growing, houses not;
One is the Regent's Park.

[Illustration: THE GOATS.]

Soft creatures, with ungentle guides,
God's sheep from hill and plain,
Are gathered here in living tides,
Lie wearily on woolly sides,
Or crop the grass amain.

And from the lane, and court, and den,
In ragged skirts and coats,
Come hither tiny sons of men,
Wild things, untaught of book or pen,
The little human goats.

One hot and cloudless summer day,
An overdriven sheep
Had come a long and dusty way;
Throbbing with