EARLY one morning a peasant was ploughing his plot of ground, and toiling so hard that his limbs were bathed in sweat. The peasant worked with a will; and so every one who went by called out to him, "Bless you, friend! All honour to you!" This made a certain ape jealous. Praise is tempting; how can one help craving for it? The ape determined to set to work; so it got hold of a huge log, and just didn't it worry itself about it? The ape's mouth becomes full of trouble [that is, it has enough to do]; now it lifts the log up; and rolls it first this way and then that; now it hugs it, now it drags it along. The sweat streams off the poor creature; it pants, and at last it becomes all but breath-less. But in spite of all this, not a soul gives it an atom of praise. And no wonder, my dear; you work very hard, but what you do isn't of the least use. Good Words. XVII. THE RIVER. OH tell me, pretty river, "My birth-place was the mountain, 66 O'er-curtained by wild flowers. One morn I ran away, A madcap hoyden rill, "And then, 'mid meadowy banks, “But these bright scenes are o'er, I hear the ocean's roar, And there must be my grave." Goodrich. A LITTLE girl did not want to pray, when she was going to bed. I do not like to tell you her true name, so I will call her Helen. "Have you nothing to thank God for ?" asked her mother. "No," said Helen; "you and father give me everything." "Not for your pleasant home?" asked her mother. "It is my father's house; he lets me live in it." "Where did the wood come from to build it?" asked her mother. "From trees," answered Helen; "and they grew in big forests." "Who planted the big forest? Who gave rain to water them? Who gave the sun to warm them? Who did not let the winter kill them, nor the lightning blast them? Who kept them growing from little shoots into trees big enough to build houses with? Not father, not any man; it was God." Helen looked at her mother and then said,"Father bought nails to make it with." What are nails made of?" asked the mother. Iron," answered Helen; "and men dig iron out of the ground." "Who put iron into the ground, and kept it there safe till the men wanted it?" asked the mother. "It was God." We got this carpet from the carpetmen, said Helen, drawing her foot across it. "Where did the carpetmen get the wool to make it from?" asked the mother. "From farmers," answered Helen. "And where did the farmers get it?" "From sheep and lambs' backs," said the little girl. "And who clothed the lambs in dresses good enough for us? for your dress, I see, is made of nothing but lambs' wool. The best thing we can get is their cast-of dresses. Where did the lambs get such good stuff?" "God gave it to them, I suppose," said the little girl. "It is you that gives me bread, mother," said she quickly. But," said her mother, "the flour we got from the shopkeeper, and he bought it from the miller; and the miller took the wheat from the farmer; and the farmer had it from the ground: did the ground grow it all itself?" "No," cried Helen suddenly; "God grew it. The sun and the rain, the wind and the air are His, and He sent them to the corn-field. The earth is His too. And so God is at the bottom of everything; isn't He, mother?" “Yes,” said the mother; "God is the Giver of every good and perfect gift, which we enjoy." The little girl looked serious; she was thinking. "Then, mother," she said at last, “I can't make a prayer long enough to thank God for everything. 66 And have you nothing to ask His forgiveness for?" asked the little girl's mother. “Yes,” she said in a low tone; “for not feeling grateful, and for trying to put Him out of my thoughts.” Helen never after that refused to say her prayers. Children's Prize. XIX-SPRING. HAIL, the days of early Spring-time, When the air is soft and balmy, And the daisies deck the green. |