"I WISH it were always winter!" said Ernest, who had returned from a sleigh ride, and was making a man out of snow. His father desired him to write down this wish in his memorandum book; and he did so.

The winter passed away, and the spring came. Ernest stood with his father by the side of a bed of flowers, and gazed with delight upon the hyacinths, the violets, and the lilies of the valley. “These are the gifts of spring," said his father; "but they will soon fade and disappear." "Ah!" said Ernest, "I wish it were always spring!" "Write this down in my book," said his father; and Ernest did so.

The spring passed away, and summer came. Ernest went with his parents, and some of his playmates, into the country, and spent the day there. Every where the meadows were green and decked with flowers, and in the pastures the young lambs were sporting around their mothers. They had cherries to eat, and passed a very happy day. As they were going home, the father said, "Has not the summer its pleasures too, my son?" "O, yes," said Ernest; "I wish it were always summer!" And this wish Ernest wrote down in his father's book.

At last autumn came. Ernest again went with his parents into the country. It was not so warm as in the summer, but the air was mild and the heavens were clear. The grape vines were heavy with purple clusters; melons lay upon the ground

in the gardens; and in the orchards the boughs were loaded with ripe fruit. "This fine season will soon be over," said the father, "and winter will be upon us." "Ah!" said Ernest,

"I wish it would stay, and always be autumn!"

"Do you really wish so?" said his father. "I do, indeed,” replied Ernest. "But," continued his father, taking at the same time his memorandum book out of his pocket,

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see what is written here." Ernest looked and saw it written down, "I wish it were always winter.” "Now turn over another leaf," said his father, "and what do you find written there?" "I wish it were always spring." "And farther on, what is written?" "I wish it were always summer."

"And in whose handwriting are these words?" "They are in mine," said Ernest. "And what is now your wish?" "That it should always be autumn.” "That is strange," said his father. "In winter, you wished it might always be winter; in spring, you wished it might always be spring; and so of summer and of autumn. Now, what conclusion do you draw from all this?"

Ernest, after thinking a moment, replied, "I suppose that all seasons are good." "That is true, my son: they are all rich in blessings, and God, who sends them to us, knows far better than we what is good for us. Had the wish you expressed last winter been granted, we should have had no spring, no summer, no autumn. You would have had the earth always covered with snow, so that you might have had sleigh rides and made snow men. How many pleasures would you have lost in that event! It is well for us that we cannot have all things as we wish, but that God sends us what seems good to him."

VIII.THE EARLY VIOLET.

WITH the first warm sunbeam of March, a tender violet peeped forth from its sheltering cover, and rejoiced in the newly-budding life that was around it. But the snow was still lying upon the tops of the mountains, and a cold west wind blew over the plain when the sun had gone down. The violet shrank from the chill blast, and said, "Alas, why must I die, when I was just beginning to feel the bliss of life?"

But the angel of the flowers,* who stood by, unseen, replied, "Why didst thou venture forth, with thy delicate frame, in this wintry weather. Thy feeble race would perish in frost and snow. But if thou wilt bow thy head before the piercing wind of night, I will carry thee back to the bosom of thy mother, where thy sisters are yet sleeping. Frost and cold will pass away; but life hides itself, and then returns again."

IX. THE MOSS ROSE.

THE angel who watches over the flowers, and in the still night bathes them with heavenly dew, was sleeping, in early summer, in the shade of a rosebush. When he awoke, he looked at the lovely flower which had sheltered him, and said to it with friendly aspect, "Fairest of my children, I thank thee for thy fragrant breath and thy cool shade. Ask any favor that thou desirest, and I will bestow it upon thee."

And the rose replied with a grateful blush, "Adorn me with a new charm." And the angel clothed the flower with a covering of simple moss. And in this modest garb, the moss rose stood, the loveliest of her kind.

*This is a poetical expression. There is really no such being as the angel of the flowers, but the writer imagines it; just as in a fable dogs or foxes are represented as talking, though we know that really they cannot.

Let no mean jealousies pervert your mind,
A blemish in another's fame to find:
Be grateful for the gifts that you possess,
Nor deem a rival's merit makes yours less.

Bickering, quarrelling, contention.

+ Parterre, flower-beds in a garden.

XI. THE ENGLISHMAN AND THE FRENCHMAN.

ONCE upon a time, a Frenchman rode up to a bridge which was so narrow that two horsemen could hardly pass each other upon it. At the same time, an Englishman came up on the other side; and when the two met in the middle, neither would

give way to the other. "An Englishman never turns out for a Frenchman," said the latter. "My horse is an English horse, and he does not turn out, either," said the Frenchman.

The Englishman took no notice of this, but said, “I can wait; it is a good chance to read the newspaper till you are willing to give way." So he pulled a newspaper out of his pocket, opened it, and read it for a whole hour, while the Frenchman was diligently smoking a pipe of tobacco.

The sun began to sink, but the two obstinate travellers gave no signs of moving. After an hour had passed by, and when the Englishman had finished reading his paper, he folded it up, and said to the Frenchman, "Well, how is it now?" The Frenchman, with perfect good humor, replied, "Please to lend me the paper you have just read, so that I can amuse myself with it till you are ready to let me pass." The Englishman, struck with his infinite patience, said, laughing, "You are a good fellow; I will give way to you;" and he did accordingly.

These two men were not wise in losing so much time through their obstinacy; but they were much wiser to settle the difficulty as they did rather than to have fought about it, as two Scotch Highlanders once did in similar circumstances. The Highlanders live in the north of Scotland, and are a brave, proud, and high-spirited people. These two men met on a very narrow, rocky pass, on a high mountain, where two could not pass, and one must go back. They, unluckily, belonged to clans, or races, which were not on good terms with each other. When they met, neither would turn back, and a deadly struggle commenced between them, each trying to throw the other At last the stronger prevailed, and the weaker was

over.