The young workman looked into her face, and then said, in a voice tremulous with feeling,—

"Twelve years ago I stood here, a ragged boy, and you showed me the same kindness. The bright flowers and your pleasant words made a new boy of me; ay, and they made a man of me too. Your face, madam, has been a light to me in many dark hours of life; and now, thank God, though that boy is still an humble, hard-working man, he is an honest and a grateful one." Tears stood in the eyes of the lady, as, turning to her husband, she said, “God put it into my young heart to do that little kindness, and see how great a reward it has brought!"

GIVING JOY TO A CHILD.

Blessed be the hand that prepares a pleasure for a child; for there is no saying when and where it may again bloom forth. Does not almost everybody remember some kind-hearted man who showed him a kindness in the dulcet days of his childhood? The writer of this recollects, himself, at this moment, a barefooted lad standing at the wooden fence of a poor little garden in his native village, while, with longing eyes, he gazed on the flowers which were blooming there

quietly in the brightness of a Sunday morning. The possessor came forth from his little cottage: he was a woodcutter by trade, and spent the whole week at work in the woods. He had come into the garden to gather flowers to stick in his coat when he went to church. He saw the boy, and, breaking off the most beautiful of his carnations, — it was streaked with red and white, he gave it to him. Neither the giver nor the receiver spoke a word, and, with bounding steps, the boy ran home. And now here, at a vast distance from that home, after so many events of so many years, the feeling of gratitude which agitated the breast of that boy expresses itself on paper. The carnation has long since withered; but it now blooms afresh.

Douglas Jerrold.

A man ought to carry himself in the world as an orange-tree would if it could walk up and down in the garden, swinging perfume from every little censer it holds up to the air.

Beecher.

Our gifts and attainments are not only to be light and warmth in our own dwellings, but are as well to shine through the window into the dark night to guide and cheer bewildered travelers upon the road. Id.

THE MOUNTAIN TORRENTS.

Fair streamlet, running

Where violets grow,

Under the elm-trees

Murmuring low;

Rippling gently

Amid the grass ;

I have a fancy,

As I pass;

I have a fancy, as I see

The trailing willows kissing thee;
As I behold the daisies pied,
The harebells nodding at thy side;
The sheep that feed upon thy brink ;
The birds that stoop thy wave to drink;
Thy blooms that tempt the bees to stray,
And all the life that tracks thy way.

I deem thou flowest

Through grassy meads,

To show the beauty

Of gentle deeds;
To show how happy

The world might be,
If man, observant,

Copied thee;

To show how small a stream may pour
Verdure and beauty on either shore;

To teach what humble men might do,

If their lives were pure, and their hearts were true; And what a wealth they might dispense

In modest, calm beneficence;

Marking their course, as thou dost thine,

By wayside flowers of love divine.

C. Mackay.

A PLEASANT LOOK.

A pleasant look, which passion ne'er destroys,
Nor all the petty ills of life displace,-

Is sunshine in a dwelling; makes a home

The abode of sweet Contentment, Peace, and Love. A pleasant look, which fades not when dark frowns Test well its virtue, on the wearer's face

Casts nobler luster than earth's rarest gems

Could fling around it; can impart more bliss,
More heartfelt pleasure, than e'en that which boasts
A price which makes Wealth stare and hesitate.
The sparkling diamond, flashing on the brow,
Will gain from Mammon's worshipers, unsought,
A kind of homage, -flattering words and smiles
For its possessor; but a pleasant look
Wins place in heart and memory for aye.

It is a heavenly brilliant, given all

To wear at choice of will: in beauty, worth,
Eclipsing competition; ever bright,

But brightest polished by a constant use:
Yet, unlike earthly gems, 'tis seldom worn

When its true value is most owned and felt.

KINDNESS.

There is no dearth of kindness

In this world of ours:

Only, in our blindness,

We gather thorns for flowers!
Outward, we are spurning -
Trampling one another!
While we're inly yearning

At the name of "brother."

There's no dearth of kindness
Or love among mankind;
But, in darkling loneness,

Hooded hearts grow blind!

Full of kindness tingling,

Soul is shut from soul,
When they might be mingling
In one kindred whole.

Selected.