III. THE LITTLE SUNBEAM. 1. A LITTLE Sunbeam in the sky, I'll go down to the earth and see 2. The violet beds were wet with dew, 3. A mother, 'neath a shady tree, Had left her babe asleep; It woke and cried, but when it spied' So slyly in, with glance so bright, 4. On, on it went, it might not stay: A pale young face looked up to meet 5. And now away beyond the sea From home and country sent, 6. A voyager stood and watched them there, She gazed, and half forgot her care, She said, "The waves are full of glee, 7. And so it travelled to and fro, And frisked and danced about; 8. I may not tell the history But I tell you this, that you may try By little smiles to soothe and cheer, 1 SCENT. Smell, odor. 2 SPIED. Gained sight of, saw. 3 TINY, Little, very small. 4 MĚR RY. Gay, joyful. 5 VÖY'A-GER. One who makes a voy age, one who travels by sea. IV. THE TWO BROOKS. E. KELLOGG. 1. In a province of old Spain, respecting which the inhabitants were wont to say that God had given them a fertile soil, a salubrious' climate, brave men and beautiful women, but had not given them a good government, lest they should not be willing to die and go to Heaven, there were two lakes separated' by an intervening mountain. 2. Each had an outlet in a brook; and the two brooks, as they wound among the hills, ran near each other, so that they were enabled to converse together quite sociably. 3. They lay in the shadow of the hills among whose roots rose the river Guadalquivir. The chain sloped, by degrees, to a fertile plain covered with vineyards and olive-trees. Fields of wheat surrounded the scattered dwellings of the peasants, and the tents of the shepherds whose flocks fed upon the mountains. 5 4. The names of the brooks were Bono and Malo. One pleasant night, at the close of a very sultry day, they met to spend the evening together. So, getting into a little eddy beneath the shade of some large chestnut-trees, where the moonbeams, which glanced tremulously through the foliage, enabled them to see each other's faces indistinctly, they thus spoke, in mur murs: 5. Bono. What a beautiful evening, neighbor Malo, after such a sultry day! Yet I don't know as I ought to speak ill of the weather, for it has enabled me to do much good, to water many beautiful flowers and fields of grain that otherwise would have perished. 8 6. Malo. I don't know about that. Who thanks you for it? I have been this whole day—yes, for the matter of that, my whole life, running first here, then there, squeezed in flumes,' tangled in water-wheels, pounded in fulling-mills, flung over precipices till my neck was well-nigh broken. Again, I am kept boiling in the sun, and if I steal for a moment into the shade, I cannot stay there. I have almost boiled to-day, journeying among the hot rocks and over burning sands. And what thanks have I got for it? Do you know, neighbor' Bono, the old peasant Alvar? 7. Bono. Has he a daughter, Leonore? Is his cottage shaded by two large cork-trees? Is there a field of saffron between his house and the mill? 8. Malo. Just so. 9. Bono. I have known him these many years. His daughter keeps a few sheep and goats on the mountain, and often drives them to my waters. 10. Malo. Well, only think! the old churl had been hoeing, this morning, among his saffron. So, at noon, he comes to me, and goes down on his hands and knees to drink. Then he says, "I'll bathe; so he bathes; and, without saying so much as "By your leave," or, "God is good," or anything of that sort, just puts on his clothes and walks off. Yet I have watered his fields, and those of his ancestors, for a thousand years; often kept his family from starving ; and not one of them ever gave me even a look of gratitude. But I am resolved" to do so no more. I won't wear out my life for those who give me no thanks. I 10 mean, in future, to keep my waters to myself, and to water no one but myself. 11. Bono. Well, neighbor Malo, I cannot feel as you do, neither do I wish to. I have, indeed, had the same weary times, especially, as you say, to-day, and sometimes have been almost dried up; but I know what is my duty. God made me to water the earth and the plants. It would be pleasant to receive gratitude, but if we cannot have that, there is one thing we can always have, the happiness of feeling that we have done our duty. 12. Malo. Duty! This is fine talking, but I heed it no more than I do the song of that nightingale. What duty do I owe to that old peasant, or any of his kin to the earth or the plants? What good have they done me? 13. Bono. But, neighbor Malo, the duty I speak of is not to them, but to God. I have, as you very well know, turned the mills of Henrique these forty years, and also the fulling-mills of Gonzalez, his nephew. As I said before, this old Alvar's daughter, who used you so scurvily, both waters and washes her sheep in my stream. Not one of these people ever thanked me, yet I love very much to see their sheep fat, their lambs frisking on the hills, and their families thriving. I enjoy their happiness as though it were my own. 14. Malo. By this crouching spirit you invite insult and aggression. 13 15. Bono. But are we not as well off in this respect as our neighbors? The earth bringeth not forth fruit for itself. The ocean shares not in the profits of |