up there like great sheets of lead, nor spread them out like lakes of ink, but He rolls them from one beau-ti-ful form in-to an-oth-er. He folds the heav-ens in fes-toons, and hangs the rain-bow o-ver the earth like a great wreath of flowers. He paints the grass on which you tread, the deep-est green; and in the sum-mer morning, when the world sits si-lent, as if wait-ing for a choir of an-gels to lift up their voi-ces and praise Him, or when the great red sun goes down at night, like a joy-ous child go-ing to his pil-low, how beau-ti-ful it is! What a look the sun throws back when he turns the lake in-to a great ba-sin of gold! And the spring! When the win-ter goes a-way, what a res-ur-rec-tion! The riv-er bursts from the chains of ice that held it so fast; the lit-tle seed that lay freezing in the ground be-gins to sprout; the little bird whose notes seem to trem-ble for joy, the small in-sect that leaps up and ut-ters his hum of glad-ness, the moun-tains with their thin veil of blue o-ver their fa-ces, the buds that swell and burst, and the very trees that seem to clap their hands for joy-all preach a-bout God! "Con-sid-er the lil-ies!" We must, my dear children, stud-y the works of God. Oh! He might have made the grass to be col-oured like the mud in the street; the trees to shoot up their branch-es like i-ron wire, with-out a green leaf to cov-er them; the morn-ing sky to be black, like the pall on a cof-fin; and He might have made ev-er-y beast to howl in pain, and ev-er-y bird to shriek in notes of ag-o-ny, and ev-er-y bush to bris-tle with thorns, and ev-er-y flow-er to hang its head in a sick-ly yel-low, with a fra-grance like that of an old grave; and the spark-ling brooks might have been made to lie still and dead; but in-stead of that He has made the flowers to smile on us,-has hung, as it were, a whole flower gar-den lift-ed up on a sin-gle ap-ple-tree; and has clothed the pear, the peach, and the cher-ry trees in beau-ti-ful flowers, like a queen's robe thrown o-ver each tree. The fields of grain send a-broad their per-fume. The very po-ta-to has a charm-ing flow-er. All these hath God made, not to be eat-en or drunk, or burned up, but to make our hearts glad and our eyes de-light-ed. Con-sid-er the flow-ers.-Todd. LESSON LXVI.-A LOVER OF JUSTICE. "I won-der," said a spar-row, "what the ea-gles are a-bout, that they don't fly a-way with the cats. And now I think of it, a civ-il ques-tion can-not give of-fence." So the spar-row fin-ished her break-fast, went to the ea-gle, and said : "May it please your roy-al-ty, I see you and your roy-al race fly a-way with the kids and the lambs that do no harm; but there is not a crea-ture so ma-lig-nant as a cat. She prowls a-bout our nests, eats up our young, bites off our own heads. She feeds so dain-ti-ly that she must be her-self good eat-ing. She is light-er to car-ry than a kid, and you would get a fa-mous grip in her loose fur. Why do you not feed up-on cat?" Ah," said the ea-gle, "there is sense in your ques-tion! I had the worm, too, here this morn-ing, ask-ing me why I did not break-fast up-on spar-row. Do I see a mor-sel of worm's skin on your beak, my child ?" The spar-row cleaned his bill up-on his bo-som, and said, "I should like to see the worm who came to you with that in-qui-ry." "Stand for-ward, worm," the ea-gle said. But, when the worm ap-peared, the sparrow snapped him up and ate him. Then he went on with his ar-gu-ment a-gainst the cats.-Henry Morley. LESSON LXVII.-A BABY ELEPHANT. Of the two young el-e-phants which were ta-ken in the Cor-ral, the small-est (ten months old) was sent down to my house at Co-lom-bo, where he be-came a gen-e-ral fa-vour-ite with the serv-ants. He at-tached him-self es-pe-cial-ly to the coach-man, who had a little shed. e-rect-ed for him near his own quar-ters in the sta-bles. But his fa-vour-ite re-sort was the kit-chen, where he re-ceived a dai-ly al-low-ance of milk and plan-tains, and picked up sev-e-ral o-ther del-i-ca-cies be-sides. He was in-no-cent and play-ful in the ex-treme, and when walking in the grounds he would trot up to me, twine his lit-tle trunk round my arm, and coax me to take him to the fruit-trees. In the eve-ning the grass-cut-ters now and then in-dulged him by per-mit-ting him to car-ry home a load of fod-der for the hors-es, on which oc-casions he as-sumed an air of grav-i-ty that was high-ly a-mus-ing, show-ing that he was deep-ly im-pressed with the im-port-ance and re-spon-si-bi-li-ty of the ser-vice en-trust-ed to him. Be-ing some-times per-mit-ted to en-ter the di-ning-room, and helped to fruit at des-sert, he at last learned his way to the side-board; and on more than one oc-ca-sion hav-ing sto-ien in, du-ring the ab-sence of the ser-vants, he made a clear sweep of the wine-glas-ses and chi-na in his en-deav-ours to reach a bas-ket of o-ran-ges. For these, and sim-i-lar pranks, we were at last forced to put him a-way. He was sent to the gov-ern-ment stud, where he was af-fec-tion-ate-ly re-ceived and a-dopt-ed by Si-ri-bed-di, a tame fe-male el-e-phant, and he now takes his turn of pub-lic du-ty in the de-part-ment of the Com-mis-sion-er of Roads.-Tennent's "Ceylon." LESSON LXVIII.-THE RAVEN. Ra-ven on the blast-ed tree, Ra-ven, thou art si-lent now, In that far-gone aw-ful time, In the go-pher ark were driv-en— I was there. RAVEN. POET. I know it, bird. And when rain no more was heard, RAVEN. Nar-row was the ark, but wide POET. Ra-ven, lo! I thought the same; RAVEN. Yes, by Che-rith brook there grew And a ra-ven tree was there, Thus a voice un-to us said, "By you must this man be fed; Bring him flesh, and bring him bread!" |