The trite returns for kindness made,
The tear by pity shed,

The shrine which mercy loves to rear
Beside affliction's bed.

The kind rebuke to erring ones,

The help to penury given,

The cup of water to the faint,

SPEAK LESS OF EARTH THAN HEAVEN,

LIGHT FOR ALL.

[Cheerful and vigorous.]
You cannot pay with money
The million sons of toil-
The sailor on the ocean,

The peasant on the soil,
The labourer in the quarry,
The hewer of the coal:
Your money pays the hand,
But it cannot pay the soul.
You gaze on the cathedral,
Whose turrets meet the sky,
Remember the foundations

That in earth and darkness lie;
For were not those foundations
So darkly resting there,

YON TOWERS COULD NEVER SOAR
SO PROUDLY IN THE AIR.

The workshop must be crowded,

That the palace may be bright;
If the ploughman did not plough,
Then the poet could not write.
Then let every toil be hallow'd
That man performs for man,
And have its share of honour
As part of one great plan.
See, light darts down from heaven
And enters where it may,

The eyes of all earth's people

Are cheered with one bright day; And let the mind's true sunshine Be spread o'er earth as free,

And fill the souls of men

As the waters fill the sea.

The man who turns the soil
Need not have an earthy mind;
The digger 'mid the coal

Need not be in spirit blind:
The mind can shed a light

On each worthy labour done,
As lowliest things are bright
In the radiance of the sun.
What cheers the musing student,
The poet, the divine?

The thought that for his followers
A brighter day will shine.
Let every human labourer

Enjoy the vision bright;

Let the thought that comes from heaven,
BE SPREAD LIKE HEAVEN'S OWN LIGHT.

Ye men who hold the pen,

RISE LIKE A BAND INSPIRED;

And poets, let your lyrics

WITH HOPE FOR MAN BE FIRED

Till the earth become a temple,
And every human heart
Shall join in one great service,
EACH HAPPY IN HIS PART.

THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN.
BY MISS GOULD.

[Cheerful and vigorous.]

"I AM A PEBBLE, AND YIELD TO NONE!"
Were the swelling words of a tiny stone;
"NOR CHANGE NOR SEASON CAN ALTER ME-
I AM ABIDING WHILE AGES FLEE.

The pelting hail and drizzling rain

Have tried to soften me long in vain ;
And the tender dew has sought to melt,
Or to touch my heart-but it was not felt.
"None can tell of the Pebble's birth;
For I am as old as the solid earth!
The children of men arise, and pass
Out of the world like blades of grass;
And many a foot on me has trod

That's gone from sight and under the sod!

I am a Pebble, BUT WHO ART THOU,

Rattling along from the restless bough?"

The ACORN was shocked at this rude salute,
And lay for a moment abashed and mute;
She never before had been so near

This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere;
And she felt for awhile perplexed to know
How to answer a thing so low.

But to give reproof of a nobler sort

Than the angry look or the keen retort,
At length she said, in a gentle tone,
"Since it has happened that I am thrown
From the lighter element where I grew,
Down to another so hard and new,
And beside a personage so august,

Abased I will cover my head with dust,
And quickly retire from the sight of one

Whom time nor season, nor storm nor sun, Nor the gentler dew nor the grinding wheel, Has ever subdued or made to feel."

And soon in the earth she sunk away

From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay; But it was not long ere the soil was broke

By the peering head of an infant oak;

And as it arose, and its branches spread,

The PEBBLE looked up, and, wondering, said,

"AH, MODEST ACORN! never to tell

What was enclosed in her simple shellThat the pride of the forest was then shut up Within the space of her little cup!

And meekly to sink in the darksome earth,

TO PROVE THAT NOTHING COULD HIDE HER WORTH.

AND, OH! how many will tread on me,

To come and admire that beautiful tree,
Whose head is towering towards the sky,
Above such a worthless thing as I.
"USELESS AND VAIN, A CUMBERER HERE,
I have been idling from year to year;
But NEVER from this shall a vaunting word
From the humble PEBBLE again be heard,
Till something WITHOUT me, or WITHIN,
Can show the PURPOSE for which I'VE BEEN I'

The PEBBLE could not its vow forget,

And it lies there wrapped in silence yet.

125

KINDNESS.

THE VALUE OF A GIFT.

BY O. G. WARREN.

[Earnest and cheerful.]

"Tis not the VALUE of the gift,

That Friendship's hand may tender;
'Tis not the thing's intrinsic worth,
(Though gems of rarest splendour,)
That calls the heart's best gratitude,
Or wakes a deep emotion;

The simplest flower may be the gift,
And claim a life's devotion

A bunch of violets, culled when first
The showers of spring unfold them,
May be of small intrinsic worth,

And fade while yet we hold them;
Yet are they types of modest truth,
And may become a token,

From friend to friend, of kind regard,

THAT NEVER SHALL BE BROKEN.

These fragrant flowers which thou hast given,
And I so fondly cherish,

May, ere another morn shall rise,

Before me fade and perish;

Yet they are sweet,-their grateful SOUL
NO TIME NOR CHANGE CAN SEVER;

SO LIVES THE MEMORY OF THE GIFT;
IT BREATHES OF THEE FOR EVER.

"BEAR AND FORBEAR."
BY HARRIETTE NOEL-THATCHER.

[4 Dialogue for three boys.]

John. Tom, you had better tell Ben Wildish to keep out of my way, for he'll be sorry for it if he does not.

Tom. Why, John, what has Ben done to you ?-how cross you look:

John. So would you look cross if he were to serve you as he did me.

Edward. What's the matter, John Nash?

John. Why, Ben has been knocking my cap over my face, and then ran off like a coward as he is; and I'll pay him for it the next time we meet.

Edward. I don't think Ben Wildish is a coward.

Tom. Nor I; he isn't a bit of a sneak.

Edward. He's always kind to the little boys.
John. He's never kind to me.

Tom. That's because you get so ill-tempered. knocked your hat over your face in fun.

John. Then why did he run away?

He only

Tom. Because he saw you were cross, and he didn't want to quarrel.

John. He'll have to quarrel next time, then, for I'll give him a jolly good thrashing.

Tom. Oh, John, you should try and take a joke from a schoolmate.

John. I don't like such jokes.

Tom. But it wasn't worse than your throwing little Harry Chambers's cap into the meadow where the cows are.

John. Oh, that was fine fun. I knew the little ninny wouldn't have the pluck to jump over and get it.

Tom. Then you did it on purpose to tease Harry?

John. Oh, to be sure I did.

Tom. And that's just why Ben played you a trick.

John. He's no right to do it. What is it to him if I chose to have a game with a little chap?

Tom. John, you called Ben a coward just now; don't you think it's acting more like a coward to tease a little boy that can't defend himself, than to play a trick with one your own size and age?

John. He has nothing to do with that, no more have you, and I'll let him see he's not going to play his tricks upon me. Do you think I'm going to act like a coward?

Edward. I don't see that it's acting like a coward not to resent a joke.

John. Oh, I don't like such jokes. He wanted to spoil my straw hat; he saw that it was a new one, and he knows how particular my father is and how he tries to make us careful.

Tom. If you show ill-temper to Ben, none of the boys will like it, for you know that he is a great favourite with us

all.

John. I can't see what there is in him to like.

Tom. Well, he's kind to little boys, and he's very playful and good-tempered with us all.

John. But he'd no business to knock my hat.