PARABLES FROM FLOWERS. 

[Illustration: PARABLES FROM FLOWERS. 

_Frontispiece. _]

 PARABLES FROM FLOWERS. 

 BY GERTRUDE P. DYER, AUTHOR OF 'LITTLE POLLIE, ' 'ARMOUR-CLAD, ' ETC. ETC. 

 _Doth not thy heart throb with emotions of thankfulness to God for making the earth so fair, so redolent of beauty in its garniture of flowers, and for having scattered these silent teachers up and down the world?_

 EDINBURGH: W. P. NIMMO, HAY, & MITCHELL. 

 TO MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS, MABEL, ELSIE, AND RUBY TARR. 

CONTENTS. 

 PAGE

 I. THE FORGET-ME-NOT--FIDELITY 7

 II. THE SNOWDROP--FAITH 22

 III. THE FOXGLOVES' STRATAGEM--GRATITUDE 30

 IV. THE LITTLE MINER AND HIS FLOWER--TRUST IN GOD 46

 V. THE LITTLE SEED--KINDNESS 68

 VI. THE CROWN IMPERIAL--HOPE 83

 VII. THE TWO LEAVES--DISCONTENT 89

 VIII. THE AMBITIOUS WILD-FLOWER--AMBITION 99

 IX. THE HONEYSUCKLE AND THE BUTTERFLY--HUMILITY AND PRIDE 115

PARABLES FROM FLOWERS. 

PARABLE FIRST. 

THE FORGET-ME-NOT--FIDELITY. 

In the days of the long-ago, my ancestors did not dwell as we do now--inbrooks or by the banks of shallow streams, but grew in wild luxuriancebeneath the shade of overhanging trees, and under the wayside hedgerows. 

We were always a quiet, unassuming race, and, indeed, I am fain toconfess, were not held in more esteem by mortals than are our sweetcousins whom children call 'Bird's-eyes. ' But some one made known to theworld that pathetic 'Legend of the Rhine, ' in which we are described, then people began to perceive that we were pretty, lovely indeed, --andto make a great fuss about us; but such is the way of the world!

Yet, though that legend is tenderly beautiful and thrilling, it isalmost too romantic to please the taste of simple flowers, therefore Iwill tell you the true story how we acquired our name. That shall be myparable--see what it will teach!

We grew there, unheeded and unsought, on soft mossy banks, not the lesslovely because unknown, and just above our dwelling-place a large oakspread abroad its leafy branches. It was a favourite tree of the birds, they felt so secure there, sheltered from prying eyes by its protectingleaves; besides, its branches were so firm and strong, they resistedbravely the fury of the storms that swept over them. What bird, then, would fear to build its nest there? And often have we listened to theirsweet songs as they perched above us, and many times lifted our headsand gazed upon the happy inmates of those simple homes. 

But there was one family among them that interested us even more thanothers, though all were dear to us. It was a pair of wrens who had bysome strange accident taken up their abode in our oak, instead of ayew-tree as they generally do; and not only my family, but the wholecolony of birds, old inhabitants of the tree, many of them, felt greatinterest in the new-comers, assisting them with advice, as they were butyoung. 

Then, when building time came, how kind they all were! indeed, though itwas a busy season with every bird, each anxious to finish its work, yetI heard an old Rook one day ask little Jenny Wren 'if he should helpher, ' as he met her trying to drag a large wisp of straw with all hertiny strength. 

'No, thank you, ' she gently replied; 'I must try to do it. We must alllearn to bear our own burdens. '

But many times, however, I have seen the larger and stronger birds bringmaterials for making the nest close to the spot they had chosen, to savethe little strangers weary journeys; and at last, after much patientlabour, the home was finished, to the intense delight of the twobuilders, for both took their share in the work; but the joy wasgreater, when, after some time, three little birds made their appearancein the compact and cosy nest. 

The event caused quite a sensation among the other dwellers in our oldtree. Jays were constantly inquiring how the nestlings were getting on, an inquisitive Magpie peeped into the nest, trying to get a glimpse ofthe pretty ones, and received a sharp peck from the angry father as areproof for the intrusion; as to the motherly Rooks, who were supposedto care for nothing save their own family concerns, they kindly advisedthe young parents how to rear the brood, saying, 'Care, care, ' was allthat was necessary; nay, it is even recorded, as an undoubted fact, thatan old Owl, who had lived for ages in a hole in the tree, actuallyopened her eyes quite wide when the news was first told to her, althoughit was broad daylight! You may imagine, then, how happy they were, surrounded thus by kindness and love; and yet--I suppose it is but rightthere are ever shadows as well as sunshine, and, sad though it seems, every life must have bitters mingled with the sweets; still they were sojoyous in that tiny nest! Why, ah, why was their happiness to beclouded? Alas, it grieves me even now to tell, though many long yearshave since then passed away!

One day the father-bird went from the nest, and never returned!

Long and patiently waited his little mate, hoping each moment to hearhis welcome note, as swiftly he winged his way back to her. But the daywore on, the evening sun grew golden, then faded in the purple west--butstill he came not! The other dwellers in the oak returned to theirhomes, yet they brought no tidings of the wanderer. After a while theirhappy voices were hushed in sleep, the Blackbird ceased to warble hisevening hymn, and all were buried in slumber, and at rest!

All? Ah, no! the lonely mourner was waking still, gazing up with sad, sad eyes at the starry heavens above, asking the night-winds as theymoaned around:

'Will he not return to me?'

Days passed, slowly dragging their length wearily on for the lonely birdin that desolate nest. Yet, though her heart was breaking, she tendedher tiny nestlings, neglecting none of her daily duties; for his dearsake she loved them yet the more, hoping as each day came it would bringhim back, and striving to imagine his delight when he returned, andfound his young ones almost fledged. But still the days dawned, theweary hours went by, the sickness of hope deferred would fall upon herloving heart, crushing it almost to breaking; yet bravely she struggledwith her woe. It was when the holy stars shone down, gazing pityinglyat her meekly raised eyes, and she was alone in stillness with her greatsorrow, that then would she murmur with a bitter cry, --

'When will he come home to me again?'

Yet still he came not!

Then her brave heart gave way. In vain the other birds tried to comforther; she could not be comforted, for he she so dearly loved 'was not. '

'Do not grieve, do not grieve--cheer thee, che-eer thee, ' sang theRobin, as he perched beside her. 

Or the Thrush tried to advise, saying, 'Don't fret, don't fret; 'tis apity, 'tis a pity!'

But one bright sunny day a Swallow came flying along. He had justreturned from far distant lands, and all the other birds gatheredchittering around him, eager to hear the news he had brought. He toldthem of much he had seen whilst on the wing; also that he was thepioneer, his brothers would soon rejoin him, for Summer was coming; hehad heard her heralds in the fields and groves, had marked herflower-decked path in forest and in lane. But what was summer to theheart-broken Wren? There would be no sunshine for her, since _he_ wasnot there--he who was her all. 

'Oh, Swallow, ' she timidly asked, 'have you seen my own love?'

Then the eyes of the Swallow became tear-dimmed, as sadly he replied, --

'Little Jenny Wren, I have!'

'Where--oh, where?' she cried in thrilling accents. 

He hesitated a few moments, though to her impatience it seemed hours; hewished to spare her further agony if he could--but the truth must betold. 

'Tell me, tell me, ' she pleaded, impatient at the delay. 

'In a prison, ' was the reply. 

'In a prison!' she repeated, horror-struck at the disclosure; then sheadded, 'I will go to him, and share his captivity. '

'Nay, nay, ' remonstrated a motherly Sparrow; 'your littleones--think--think--see--see!'

Sadly she drooped her head upon her breast; her heart was dividedbetween a mother's duty and a wife's love. 

'I will take care of the nestlings, ' said a young Linnet; 'they shallfeed with my little ones, I will shelter them under my wings. '

Gratefully the poor wee bird looked at her generous friend; words werenot needed to express her thanks. 

'Take me to him, ' she piteously asked, turning to the Swallow. 

'I shall pass that way to-morrow, ' he said, 'for I must go and meet mycomrades, to guide them here. You can go with me; I will take you towhere he is imprisoned. '

The next morning, before the sun had risen, away flew the Swallow, andwith him the little Wren. She heeded not that the valleys were stillshrouded in mist, or that the cold grey dawn yet lingered in the skies;was not her sunshine coming? should she not soon see him who was herbrightness? The day wore on, and onward still by the Swallow's side, she, with untiring pinions, winged her way; she suffered not fromnoontide heat, she felt not even the pangs of hunger or thirst, for herheart was filled with hope. But towards evening her pitying guide ledher over a hot, murky town; the very sky above it was hidden by thethick atmosphere of smoke which seemed completely to envelope it; thetwo birds could scarcely breathe, the air was so dense with poisonousgases. 

'It cannot be here?' she gasped, as suddenly the Swallow paused in hisrapid flight. 

'See, see!' was his exclamation. 

Then, raising her heavy eyes, she saw, suspended from a high window, asmall wire cage, and in it--her long-lost mate!

He was resting on a low perch, with his poor aching head beneath hiswing; his pretty brown feathers were no longer smoothly plumed, but hungragged and tattered around his wasted form, so different to the bright, bonnie bird of the long-ago! But she heeded not the change; to her hewas as beautiful, ay, and more dear than ever, so, flying up, she clungwith eager feet to the cruel bars which kept her from him, and, pressingher beak as close as possible to the cage, she murmured, --

'I am here, love!'

At the sound of that sweet voice, so well remembered by the captive, heraised his drooped head, and, gazing at her with all the old lovingtenderness, whispered feebly, --

'Is it you, Jenny? Ah, I knew you would come!'

And every evening found her there. Patiently would she stay near theprisoner throughout the dark watches of the night, cheering her lovedone because she was near; but when the grey dawn came stealing over theskies, away she would fly back to the nest in the oak, and during theday would carefully tend her little ones, fulfilling thus her doubleduty as wife and mother. Then when the evening star appeared, tellingher of the gloaming, she would hush her nestlings with a soothinglullaby, and, when they were sleeping, would swiftly fly to herimprisoned mate, bearing in her beak a sprig of moss, or a leaf from thewell-remembered spot where they had been so happy in the spring-time oftheir life; and when she reached the prison, if her loved one wasgrieving, pining for the liberty he had lost, the home ties thus rudelybroken, her sweet voice murmuring, 'I am here, love, ' seemed to bringcomfort to that poor failing heart; and as she tenderly pressed hercool, fresh beak to his, so parched and dry, he would reply, striving tobe gay for her dear sake, --

'Ah, Jenny, you have brought on your wings some sunlight from our oldhome, my darling. '

One evening, when as usual she flew to the prison, she found him lyingat the bottom of the cage, speechless and motionless. Frantically shetore at the cruel bars, beating them with her wings in an agony ofdespair. 

'My own love, my own love!' she cried aloud in her anguish; 'speak to meonce again!'

Her beloved voice seemed to possess the power to recall him back tolife, for he heard her, though the shadows of death were stealing overhim. 

'Jenny, darling, ' he feebly whispered, as she bent low to catch thefaintest word, 'they have broken my heart. Ah, why did they keep me thuscaptive?'

'Oh, do not die!' she moaned; 'think how lonely I should be in this wideworld without you. '

'If I were but free, we should be so happy again, love, ' he said, gasping painfully for breath as he spoke. 

'I will release you, ' she cried, and strove with all her strength tounfasten the prison door, but in vain--it resisted all her efforts. 

'What shall I do? what shall I do? He will die, and I cannot help him, 'moaned forth the poor Wren in accents of despair. 

'My sweet one, ' he murmured, 'do not grieve so bitterly. Death werebetter far than life if separated from you; but, before I close my eyesfor ever upon this world which the good God who loveth us hath createdso beautiful, bring me just one spray of those little blue flowers. '

'I know them!' she eagerly cried; 'a cluster grew beneath our nest. '

'Yes, ' he continued; 'and when I used to return home I could see themafar off, and would think, "Jenny is there, and their blue eyes arelooking upon her. " Bring me one tiny spray, darling, and if I die whenyou are from me, we shall not seem so very far apart, for those sweetflowers will whisper to me of you. '

She waited no longer, but flew rapidly away to bring the blossoms onwhich he wished to look once again; but she had not long gone when ayoung girl came to the cage, and saw the poor captive bird as Jenny hadfound him--still and motionless as though dying, and her heart wasfilled with tender pity, that its brief life should thus be so soonended. 

'Poor birdie! I fear it is dying, ' she said. 'I will unfasten the cage;perhaps the fresh air will revive him, and bring back his failingstrength. '

And with kindly hands she opened the prison door, thus giving himliberty. 

The cool, fresh air, stirring his drooping feathers, aroused him fromhis lethargy; at first he could not believe that the door was open, thathe was free. It was almost too much happiness for the poor sick bird tobear; yet it was true--freedom was his, and his first thought was ofJenny. 

He would fly to meet her, as he knew she would soon return, bearing withher the blue flowers he loved, and then, when she saw _him_ comingtowards her, --free, yes, free!--would not all past sorrow be forgottenin the ever-present joy? So, with a twitter of gratitude to the girl whohad opened his prison door, he fluttered his wings, just to try theirstrength, poised a while in the air, then away he flew with unerringinstinct towards his dear home in the old oak tree. 

But of Jenny?

With a sad weight upon her poor little heart, crushing it with the irongrip of despair, she reached the spot where the flowers grew, plucked afew blossoms from the stem, then away again, without pausing to rest, bearing the prized flowerets in her beak. She felt not fatigue; thoughher weary pinions sometimes faltered, still she heeded it not, stillstruggling on, eager to reach where he lay dying. Her only thought was:

'If he were to die, and I not with him. '

But slower and slower grew her flight; strength at last was failing, forit had been too severely tried; her breath came quick and fast, inshort, fitful gasps, and her heart beat heavily beneath her quiveringbreast. 

'Oh, but to see him once more!' she moaned, as she felt her weary wingsfailed to do her bidding. She tried to fly yet a little farther, invain; her tired pinions fluttered for a while, then down she sank, slowly, slowly, on to the calm bosom of a rippling stream that wasflowing on over its pebbly sands with soothing melody. 

'Jenny, Jenny, my own love, where are you? I have sought you so long, mydarling, ' she heard the well-known voice exclaiming. 

She raised her dying eyes, and saw her loved mate hovering above her inthe summer air. 

'I am here, love, ' she faintly murmured. 

Then with all the old love-light beaming from her soft, gentle eyes, sheturned to gaze at her poor desolate mate, who was rending the air withhis piteous cries, then closed them for ever, with a look of perfectpeace, murmuring softly, --

'Dearest, forget me not. '

And the rippling stream bore her gently away echoing with a plaintivewail her dying words:

'Dearest, forget me not. '

The poor widowed bird caught the flowers as they were floating away onthe breast of his lost love, and carried them to his now desolate home;but one little blossom, in tender pity for sweet Jenny Wren, detacheditself from the others to linger still with the poor dead bird; and whenthe stream had carefully borne its precious burden to a shady nook, where she could rest, for ever freed from sorrow and pain, the flowerwas carried with her, and, taking root above the spot where she layburied, put forth its blue blossoms in loving remembrance of that fond, faithful heart. 

And thus it is how we became dwellers close to tranquil streams, and whyour name is still 'forget-me-not. '

PARABLE SECOND. 

THE SNOWDROP--FAITH. 

My life has been so tranquil, that I fear it will not possess muchinterest; for, when first recollection dawned, I remember finding myselffar down in the earth--a small bulb, not much to look at, I am thinking. But very happy were the days spent there with my companions. We in ourignorance deemed the world a dreary place, and wished we could for everstay where it was so cosy and warm; but our Mother Earth was carefullyinstructing us, teaching us the same precious lessons she unfolds to herother children, if they will but read the ever-open book, by man called'Nature. '

I know not how long it was that the Frost King kept the land boundcaptive in icy chains, but at last the signal for freedom came. Thetrees awoke from their winter sleep, and, casting off their sombregarments of sheathed leaves, came forth in vestments of tender green;the bees, too, sent out their pioneers, who hastened back to the hiveswith the glad tidings of the sunshine and of awakening flowers. Thebirds flew hither and thither on joyous wings, twittering their simplegratitude to Him who 'heareth the ravens cry;' for they indeed werethankful that the dark days were past, and that 'the time of the singingof birds had come. ' As to the little brooks and streams, how rejoicedwere they to be free once more! they bounded away over the sandyshallows or pebbly beds, laughing for very gladness, and kissing thegreen banks whose fresh verdure they laved, whilst murmuring to themtheir gladsome song:

 'I'm free! oh, joy! I am free once again! I have burst with delight my icy chain, And gaily I flow to the open sea, Joyously singing, I'm free! oh, I'm free!

 I kiss the green banks as I glide along, I woo the birds with my peaceful song; The sunbeams they dance to my joyous strain, Whilst gaily I fling their rays back again. '

And for us also came the appointed time, when we too had to leave thehome in which we had been so tenderly nurtured; we were to go, readyprepared to do the work marked out for us. 

But I did not wish to go; I feared to face a world unknown to me, andfain would have lingered in the home so loved. 

'Why must I leave you?' I asked of our gentle parent. 'I cannot bear theseparation. '

'My child, ' she replied, with something of reproach in her soft voice, 'have you so soon forgotten the lesson I taught you, that He who createdall things, createth nothing in vain? Go forth upon the earth, and speakin parables of His glorious works. '

'What can I teach?--I, so small, and of no repute!' I asked, stilldoubting. 

'Some lesson of His goodness to the children of men, ' was her reply. 

'But everything on earth appears to have its appointed mission; thereseems no work for me, ' I urged in excuse. 

'God will find something for even you to do, ' she said; 'it may be onlya message from Him. '

'A message!' I repeated. 'What could I say to others? Already have allthe flowers their symbols: the Violet is the Hope flower, theHeart's-ease speaks of Thought; what can we Snowdrops tell?'

Our mother did not answer--she left us to find what lessons we bestcould teach. 

So day by day we grew, stronger and stronger, gradually becoming betterfitted to perform the work allotted; until at last I appeared above theground--a slender green leaf!

Never shall I forget how cheerless looked the earth when first I cameabove it, so dull and black, save where a few snowflakes had beendrifted by the wintry winds; all else was bleak and bare. There was nota gleam of sunshine athwart the leaden sky to cheer us, nor a bird tomeet us with a friendly greeting, for even the robins kept so near thehouses for warmth and shelter, they came not to the spot where we grew, alone and sad; and as to the trees, they as yet stood silent above us, only the Holly was still decked with gay scarlet berries, enlivening upthe gloomy landscape with a little bright colour. But the Holly smilednot on us; armed at all points in his glossy coat of shining mail, hewas so lofty and grand, and we were only--Snowdrops!

But I grew on, cherished by our great Mother Nature, who careth for allher children, and loves them tenderly, be they humble Daisies or thequeenly Rose; and at last I became a perfect flower, taking my purewhite tints from the snow around me, and borrowing just a faint tinge ofgreen from the young grass that was now bravely struggling to appear. 

By and by, a Blackbird, with golden beak and shining coat, found me outas he was seeking a convenient tree in which to make a nest, and, bowingpolitely, exclaimed, --

'Welcome to you, fair Snowdrop! I am rejoiced to see you, for you bringus the assurance that spring is on the way, and we shall be glad, forthe winter has been long and dreary. '

Then he having communicated the glad tidings to the other birds, theyalso came to greet me, cheering my loneliness with their sweet songs. Yet still I pined to return to earth again; I cared not to look upward, but hung my head, murmuring sadly, --

'Oh, Mother Earth, take home thy child! she is so weary of her lifehere. '

Was I wrong? Perhaps so, but I owed my existence to that which mortalsdeem so cold and dark; I loved it with the affection of a loving child, and longed to rest again upon the dear bosom that had sheltered me whenI was but a frail bulb. 

Besides, it seemed to me that I was doing no good. Why was I sent here, if only to bloom and then die? I had been told that nothing was createdin vain; was I doing the work for which I had been sent upon the earth?

Whilst thus repining over my useless life, a poet passed bychance--stay, was it chance? nay, there is no chance! He was one who asyet had met with but little success; I am told there are many such amongearth's children. We know that it is said:

 'Many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air;'

yet the sweetness is not _lost_, for it speaks with a perfumed voice tothe creatures of the air; but among mortals, many fade away into utteroblivion, breathing only their sad, sweet heart-songs to the listeningwinds around. 

And this poet of whom I speak, he felt within himself the inspirationof genius, that innate love of the beautiful and true which comes fromGod alone; but the world looked coldly on him, and he was strugglingwith what seemed endless disappointments, battling with them bravely, yet almost sinking amidst the strife. His very heart was beginning tofail him, his noble courage to give way, when he saw me there, blossoming alone in that quiet nook. 

'Oh, God!' he cried, as, with clasped hands and eyes raised heavenward, he sank beside me on the sod, --'oh, God, forgive me that I should dareto doubt Thy loving care, when this fragile, fragile flower, shelteredby Thee, has braved the wintry storms, while the cold winds passtenderly over its bowed head. A bruised reed Thou wilt not break; Thoucarest for the lilies of the field, --why then should I fear whenadversity assails me? Art Thou not still above, though heaven seems sofar off, and oh, so cold and pitiless! I will have faith in Thy divineand fatherly love, and accept the lesson this sweet flower hath taughtme. '

 * * * * *

Yes, faith--faith in God, was the parable I was sent to teach, and Ialso have learned to know that, though the skies may be dark and thewinds--oh, so cold! yet if we only wait, and trust Him, the sunshinewill come at last, and the breath of heaven never visit us too roughly. 

PARABLE THIRD. 

THE FOXGLOVES' STRATAGEM--GRATITUDE. 

We lived on the garden wall of an old-farmhouse, over which the vinesgrew in rare luxuriance, covering it with their climbing tendrils andleaves; and in the autumn the purple and white grapes peeped frombeneath their leafy shelter, mocking the thirsty throats of the villagelads who passed that way, and who looked longingly up at the ripeclusters. 

It was a very old place, I am told, and had been inhabited by the samefamily for many successive generations. Fathers had tilled the soil, then laid aside the plough for ever. Sons had sprung up to take theirplace, and they too, in their turn, were gathered in, when the beardedgrain was ripe for the sickle of the great 'Reaper, whose name isDeath, ' leaving the old homestead to others of the same name and race, who loved the home in which they were born, and wherein those they mostcherished had lived and died. 

The Swallows, too, loved it, returning year after year to their nestsunder the eaves, and from early dawn 'to dewy eve, ' all through the warmsummer days, flew hither and thither with swift, untiring wing, chasingeach other, as it were, or teaching their young to fly. As to theRobins, they hopped in at the open door under the rustic porch, just asif they belonged to the place, and were sure of a welcome, which indeedthey were! And that porch--what a cosy corner it was, with seats oneither side, inviting weary feet to rest! the sunbeams were alwaysplaying bo-peep through the leaves which hung clustering around; theHoneysuckles and Clematis decking it, too, with their blossoms, scattering their delicious perfume the while. But I always thought thespot looked brightest when little Susie was there--she who was the verysunshine of the old home! And how they all loved her, from thewhite-headed grandfather down to the little ploughboy, who brought herall the poor motherless or sick creatures he found on the farm, were itbut a half-fledged bird or a stray kitten, certain of her thanks, and asweet smile; and as to her three big brothers, who had such influenceover them as little Susie? for even when they were disputing as to whoseturn it was to ride Brown Bess (the joint property of the children), Susie was always chosen umpire to decide the important question, andthey abode by her decision. 

Why, it was Susie who saved us from being ruthlessly destroyed! for ithappened that one day old Peter was at work in the garden, and, to makethe place 'a bit more tidy, ' as he said, was proceeding to cut us offfrom the wall. 

'They bain't o' much account, ' he muttered, sharpening his hook; 'notloike them there Roses maister sets sich store by, and thinks so muchon. '

Certainly it seemed very sad that, because we were merely 'commonflowers, ' our lives were to be cut short long before the appointed time;we had endeavoured to bloom as brightly as our more refined sisters, andin sunshine or shower had tried our best to look gay, and, I think, hadsucceeded, for we do not shut our petals as if we were sulking whendark clouds come, but keep them always open. But the fiat had goneforth--old Peter was the stern arbitrator of our destinies! and, feelingthat our fate was inevitable, we sighed a last long farewell to eachother, just as we saw him raise his sharp hook to cut us down. At thatmoment, so 'big with fate' for us, who should come into the garden, singing for very gladness like the birds themselves, but little Susie;the sunlight was playing with her waving hair, her eyes sparkled as thedewdrops in the sun, and her tiny feet skipped lightly along as she camedancing up the pathway. 

That prolonged our lives! Old Peter dropped his hook to turn round andlook at his young mistress. 

'What are you going to do, Peter?' she inquired, as she drew near, andsaw him take up his tools to resume work. 

'Whoy, lop doun these 'ere things, Miss Zusie, ' he replied, pointing atus contemptuously. 

'Oh, please don't destroy them! they are so pretty!' was her eagerexclamation. 

'Purty, missie!' the old man repeated, with astonishment; 'whoy, them bewild loike. '

'But I love them dearly, ' she persisted; 'so please leave them there. '

'But the maister?' pursued Peter, rubbing his rough head in hisperplexity; 'he told me to clear roight up. '

Peter, it must be observed, was 'the odd man' about the farm; there isalways one. 

'Father will say you did quite right to let them live, ' replied thelittle lady; 'he likes them as much as I do, for he says he remembersthem always growing here, coming up year after year without troublingany one to look after them, and making the old wall a veryflower-garden. '

'Well, Miss Zusie, if so be ye sez so, I s'pose I must, ' he acquiesced, though I think he was greatly disappointed that he could not have hisown way about it; so there we were left, and we bloomed more than ever, striving to do our best in gratitude to the little maiden. 

Now, I have noticed, as a rule, --mind, every rule has exceptions, --thatgood deeds, like good seed, seldom fall to the ground and wither away. Both may lie fallow, for a while at least, but the flower comes up aftera while, and 'with what measure ye mete, it is meted to you again. ' Youmay not have remarked this, perhaps, but the fact holds good, provingmost emphatically the sacred truth, 'Blessed are the merciful, for theyshall obtain mercy. '

Now, when Susie saved our lives, she never thought that simple flowerscould ever repay her kindness, and for some time, it is true, we didnothing, only strove to make the garden wall look gay with our sturdybuds and blossoms. 

But one day, I remember, Susie sat on the lawn close by the wall onwhich we grew, very busy making a smart new dress for her doll, MissArabella, who sat propped up by a work-box at her back, with her armsstraight out, and her toes turned in, but with a sweet smile upon herwaxen face. They were evidently engaged in earnest conversation, forSusie kept speaking in her own voice for herself, and using a veryshrill falsetto for Arabella, who, by the bye, appeared to reply only inmonosyllables. 

In the midst of this very entertaining discourse I heard another voiceexclaiming, --

'Look 'ee 'ere, Miss Zusie, this vowl 'ave airt her vut;' and the smallploughboy I before mentioned came in at the garden gate, holding a henin his arms. 

'Oh, give it to me, Joey, ' cried the little girl, full of sympathy forthe wounded bird. 'How did it happen? Poor dear, poor dear!'

With that Joey poured forth a long account of the accident, to which shelistened attentively, all the while soothing the lamed hen, and wrappingit up in her soft frock. 

'I will bathe its poor foot in warm water, and try to get it well, ' shesaid, after thanking Joey for bringing it to her; and she went into thehouse, leaving Arabella alone on the lawn, cautioning her, however, 'tobe a good child until mamma returned. '

It was some days before we again saw the hen, and then she was quiterestored, and had been given to Susie as her 'very own' because of thecare she had bestowed upon her; indeed, she had become quite a pet, actually was allowed to roam about the flower-garden and lawns; and someone had given her the name of 'Zenobia, '--an inconvenient name to callwhen in a hurry, but Susie was very satisfied with it, and so, Isuppose, was the hen, who seemed to love her little mistress, followingher wherever she went, eating from her hand, and even perching on hershoulder! After some time Zenobia was to be seen walking about, followedby a family of nine chickens; and really I cannot tell which was mostproud of the young brood, Susie or the hen. Susie called them 'loves'and 'beauties, ' and the hen, she clucked, and made a great fuss overthem, and, as if determined that their bed should be of roses, insistedon roosting every night under a rose-bush which grew near the gardengate, instead of the cosy coop with which she had been provided. 

Well, one moonlight night we, of course, were awake, though the churchclock had long since struck the hour of midnight; and it was so still, only the voices of the night murmuring among the trees, thoughoccasionally we could hear the soft crooning of the hen, as she hushedher little family to sleep beneath the rose-bush. Suddenly we heard thesound of stealthy footsteps creeping under the wall. 

'It is only Dash, the house dog, ' whispered a sister-flower, who grew onthe same stem as myself. 

'Dash does not steal along in that crafty manner, ' said another. 

'Perhaps it is a rabbit, ' suggested one, 'or a cat taking a walk. '

'It may be a rat. '

Various conjectures were hazarded by those who grew low down on thewall, but I was higher up than they, so, looking cautiously over, whatshould I see but a Fox creeping along, and scenting his prey, with hissharp nose close to the ground. 

'Good evening!' I called out to him. 

He started with alarm, for great rascals are always great cowards. 

'Oh, good evening, my friend, ' he replied, very blandly. 'Charmingevening this for a walk. '

'Yes, ' I answered sharply; 'but rather late for respectable folks to beabroad!'

'Ah yes, just so, ' was his response; 'but, you see, my doctor hasadvised me to take quiet rambles. '

'It was not Dr. Quack, was it?' I asked; 'because, poor fellow, he cameto an untimely end the other night, --had his head bitten off, and hisbody was then dragged across the yard, as I suppose you already know?'

'Dear me!' he ejaculated, with affected pity, and glancing slyly up atme out of the corner of his red eyes; 'but how should I know, myfriend?'

'Oh, because some of your family are strongly suspected, ' was my reply;'indeed, our Dash is on the watch, so I would advise you to'--

'Good-night, good-night, ' he hurriedly exclaimed. 'I feel the winds arebecoming very chilly. '

So saying, he shuffled off as fast as possible, more especially as atthat moment Dash began barking furiously, as though he scented a foe. How we laughed to think we had frightened the artful fellow away, andsome of us thought we should never see him again; but we were mistaken, for, a few nights after, there he was creeping along so stealthilyoutside the garden wall. 

'What do you want?' I called out to him. 

'Nothing, my friend, nothing, ' was his answer. 

'Well, since we do not keep that article here, you had better seek itelsewhere, ' interposed a brother of mine who is rather saucy. 

The Fox paused for a moment, as if hesitating what to say; at length hebegan, in a whining tone of voice, --

'My beloved friends, I perceive I must take you into my confidence. Thefact is, my worthy doctor says I am in delicate health, and hastherefore directed me'--

'Well, ' I said, seeing that he hesitated; 'what of that?'

'Simply this; he has ordered me to eat only light, digestible food, suchas chicken, ' he went on to say. 

'Oh, has he?' I remarked; and then I thought to myself, 'Now can yourcraftiness be seen through: you are after Zenobia; but Susie saved ourlives, she shall not find the poor despised Fox-gloves ungrateful. Wewill save Zenobia!'

However, Mr. Reynard had not guessed our thoughts (for we all thoughtalike on the subject), but continued, --

'Now, charming friends, I know you have a most delightful hen in thisgarden. '

'Oh yes, and nine such plump chickens!' cried my brother. 

'Oh dear, how very nice!' exclaimed the Fox. 

'And I have no doubt, ' continued my brother, whilst we could hardlyrestrain our mirth, 'but that Zenobia would willingly give them up toyou, for the honour of being devoured by so distinguished a personage. '

'Would she really?' he cried, swallowing this piece of flattery asgreedily as he would the chickens. 

'Oh yes, ' I chimed in; 'but there's one thing I would mention. Grandeeslike you must be formally introduced. Zenobia would be horrified wereyou to appear before her so unceremoniously; she might even refuse yourrequest for one of the chickens. '

'What shall I do, then?' he eagerly questioned. 

'Why, dress yourself of course, appear _en grande toilette_, ' I replied;'brush up your whiskers a little more, make your coat look glossy, and, above all, put on a pair of gloves!'

'Gloves!' he repeated. 'I have not a single pair; tell me where I canpurchase them?'

'Leave that to us, ' said my brother, bursting with glee. 'Originally, you must know, we were Fox-glovers, but somehow we have lost our ancientprivilege; therefore have the supreme graciousness to restore it to us, and we will be only too proud to serve you. '

'Oh, certainly, ' assented the Fox, assuming at once an air of patronagethat was highly amusing. 'I take six and three-quarters, ' extending hisforepad. 

'No, surely not!' protested my merry brother; 'you must be mistaken;such a pretty little paw as yours cannot possibly require such a largeglove. Allow me to suggest six and a quarter. '

The Fox agreed to the size named. 

'If you will condescend to call here to-morrow night about this time, they shall be ready for you, ' one of us declared. 

'Thank you, ' he said loftily, as though he was conferring a favour uponus, and off he went, no doubt congratulating himself on his diplomacy. As to us, we laughed heartily, knowing how the crafty old fellow wouldbe caught in his own toils. 

The next day, when we saw Susie feeding and caressing Zenobia, how welonged for the power to tell her of the danger that so fearfully menacedher pet, but we could not; for, though there is a 'language of flowers, 'it does not discourse on such a topic as this, therefore we werecompelled to keep silence; but we were determined to do our best toguard little Susie's treasure. Night came, and dark and dreary it wastoo, with heavy clouds drifting across the moon, almost hiding itsbrightness; and it grew so late, past twelve, we began to think Mr. Reynard suspected us, and would not come. But he did, looking so sleekand shiny, with his coat all spick and span, being freshly brushed, Iexpect. 

'Here I am, my friends; it has taken me so long to dress, ' he said, panting with the haste he had evidently made. 'Is Zenobia--what a sweetname, to be sure!' he added in a fawning voice, --'is she here?'

'Of course she is, ' I replied; 'can you not hear her crooning to her_nine_ children?' with a strong emphasis on the number. 

'Sweet, tender creature!' he exclaimed. 'Oh, but to know her yet moreintimately! Let me jump over the gate to her!'

'What! without your gloves on?' cried several of us at once; 'considerhow very vulgar you would look. '

'Dear, dear, I quite forgot, ' he ejaculated rather impatiently;evidently he wanted his supper. 

'Here they are, ' said my brother; 'pray allow me the honour of puttingthem on for you. '

He saw the fox was all impatience; however, he was obliged to consent, and my brother proceeded forthwith to fit on a pair of Fox-gloves madeexpressly by us. 

'They are rather a tight fit, ' he nervously remarked. 

'Rather, ' we cried, as my brother held him fast by the paws, and we wentto assist him in keeping the scoundrel a prisoner. 

He saw, when too late, the trap into which he had fallen, and struggledhard to get free, even trying to pull us from off the old wall in hisfutile efforts to escape. But we were too securely fixed there for hisstrength to be of any avail; our roots were the growth of years, and, besides, we clasped him so tightly--for unity is indeed strength--thatat last the cowardly fellow roared aloud with mingled pain and fright;perhaps he thought to startle us, and make us lose our hold. But we knewbetter than that--_we_ only gripped him the faster; but the noisearoused Dash, who came bounding to the spot (he was always unchained atnight), and, flying at Mr. Reynard's throat, he soon pinned him to theground. 

The farmer and his sons must have heard the cries of the Fox and thebaying of Dash, for presently they came running as fast as possible tothe spot, armed with all sorts of weapons, and soon despatched therascal. 

And it would have pleased you to have heard the praises bestowed uponthe brave old dog for his courage, which praise he most certainlydeserved; but no one thought of us. However, we had our reward infeeling that we had done our duty, and tried to repay our debt ofgratitude to little Susie; that was recompense enough for us, nor did wewish for more, for--

 'On their own merits Modest men are dumb;'

and so say we simple Foxgloves. 

PARABLE FOURTH. 

THE LITTLE MINER AND HIS FLOWER--TRUST IN GOD. 

I do not think any of us would care to pass the greater part of our daysdown in a coal mine, or even to live in the vicinity of one. For milesaround the country is barren of trees or flowers; even the grass doesnot grow there; the very air is dense with black smoke from the numerouschimneys, so that the sky is hidden, as it were, by a thick, murky veil. But, if thus dreary by day, how much more dreadful does it look atnight, when the lurid glare from the furnaces lights up the sky with ared gleam, which can be seen far and wide! it has then in it somethingterrible. 

As I said just now, not a flower can thrive in such a close and heavyatmosphere; not even a blade of grass can push its way up through thecoal-encrusted soil which covers the earth. Well may it be called the'Black Country;' and yet there are brave, good men living, ay, andworking there, day after day descending those dark shafts and in theunderground of the mines living out their hard, laborious lives, bravingdangers innumerable, to provide for the wants of their fellow-men; yet Iwonder how many of us, as we gather round the cosy fireside of home, ever think of the hardy miners. All honour, then, to that Christian man, whose noble heart thought so much of them and of the risks theyencounter in the deep mines; his mighty genius studied to avert thedangers to which they are exposed, and by his clever invention manythousand lives have been saved. Statues are raised to soldiers andstatesmen, and their deeds are chronicled all over the world, yet thesimple-hearted Cornish chemist has done more for England's glory thanall her greatest warriors or statesmen!

Sometimes, it is true, terrible accidents happen even now, and indeed, had any one passed through a certain coal district on the day of whichwe speak, a scene of desolation and misery would have presented itself;for there had been a colliery accident!--a fearful explosion in a minethrough some (as yet) unknown cause, and they were now bringing up thedead and dying. We too often, alas! read these sad accounts in thenewspapers, but cannot fully realize the intense anguish and despairamong the mining population when such a calamity befalls them. Try topicture, then, the men, women, and even children, who were gathered inanxious groups around the mouth of the pit, eagerly waiting to see ifany of their kindred were among the hapless victims; and when the braverescue party would appear above the shaft, bearing in their arms thesufferers, wailing cries would rend the very air, as some poor womanrecognised her son or her 'good man' in the crushed and mangled formthey laid so tenderly down!

There was a little cottage standing among others of the same class, butwhich from its appearance seemed to betoken the residence of one morerefined than the rest, for snowy curtains draped the windows, the panesof which were scrupulously clean, and the doorsteps were as white ashands could make them. Going now towards this cottage, a group of menmight be seen, carefully carrying a heavy burden, over which a sheetwas spread. It was their foreman--a man loved and respected by them all, and the hearts of these rough colliers beat sadly, as they bore him thustowards his once happy home!

The rumour of the catastrophe, and of her husband being one among themany poor sufferers, had burst upon his wife like the surging of anangry wave, overwhelming her with its force, and she sat with ashencheeks and quivering lips, listening with bated breath for that whichshe knew must come, the while convulsively clasping in her arms theironly child, their fair-haired Davie. But when at last she heard themeasured tread of those who bore him coming nearer and nearer to herdoor, she rose, with a shivering sob, to meet him, as she had ever done, with a loving smile, though now her heart was full of anguish. And heknew her, for he put out his poor crushed hand for her to take, faintlymurmuring, --

'My poor, poor girl!'

Tenderly, as with the gentle touch of woman, those rugged men laid himupon the bed from which he had risen in full health and strength, andthe wife's hand was firm, as softly she removed the garments from hismangled limbs. Ah, little had she thought, when she bade him 'Good-bye'that morning, his return would have been thus. He had said to Davie inhis merry way, laying his hand on the boy's curly head, --

'Ah, young man, soon you will be the bread-winner; your old father willthen be able to sit idle by the ingle and smoke his pipe, whilst motherlooks on. '

He had returned to the ingle, but Davie was still a child!

 * * * * *

A few anxious days, and all was over; the end had come, and he and hisfellow-sufferers were laid to rest beneath the fresh green turf in adistant churchyard, and the poor young widow was alone in the wideworld, with only little Davie!

But the poor have no time to spare for mourning or regrets; they must beup and doing, even though their hearts fail them for very sorrow; yetnone save those who have suffered can know the utter desolation ofheart, crushing the very soul to the earth with despair, when thefather, 'the bread-winner, ' is taken from their midst, and those whoare left know not where to look for help or guidance; and so this poorwidow sat by the fire-light, with her boy's hand clasped in hers, gazinginto the glowing embers as if trying to read the future therein. Thepast had been very happy, for her girlhood was spent in a far differentsphere, but she had freely given up all for him who was now no more, andhad never repented of the sacrifice made; but, alas! he was gone, leaving her alone, and her heart was like to break. And, musing thus, she recalled the tones of the dear voice that had ever comforted herwhen in sadness, now silent for ever!--the brave heart so firm ofpurpose that had ceased to beat!--and as she thought of him who had beenso kind, so true, her courage gave way, and, burying her face in herhands, she sobbed aloud, saying, --

'Oh, Davie, Davie! who will care for us now father is gone?'

The child put his arms lovingly around her bowed head, as though it washis place to be the comforter. 

'Mother darling, the Lord will care for us. He is the friend of thewidow and fatherless. '

There was something in the boy's voice that struck the mother's ear, forshe removed her hands from before her face, and, drawing him nearer toher, gazed earnestly into those clear blue eyes. 

Sudden sorrow often changes the entire nature of people, and the eventsof the last few days had, as it were, transformed little Davie from amere child into a thoughtful boy. Like his namesake of old, 'he was of abeautiful countenance, ' and as he caressingly smoothed his mother's palecheeks with his soft, gentle hands, she felt she was not desolate, sincehe was left to her. Long they sat in silence. At last the boy said, --

'Mother dear, Mat Morgan says that, as I am now ten years old, it istime for me to begin work like the other lads about here. '

'How, Davie?' she dreamily questioned, for her thoughts were wanderingfar away, so that she scarcely heard what he said. 

'In the pit with him, ' was the reply; 'he is so kind and good, I know hewill take great care of me. '

'No, no!' she cried, clasping him yet closer to her; 'not in the cruelmine that has robbed us of father!--no--not there!'

'Nay, mother darling, ' the boy gently urged; 'it was God who took fatherhome--and he was ready to go! Besides, ' he continued, with all thehopefulness of youth, 'I could earn some money every week, and onlythink how useful that would be!'

'But your poor father did not wish you to be a miner; he hoped you wouldbecome a great and clever man, ' the mother replied. 

He hesitated for a moment. Bright visions had filled his young head ofgaining riches and honours 'some day, ' that glorious time of the young, and he had thought how proud they both would be of him, and they shouldneither of them work any more, but live in a lovely home of _his_providing, and never know care any more. And now!--he clenched his smallhands together, and choked back the big lump rising in his throat asbravely he exclaimed, --

'And I will be a clever man, for I will learn at night when I come home, and who knows what I may be one day. Mat Morgan says our manager wasonly a poor collier lad once, and look at him now. Besides, they are allso good to us here; they loved father dearly. '

So the boy prevailed over her fears, and in a few days he took his placeby the side of his old friend Mat Morgan, who grew to love him as hisown child. But the mother's heart was grieved when at night her boyreturned with the fair golden hair rough and tangled, the once delicatehands torn and hardening with toil; yet the child gave no thought tothat. True, this was not the life he would have chosen, for he was astudious boy, but still, was he not 'the bread-winner'? and it was aproudly happy day for him when he laid his first earnings in her lap, and felt her tears upon his cheek as she kissed and blessed her boy. 

But the hour he loved the best was when, casting aside all care, he saton a low stool at her feet, and, with his head resting on her knee, listened as she read aloud their evening chapter from the Book of Life;he was then the child again, not the toiling little miner-lad!--and oh, it was so peaceful!

'"Consider the lilies of the field, they toil not, neither do theyspin, "' read the mother one evening. 

'But, mother, what are lilies like? I have never seen one, you know, 'asked the boy, when she had ceased reading and had closed the book. 

In simple language, she endeavoured to describe to her town-born childthe exquisite beauties of the flowers of the field, and he, with aninnate love of the beautiful, caught readily at all she said, and seemedas though he saw them all as she depicted. 

'How I should love to be where there are always flowers!' he exclaimed;'it must be like paradise! But those I have seen always close up atnight. I wish there was one here that opened of an evening, as if togreet me when I come home!'

I know not how it happened, but the next night, when little Davieentered his home, a delicious perfume filled the air, and standing inthe cottage window was an Evening Primrose, with its petals fullyexpanded. 

'Mother, mother, ' cried the boy, 'my wish has come true! here is aflower opening its blossoms to bid me welcome home;' and in excess ofdelight he knelt and kissed his treasure again and again. And wordscannot express the love he bestowed upon the plant; it was to him anunfeigned joy to watch the growing of each leaf, the gradual unfoldingof each fresh bud; and every night, on his return from work, his firstthought, after the thought for his mother, was of his sweet EveningPrimrose. 

Those who gather flowers at will, prize them for a while, then cast themcarelessly aside, can form no idea of the all-absorbing love the littleminer lad evinced for his one fair flower; it was his sole treasure, andhe ever watched and tended it lovingly and well. 

But time passed on, and it was Davie's last day in the coal-mine. He wasgoing to exchange that toilsome life, so uncongenial to his taste, butwhich stern necessity had made him adopt, for a new and brighteroccupation, one, too, for which he had always ardently longed. Themanager of whom he had spoken to his mother had frequently noticed thegentle, fair-haired boy; prosperity had not hardened _his_ heart (as itso often does), and recollections of the long-ago flashed ever acrosshim, when he saw Davie bravely striving to do his best to help hismother bear her burden of sorrowful poverty. He too had been a collierlad in those far-off days, and 'the only son of _his_ mother, and shewas a widow. ' The grass was green above that dear mother's grave, whoselatter years had been cheered and comforted by his tender, fosteringlove; but his thoughts were of her, as, laying his hand upon the lad'scurly head, he kindly asked, --

'Would you like to leave the pit-work, David, and go into the engineers'department?'

'What! and become a great man like Stephenson and Brunel? Oh yes, sir!'the boy joyfully exclaimed, for, like all youthful ambitions he vaultedat once to the highest pinnacle of greatness--there is no midway for theardent young. 

The manager smiled at his enthusiasm, as he replied, --

'You can but try, my lad, to be as great and good as they were;' and headded, 'You can enter upon your new work next week; there is a vacancyfor you. '

'But, sir, '--and the boy paused, --'shall I earn wages like I do now?because'--

And his voice failed him, he could not utter the thought of hisheart, --should he still be able to help his mother?

The gentleman understood his hesitation, for he said kindly, --

'Yes, my little man, you will earn good wages, and, if you are only goodand steady like your poor father before you, I've no doubt but that youmay become a great man one day;' and he smiled encouragingly into theboy's upturned face, a face which was beaming with hope and happiness. 

As to Davie, he raised his generous friend's hand to his lips, for hecould not speak for very gratitude; then, with his blue eyes sparklingwith joy, ran quickly home to tell the blissful news. 

'Mother, mother!' he cried, bursting in upon her as she sat at work; 'I_shall_ become a great man now, and you shall ride in a carriage, andnever work any more;' and then, with his arms around her neck and hiscurly head resting lovingly upon her shoulder, he poured forth hisbright hopes for the future. 

 * * * * *

So the last day came for working in the dark mine, and to-morrow--oh, to-morrow!

'But I'll miss ye, Davie, ' Mat Morgan observed, as he and his littlefriend trudged on side by side to work; 'ye be bright and cheery-likedown there, ' pointing with his pipe towards the pit. 'And maybe ye'llforget the missis and me when ye gets to be a great man, as ye saysye'll be one day, and I makes no doubt but ye will be too. Ye be summatlike yer poor fayther, my lad; he were allers above we. '

'Nay, Master Morgan!' cried the boy reproachfully; 'were you not myfirst friend, when dear father died? You don't mean that, I know!looking up at his old friend's rugged face with eyes full of tears. Then, brushing them away with his jacket sleeve, --it was not manly tocry, he thought, --he continued, 'No, when I am rich, you and Mrs. Morganshall both live in a big house with mother and me; we will ride in agrand carriage, and be so happy all together, and never look at blackcoals except to burn them. '

The old miner smiled as he listened to the boy's bright day-dreams, yetstill he could not help feeling somewhat sad, for he dearly loved thelad, and knew how much he should miss his merry chatter and song, whichso beguiled the time while they worked together down in the mine. 

But the time passed on much as on other days; when, just as they werepreparing to leave off work, and another gang was coming to relievethem, a low, rumbling sound was heard. One or two of the men ran to theentrance of the working, Mat Morgan among the number, and his face wasblanched when he returned to his comrades. 

'What is it, Master Morgan?' asked Davie, looking up at him with anundefined dread. 

'My lad, ' was his reply, and his voice was very calm, 'there has been alandslip in the sidings, and we are shut in. '

'But can we not get out?' he questioned. 

'No, never again, unless help comes, ' he hoarsely whispered, for hisbrave heart stood still at the terrible danger they were in. 

Indeed, no pen can express the terror that filled the hearts of thesebrave and hardy men at the thought of being thus entombed in a livinggrave; they quailed not when meeting death face to face, but shrank indread at the slowly advancing foe. 

All but the boy!

The light from the flickering lamps the miners carried fell upon hisdelicate features; but his eyes brightly gleamed, as, laying his handson the bowed head of his old friend, he softly said, --

'Master Morgan, let us not fear; our God is with us still!'

'Maybe He has forgotten us, Davie, ' the man pitifully moaned, for evenhis strong courage had broken down in face of this calamity. 

'No, no, ' soothed the boy. '"Yea, though I walk through the valley ofthe shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me:" is itnot so?'

There was something so calm, so trustful in the child's faith in God'smercy, that the poor stricken men listened as he tried to cheer themwith thoughts of that Power who is mighty to save. 

The weary hours dragged their slow length along, and, though help camenot yet, his perfect trust in God never wavered. Some of the men gavethemselves up to despair, and lay down where they had sat cowering, prepared to die. The lamps went out by degrees as the oil was expended, adding to the horror of the situation by leaving them in utter darkness. And yet, though death appeared so near, it had no terrors for littleDavie, for God was nearer still. 

'Shall I sing to you, Master Morgan?' the boy asked, as he laid hisweary head down upon his friend's broad shoulder. 

'Ay, ay, my lad, ' was the sole reply the poor man could make. 

Then through the awful silence and darkness of this fearful grave rangthe sweet, clear tones of the child's voice, singing--

 'Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee. '

'Hark!' he cried, suddenly pausing in the hymn; 'they are striving toclear the working--I hear the sound of their picks! We are saved! we aresaved!' he joyously shouted. 

With the sense of hearing preternaturally sharpened, these poor men, whohad given themselves up for lost, also listened; those who had lain downto die rising up and listening with every nerve acutely strained tocatch the faintest sound. Yes, they could hear their deliverers bravelyworking to set them free. 

Then arose as with one voice their glad song of deliverance, --

 'Thou canst save, and Thou alone!'

 * * * * *

Tenderly they bore him home to his mother, that brave, noble child, whose simple trust had sustained their failing hearts in that hour oftrial and suffering. 

But reaction had set in, and he was weak and fainting when they laid himin her arms, yet he feebly murmured, striving for her sake to appearstill strong, --

'Oh, mother darling, I am so glad to be at home again! I thought Ishould never more see you, nor my Evening Primrose. But, mother, why isit still so dark?'

She glanced in terror at his soft blue eyes, which to her looked asclear as ever. But why was it that, though the morning light wasstreaming in through the open window, to him it still was dark?

She breathed not one word of her fear to him, though the icy dreadchilled her to the heart, but, laying him gently down in his own cosybed, Soothed him with loving caresses, bidding him--

'Try to sleep, and forget it all!'

Then, when sleep came to the over-wrought brain, she left him in thecare of a kindly neighbour, and went tremblingly forth to seek herchild's trusty old friend. 

She found Mat Morgan seated in his arm-chair (for, like the rest of theminers who had been in this imminent peril, he had escaped unhurt), recounting to a group of neighbours the wonderful faith of little Davie, whose trust in God never failed, even when the shadows of the darkangel's wings had hovered so closely over them. 

'Oh, Master Morgan!' the poor mother cried, as with clasped hands andquivering lips she overheard him thus dilating on her boy's noblefortitude and humble Christian faith; 'my darling Davie! he will never, never look on us again this side the grave. He'--

'He be no dead, ma'am!' exclaimed the old man, starting from his chair, while sympathizing friends gathered round her with words of tender pity. 

'No, no, not dead, thank God!' she sobbed; 'but blind, I fear. Oh, mylittle boy, my Davie!'

'Maybe not, ' he replied, endeavouring to comfort her. 'I'll jest go wi'ye. I've known sich things afore, when men have been shut up in the darksome hours, --and _we_ were nigh upon three days in the pit, mind ye--theshock of seein' the daylight kind o' dazes the sight for a while. So yemust not greet, but hope and trust in our heavenly Father, as yourlittle lad ever does, I'm thinkin'! Come along. '

How eagerly did she hasten home, all anxiety to prove if the old miner'sopinion was right, and 'hoping against hope' that the child's sight hadbecome cleared while he slept, and that when he awoke he would look uponher with unclouded eyes. Her heart beat so violently she could scarcelyspeak, as, standing by his bedside, she saw his blue eyes were unclosedand apparently gazing upon her where she stood with Mat Morgan by herside. 

'Davie, ' she whispered softly, bending over him and kissing the partedlips, 'here is Master Morgan come to see you. '

'Where is he?' the boy joyfully cried. 'He is not hurt, then? Oh, I amso glad! But, mother dear, I cannot see him, nor you; there seems like ashadow over my eyes. Oh, mother, ' he piteously moaned, as the sad truthappeared to strike him, 'tell me, I am not blind, am I?'

Then, as she could not for very anguish reply to his eager question, hisnoble courage gave way, and, throwing himself upon his pillow, heuttered a piercing cry of untold despair. 

The poor mother knelt beside him with arms closely folding him to herheart, unable to soothe, save with loving caresses, her child'sunutterable anguish. 

'Nay, Davie, my man, ' cried the old miner, wiping his eyes with the backof his rough hand, 'ye did no greet when death a'most stared us in theface; why do ye sorrow now, my brave lad?'

'Oh, but then I should have been with God! Now'--and his sobsredoubled--'I shall never see mother's dear face again, nor yours, Master Morgan; and for me my Evening Primrose will never open its budsagain. And oh, if I am blind, I can never more be mother's littlebread-winner. '

 * * * * *

The parable is told!

Little Davie eventually recovered his sight, thanks to the generouskindness of the manager, who spared no means to procure the bestsurgical aid for the poor little lad; and in the years that quicklyfollowed, he became the stay and comfort of his widowed mother, retaining ever his filial affection for her, and cherishing fondrecollections of those early days when his only treasures were her loveand his Evening Primrose. 

PARABLE FIFTH. 

THE LITTLE SEED--KINDNESS. 

'Why, what have you got in your beak?' asked a dingy London Sparrow ofanother, just as dingy as himself. 

'Well, I hardly know, ' replied his friend, laying down the article inquestion, and surveying it critically with his head on one side; 'but itseems to me as though it is a seed--of some sort!'

'So it is, ' assented the other, as he hopped nearer and attentivelyexamined the treasure-trove. 'Yes, '--as if the idea had suddenlysuggested itself, --'yes, it _is_ a seed. Where did you find it?'

'I did not steal it, ' exclaimed the owner of the property, who evidentlyresented a something in his companion's manner of questioning; 'Ihonestly picked it up in a garden, where it was lying on the _top_ ofthe earth, not _in_ it, ' he added, with emphasis. 'I expect the windblew it there, for the gales have been very high these last few days. '

'Yes, yes, ' replied the questioner with alacrity; perhaps he feared hehad wounded his friend's feelings, and dreaded lest there might ensue asquabble, for sparrows, it must be confessed, are easily affronted overtrifles, though, as a rule, they are good-tempered little fellowsenough, putting up with scanty fare and homely lodgings very contentedlyand cheerfully. 'I wonder what kind of seed it is, do you know?' hestill further questioned, being of an inquisitive turn of mind. 

'No, I do not, ' replied the finder. 

'Ah, ' he said, with a sigh that ruffled all his feathers, 'if we did butlive in the beautiful green hedgerows, instead of dwelling among townchimneys, we should soon know what it was; our country cousins would beable to tell us in a moment if it was good to eat or not. By the bye, shall you eat it?' he pursued, eyeing his friend in the same keen way ashe eyed occasional crumbs of bread, his sharp little eye glancing quickand bright whilst waiting for the reply. 

'No, ' answered the other; 'I shall give it away. '

'Give it away!' he repeated, in utter astonishment at the idea; 'whoto?'

'Why, in my travels about this city, I have noticed a small window upamong the chimneys in the East End of London--it's a mere garret, Iexpect. '

'Well?' ejaculated the listener, somewhat impatiently. 

'I have also observed, ' pursued his companion deliberately, 'that on theledge of this window there are two or three flower-pots with some tinypieces of green trying to shoot out of the dry mould. '

'What have those flower-pots and the dry mould to do with this seed?'was the question he sharply put. 

'I think, ' continued the other Sparrow, not heeding the interruption, 'this must be a flower-seed, since I found it in a garden well known tome for its loveliness, --for, as a rule, I go about with my eyes open, 'he added. 'Now at this attic window of which I spoke, ' he went onsaying, 'I have seen a poor pale-faced girl for ever bending overneedlework, although sometimes, but very rarely, I have observed hercarefully watering and tending those flower-pots with their feebleattempts at greenery. '

'Have you nearly finished your touching description?' asked the friend, with a sneer. 

'Now, ' went on the Sparrow, as though he had not heard this remark, 'thesoil does not look very inviting, yet I have been thinking that, asthere has been rain during the night, the mould may be a little softenedperhaps; so if I alight on the window-sill, and drop this seed into oneof those pots, a pretty flower _might_ come up in time, and then howglad the poor girl would be!--why, it would actually give herhappiness. '

And the reflection merely of this hoped-for pleasure so brightened upthe little bird that he looked positively lovely! Not even a bird ofparadise could have appeared more glorious, dingy brown though our tinyhero's plumage was; but good deeds and kind words always bring abrightness with them. 

'Oh, that is what you intend doing!' remarked the other, who had beenpruning his flecked feathers whilst listening to this delightfulplan;--perhaps he might have imagined the treasure would come to him, since his friend was not going to keep it himself. 'You are verygenerous, ' he added, with a slight touch of sarcasm. 

But the kind little Sparrow did not mind; his heart was too full ofnoble intentions to notice trivial things. He merely said, --

'So now I'm off! Good-bye for the present. I shall be back in time forroost. '

'Oh, you are going, are you?' was the comment, as his friend picked upthe seed again in his beak and flew away. 

But, as he darted off, a sunbeam peeped round a corner just to see whatthe dear little fellow looked like, and this very sunbeam threw such ahalo around him, you would have thought his feathers had been burnishedgold. Then his voice, too, sounded so cheerily, as, with a merry'Twit-twit-twee, ' he disappeared from view, intent on his errand ofkindness. 

'I'm sure I should not have troubled myself to carry that burden so far, but should have eaten it for my dinner, ' muttered the one sitting on thewater-spout. 'Dear me, what's that?' as he caught sight of a shadowround an angle of the roof. 'Oh, gracious!' and he gave such a jump inhis terror, as he recognised Pussie taking a walk on the tiles, lookingout for her dinner, no doubt. 

You may be quite sure Mr. Sparrow did not wait until Pussie came up tohim, but flew away to a safe distance. 

Meanwhile the other bird was speeding on his errand of kindness. He didnot feel the weight of his burden, but went bravely on, onlyoccasionally resting on a water-spout or a parapet, just for a second ortwo, but never losing sight of his precious seed; though sometimes hewas sadly annoyed by other Sparrows coming up, and, with great fuss andchatter, inquiring as to what he was so carefully carrying. But he wasvery cautious, and always kept an eye upon his treasure (answering theirquestions curtly), for London Sparrows have the character of being not_too_ honest, with what truth it cannot be said; let us hope the chargeis unfounded. Still our hero thought it advisable to be watchful;therefore, after satisfying all curiosity on the subject, as much atleast as he deemed needful, he flew off again on his mission--withouttelling them the ultimate destination of his seed, fearing, perhaps, they might be unable to resist the temptation of picking it out of themould into which he intended to drop it. 

By and by he left the more respectable part of the city, and winged hisway as near as he could remember towards the attic window, where he hadso often seen the poor work-girl busy at her weary task. But a heavycloud of smoke darkened the air, and a perfect forest of mastsbewildered him, for he had come to that part of London where the shipsare to be seen--thousands of vessels from all countries of the world. Still, though he was puzzled for a while, yet he felt sure the house wasnear this place, as he recollected having seen these docks before. Whatshould he do? He paused for a bit upon a slanting roof just to lookaround. Oh, the smuts, how they settled upon his feathers! he wasobliged to preen himself, he felt so dirty; if his coat was a dingybrown, there was no occasion for its being dirty also! All at once, ashe paused during the process of preening, he saw the very window rightin front of him, --he recognised it by its cleanliness, such a contrastto the squalor around. Yes, there it was, the polished panes of glassglinting in the gleams of light that came now and then through themurky atmosphere; and there were the three flower-pots. Why, actuallythey had been washed, they looked so freshly red!--or perhaps painted. 

Away he joyfully flew, his task was nearly done; but alas for hopes ofbirds or people! Just as he was about to alight upon the window-sill, atiresome bird--a Sparrow--came flying towards him, exclaiming, --

'Hallo! who are you, I should like to know?' and so startled was he whenaccosted thus abruptly, that in his fright he dropped his dear andprecious treasure. 

Down, down it fell upon a deal case a man was wheeling on a truck. Theman did not notice the tiny grain that fell; perhaps, had he done so, would merely have thought it was a particle of dust; but the poor bird'sheart was sorely grieved as he saw it disappear, after all the troublehe had taken to bring it thus far, and he sat upon the window-ledge ofthe girl's room with ruffled plumage and dim eyes, utterly crushed bythis untoward loss. It was too bad!

But after a while he took heart, and looked the disappointment boldly inthe face, which is always the better plan than brooding over it. 

'It can't be helped, ' he said wisely, rousing from his sorrowfulreflections, and giving his feathers a shake together. 'I did my best, and could do no more. It is a loss certainly, but no doubt there areother flower-seeds to be found, so I'll go to-morrow morning to thatsame garden, and see if there are any more to be had. Dear me!' hecontinued, glancing up with his now bright eyes at the sky; 'why, it isgetting late. I must make haste home, or else my friends will beanxious, and fear that I have come to grief. '

So saying, he flew away, not without a note of farewell to the girl, whohad been looking at him all the time he sat there so disconsolately, wondering in her own mind why he was perched there so ruffled and sad, little dreaming of his kindly intentions towards her--how shouldshe?--so away he went, and reached his place of abode just as hisbrothers and friends were going to roost. 

You may be quite sure he was received with a perfect volley ofquestions. 

'Where have you been?' asked some who were ignorant of his scheme. 

'How did you manage?' questioned others who knew. 

'What sort of a place is it?' inquired several. 

Poor little bird! he was obliged to confess his failure, which he didwith reluctance; yet still he bore his disappointment so cheerfully andbravely, they could not help sympathizing with him, promising to help inthe good work next time. Even the Sparrow who had jeered somewhat at himwas really sorry, and consoled him so kindly, that he went to sleep withhis head tucked under his wing, in a far happier frame of mind than hecould have supposed possible, after such a grievous sorrow. 

And the seed?

As it was being jostled on the top of the packing-case, it thought toitself:

'There's an end to me, I suppose. I shall be shrivelled up to nothingfor want of nourishing earth, and shall do good to no one. What a pitythat dear little Sparrow's kind intention was frustrated by thatmeddlesome and inquisitive bird! I am sure I would have done my duty tothe utmost, and realized his wish by growing as fast as possible, andlooking cheerful and gay when in flower. Well, well, it is no use beingunhappy; I must only wait patiently, hoping that a chance of doing goodmay occur. Who knows what may happen?'

And at that very moment, the truck the man was wheeling gave a lurch, and in consequence the tiny seed rolled along until it slipped down acrevice in the lid, and found a comfortable resting-place inside amongstsome soft hay with which the case was packed. 

'This is cosy, ' it remarked, nestling in the warmth; 'perhaps after allI am reserved for some good purpose. I had become desponding, but thereis always a brightness behind the darkest cloud. '

So it cuddled down contentedly, not knowing or heeding whither it wastaken, only resting satisfied with the reflection that whatever happenedwas for the best. And so the packing-case was put on board one of thegreat ships in the docks, and in a few days away sailed the ship, packing-case, and little seed, far over the ocean, leaving England manythousand miles behind. 

Not having been to Australia, we cannot describe what the little seednext beheld. But when the sun once again shone upon it, it was in a verydifferent country to this dear land of ours. 

The case had been emptied of its contents, and the hay and straw withwhich it had been packed was thrown aside upon the ground, and there laythe seed, so tiny that it was quite unheeded, indeed it is to be doubtedwhether it was even seen; but the loving God, who has created nothing invain, had still a use for the small grain. A soft wind came and carriedit to some moist earth, into which it sank, thankful for the rest andquiet after the past turmoil. 

But its work was not finished. 

By and by came up a little slender green shoot, then a leaf or two, andafter a while, in due season, some pretty bell-shaped flowers, almostwhite, with just a tinge of delicate purple, made their appearance, andthere they swayed in the breeze--English Wood Anemones in a distantland. 

And in this distant land a young English girl had her home; and brightand beautiful it was, with huge trees and gorgeous flowers, unheard ofand unseen in the country village from which she had come. But, brightand beautiful as her new home was, she often sighed for the greenhedgerows and sweet wayside flowers of dear old England; not that shemurmured because God had sent her thither, only the love of her old homeand old home memories yet lingered in her heart. 

Think, then, what her joy was, when, one day as she wandered alone, gazing on gorgeous blossoms rich in brilliant colours, down at her feetshe spied, waving its delicate-tinted elf-bells in the warm, softbreeze, the Wood Anemone. 

Could it be possible? That well-known English flower blooming there! Howcould it have come across the ocean?

Ah, how often had she seen it at home--for England is ever home to thosewho are far away--seen it in the early spring days clustering thickly inthe woods and copse, heralding the cuckoo, and bringing with it apromise of summer days to come. 

'Dear, dear little flower!' she cried, kneeling down and kissing, inexcess of joy, its delicate petals. 'Welcome a thousand times, for youbring with you memories from the old land. I will not gather yourpretty flowers, nor take them away to myself, but will leave you here, so that others, perhaps more home-sick than I, will take heart, and becheered by your soothing though silent message. '

And the young girl was right. 

Others passing by--some poor wanderers, footsore and weary--were cheeredby the bonnie wild-flower, which, happy in giving happiness to others, swayed its tiny bells as it danced in utter gladness, whispering to thewild bees who also came to visit it, --

'I thought at one time, when the Sparrow let me fall, that there was nomore use for me in the world, that my work was finished; but God hadstill a mission for me, and I have done what others equally small cando--given happiness, and cheered those who came across my path. It isnot much to do, ' it continued meekly, 'not great and glorious deeds atwhich the world stands amazed; but it was all I could do, and was thework He meant for me--we must not despise the day of small things. Theacorn is very small, yet look at the oak. A gentle word, a brightsmile, is not hard to bestow, but oh, the blessing they can be to heartspining perhaps for kindness!'

 * * * * *

So the Sparrow's good intention was carried out after all. 

PARABLE SIXTH. 

THE CROWN IMPERIAL--HOPE. 

Have you ever seen a Crown Imperial, that lovely flower which comes inthe early spring-time, just after the Snowdrops have gone? You will notfind it in _new_ gardens, I fear; but in those delightful shady nooksand corners where the old-fashioned flowers seem to come and go just asthey please, there it is to be found, coming up year after year in allits beauty, and yet, though so lovely, meekly drooping its velvetpetals, upon which tear-drops are ever resting. 

It has been said that it droops thus in humiliation, because its pridewas once rebuked; but I do not think that aught so lovely could beunduly proud! Even the acknowledged queen of the garden, the statelyRose, is gentle in her beauty; and 'Consider the lilies, ' though'Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed' like them, yet how meeklythey bloom beneath our feet!

Then shall the Crown Imperial tell its tale to you, and see what lessonwe can learn from it? No, an old yew tree shall relate the story. Listento what it says:--

'Many, many years have I stood on this spot, from the time that I was atiny sapling until now, when my branches spread far and wide, coveringthe earth beneath with shadow. Summer sunshine has touched with itsfiercely scorching breath, and winter snows have shrouded me in fleecygarments, but the old yew tree has weathered so far the storms of life, growing year by year more twisted and gnarled as time passed on. I haveseen the song-birds come and depart; some have even built their nestswithin my leafy branches. I have watched sweet flowers blossom, thenfade, but among the many lovely flowerets I have loved--for the old drytree has a tender heart, my children--there was one whose verygentleness made me love it even yet more dearly. It was a CrownImperial. 

'The spring was commencing to gladden the earth when first I perceivedit, forcing its way timidly through the soft grassy lawn of an old, oldgarden. Who had placed the parent bulb beneath that turf was neverknown, for the owners of the estate had passed with their generationfrom the land, and strangers had come to reside in the ancienthomestead, but there was this fragile plant, outliving, as it were, those who had planted it, and coming up, year after year, to gladdenother eyes than those which had first beheld its beauty--like goodactions and gentle words--imperishable!

'So day by day I watched it grow, stronger and stronger, higher andhigher, and, as it grew, spreading gradually its beautiful, shiningleaves; but when it had reached its full height, behold, it was crownedwith a diadem of the softest green--an emerald crown worthy the brow ofa queen!

'Then by degrees I saw its blossoms begin to unfold, the velvet petalsricher far than the feeble looms of man can weave; but, as theyunclosed, to my intense surprise, they were not uplifted to thesunshine and blue sky, but meekly bowed--drooping earthward. 

'"They will gaze upward by and by, " I said to myself, "and, when theyknow and feel the power of their beauty, will court the admiration theyare sure to win. "

'But I was wrong. 

'Pride had no place within their lowly hearts--never were their flowerslifted up--their glances were ever bent in sweet humility towards thegreen sod from which they had sprung, and, as I gazed upon them, I sawthat on each lovely petal there ever rested a tear. 

'"Why this sadness?" I mused. "Surely so lovely and guileless a flowercan know no sorrow, since sorrow often goes hand in hand with sin; thisCrown Imperial must surely be as faultless as it is beautiful!"

'Yet I hesitated to ask the reason; there was a gentle and reservedtimidity about it, that checked all questionings. The cause of thisunspoken grief would be revealed to me sooner or later, I feltconvinced. 

'The days passed on with sunshine and shadows, and, as the hours fled, Isaw with regret that stern Time had relentlessly breathed with hiswithering breath upon my much-loved flower! Gradually and slowly itsblossoms pined, the lovely colours faded, --almost imperceptibly, 'tistrue, still they faded, --its fresh green crown became less purelybright, and I knew with anguish my sweet one was dying. 

'Then, and not till then, did it raise its faint eyes heavenward--theywere tearless now. I could restrain my wonder no more. 

'"Why, oh, why wert thou weeping and gazing ever earthward when in thypeerless beauty, sad and disconsolate--and now that thou art fading fromus thou art happy?" I asked in my sorrowful regret; perhaps reproach wasmingled with my complaint. 

'"Is it not ever so?" the gentle flower replied. "Whilst burdened withLife's sorrows, our eyes are tear-dimmed. The cares of this world pressheavily upon our hearts, so that we scarce can lift our thoughts fromthis earth--cold and weary though it is--to gaze upward. It is only whenwe are passing from all shadows into the Divine Light that we can lookheavenward, yet even then the tear-drops linger. But when earthlysojourners have passed through the dark valley into the EternalBrightness, then, and only then, will they be freed from anguish; then, and only then, will eyes be no longer dimmed by sorrow--for God Himselfshall wipe away all tears!"'

PARABLE SEVENTH. 

THE TWO LEAVES--DISCONTENT. 

Once upon a time, as the good old fairy tales always begin, there grewby the side of a little brook a large Oak tree. 

The brook was a bright, sunlit stream, gliding along so cheerfully tojoin the river, between grassy banks, kissing the willows which bentdown towards it, or whispering softly to the blue Forget-me-nots; and soclear was it, you could see the smooth pebbles lying at the bottom, andthe fish skimming along gaily, as if there were no such things in thewhole world as fishing-rods. 

All through the day it rippled merrily, catching every ray of sunlightthat flickered through the trees or the blue sky above; but if an angryblack cloud ever chanced to see itself reflected in its clear mirror, it scudded away as if ashamed of looking so dark. 

But at night, when the holy stars were shining, ah, how softly thelittle brook murmured to them! you could almost fancy it did not babbleso loudly as in the day-time, for fear lest it should wake the sleepingflowers on its mossy banks. 

It was a happy little stream, so calm, so placid, no angry ripples everdisturbed its pure surface, over which the Swallows lightly skimmed. Andit meandered along for many miles; sometimes you would lose sight of italtogether, then out it would come from some quiet, grassy nook, gailysparkling, and glide with a merry sound, as if laughing, towards thesteady rushes, and they would sway to and fro at its approach, dancingto its rippling music. 

But, as I was saying, a sturdy Oak grew by the side of the brook; it hadsprung from an acorn many hundred years ago, now it was very old. Wintrystorms had vainly tried to subdue it; many a time they had bent itsbranches, plucked at its roots, but fruitless was their fury, for thenoble tree firmly held its place, rearing its proud head more loftilythan ever; and so the storms, finding their power availed them nought, passed away over the land, howling with rage at their failure. 

Then, oh, how the birds loved the clear old tree! Summer after summerdid they return to build nests among its moss-grown branches; and thebranches, glad that the songsters had come back again, would put forthgreen leaves to hide them from prying eyes, so that they could restthere securely. Can you wonder, then, that they sang sweet songs ofgratitude to it, and that the little brook should murmur her sweetmelody as she glided along at its feet?

On the opposite bank grew an Aspen. 

It was not so old as the Oak, who had seen it grow up from a meresapling; still they had been neighbours for many years, and the gracefulAspen looked with love and reverence upon her aged friend's sturdy faceand form. Often, in the calm summer nights, the Oak would talk to her ofthe days of the long-ago; you would have thought it was merely thebreeze sighing amidst the branches, but it was the voice of the Oaktelling of the past. 

Many of the birds imagined the Aspen to be a weak, trembling tree, quivering always with fear at the slightest wind that ruffled itsbranches. 

'Scarcely safe to build a nest in!' so said an old motherly Rook, whohad reared many a brood. 

But the fairies who danced beneath its shade on bright moonlight nightsknew better; they knew that the fragile-_looking_ tree never trembledwith fear; they had often seen it meekly bend beneath the sway of thefierce wintry blasts, knowing full well whose hand guided the storm; andwhen the summer came they knew that then it quivered with happiness atbeing created on so fair an earth, and that its leaves only shook withquiet laughter as it listened to the merry chatter of the brook. 

Well--winter had passed with his frosts and snows, and spring wasscattering her flowers everywhere. The Cuckoo was calling aloud, 'Cuckoo, cuckoo, ' all day long, never heeding the young folks who mockedhis song; even the Swallows had returned from the warm, sunny South, andwere for ever skimming over the brook, just dipping their wings into itslimpid waves, then off again with the joyous 'Twit, twit, twit. ' Themeadows, too, were yellow with buttercups, in which the cows wadedknee-deep. Talk of the Field of the Cloth of Gold! Francis the Firstwould have been a clever man could he have made such an one!--no earthlyking could create golden fields like these. 

All nature was rejoicing in earth's brightness, and our old friends theOak and the Aspen as much as any. They had put forth their fresh greenleaves, and beneath their shade many a tired traveller rested from thenoonday sun, thanking them both in his heart for the welcome shelter. 

During the winter the Oak had not been idle, for it had extended itsbranches far and wide; one, indeed, stretched right across the brook, infact, almost touched its opposite neighbour, and the Aspen welcomed itgladly. You would have thought it great happiness to live in such alovely spot, I know, but there is never perfect bliss, and if littlefolks _will_ be discontented, they make the prettiest place appearwretched and miserable. 

Now, among the leaves of the Oak there was one that was always restlessand fidgety. In vain the sweet birds perched near and sang to him, andthe gentle brook murmured tales of other scenes--he never seemed happy. The fairies, too, as I before said, danced by moonlight at the veryfoot of the parent tree, yet even that brave sight gave him no pleasure, though his brother and sister leaves would clap their tiny hands inecstasy. 

'It disturbed his sleep, ' he said. 'Why could they not dance in theday-time?--not when all respectable leaves and flowers were sleeping!making such a noise, especially that mischievous Puck!'

And, unfortunately, he grew on the branch nearest to the Aspen, and hisconstant grumbles made them quiver with sorrow and pain at suchincessant complainings. As to his own relatives, they would not listen, but frisked about merrily enough when the zephyrs came and played withthem. 

'Alas!' said he one day to a little Aspen leaf that grew on a branchclose by, and who had patiently borne with his ungrateful complaints;'how sad is our lot! Here we are always attached to the same place, in astate of cruel bondage; everything around us moves: the birds, happy intheir liberty, fly here and there, singing ever their songs of joy; eventhe beasts of the forests are free--whilst we--ah me!--we never loseour galling chains but in dying!'

'Why do you murmur thus?' asked the Aspen leaf in a sweet, tremulousvoice; 'why are you not contented?'

'Oh, it is all very well for you to preach contentment, ' it pertlyreplied, turning up its point with contempt. 'I am a leaf of intellect. I hate this aimless, monotonous life; it does very well for such silly, trembling things as you and yours, --not for me!'

For a moment the little Aspen leaf felt its pride wounded by thecontemptuous speech of its neighbour, and was strongly disposed toanswer in the same strain; but fortunately, a fairy who chanced to bepassing at the time laid her silver wand lightly on its lips, so with asmile she merely said, --

'Yes, I know I am timid, and cling to my parent tree for security andprotection. What would you do if you were free? We are so happy here, Iwould not leave my home; the soft breezes are ever among us withcheerful stories of the countries they have visited to amuse us; and asto the birds, why, all the day long they are singing their sweetestmelodies to gladden our hearts and cheer us. '

'I have heard their songs until I am quite tired of their sameness, ' wasthe ungrateful response; 'besides, in a few months the cold winds willbe here, and then we shall fall to the ground and be trodden underfoot--that will be the end of us. So I am determined to see something ofthe world before that time comes. I shall go off with the first northwind that visits us--so I tell you. You will not reason me out of myplan. '

'Oh, stay, stay with us!' cried the trembling listener; 'you cannotsurely know the sorrow you would cause, nor the troubles you would haveto endure. It is true we leave our kind branches but to die, but we arenot carelessly trodden on; the rustling of we poor faded leaves beneathman's feet recall to his mind pure and holy thoughts of the unknownfuture, filling his heart with unuttered prayers to the Great Power whochangeth not. Then, if we poor leaves can teach a lesson, we have notlived in vain. Do not murmur at your humble fate, dear friend, but staywith us, contented with your simple destiny and the goodness of God. '

The Aspen leaf ceased speaking, overcome by its emotion, whilst thelittle grumbler, silenced, but not convinced, turned sulkily away. Itdid not relish the kind advice of its true friend, nor did it at allintend to follow it, but still it settled down on its tiny twig so veryquietly, that all its relatives firmly believed it had given up itsfoolish scheme of imaginary happy freedom; but they were mistaken, for afew days after a north wind came quite unexpectedly upon them. It bentthe Aspen tree almost to breaking, still the loving little leaves clungtrembling to their parent, feeling that their very safety rested ontheir keeping close to it. Then, finding its strength was in vain, awaythe north wind rushed to the sturdy old Oak, swaying its branches wildlyabout, and even making them crack in its fierce rage. 

But the Oak reared its proud head defiantly, and its leaves hung tightlyon--all save one. Alas! with a mocking laugh at his friends' and hisbrothers' fears, he threw himself into the arms of the cruel north wind, who bore him swiftly away, and ere the night came the foolish leaf layfaded and dead. 

As he was whirled away, a sad, sad moan sighed through the branches ofthe old Oak. 'Twas a cry of anguish for its wilful child. 

 * * * * *

The bright summer was gone. 

One by one the leaves were falling. With a gentle rustle they fell fromtheir parent trees, and lay in their faded beauty upon the earth. 

The little Aspen leaf lingered, but one day a soft, sweet zephyr cameand gently released her, and she fluttered slowly down to the calm bosomof the little brook, who had, alas! seen many flowers bloom and die. 

Tenderly the stream bore it away to a grassy nook on its banks, andthere it placed the tiny leaf, alone in its quiet rest. 

PARABLE EIGHTH. 

THE AMBITIOUS WILD-FLOWER--AMBITION. 

 'Who'll buy my roses? they're lovely and fair, They're Nature's own bloom, and are fed on fresh air. '

So sang a little girl, as she walked along a shady lane, carrying abasket of those glorious flowers which she was taking to a friend as abirthday gift; and so on she went, singing her song of Roses, sweetRoses, little thinking that others were listening to her melody (besidesthe birds), or that her simple words would raise angry feelings in thevery flowers themselves. 

'Oh yes!' exclaimed a small Wild-flower--its name I will not tell; 'ohyes!' she repeated, waiting until the singer was out of hearing; 'alwaysRoses, or Violets, or Lilies--no one ever composes songs about--_us_--weare only common flowers. '

'Don't say so, ' interposed Pimpernel, 'because that is not true. Thereis a poem on a Daisy that will ever be remembered, and I have heard somechildren sing a pretty one about Buttercups and Daisies, besides. '

'Oh, of course you uphold these song-makers, because your name hasappeared in print, ' she interrupted, with a toss of her bonnie petals;'but no one has ever noticed me. '

'Nonsense!' said Ragged Robin, who, having been of a wanderingdisposition, had seen and heard a great deal in his time; 'why, there isone poet who says, --

 "Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its fragrance on the desert air. "

Therefore, if you are not mentioned by name, you certainly must beincluded among these unknowns who are born to blush unseen. '

'I don't want to be included among these "unknowns" then, ' exclaimed theFlower angrily. 'I am sure I am'--she hesitated a moment--'quite aslovely as a Rose, or any other garden beauty;' but she could not helphanging her head for very shame whilst uttering this piece ofself-conceit. 

'Oh! oh! oh!' were the exclamations to be heard on all sides. 

'So I am, ' she persisted, going on now in sheer desperation, havingproceeded too far to retract. 'My petals are delicately fair, with justa faint rosy blush, my pistils and stamens of a tender yellow, and myform, if fragile, is very graceful--so there!'

You may imagine the laughter that ensued as she ended with that emphatic'so there!' laughter which could not be suppressed, although she plainlyshowed her anger at their behaviour; they could not help it, soflower-bells shook and leaves fluttered with mirth, even Quaker grassquivered with merriment. 

'I would advise you to be more contented, ' said a Honeysuckle, as shelooked down upon the ambitious little Flower from her own elevatedposition; 'let me tell you it is not always those who are highest up inthe world are the happiest; they feel the cold winds quite as keenly, perhaps more so. '

'Ah, but I want to live in a conservatory or a greenhouse. I feel I amfitted for that position, ' grumbled the other; 'in such a place Ishould be more seen, and consequently more admired and appreciated. '

'What vanity!' sneered wild Vetch, who was somewhat ambitious also, seeing he tried to climb up as high as he could. 

An angry retort was on the lips of the one addressed, but Honeysuckleinterposed, by saying kindly, --

'Well, well, we shall see, --perhaps your position may be altered oneday, and then you will be able to show us how you bear prosperity. Manyflowers I have known transplanted to conservatories, thinking they wouldprove to be exotics, but I have heard that they generally withered inthe heated atmosphere to which they were removed, and did not come toperfection when taken from their native soil. '

'I am sure I should enjoy the change, ' was the answer vouchsafed to thisfriendly warning. 'I know I am not in my proper sphere; such beauty asmine was never surely intended by Nature for a hedgerow. '

'We shall see!' cried several Blossoms, who felt indignant at hercontemptuous way of speaking. 'Your parents were no doubt'--

'Exotics, I am convinced, ' she said. 

'Then how came you here among such humble company?' asked merry RaggedRobin, who was fond of teasing. 

She deigned no reply, but looked him scornfully up and down, to hisintense amusement. 

'Let her alone!' cried a sturdy Bramble; 'she will buy her experiencewith sighs and tears, I fear. '

So, acting upon Bramble's advice, they did leave her alone to muse overher ambitious hopes and desires, whilst they, contented and happy withtheir lowly fate, opened their buds to the bright sunshine, which beamsalike upon the high or humble. 

And very pretty looked that hedgerow on this same morning. The flowerswere so lovely and fresh, for their gentle Mother Nature had washedtheir bonnie faces fresh with dew, and so they held their petals up tocatch the sun's brightest rays, which came in golden gleams through thethickly-leaved hedges above them. What life could possibly be happier?There were the birds flying about, cheering them with merry twitterings, as they sped from tree to tree, or perched in the boughs overhead, warbling ever their songs of gladness. Then the bees would come, andask them, in drowsy, murmuring voices, for just a sip of nectar fromtheir cups, a boon which was never refused, and in return the busylittle workers would leave them some pollen to colour their petals, andrender them (if it were possible) more lovely than before. Thebutterflies, too, would alight on their leaves, and display theirbrilliant hues for their admiration, or the gay dragon-flies would flyabout them in that wandering fashion peculiar to those gorgeous insects, darting hither and thither like flashes of rainbow light. At night themoonlight would kiss their weary eyes to sleep, whilst the softnight-breezes soothed them to rest with murmuring lullabies. 

It is true there were storms sometimes, and the cold rain would fallupon them; but still they were sheltered from all fierce tempests, andwould rise up refreshed after the dark clouds had passed away, for theyknew

 'Behind the clouds the sun's still shining. * * * * * Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary;'

and as to the summer showers, why, they tossed their heads, and laughedmerrily at them, shaking the light rain-drops from their petals inplayful fun. 

But on this morning, when the tiny Wild-flower was making her lifemiserable by useless repinings at her humble lot, and sighing for--sheknew not what!--well, on this same morning there was not a cloud to dimthe sky, so brightly blue was it, and the soft west wind crept among theleaves and flowers, whispering to them the glad tidings of 'Summer iscome!'

I do not know how long it was after the little girl had passed, that agentleman came sauntering slowly up the lane; and as he went, he wouldstop every now and then to examine the hedgerow flowers and shrubs. Allat once he espied our friend, almost hidden though she was by the leavesand long grass around. 

'What a lovely little flower!' he exclaimed, as he stooped down toexamine more closely his newly-found treasure; 'how delicate in colour, how sweet in perfume! Surely this was never intended to remain hidden ina hedge?'

Oh, if you could but have seen how she tried to raise her pretty head, which Nature had bowed in simple loveliness, and endeavoured to lookbig, little thinking that her greatest charm lay in this sweetsimplicity. 

'I must certainly transplant it to my greenhouse, ' he went on saying. 'With care and skill, who knows into what it may not develop!--anentirely new plant, I doubt not. I will at once take it home. '

And away he went to procure the necessary tools for removing her fromher lowly home to one more suited to her wishes. 

'Did I not tell you so!' was her delighted exclamation. 

'Well, I never!' ejaculated Pimpernel, whose pretty eyes were now openedwide in astonishment. 

'Better to be born lucky than rich, ' muttered Ragged Robin. 

'Shall I not be grand in a conservatory?' cried the ambitious Flower. 

'I would rather

 "Adorn the rustic stibble-field, Unseen, alane, "'

murmured meek Daisy. 

'Ah, you have no ambition!' sneered the other; 'besides, "the rusticstibble-field" is your proper sphere--it is not mine!'

'Pride, pride!' rebuked Honeysuckle, gazing sorrowfully down upon thearrogant little speaker. 'Take care that you sigh not yet for your oldhome and humble friends. '

'Indeed I shall not!' she retorted insolently. 

'Wait, wait!' continued sturdy Bramble; ''tis the time of flowersnow--wait till the fruit-time comes. '

'I do not know what you mean, ' she retorted angrily; 'nor do I'--

'That there is a time for all things, ' explained Shepherd's Clock, interrupting her. 

'I trust your high hopes will be realized, ' said Speedwell kindly. 

How much longer this wrangling would have continued it is impossible tosay, for at that moment the gentleman returned with a trowel, spade, andbasket, and proceeded to remove her from her native soil. In justice toher, it must be confessed that, when the moment came to part for everfrom all her old friends, and the surroundings to which, in spite of herincessant murmurs, she felt attached, she clung desperately with herslender, fibrous roots to the familiar spot where from a seedling shehad lived and grown--yes, clung desperately! But with the utmost careevery tender fibre was released, and she was placed in the basket andcarried away. Was she glad now? No, far from it--wishing again and againthat she had been left alone. 

However, it was too late. She had always complained of not being in herproper position, and now the glorious change was come; she was beingtaken to where her hopes had aspired, --a conservatory or a greenhouse, it mattered not which. 

After a while, with the usual indifference of such natures, her regretssubsided, giving place to thoughts respecting the place in which she wasdestined to live. 

'Of course I shall be welcomed by all the nobler flowers with delightand astonishment, ' she mused; 'delight because of my agreeable manners, and astonishment at my beauty! How I wish my old hedgerow friends couldbut be present to witness my reception!'

But this reception, upon which she built such bright fancies, wasdelayed for some few days, for, on arriving at her destination, she wascarried into a dingy shed, not into the splendid glass palace hervisions had conjured up. 

'Is this the place to which I am destined?' she muttered complainingly. 'Oh dear! no one will see me here. I wish I had remained in the lane, for there was a chance of my being admired by some passer-by. What isthe use of my ambitious hopes, if this is to be the end of them?'

Fortunately there was no flower or even a plant near to be wearied withher repinings, so on she grumbled, until at last her misery reached itsclimax, when she was taken and pressed tightly into a horribleflower-pot, then carefully watered, and afterwards put into a darkcorner to take root. Had she been capable of shedding tears, no waterwould have been required, such as was given to revive her; for thesorrow she felt was almost too great to be borne. Here was a life tolead after all her high aspirations, and her slender roots, too, were socramped and squeezed it was something dreadful! Oh for the once despisedhedgerow, with the soft, cool earth, in which she could stretch herdelicate fibres!

But wait, impatient little flower! other days are coming. 

One morning--at least so it proved to be, though at the time she did notknow it, as in her dark dwelling she saw neither sunrise norsunset--well, this morning of which we speak, to her intense delight, the gentleman came and carried her out into the open air, and surveyedher critically. 

'Yes, ' she heard him say, and how her heart bounded with pride, 'it isindeed a lovely flower, and may well take its place among those in theconservatory, for it is really exquisite. '

Here was a triumph! this was the hour to which she had so long lookedforward. 

'At last, at last!' she murmured. 'Oh, if my old acquaintances could butsee me now, what would they say? I wish some of them were here. '

Not satisfied even yet! You see there is always an alloy in our greatestearthly pleasures or triumphs--always a something wanting. Yet socompletely bewildered was she by this excess of gratified pride, thatshe knew not whither she was borne, until, when the delirium, for suchit was, had passed, she found herself in a place which her wildestimaginings never could have supposed possible--a wondrous glass palace, filled with the most gorgeous flowers of all tints and forms, somedeliciously perfumed, making the air fragrant; whilst in the centre ofthis palace a fountain rose and fell with soothing murmurs, scatteringits silvery spray upon exquisite blossoms that floated in the marblebasin. It was almost too lovely, and our little wayside friend sighedwith a sense of overpowering astonishment at the wondrous beautiesaround, beauties that dazzled her unaccustomed eyes. Her place, however, was upon one of the lower shelves, and above her head waved the featheryleaves of tropical plants, which throve wonderfully well in the heatedatmosphere of this (to her) paradise. 

Then she was left alone with her new associates--alone! how much thatword conveys!

After some time the other flowers became aware of a stranger having comeamong them, and a flutter (as much as such well-bred creatures deignedto evince) stirred their leaves and petals. 

'What is she like?' asked a Maidenhair Fern, who from her position couldget not even a glimpse of the new arrival. 

'Is she elegant and refined?' inquired a Camellia languidly. 

'Is she fair or dark?' questioned Tea-Rose, with a faint breath. 

'It matters not to me what she is, ' murmured Ice-Plant coldly. 

'Where does she come from?' whispered Myrtle to her neighbour CapeJasmine. 

'From a hedgerow, ' was the reply, but uttered so that all around herheard the answer. 

'Only a Wild-flower!' was the general exclamation. 'What presumption tocome amongst us!'

Then a chilling silence fell upon them all, except when they spoke toeach other; but, after that unlucky explanation of her origin, it was asthough they ignored her very existence--she was with them, still not ofthem. 

And, strange to say, our little friend, who was so ready with wordsamong her compeers, was completely silenced by these disdainfulbeauties, and, instead of replying, and holding, or rather maintaining, her position there, she shrank, as it were, abashed and ashamed of herlowly origin. 

Was this the triumphant reception she had expected? Where was the homageher beauty was supposed to exact, and where the admiration of hermanners and elegance generally? Ah me! she was only a little waysideblossom after all, pretty, it is true, and suited to the quiet hedgerow, but without the merits or the talents to raise her to a higher place. Better far the humble friends, the lowly mossy bank where she had grownin peace and rest (save for her own unquiet ambition), than the grandeurand contempt which now were hers. 

So day after day passed on, and the florist who had brought her from theshady lane, hoping he had discovered a lovely and rare flower, saw withregret that his treasure was fading; the heated atmosphere of thissplendid conservatory was too great for her to bear, and she was piningaway for the fresh air and freedom of her old home; but, above all, shelonged for the kindly if rough sympathy of her humble friends; the coldsociety of these exotics was gradually yet slowly killing her! In vainwas the owner's care lavished upon her--it would not do; the delicatepetals shrank up witheringly, the slender green leaves became shrivelledand dying, so in kindness he took her from the gorgeous palace, whichshe quitted gladly, without one sigh of regret, and carried her back tothe shady lane, the once despised hedgerow, and carefully placed her inthe very spot from which she had been taken. 

It was the home for her!

Sadly she turned her dim eyes to the old friends around, who gazed uponthe sorrow-stricken Flower pityingly and without reproach. 

'I have returned to die, ' she murmured. 'Ambition which has pure andholy aspirations is laudable in all; but I mistook pride for that whichis more noble, and I am punished. Do not blame me, ' she pleadedpiteously, 'but give me your pity, and when I am gone, think withtenderness upon the poor little Wild-flower who knew, when too late, that her place was best and happiest when among the humble blossoms bythe peaceful hedgerow!'

PARABLE NINTH. 

THE HONEYSUCKLE AND THE BUTTERFLY--HUMILITY AND PRIDE. 

One early spring day, a little shoot of Honeysuckle was putting forthits tendrils low down on the ground at the foot of a quickset hedge. Asyet it was but a weakly sprig, not knowing its own strength, nor evendreaming that it would ever rise far above the earth. Yet still it wasvery contented, drawing happiness from its lowly surroundings, happy inliving, and feeling the warm sunshine kissing its fragile leaves. 

Close by, there was a strange, dark, oblong mass, and the littleHoneysuckle tried to imagine what it could possibly be, for it nevermoved, nor evinced emotion of any kind; and yet it was alive, becausepeople would take it up, examine it, then put it down again, saying, --

'It is only a common Chrysalis!' But what _that_ was the Honeysuckleknew not. 

At last, one day, when the sun was shining very brightly indeed, and theair was warm, and filled with the sweet breath of spring, to her greatsurprise she saw this peculiar object move, then by degrees the darkbrown casing was cast aside, and she saw that it had wings!

'Why, what are you?' she questioned, in utter amazement at thismarvellous transformation. 

'Me!' he replied. 'Oh, I am a Butterfly, and you will see that very soonI shall become most lovely, such gloriously tinted feathers will deck mywings, all the world will be lost in admiration, I shall be sobeautiful!'

'And will you let me see you then?' the meek little flower asked humbly. 

'Oh yes! certainly you shall gaze upon me, ' he answered, with a mightyair of condescension. 

'But will you not always remain here?' she questioned, pleased at theidea of having so charming a neighbour. 

'Dear me, no! I should think not, indeed. Why, I shall fly far awayfrom this humble neighbourhood!' was his exclamation. 

'What! and leave me?'

'Certainly! what else could you expect?' he replied. 'My ambition couldnot endure such a humdrum existence as yours; with these gay-colouredwings of mine I shall soar to higher realms, and be courted and caressedwhere'er I go!'

'Oh that I had wings like yours, or that you clung to earth!' sighed thetender-hearted Honeysuckle, who, from having been so long in closecompanionship with the dark, unsociable Chrysalis had actually grown tolike him. 

'Nonsense! what a ridiculous wish!' exclaimed the gaudy insect, who didnot share his little friend's feeling of regard. 'Why, I should die if Iwere rooted to one place! I require a large sphere in which to moveabout; while as to you--I doubt if ever you will rise higher in theworld than you are now. '

Not a kind remark to make, certainly, and it sadly grieved the humbleflower to hear the Butterfly thus speak. 

'And yet, ' she sorrowfully mused, 'perhaps he is right; I know I am buta little green plant, very small, and very lowly, whilst he is so nobleand beautiful with his gorgeous wings. Still, it is heart-rending tothink I shall never rise above the sordid earth, always remain a meregroundling! But never mind, ' she added more cheerfully; 'evengroundlings can do good sometimes, so I'll take courage, and hope forthe best. '

Not many days after this, the Butterfly called out joyfully to hislittle admirer, --

'Good-bye! good-bye! See! I have acquired my full beauty, so now I amoff to entrance the world with my perfect loveliness! I _think_ I am anEmperor, though I am not quite sure; but there! people will soonappreciate me, and, of course, will acknowledge my claims toadmiration. '

'And are you really going?' she asked sadly. 

'Yes, of course! I am perfect now, and could not possibly stay _here_any longer;' looking round contemptuously upon his humble surroundings. 'But I'll come and see you again, perhaps; _you_ are sure to be found inthe same place!'

And away he flew with a mocking laugh; his gay wings fluttered merrilyin the sunshine as he poised above the gorgeous garden flowers a while, then he sped away into distance, and was lost to sight, whilst thelittle Honeysuckle felt very lonely as she watched him disappear. 

'Oh dear me!' she sighed; 'I feel rather sad now he has gone. Itcertainly must be very nice to rise a little in the world, not to be'--

'Take hold of my hand, my dear, ' said a kind Bramble, who happened tohear the flower lament her lowly fate. 'I may perhaps be able to giveyou a lift up. '

'Oh, thank you very much, ' was the response; 'but I fear your kindnesswould be thrown away, for I do not think I shall ever be more than I amat present. '

'One can never know, until he has tried, what may be done, ' was theencouraging rejoinder. 'Look at me, for example! I am only what iscalled a Bramble, very much despised by some folks, no doubt; but then, who despises the fruit I bear? Why, every one likes the hardyblackberry, and I believe "by your fruit ye are known. "'

'But I shall never yield fruit, ' the Honeysuckle exclaimed; 'and as toflowers'--

'You are as yet only a green sprig of something--what I know not, 'interrupted the Bramble sharply. 'But courage, child; take fast hold ofme. I am rough but trusty; so take my hand. '

'I fear to climb!' cried the other timidly. 

'Nonsense, child! nothing is done without an effort. Only, when once youhave secured a chance, hold it fast, ' was the caution given. 

So she ventured to put forth a tender green tendril and clasp her kindfriend's helping hand, which, if rough and thorny, was certainly honestand true. 

It is very seldom in this world that the humble and shrinking findfriends ready and willing to raise them from the ground; for there issuch a rush and scramble to reach the temples of 'Fame' and of 'Mammon, 'that each one elbows the other in the crowd. Some of the weaker ones getsadly pushed to the wall, others are trampled under foot, and it is onlythe very boldest and most daring of the throng who ever reach thedesired goal. 

But amongst the flowers it is not so; for how many of the weak onescling for support to others, and, through their tender care, gainstrength and beauty. And this was the case with the Honeysuckle; shefelt so secure resting on that strong, protecting arm, that by degreesshe began to gain courage, and to feel her own power. The Bramble, too, perceiving she was something more than a mere 'little green sprig ofsomething, ' kindly encouraged her to persevere in her upward course. Soshe clambered up higher and higher; the delicate green tendrils becamefirmer and stronger, and at length, after much painful toiling and manya disappointment, she reached the highest summit of her hopes--the topof a quickset hedge!

'Oh, how can I thank you all!' she joyfully cried, when from her loftyposition she gazed around on beautiful scenes undreamt of ere this, andthen looked back upon the toilsome path she had travelled, and beheldthe many kind friends who had helped her on her way, each one of whomwas now rejoicing in her success; 'and you, dear Bramble, my firstgenerous guide'--

'We are all very pleased to see that at last you have succeeded in yourefforts, my dear, ' interrupted that sturdy friend; 'and, what is more, we do not fear you will prove ungrateful, you are sure to remember us. '

'Indeed, indeed I ever shall!' cried the happy little flower. 'Can Iever forget those who loved me when I was poor and lowly? that would becruel and unkind. '

And so it proved; for, as the summer grew warmer, and her lovelyblossoms opened to the bright sunshine, she in her gratitude showeredthem over those dear ones who had helped her in the days of her poverty;and the fragrant blossoms thus spread over the hedge and the brambleenhanced their beauty, and rendered them still more lovely in the eyesof the passers-by. 

'Dear me!' exclaimed the Butterfly, as one very hot day he alighted torest upon one of the Honeysuckle's leaves. 'Dear me!' he repeated, surveying her critically; 'why, really I did not know you again. How didyou contrive to get so high up in the world?'

'Kind hearts, loving hands, helped me, ' was the simple answer given. 

'Oh, indeed!' he curtly said. 'Well, I owe gratitude to no one. Isuppose you will not get any higher?' he questioned, after a pause. 

'No, ' she replied, with her usual humility; 'and even if I could, Iwould not wish it; for, living as I do amongst all who are dear to me, Ihave no higher ambition. '

'You were always a faint-hearted thing, ' exclaimed the insect, quiteforgetting even to be commonly polite, so elated was he with pride. 'Just compare the difference in our lives! I fly here, I fly there, nowon this flower, now on that. Ah, mine is a glorious life! nothing butpleasure and excitement all the livelong day. Confess, now, would younot like to be me?'

'No, ' she answered, with the utmost sincerity; 'I am so happy here, Iwould not change my lot even for a career so brilliant as yours. '

'What a taste!' he exclaimed, with scornful pity; 'no wonder you remaina hedge-flower! Why, poets write about us, and there is actually a songcalled "I'd be a Butterfly. " Only think of that!' he exultantly cried. 

'What! and have a pin stuck through one's head, and to be suffocatedwith camphor, merely for the sake of being placed in a glass-case forpeople to stare at!' ejaculated Spleenwort, with a dash of malice in histone. 

'Don't talk of such things, you common flower!' the insect angrilyexclaimed. 'I'll not stay here any longer to listen to such vulgarity. Iprefer more refined society!'

And away he flew, evidently very much disturbed in his mind by whatSpleenwort had remarked as occurring to butterflies in general, althoughhe would not acknowledge that it was so, even to himself, but tried tobanish the thought by indulging more freely in what he consideredpleasure. You see--poor, giddy flutterer--he did not like to hear theplain truth spoken; flattery would have pleased him better, yet truth, though sometimes bitter, is a wholesome tonic when taken properly. 

 * * * * *

The summer days sped fast, for Father Time's scythe is never idle, andhe was gradually, though slowly, mowing down the flowers which hadgarlanded the sunny hours. The leaves once so green were changing now, assuming their glowing autumn tints, whilst some would fall flutteringto the ground with a gentle sigh of weariness, as the cold winds wererustling by. Then the stern northern gale came sweeping along, proclaiming to the forest trees that winter was on her way; and ashudder would pass through their sturdy branches when they heard thetidings, for they feared her chill, icy breath. 

The bees took refuge in their well-stored hives, the ants had barredtheir outer doors, and retired to their most secluded apartments; eventhe garden spider was sheltered in his home--only the once gay butterflywas homeless and friendless. 

'Shelter me, shelter me, dear Honeysuckle, ' moaned the shivering insect, coming back to the old home in the day of his sorrow. 'I am so cold, soweary!'

'Poor thing!' the tender flower exclaimed, with the utmost pity, forgetting now all former slights. 'Creep under my leaves, perhaps theymay shield you. But your beautiful wings, how came they so torn andcolourless?'

'The pitiless storm last night fell upon me and crushed me to the earthin its fury, ' he answered, with difficulty, for he was so feeble. ''Tistrue the gleams of sunshine to-day have revived me a little; but alas! Iam dying! my brief day is over, and there is no one to give me a refugesave you!'

'Where are your gay friends?' she asked, 'those with whom you sportedthroughout the livelong summer hours?'

'Gone far from me, ' he answered bitterly; 'they were but friends of thefleeting sunshine, and I in the day of my power thought but of myself, and now--I am left alone to die!'

The Honeysuckle was deeply moved; she remembered no more his haughtypride, she only saw that _now_ he was ill and in sorrow; so she placedher clinging tendrils gently around him, trying thus to keep the poorButterfly under the shelter of her protecting leaves. 

Night came stealing on, folding her sable curtains over the earth; andit was a wild night, for not a star shone in the skies, all was dark anddreary, for the Storm King was abroad in all his mighty strength. Thefierce gales came with terrific power, tossing the lordly ships as theynobly braved its fury, but causing, oh, so many loving hearts tofervently pray 'for those at sea. ' No wonder, then, that when the coldgrey dawn awoke the early flowers, they saw the poor crushed Butterflylying dead! close beside the little Honeysuckle, whose trustful, meekheart he had once so cruelly derided. 

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