Allegories of Life

 BY MRS. J. S. ADAMS

 1872

CONTENTS. 

 I. THE BELLS

 II. THE HEIGHT

 III. THE PILGRIM

 IV. FAITH

 V. HOPE

 VI. JOY AND SORROW

 VII. UPWARD

 VIII. THE OAK

 IX. TRUTH AND ERROR

 X. THE TREE

 XI. THE TWO WAYS

 XII. THE URNS

 XIII. SELF-EXERTION

 XIV. THE VINES

 XV. IN THE WORLD

 XVI. FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY

 XVII. GOING FORTH

 XVIII. THE FEAST

 XIX. THE LESSON OF THE STONE

 XX. THE SEEDS

 XXI. ONLY GOLD

 XXII. THE SACRIFICE

 XXIII. STRANGERS

I. 

THE BELLS. 

In the steeple of an old church was a beautiful chime of bells, whichfor many years had rung out joyous peals at the touch of the sexton'shand upon the rope. 

"I'll make the air full of music to-morrow, " said the white-haired man, as he lay down to his slumbers. "To-morrow is Christmas, and the peopleshall be glad and gay. Ah, yes! right merry will be the chimes I shallring them. " Soon sleep gathered him in a close embrace, and visions ofthe morrow's joy flitted over his brain. 

At midnight some dark clouds swept over the tower, while darker shadowsof discontent fell on the peaceful chime. 

Hark! what was that? A low, discordant sound was heard among the bells. 

"Here we have been ringing for seven long years, " murmured the highestbell in the chime. 

"Well, what of it? That's what we are placed here for, " said a voicefrom one of the deeper-toned bells. 

"But I have rung long enough. Besides, I am weary of always singingone tone, " answered the high bell, in a clear, sharp voice. 

"Together we make sweetest harmony, " returned the bell next thecomplainer. 

"I well know that, but I am tired of my one tone, while you can bearmonotony. For my part, I do not mean to answer to the call of the ropeto-morrow. "

"What! not ring on Christmas Day!" exclaimed all the bells together. 

"No, I don't. You may exclaim as much as you please; but, if youhad common sympathy, you would see in a moment how weary I am ofsinging this one high tone. "

"But we all have to give our notes, " responded a low, sweet-voiced bell. 

"That's just what I mean to change. We are all weary of our notes, and need change. "

"But we should have to be recast, " said the low-toned bell, sadly. 

"Most certainly we should. _I_ should like the fun of that. Now howmany of you will be silent in the morning when the old sexton comes toring us?"

"I will, " answered the lowest-toned bell, boldly. 

"If part of us are silent and refuse to ring, of what use will the restbe?" said one who had remained quiet until then. "For a chime all ofus are needed, " she added, sadly. 

"That's just the point, " remarked the leader. "If all will be still, nonewill be blamed: the people will think we are worn out and need makingover. So we shall be taken down from this tower where we have been solong, and stand a chance of seeing something of the world. For _my_part, I am tired to death of being up here, and seeing nothing but thisquiet valley. "

A murmur ran from one to another, till all agreed to be silent on themorrow, though many of the chime would have preferred to ring as usual. 

The man who had presented the bells to the church returned at midnight, after a long journey to his native valley, bringing with him a friend, almost solely to hear the beautiful chime on the morrow. 

As he passed the church, on his way home, the murmuring of the bellswas just ceasing. "The wind moves them--the beautiful bells, " he said. "But to-morrow you shall hear how sweet they will sing, " he added, casting a loving glance up to the tower where hung the bells. 

A few miles from the valley, close to the roadside, stood a cottageinhabited by a man and wife whose only child was fast fading from theworld. 

"Raise me up a little, mother, " said the dying boy, "so I can hear theChristmas chime. It will be the last time I shall hear them here, mother. Is it almost morning?"

The pale mother wiped the death-dew from his brow and kissed him, saying, "Yes, dear, it's almost morning. The bells will chime soon asthe first ray comes over the hills. "

Patiently the child sat, pillowed in his bed, till the golden arrows oflight flashed over the earth. Day had come, but no chime. 

"What can be the matter?" said the anxious mother, as she strained hereyes in the direction of the tower. 

What if the old sexton were dead? The thought took all her strengthaway. If death had taken him first, who would lay her boy tenderly away?

"Is it almost time?"

"Almost, Jimmy, darling. Perhaps the old sexton has slept late. "

"Will the bells chime in heaven, mother?"

"Yes, dear, I hope so. "

"Will they ring them for me if--if--I--mother! hark! the bells _are_ringing! The good old sexton has gone to the church at last!"

The boy's eyes glistened with a strange light. In vain the motherlistened. No sound came to _her_ ears. All was still as death. 

"Oh, how beautiful they sing!" he said, and fell back and died. 

Other chimes fell on his ear, sweeter far than the bells of St. Auburn. 

For more than an hour the old sexton had been working at the ropesin vain. No sound come forth from either bell. 

"What can be the matter?" he exclaimed, nervously. "For seven long yearsthey have not failed to ring out their tones. I'll try once more. " And hedid so, vigorously. 

Just then the figure of a man stood in the doorway. It was the ownerof the chime. He had gone to the sexton's house, not hearing the bellsat the usual hour, thinking he had overslept; and, not finding him, hadsought him at the church. 

He tried the ropes himself, but with no more success than the sexton. 

"What can it mean?" he said, as he turned sorrowfully away. 

It was a sad Christmas in the pleasant valley. To have those sweetsounds missing, and on such a day, --it was a loss to all, and an omenof ill to many. 

The next day, workmen were sent to the tower to examine the bells. Nodefect was perceptible. They were sound and whole, and no mischief-makinglad, as some had suggested, had stolen their tongues. 

The bells were taken down and carried to a distant city to be recast. 

"There! didn't I tell you we should see the world?" said their leader, after they were packed and on their way. 

"I don't think we are seeing much of it now, in this dark box, " answeredone of the bells. 

"Wait till we are at our journey's end. We are in a transition statenow. Haven't I listened to the old pastor many a time, and heard himsay those very words? I could not comprehend them then, but I can now. Oh, how delightful it is to have the prospect of some change beforeus!" Thus the old bell chatted to the journey's end, while the otherbells had but little to say. 

Three days later they were at the end of their long ride, and placed, one by one, in a fiery furnace. Instead of murmurs now, their groansfilled the air. 

"Oh, for one moment's rest from the heat and the hammer! Oh, that wewere all at the sweet vale of St. Auburn!" said the leader of all theirsorrow. 

"How sweetly would we sing!" echoed all. 

"It's a terrible thing to be recast!" sighed the deepest-toned bell;and he quivered with fear as they placed him in the furnace. 

At last, after much suffering, they were pronounced perfect, and repackedfor their return. 

The same tone was given to each, but the quality was finer, softer, andricher than before. The workmen knew not why--none but the sufferingbells, and the master hand who put them into the furnace of affliction. 

They were all hung once more in the tower--wiser and better bells. Never again was heard a murmur of discontent from either because butone tone was its mission. In the moonlight they talk among themselves, of their sad but needful experience, and of the lesson which it taughtthem, --as we hope it has our reader, --that each must be faithful to thequality or tone which the Master has given us, and which is needful tothe rich and full harmonies of life. 

II. 

THE HEIGHT. 

There was once an aged man who lived upon an exceeding high mountain formany years; but, as his strength began to decline, he found the ascent sotedious for his feeble steps that he went into the valley to live. 

It was very hard for him to give up the view from its lofty height ofthe sun which sank so peacefully to rest. Long before the sleepers inthe valley awoke, he was watching the golden orb as it broke through themists and flung its beauties over the hills. 

"This must be my last day upon the mountain top, " he said. "The littlestrength which is left me I must devote to the culture of fruit andflowers in the valley, and no longer spend it in climbing up and downthese hills, whose tops rest their peaks in the fleecy clouds. I haveenjoyed many years of repose and grandeur, and must devote the remainderof my life to helping the people in the valley. "

At sunset the old man descended, with staff in hand, and went slowly downthe mountain side. Such lovely blossoms, pink, golden, and scarlet, methis eye as he gazed on the gardens of the laborers, that he involuntarilyexclaimed, "I fear I have spent my days not wisely on yonder mountaintop, taking at least a third of my time in climbing up and down. Richerflowers grow here in the valley; the air is softer, and the grass likevelvet to the tread. I'll see if there is a vacant cottage for me. "

Saying this, he accosted a laborer who was just returning from histoil: "Good man, do you know of any cottage near which I can rent?"

"Why! you are the old man from the mountain, " exclaimed the astonishedperson addressed. 

"I am coming to the valley to live. I am now seeking a shelter. "

"Yonder, " answered the man, "is a cottage just vacated by a man andwife. Would that suit you?"

"Anything that will shelter me will suit, " was the answer. "Dost thouknow who owns the house?"

"Von Nellser, the gardener. He lives down by the river now, and works forall the rich men in the valley. "

"I'll see him to-night, " said the old man, and, thanking his informant, was moving on. 

"But, good father, the sun has already set; the night shades appear. Come and share my shelter and bread to-night, and in the morning seekVon Nellser. "

The old man gladly accepted his kind offer. "The vale makes men kindly ofheart and feeling, " he said, as he uncovered his head to enter the homeof the laborer. A fair woman of forty came forward, and clasped his handwith a warmth of manner which made him feel more at ease than many wordsof welcome would have done. 

The three sat together at supper, and refreshed themselves with foodand thought. 

He retired early to the nice apartment assigned him, and lay awake along time, musing on the past and the present. "Ah, I see, " he said tohimself, "why I am an object of wonder and something of awe to thepeople of the valley. I have lived apart from human ties, while they havegrown old and ripe together. I must be a riddle to them all--a somethingwhich they have invested with an air of veneration, because I was notdaily in their midst. Had it been otherwise, I should have been neithernew nor fresh to them. How know I but this is God's reserve forcewherewith each may become refreshed, and myself an humble instrumentsent in the right moment to vivify those who have been thinking alike toomuch?"

He fell asleep, and awoke just as the sun was throwing its bright raysover his bed. "Dear old day-god, " he said, with reverence, and aroseand dressed himself, still eying the sun's early rays. "One of thy goldenmessengers must content me now, " he said, a little sadly. "I can nolonger see thee in all thy majesty marching up the mountain side; nolonger can I follow thee walking over the hill-tops, and resting thy headagainst the crimson sky at evening: but smile on me, Sun, while in thevale I tarry, and warm my seeds to life while on thy daily march. "

The old man went from his room refreshed by sleep, and partook of thebread and honey which the kind woman had ready for him. Then, thankingthem for their hospitality, he departed. 

The laborer and wife watched him out of sight, and thought they hadnever seen anything more beautiful than his white hair waving in themorning breeze. 

At dusk a light shone in the vacant cottage, and they sent him freshcakes, milk, and honey for his evening meal. 

 * * * * *

Ten years passed away. The old man had cultured his land, and no fairerflowers or sweeter fruits grew in the valley than his own. He had taughtthe people many truths which he had learned in his solitary life on themountain, and in return had learned much from them. He faded slowly away. The brilliant flowers within his garden grew suddenly distasteful to him. He longed to look once more on a pure white blossom which grew only atthe mountain top. With its whiteness no flower could compare. There wereothers, growing half way up, that approached its purity, but none equaledthe flower on the summit. 

"I should like, of all things, " answered the old man, when they desiredto know what would most please him, --for he had become a great favoritein the valley, --"to look once more upon my pure white flower ere I die;but it's so far to the mountain top, none will care to climb. "

"Thou _shalt_ see it!" exclaimed a strong youth, who was courageous, but seldom completed anything he undertook, for lack of perseverance. 

The old man blessed him. He started for the mountain, and walked along way up its side, often missing his footing, and at one time seekingaid from a rotten branch, which broke in his grasp and nearly threw himto the base. 

After repeated efforts to reach the summit, he found a sweet, paleblossom growing in a mossy nook by a rock. 

"Ah! here it is--the same, I dare say, as those on the mountain top. So what need of climbing farther? What a lucky fellow I am to save somany steps for myself!" and he went down the mountain side as fast ashe could, amid the rank and tangled wood, with the flower in his hand. 

Day was walking over the meadows with golden feet when he enteredthe cottage and placed the blossom exultingly in the old man's palm. 

"What! so quick returned?" he said. "Thou must have been very swift--butthis, my good young man, never grew on the mountain top! Thee must havefound this half way up. I remember well those little flowers--they grewby the rocks where I used to rest when on my journey up. "

The crowd who had come to see the strange white flower now laughed aloud, which made the youth withdraw, abashed and much humbled. Had he beenstrong of heart, he would have tried again, and not returned without theblossom from the mountain top. Many others tried, but never had thecourage to reach its height; while the old man daily grew weaker. 

"He'll die without setting eyes on his flower, " said the good womanwho had given him shelter the night he came to the valley. She had notthe courage to try the ascent, but she endeavored to stimulate others togo to the top and bring the blossom to cheer his heart. She offered, asreward, choice fruits and linen from her stores; but all had some excuse, although they loved the old man tenderly: none felt equal to the effort. 

Towards noon, a pale, fragile girl, from a distant part of the vale, appeared, who had heard of his desire, and stood at the door of hiscottage and knocked. 

"What dost thou wish?" he asked from within. 

"To go to the mountain for the flower and place it in thy hand, " sheanswered, as she entered his room and meekly stood before him. 

"Thou art very frail of body, " he replied, "but strong of heart. Go, try, and my soul will follow and strengthen thee, fair daughter. "

She kissed his hand, and departed. 

The morning came, and she returned not. The end of the second daydrew nigh, and yet she came not back. 

"Pooh, pooh!" exclaimed one of a group of wood-cutters near by thecottage. "Such a fool-hardy errand will only be met by death. The oldman ought to be content to die without sight of his flower when it costsso much labor to get it. "

"So think me, " said his comrade, between the puffs of his pipe; "sothink me. Our flowers are pretty, and good 'nough, too. Sure, heorter be content with what grows 'round him, and not be sending folka-climbing. " This said, he resumed his smoking vigorously, and lookedvery wise. 

 * * * * *

The aged man of the mountain was passing rapidly away. The kindneighbors laid him for the last time on his cot, and sat tearfully aroundthe room. Some stood in groups outside, looking wistfully towards themountain; for their kind hearts could not bear to see him depart withoutthe flower to gladden his eyes. 

"The girl's gone a long time, " remarked one of the women. 

"The longer she's gone, the surer the sign she's reached the mountaintop. It's a long way up there, and a weary journey back. My feet havetrod it often, and I know all the sharp rocks and the tangled branchesin the way. But she will come yet. I hear footsteps not far away. "

"But too late, we fear, for your eyes to behold the blossom, should shebring it. "

"Then put it on my grave--but hark! she comes--some one approaches!"

Through the crowd, holding high the spotless flower, came the fair girl, with torn sandals and weary feet, but with beaming eyes. The old manraised himself in bed, while she knelt to receive his blessing. 

"Fair girl, "--he spoke in those clear tones which the dying everuse, --"the whiteness of this blossom is only rivaled by the angels'garments. Its spotless purity enters ever into the soul of him who plucksit, making it white as their robes. To all who persevere to the mountaintop and pluck this flower, into all does its purity, its essence, enterand remain forever. For is it not the reward of the toiler, who pausesnot till the summit is gained?"

"Oh! good man, the mountain view was so grand, I fain would have lingeredto gaze; but, longing to lay the blossom in thy hand, I hastened back. "

"Thou shalt behold all the grandeur thy toil has earned thee. Untothose who climb to the mountain summit, who mind not the sharp rocksand loose, rough grass beneath their tread, --unto such shall all theviews be given; for they shall some day be lifted in vision, without aidof feet, to grander heights than their weary limbs have reached. "

The old man lay back and died. 

They buried him, with the flower on his breast, one day just as the sunwas setting. Ere the winter snows fell, many of the laborers, both menand women, went up the mountain to its very top, and brought back thewhite blossoms to deck his grave. 

 * * * * *

The summit only has the view, and the white flower of purity growsupon it. Shall we ascend and gather it? or, like the youth, climb buthalf the distance, and cheat our eyes and souls of the view from theheight?

III. 

THE PILGRIM. 

One sultry summer day a youthful pilgrim sat by the roadside, weary anddispirited, saying, "I cannot see why I was ordered to tarry beside thishard, unsightly rock, after journeying as many days as I have. Somethingbetter should have been given me to rest upon after walking so far. If itwere only beside some shady tree, I could wait the appearance of theguide. My lot is hard indeed. I do not see any pilgrim here. Others areprobably resting beneath green trees and by running brooks. I will lookat my directions once more;" and she drew the paper from her girdle andread slowly these words: "Tarry at the rock, and do not go on till theguide appears to conduct you to your journey's end. " She folded andreplaced the paper with a sigh, while the murmur still went on: "It'svery hard, when beyond I see beautiful green trees, whose long brancheswould shelter me from the burning sun. How thirsty I am, too! My bread isno longer sweet, for want of water. Oh, that I could search for a spring!I am sure I could find one if permitted to go on my journey. If the rockwas not so hard I could pillow my head upon it. Ah me! I have been sooften told that the guide had great wisdom, and knew what was good andbest for us pilgrims; but this surely looks very dark. "

Here weariness overcame the pilgrim, and involuntarily she laid herhead upon the rock; when, lo! a sudden spring was touched, and thewaters leaped, pure and sparkling, from the hard, unsightly spot. Thiswas the guide's provision for his pilgrim. It was no longer mystical whyhe had ordered her to tarry there. 

When she had drank, and the parched throat was cool and the wholebeing refreshed, the guide appeared rounding a gentle curve of the road, and bade her follow him through a dense forest which lay between therock and the journey's end. The steps of the pilgrim now were morefirm, for trust was begotten within her, and the light of hope gleamedon her brow--as it will at last upon us all, when the waters have gushedfrom the bare rocks which lie in the pathways of our lives. 

At last we shall learn that our Father, the great Guide, leads us whereflow living waters, and that he never forsakes us in time of need. 

IV. 

FAITH. 

"Children, " said a faithful father, one day, to his sons and daughters, "I have a journey to take which will keep me many days, perhaps weeks, from you; and as we have no power over conditions, --such as storms, sickness, or any of the so-called accidents of life, --I may be detainedlong beyond my appointed time of absence. I trust, however, that you willeach have confidence in me; and, should illness to myself or othersdetain me, that you will all trust and wait. "

"We will, father!" shouted a chorus of voices, which was music to hisears. 

With a fond embrace to each, he left them. Slowly he walked downthe winding path which led from his home. He heard the voices of hischildren on the air long after he entered the highway--voices which hemight not hear, perchance, for many months. Sweeter than music to hissoul were those sounds floating on the summer air. Over the hill anddale he rode till night came on, and then, before reposing, he lifted hissoul to heaven for blessings on his household. 

With the sun he arose and pursued his journey. The summer dayswent down into autumn; the emerald leaves changed their hues for goldand scarlet; ripe fruits hung in ruby and yellow clusters from theirstrong boughs; while over the rocks, crimson vines were trailing. Slowlythe tints of autumn faded. Soon the white frosts lay on the meadowslike snow-sheets; the days were shorter and the air more crisp and chill. Around the evening fire the household of the absent parent began togather. While summer's beauties abounded they had not missed him somuch, but now they talked each to the other, and grew strangely restlessat his long delay. 

"Did he not tell us, " said the eldest, "that sickness or accident mightdelay him?"

"But he sends us no word, no sign, to make us at rest. "

"The roads may not be passable, " replied the brother, whose faith asyet was not dimmed. "Already the snow has blocked them for milesaround us, and we know not what greater obstacles lie beyond. No, letus trust our father, " he added, with a depth of feeling which touchedthem all; and for a few days they rested in the faith that he would comeand be again in their midst. But, alas! how short-lived is the trust ofthe human heart! how limited its vision! It cannot pierce the passingclouds, nor stretch forth its hand in darkness. 

Together they sat one evening, in outer and inner darkness, --again inthe shadows of distrust. 

"He will never return, " said one of the group, in sad and sorrowingtones. 

"My father will come, " lisped the youngest of them all, --the one onwhom the others looked as but a babe in thought and feeling. 

"I am weary with watching, " said another, as she went from the windowwhere she had been looking, for so many days, for the loved form. "Ourfather has forgotten us all, " she moaned, and bowed her head and wept. 

There was no one to comfort; for all were sad, knowing that naught but afew crusts remained for their morrow's food--and who would provide forthe coming days? Lights and fuel too were wanting, and winter but halfgone. Even the faith of the eldest had long since departed, and he toohad yielded to distrust. 

"My father will come, " still whispered the little one, strong in herchild-trust, while the others doubted. 

"It's because she's so young, and cannot reason like us, " they saidamong themselves. 

"Perhaps God can speak to her because she is so simple, " said one ofthe household with whom words were few. 

They looked at each other as though a ray of sunlight had flashedthrough their dwelling. Something akin to hope began to spring in theirhearts, but died away as the chilling blasts came moaning around them. 

Three days passed, while the storm raged and threatened to bury theirhome beneath the heavy snows. There was no food now to share betweenthem. The last crumb had been given the child to soften her cries ofhunger. 

"I can stand this no longer, " said the eldest, wrapping his garmentsaround him, and preparing to go forth to find labor and bread for hisbrothers and sisters. "Ah, that I should ever have lived to see thisday!"--he murmured--"the day in which we are deserted and forgottenby our father. "

The sound of murmuring within now mingled with the sighing of the windswithout. He stepped to the door; but for an instant the fierce blastsdrove him back--yet but for an instant. "I will not add cowardice tosorrow, " he said to them, in reply to their entreaties not to go in thestorm. With one strong effort he faced the chilling sleet, which soblinded him that he could not find the path which led to the highway;yet he went bravely on, till hunger and chill overcame him, and he couldno longer see or even feel. He grew strangely dizzy, and would havefallen to the ground, but for a pair of strong arms which at that instantheld him fast. He was too much overcome to know who it was that thusenfolded him; but soon a well-known voice rose above the wind and thestorm, --he knew that his father's arms were about him, and he fearedno more. In the hour of greatest need the father had come. There, inthat hour of brave effort, he was spared a long exposure to the wintryblast. A carriage laden with food, fuel, and timely gifts, for each, wasalready on the road, and would soon deposit its bounties at the door ofthose whose faith had deserted them. 

What a happy household gathered around the father that night! Therewas no need of lamps to reveal the joy on their faces, and the darknesscould not hide the tears which coursed down their cheeks. The little oneawoke shouting, in her child-trust, "My father has come! me knew himwould!"

And they called her Faith from that hour. 

The only alloy in the joy of the others was, as the kind father explainedto them the causes of his delay, that they had not trusted him with thefaith of the little child; and when he told them of the strange people hehad been among, who needed counsel and instruction, and their greatneed of his ministrations, they sorrowed much that doubt had shadowedfor a moment their trust in their father. 

Thus do we distrust our Heavenly Parent; and when our needs riselike mountains before us, and all _seems_ dark, we cry, "Alas! he hasforgotten us!" And yet in our deepest night a light appears, his strongarm uplifts us, and we are taught how holy a thing is Faith. 

V. 

HOPE. 

Darkness had been upon the earth for a long time. It was a period of warand bloodshed, crime and disaster. 

The old earth seemed draped in habiliments of mourning; and therewas cause for aching hearts, for out of many homes had gone unto battlesons, fathers, and husbands, who would return no more. They fell inservice; and kind mothers and wives could not take one farewell look attheir still, white faces, but must go about their homes as though lifehad lost none of its helps. 

 * * * * *

"The poor, sad earth!" said one of a glad band, belonging to a starrysphere above. "I long to comfort its people; but my mission is givenme to guide souls through the death valley, and bear them to theirfriends in the summer-land. I must not leave my post of duty. Who willgo?"

"I will, " said Love, in sweet, silvery tones. 

"You are too frail to descend into such darkness as at present envelopsthe earth; beside, they need another, a different element just now, toprepare the way for better things. "

"Who shall it be?" they all said, and looked from one to the other. 

"Hope, " said their leader, the queen of the starry band. 

There was to be high festival that night, in a temple dedicated to theMuses; and it was quite a sacrifice for any of their number to leavetheir happy sphere, for one so dark as that of earth. 

Hope came forward at the mention of her name, holding in her handthe half-finished garland which she had been twining for one of theGraces. 

"Wilt thou go to earth to-night, fair Hope?" asked the queen. 

The star on her fair brow glittered brighter as she said unhesitatingly, "I will. "

"Your mission will be to carry garlands to every habitation which hasa light within. The others you cannot, of course, discern. Come now, and let me clasp this strong girdle about thy waist, to which I shallattach a cord, by which to let you down to earth. "

They filled her arms with garlands, and flung some about her neck, tillshe was laden and ready to go. 

"Now, " said their leader, "descend on this passing cloud; and whileyou are gone we will sing anthems for you, to keep your heart bright andlinked to ours. "

Then she fastened the cord to her golden girdle, and let her downgently from the skies. 

 * * * * *

In a little cottage by a roadside sat Mary Deane and her sister, reading. They were two fair orphans whose father and brother were lost in battle. 

"Let's put out the light, and look at the stars awhile, " said theyoungest. 

"Not yet, dear, it's too early. There may be some passer-by, and alight is such a comfort to a traveler on the road. Many a time ourneighbor's light has sent a glow over me which has enabled me to reachhome much sooner, if not in better humor. "

"As you like, sister, --but hark! I thought I heard footsteps. "

They listened, and, hearing nothing more, finished their reading andretired to rest. 

On opening their door the next morning, their eyes were gladdened bya lovely garland which hung on the knob. The flowers were rich in, perfume and color--unlike anything they had seen on earth. 

Much they marveled, and wondered from whence they came, and stillgreater was their joy to find they did not fade. 

Hope found a great many dwellings with lights in them, but had to passmany, as there was no lamp to signal them. At the door of the formershe left garlands to gladden the inmates. 

"It's no use to waste our oil: we have nothing to read or interestus, " said one of two lonely women, on the night Hope came to the earth. So they sat down gloomily together, the darkness adding to theircheerlessness, while a bright glow within would have gladdened them andall without. 

Hope went by, laden with garlands, just as they took their seats in theshadows. She would gladly have left them, for she had enough and tospare; but, seeing no sign of a habitation, walked on. 

The two women talked of the dreary world until they went to rest. Whatwas their surprise, in the morning, to find their neighbors rejoicingover their mysterious gifts. 

"Why had we none?" they said again and again. "The poor never have halfas much given them as the wealthy, " they cried, and went back to theirgloom and despair. 

"Did you find a wreath on your doorstep this morning?" inquired abright, hopeful woman at noon, who had brought them a part of herdinner. 

"No, indeed!" they answered. "Did you find one on yours?"

"The handsomest wreath I ever saw. Who ever could have madeone so lovely? But"--she stopped suddenly, on seeing their sad faces. "You shall have part of mine: I will cut it in two. "

"Never!" said the eldest quickly. "There is some reason why wewere omitted; and, until we can know the cause, you must keep yourwreath unbroken. "

It was very noble of her to come out of herself and refuse to acceptwhat she instinctively felt did not belong to her. 

A week passed away. A child in the village had had strange dreamsconcerning the gifts, which, in substance, was that a beautiful angelhad come from the stars above, and brought flowers to every house inwhich a light was seen. 

"We did not have any light that night, --don't you remember?" remarked theeldest of the women, as their neighbor told them of the strange dream. 

"There must be _something_ in it, " answered the little bright-eyedwoman. "For all the dwellings had flowers which were lighted. "

"I suppose we ought always to be more hopeful, " said the womentogether. "The lamps of our houses should typify the light of hope, which should never be dim, nor cease burning. "

 * * * * *

Hope was taken up, by a golden cord, to her abode. The starry groupsang heavenly anthems to refresh her, and Love twined a fresh garlandfor her brow. They held another festival in the temple, in honor of herand her safe return from the earth. 

Ever since she has been the brightest light in the group; and at night, when the clouds rising from the earth obscure all the others, the star onthe brow of Hope is shining with a heavenly lustre, and seen by all whosegaze is upward. 

VI. 

JOY AND SORROW. 

Many years ago, two visitors were sent from realms above, to enter thehomes of earth's inhabitants, and see how much of true happiness and realsorrow there were in their midst. Hand in hand they walked together, tillthey entered a pleasant valley nestled among green hills. At the base ofone of these stood a cottage covered with roses and honeysuckles, whichlooked very inviting; and the external did not belie the interior. 

The family consisted of a man and wife somewhat advanced in years, an aged and infirm brother, and two lovely young girls, grandchildrenof the couple. 

The pleasant murmur of voices floated on the air, --pleasant to the earas the perfume of the roses climbing over the door was to the sense ofsmell. It chimed with the spell of the summer morning, and the sistersknew that harmony was within. 

"Let us enter, " said Joy. 

Sorrow, who was unwilling to go into any abode, lingered outside. 

Within, all was as clean and orderly as one could desire: the younggirls were diligently sewing, while before them lay an open volume, fromwhich they occasionally read a page or so, thus mingling instruction withlabor. 

Joy entered, and accosted them with, "A bright morning. "

"Very lovely, " answered the girls, and they arose and placed a chairfor their visitor. 

"We have much to be grateful for every day, but very much on such aday as this, " remarked the grandmother. 

"You're a busy family, " said Joy. 

"Yes, we all labor, and are fond of it, " answered the woman, lookingfondly at the girls. "We have many blessings, far more than we can begrateful for, I sometimes think. "

"Yes, I tell mother, " broke in the husband, "that we must never losesight of our blessings; in fact, they are all such, though often indisguise. "

At that moment Sorrow looked in at the open door. It was so seldomthat _she_ was recognized that she longed to enter. 

"You have a friend out there: ask her in, " said the woman. 

Joy turned and motioned her sister to enter. She came in softly, andsat beside Joy, while the woman spoke of her family, at the desire ofeach of the sisters to know of her causes of happiness. 

"Yes, they are all blessings in disguise, " she said, "though I could notthink thus when I laid my fair-eyed boy in the grave; nor, later, whenmy next child was born blind. "

"Had you none other?" asked Joy. 

"One other, and she died of a broken heart. "

Sorrow sighed deeply, and would rather have heard no more; but Joywished to hear the whole, and asked the woman to go on. 

"Yes, she died heart-broken; and these two girls are hers. It wasvery hard that day to see the hand of God in the cloud when theybrought the body of her husband home all mangled, and so torn thatnot a feature could be recognized; and then to see poor Mary, his wife, pine day by day until we laid her beside him. "

"But the blessing was in it, mother: we have found it so. They haveonly gone to prepare the way, and we have much left us. "

The words of the old man were true, and it was beautiful to see theface of his wife as it glowed with recognition. 

At that moment the sisters threw back their veils. Such a radiantface was never seen in that cottage as the beaming countenance of Joy;while that of her sister was dark and sad to look upon. 

"Oh, stay with us, " exclaimed the girls to Joy, as the sisters rose todepart. 

"Most gladly would I, but I have a work to perform in your village;and, beside, I cannot leave my sister. "

"But she is so dark and sad, why not leave her to go alone?" said theyoungest girl, who had never seen Sorrow nor heard of her mission toearth before. 

Sorrow was standing in the door and heard her remark. She hopedthe day would never come when _she_ should have to carry woe to heryoung heart; but her life was so uncertain she knew not who would bethe next whom she would have to envelop in clouds. She sighed, pluckeda rose, and pressed it to her nostrils, as though it was the lastsweetness she would ever inhale. 

"How I pity her!" said the grandmother, her warm, blue eyes fillingwith tears, as she looked at the bowed form in the doorway. 

"Ah, good woman, she needs it; for few recognize her mission to them. She is sent by our master to administer woes which contain heavenlytruths, while I convey glad tidings. I shall never leave my sister savewhen our labors are divided. "

Thus spoke Joy, while tears filled the eyes of all. 

Then the kind woman went and plucked some roses and gave them toSorrow, who was weeping. 

"I did not half know myself, " she said, addressing the sad form; "Ithought I could see God's angels everywhere, but this time how have Ifailed! Forgive me, " she said to Sorrow, "and when you are weary andneed rest, come to our cottage. "

Sorrow gave her a sad but heavenly smile, and the sisters departed tothe next abode. 

"Did you ever see them before?" asked the children of their grandparentsafter the sisters had gone. 

"Often: they have been going round the world for ages, " answeredtheir grandparents. 

"But Joy looks so young, grandpa. "

"That's because she has naught to do with trouble. She belongs to thebright side. She carries good tidings and pleasure to all; while Sorrow, her sister, administers the woes. "

"But Joy is good not to leave her sister. "

"She cannot, " said the grandparent. 

"Cannot! Why?"

"Because Providence has so ordered it that Joy and Sorrow go hand inhand, --pleasure and pain. No two forces in nature which are alike arecoupled. Day and night, sunshine and shadow, pleasure and pain, forever. "

"But I should like to have Joy stay with us, " said Helen, the youngest, to her grandparent. 

"We shall ever be glad to see her; but we must never treat her sistercoldly or with indifference, as though she had no right to be among us;because, though in the external she is unlovely, within she is equallyradiant with her sister, --not the same charm of brilliancy, but a softer, diviner radiance shines about her soul. "

"Why, grandpa, you make me almost love her, " said Marion, the eldest, while Helen looked thoughtful and earnest. 

The seeds of truth were dropped which at some future time would bearfruit. 

 * * * * *

It was a large and elegant house at which the sisters stopped next. Abeautiful lawn, hedged by hawthorne, sloped to the finely-graded street;while over its surface beds of brilliant flowers were blooming, contrasting finely with the bright green carpet. They ascended thegranite steps which led to the portico, and rang the bell. A servantanswered the summons, and impatiently awaited their message. 

"We would see the mistress of the mansion, " said Joy. 

They were shown into an elegant drawing-room, so large they couldscarcely see the farther end. It was furnished in a most dazzling style, and gave none of that feeling of repose which is so desirable in a home. After what seemed a long time, the lady of the mansion appeared, lookingvery much as though her visitors were intruders. 

"A lovely day, " said Joy. 

"Beautiful for youth and health, " she answered curtly; "but all daysare the same to me. "

"You are ill, then, " said Joy, sympathetically. 

"Ill, and weary of this life. Nothing goes well in this world: there istoo much sorrow to enjoy anything. But, " she added after a brief silence, "you are young, and cannot enter into my griefs. "

"I have come for the purpose of bringing you comfort and hope if youwill but accept it, " answered Joy, modestly. 

"A stranger could scarcely show me what I cannot find. Be assured, young maiden, if I had the pleasures you suppose I possess, I should notbe tardy in seeing them. No, no: my life is a succession of cares andburdens. "

Joy was silent a moment, and then said, "But you have health, a home, and plenty to dispense to the needy, which must be a comfort, at least, in a world of so much need. "

"My home is large and elegant, I admit; but, believe me, the care ofthe servants is a burden too great for human flesh. "

Joy thought how much better a cottage was, with just enough to meetthe wants of life, than a mansion full of hirelings; and she said, hopefully, "Our blessings ever outnumber our woes. If we but look forthem, we shall be surprised each day to see how many they are. I amon a visit to earth, " continued Joy, "to see how much real happiness Ican find, and help, if possible, to remove obstacles that hinder itsadvancement. This is my sister, Sorrow, " she continued, turning to her, "who, like myself, has a mission, though by no means a pleasant one. "

The sisters unveiled their faces. 

A flush of pleasure stole over the sallow face of the woman as shegazed upon the brightness of Joy's countenance; but the look quicklyfaded at the sight of Sorrow's worn and weary features. 

"My sister must tarry here, " said Joy, as she rose to leave. 

"Here! With me? Why! I can scarcely live now. What can I dowith her added to my troubles?"

"It is thus decreed, " answered Joy. "You need the discipline whichshe will bring to you. "

And she departed, leaving her sister in the elegant but cheerlessmansion. 

The mistress of the luxurious home had one fair daughter, whom shewas bringing up to lead a listless, indolent, and selfish life, --a lifewhich would result in no good to herself or others. 

Sorrow grew sadder each day as she saw the girl walking amid all thebeauties with which she was surrounded, careless of her own culture. She felt, also, that she must at some time, and it might be soon, be removed from her luxuries, or they from her. Each hour the fair girl'sstep grew heavier, till at last she was too weak to walk, or even risefrom her bed. 

"All this comes of having that sad woman here, " exclaimed the weepingmother as she bent over her daughter. "I'll have her sent from thehouse this day. " And she rang for a servant to send Sorrow away. 

After delivering her message to her maid, she felt somewhat relieved. 

The servant went in search of Sorrow, but could not find her either inthe house, garden, on the lawn, or among the dark pines where she oftenwalked. 

Whither had she fled?

All the servants of the house were summoned to the search; but Sorrowwas not to be found, and they reported to the mistress their failureto find her. 

"No matter, " she replied, "so long as she is no longer among us. Goto your labors now, keep the house very quiet, and be sure, before dark, to lock all the doors, that she may not enter unperceived. "

They need not have bolted nor barred her out; for her work was done, and she had no cause to return. 

She was sent to the house of wealth to carry the blight of death. Hermission was over, and she was on her way, seeking Joy. 

The young girl faded slowly and died. 

The mother mourned without hope, and was soon laid beside her daughter. The home passed into the hands of those who felt that none must live forthemselves alone; that sorrows must be borne without murmur; and joysappreciated so well that the angel of sorrow may not have to bear sometreasure away to uplift the heart and give the vision a higher range. 

Sorrow met Joy on the road that night. There was no moon, eventhe stars were dim; but for the shining face of her sister, she wouldhave passed her. They joined hands, and walked together till morningbroke. They came in sight of a low cottage just as the day dawned. 

"Oh, dear!" said Sorrow, as they approached the familiar spot, "howoften have I been there to carry woe! Do you go now, Joy, and givethem gladness!"

"If it is the master's hour I will most gladly, " said Joy, lookingtenderly on the weary face of her sister, who sat by the roadside to restawhile while she lifted her heart to heaven, asking that she might nomore carry woe to that humble home; and her prayer was answered. 

"I feel to go there, " said Joy, as Sorrow wiped her tears away. "Waithere till I return;" and she ran merrily on. 

She entered the humble home with gladness in her beaming eyes, and, as she bore no resemblance to her sister, they welcomed her with muchgreeting; nor did they know but for Sorrow, Joy would not have beenamong them. She talked with them a long time, and listened patientlyto the story of their woes. 

Sickness, death, and adversity had been their part for many years. 

"But they are passing away, " said Joy, confidently, "and health andprosperity shall yet be among you. "

"We shall know their full value, " whispered a voice from the cornerof the room which Joy's eyes had not penetrated. On a low cot lay aninvalid, helpless and blind. 

The tears fell from her own eyes an instant, and then sparkled with agreater brilliancy than before, as she said, "And this, too, shall passaway. "

The closed eyes, from which all light had been shut out for seven longyears, now slowly opened; the palsied limbs relaxed; life leaped throughthe veins once more; and she arose from her bed, while the householdgathered round her. 

A son, who was supposed to have been lost at sea, after an absence ofmany years returned at that moment, laden with gold and other treasuresfar greater, than the glittering ore, --lessons of life, which, throughsuffering, he had wrought into his mind. 

Joy departed, amid their tumult of rejoicing, and joined her sister. 

The happy family did not miss her for a time; yet when their greatand sudden happiness subsided into realization they sought her, but invain. 

They needed her not; for the essence of her life was with them, whileshe was walking over the earth, carrying pleasure and happiness tothousands; yet doing the work of her father no more than her worn andsad-eyed sister. 

VII. 

UPWARD. 

There was once an aged man who owned and lived in a large housethe height of which was three stories. His only child was a daughter, of whom he was very fond, and who listened generally to his wordsof counsel and instruction; but no amount of persuasion could induceher to ascend to the highest story of their dwelling, where her fatherspent many hours in watching the varied landscape which it overlooked. It was an alloyed pleasure as he sat there evening after evening alone, looking at the lovely cloud tints, and rivers winding like veins ofsilver through the meadows. It detracted from his joy to know that theview from the lower window offered naught but trees thickly set and dryhedges. 

"Come up, child, " he called, morning and evening, year after year, withthe same result. It seemed of no avail. "She will die and never knowwhat beauties lie around her dwelling, " he said, as he sat looking at thewealth of beauty. It seemed to him that the clouds were never sobrilliant, nor the trees and meadows so strangely gilded by the sun'srays, as on that evening. He longed more than ever to share with hischild the pleasure he experienced, and resolved upon a plan by which hehoped to attain his wish. 

"I will have workmen shut out the light of all the stories below withthick boards, and bar the door that she may not escape. I will give hera harmless drink to-night that will deepen her slumbers while the workis being done; for by these seemingly harsh means alone can I induce mychild to ascend. "

That night, while she slumbered, the work was done, and she awokenot at the sound of the hammer on the nails. When all was completed, the father ascended to await the rays of morning, and listen for thevoice of his child, which soon broke in suppliant tones upon his ears:--

"Father! my father! It's dark! I cannot see!"

"Come up, my child!" still he cried. "Come to me, and behold newglories. "

She gave no answer; but he heard her weeping, and groped his waybelow to lead her up. She no longer resisted. Her steps, though slow, were willing ones: they were upward now, and the father cared not howslow, so long as they were ascending. 

Many times she wished to go back, but he urged her on with gentlewords and a strong, sustaining arm, till the last landing was reached, and the light, now streaming through the open windows, made words nolonger needful. With a bound she sprang to the open casement, exclaiming, "Father, dear father!" and fell, weeping, on his breast. 

His wish was granted; his effort was over, and his child could nowbehold the beauties which had so long thrilled his own soul. 

Thus does our Heavenly Father call us upward; and when he seesthat we will not leave the common view for grander scenes, and will notlisten to his voice, however beseeching, he makes all dark and drearbelow, that we may be led to ascend higher, where the day-beams arelonger, the view more extended, and the air more rarified and pure. 

VIII. 

THE OAK. 

An old and experienced gardener had been watching a tree for manydays, whose branches and foliage did not seem to repay him for hiscare. "I see, " he said, a little sadly; "the roots are not striking deepenough: they must have a firmer hold in the earth, and only the windand the fierce blast will do it. "

It was now sunset, and the faithful gardener put away his tools, closedthe garden gates, and went into his cottage. Soon a mass of dark cloudsbegan to gather on the horizon. "I am sorry to use such harsh means, "he said, waving his hand in the direction of the wind clouds; "but thetree needs to be more firmly rooted, and naught but a violent wind willaid it. "

A low, moaning sound went through the air, shaking every bush andtree to its foundation. 

"Oh, dear!" sighed the tree. "Oh, the cruel gardener, to send thiswind! It will surely uproot me!"

The tree readied forth its branches like arms for help, and imploredthe gardener to come and save it from the fearful blasts. The flowers atits feet bowed their heads, while the winds wafted their fragrance overthe struggling, tempest-tost tree. 

"They do not moan, as I do. They cannot be suffering as I am, " saidthe tree, catching its breath at every word. 

"They do not need the tempest. The rain and the dew are all theywant, " said a vine, which had been running many years over an old deadoak, once the pride of the garden. "I heard the gardener say this veryafternoon, " continued the vine, "that you must be rooted more firmly;and he has sent this wind for that purpose. "

"I wonder if _I_ am the only thing in this garden that needs shaking, "spoke the oak, somewhat indignantly. "There's a poor willow over bythe pond that is always weeping and--"

"But, " interrupted the vine, "that's what keeps the beautiful sheet ofwater full to the brim, and always so sparkling, --the constant droppingof her tears; and we ought to render her gratitude. Besides, she is sograceful--"

"Oh, yes: all the trees are lovely but me. I heard the gardener'spraise, the other day, of the elms and the maples, and even the pines;but not one word did he say about the oaks. I didn't care for myselfin particular, but for my family, which has always been looked up to. Well, I shall die, like my brother, and soon we shall all pass away; but, unlike my brother oak, no one will cling to me as you do, vine, to hisold body. "

"You're mistaken, sir. The gardener said, but a few days ago, that heshould plant a vine just like myself at your trunk if your foliage wasnot better, so that you might present a finer appearance by the minglingof the vine's soft leaves, and be more ornamental to the garden. "

"I'll save him that trouble if my life is spared. I have no desireto be decked in borrowed leaves. The oaks have always kept up a goodappearance; but oh, dear me, vine, didn't that blast take your breathaway? I fear I _shall_ die; but, if I do live, I'll show the gardenerwhat I can do. But, vine, " and the voice of the oak trembled, "tell thegardener, when he comes in the morning, if--if I am dead--that--thatthe dreadful tempest killed instead of helped me. "

The wind made such a roaring sound that the oak could not hear herreply, and he tried now to become reconciled to death. He thought muchin that brief space of time and resolved, if his life was spared him, that he would try and put forth his protecting branches over the beds offlowers at his feet, to protect them from the blazing sun, and try to bemore kind and friendly to all. Deeper and deeper struck the roots intothe earth, till a new life-thrill shot through its veins. Was it death?

The oak raised its head. The clouds were drifting to the south. Allwas calm, and the stars shone like friendly eyes in the heavens abovehim. 

"That oak would have surely died but for the tempest which passedover us, " said the gardener, a few weeks later, as he was showing hisgarden to a friend. 

The gardener stood beneath the branches, and saw with pleasure newleaves coming forth and the texture of the old ones already finer andsofter. 

"It only needed a firmer hold on the earth. The poor thing could notdraw moisture enough from the ground before the storm shook its rootsand embedded them deeper. If I had known the philosophy of stormsbefore, I need not have lost the other oak. "

Here the old gardener sat beneath the branches of the oak, and theyseemed to rise and fall as if bestowing blessings on his head. That spotbecame his favorite resting-place amid his labors for many years. Theoak lived to a good old age, and was the gardener's pride. Maidensgathered its leaves and wove garlands for their lovers. Children sportedunder its boughs. It was blessed and happy in making others so. Ithad learned the lesson of the storm, and was often heard to say to theyoung oaks growing up about it, "Sunshine and balmy breezes have theirpart in our growth, but they are not all that is needful for our truedevelopment. "

IX. 

TRUTH AND ERROR. 

Amid the starry realms there lived an old philosopher, a man deep inwisdom, who had two daughters, named Truth and Error, whom he sent toearth to perform a mission to its people; and though he knew that theirlabors must be united, he could not explain to them why two so dissimilarshould have to roam so many years on earth together. Well he knew that, though Truth would in the end be accepted by the people, she must suffergreatly. His life experience had taught him that she must go oftenunhonored and unloved, while Error, her sister, would receive smiles, gifts, and welcome from the majority. It was a sacrifice to part with hismuch-loved daughter Truth, and a great grief to be obliged to send Errorwith her. He placed them, with words of cheer and counsel, in the care ofHyperion, the father of the Sun, Moon, and Dawn, who accompanied them inhis golden chariot to the clouds, where he left the two in charge ofZephyr, who wafted them from their fleecy couch to the earth. 

One bleak, chilly day, the two were walking over a dreary road dottedhere and there with dwellings. The most casual observer might haveseen their striking dissimilarity, both in dress and manners. Truth wasclad in garments of the plainest material and finish, while Error wasdecked in costly robes and jewels. The step of the former was firm andslow, while that of the latter was rapid and nervous. The bleak windspenetrated their forms as they turned a sharp angle in the road, whenthere was revealed to them, on an eminence, a costly and elegantbuilding. 

"I shall certainly go in there for the night, and escape these bitingblasts, " said Error to her sister. 

"Although, the house is large and grand, " answered Truth, "it does notlook as though its inmates were hospitable. I prefer trying my luck inyonder cottage on the slope of that hill. "

"And perhaps have your walk for naught, " answered Error, who badea hasty good-by to her sister and entered the enclosure, which must havebeen beautiful in summer with its smooth lawns, fine trees and beds andflowers. She gave the bell a sharp ring, and was summoned into an elegantdrawing-room full of gaily dressed people. Error was neither timidnor bashful, and she accepted the offered courtesies of the family as onewould a right. She seated herself and explained to them the object ofher call, dwelling largely on the grandeur of her elegant home amid thestars, and tenderly and feelingly upon her relationship with the godsand goddesses, and the numerous feasts which she had attended, so thatat her conclusion her hostess felt that herself and family were receivingrather than bestowing a favor. 

The evening was spent amid games and pastimes till the hour for retiring, when they conducted her to a warm and elegantly furnished room, socomfortable that it made her long, for a moment, for her sister to shareit with her; for, despite the difference in their natures, Error lovedher sister. The soft couch, however, soon lulled her to sleep. She, slumbered deeply, and dreamed that Truth was walking all night, coldand hungry, when suddenly a lovely form came out of the clouds. It wasnone other than Astrea, whom she had seen often in her starry home, talking with Truth. She saw her fold a soft, delicate garment about thecold form of her sister, at the same time saying, in reproving tones, toherself, "This is not the only time you have left your sister alone inthe cold and cared for yourself. The sin of selfishness is great, and thegods will succor the innocent and punish the offender. "

She closed, and was rising, with Truth in her arms, to the skies, whenError gave such a loud shriek that Astrea dropped her, and a strongcurrent of air took the goddess out of sight. It was well for the earth, which might have been forever in darkness, that Truth was dropped, though hard for her. 

Error awoke from her dream, which seemed more real than her elegantsurroundings, and resolved to go in search of Truth when the morningcame; but a blinding storm of snow and sleet, and the remonstrance ofthe family, added to her own innate love of ease, left Truth uncaredfor by one whose duty it was to seek her. 

The days glided into weeks, and yet Error remained, much to the wonderof the poorer neighbors around, that Mrs. Highbred should encourage andkeep such a companion for her daughters. They could see at a glance thatError was superficial, that she possessed no depth of thought or feeling;and their wonder grew to deep surprise when they saw all the gentry formiles around giving parties in honor of her. Everywhere she was flatteredand adored, until she became, if possible, more vain and full of her ownconceit. 

"You should see the feasts of the gods in our starry realms, " shewould say, as each one vied with a preceding festivity to outshine itssplendor. 

After Error left her sister, Truth walked slowly and thoughtfullytowards the cottage on the hill-side. She went slowly up the path, which wound in summer by beds of roses, to the door, and rappedgently. It was opened by a fair and beautiful woman, who bade her"walk in" in tones which matched the kindness of her features. Thenext moment Truth felt her gentle hands removing her hood and cloak, and felt that she was welcome. A table covered with a snowy clothstood in the centre of the room, on which was an abundant supply ofplain, substantial food, more attractive to a hungry traveler than morecostly viands. A chair was placed for her by the bright fire, while theair of welcome entered her soul and drew tears from her deep, sad eyes. It was so seldom she was thus entertained--so often that the manner ofboth high and low made the highway pleasanter than their habitations. How often had she walked alone all night unsheltered, while Error, hersister, reposed on beds of down! The sharp contrast of their lives wasthe great mystery yet unrevealed. It cost her many hours of deep andearnest thought. 

It was so rare that any one gave her welcome that her gratitude tookthe form of silence. For an instant the kind woman thought her lacking;but when her grateful look upturned to hers, as she bade her sit atthe table and partake of the bounties, all doubt of her gratitudedeparted. 

Truth slept soundly all night, and arose much refreshed by her slumbers. The storm of the day would not have detained her from continuingher journey; but the warm and truthful appeal of the woman, whofelt the need of such a soul as Truth possessed with whom to exchangethoughts, induced her to remain that day, and many others, which slippedaway so happily, and revealed to her that _rest_ as well as action isneedful and right for every worker. 

Truth became a great favorite among the poorer classes of theneighborhood, as she always was whenever they would receive and listento her words; and it was not long before people of thought, rank, andculture began to notice her and court her acquaintance. 

Mrs. Highbred, hearing of her popularity, concluded to give a partyand invite her. 

Error had never spoken of the relationship between them until the daythe invitations were sent. Then, knowing she could no longer concealthe past, she availed herself of the first opportunity to communicate thesame to her hostess. Great was the surprise of Mrs. Highbred and herhousehold to learn that the quiet stranger at the cottage was the sisterof Error. 

"My sister is very peculiar, and wholly unlike myself, " remarked Errorto her hostess; "and I fear you will find her quite undemonstrative. Although it is my parent's wish that I should be with her, you cannotimagine what a relief it has been to a nature like mine to mingle withthose more congenial to my tastes, even for a brief period. "

"It must be, " answered Mrs. Highbred sympathizingly, and Errorcongratulated herself on having become installed in the good gracesof so wealthy a person. 

"Now, " she said to herself, "I need not go plodding about the worldany longer. Truth can if she likes to; and, as she feels that she hassuch a mission to perform to the earth, she of course will not remainin any locality long. But, thanks to the gods, who, I think, favor mealways, I shall not be obliged to roam any longer. Truth never didappreciate wealth or the value of fine surroundings. She's cast in arougher mold than I--"

"Ma sends you this set of garnets, and begs you will do her the favorto wear them on the night of the party, " said the bearer of a case ofjewels, as she laid them on the table, and bounded out of the room beforeError could reply. Indeed, her surprise was too great for words had thechild remained. "I wonder what Truth will say when she sees them, "thought Error, as she glanced again and again at the sparkling gems. 

Nothing could be more striking than the contrast between Truth andher sister, both in costume and manner, as they stood apart from thecompany a moment to exchange a few words. 

Error was decked in a costly robe of satin of a lavender hue, to contrastwith her gems; while Truth was arrayed in white, with a wreath of ivy onher brow, and the golden girdle around her waist which her father gaveher at parting. She wore no gems save an arrow of pearl which Astrea gaveher when they parted at the gate of clouds, kept by the goddesses namedthe Seasons, which opened to permit the passage of the celestials toearth and to receive them on their return. 

The simple dress and manners of Truth won the admiration of a few, whilethe majority paid tribute to Error, who kept her admirers listening toher wonderful adventures amid the region of the stars. Truth spoke butseldom; but what she uttered was food for thought, instead of aconstellation of merely dazzling words. 

A careful observer might have seen that the elder members lingered, attracted by her simple charms, near Truth, as did also the youngestportion of the company, while youth and middle age could not divine hersphere of pure and earnest thought. The few who sought her wouldgladly have continued the acquaintance, and they invited her to theirdwellings; but on the morrow she would set forth on her journey, feelingthat she had implanted in the minds of a few the love of somethingbeyond externals and mere materialisms. 

Her earthly mission was to traverse hill and plain throughout the land, and sow seeds of righteousness which would spring up in blossoms ofpearl long after her weary feet had traversed other lands and sown againin the rough places the finer seeds. 

At early dawn Truth went forth from the cottage and the kind womanwho had sheltered her. They had enjoyed much together in their mutualrelation. Trust met trust, hope clasped hope, and each was stronger forthe soul exchange. 

When the sun rose in the heavens Truth was on her way, while Error, tossed in feverish dreams upon her bed, thought the Sun was angry withher, and was sending his fierce rays upon her head to censure or maddenher. But he was only trying to waken her and urge her to go on withher sister. A sense of relief came when she opened her eyes and foundit was, after all, only a dream. Yet the pleasure was brief; for a sharppain shot through her temples, her brow was feverish, and her pulsesthrobbed wildly. "Oh, for the pure air and the cool, refreshing grass!"she cried. "Oh, better the highway with its friendly blossoms than thiscouch of down and this stifled atmosphere which I am breathing!" Howshe longed for Truth then, to cool her brow with the touch of her gentlehand. "Come back, oh, come to me, Truth!" she cried, so hard that thewhole household heard and came to her bedside. 

"She is ill and delirious!" they cried in one voice. The family physicianwas summoned, who pronounced the case fearful and her life fast ebbing. 

"For whom shall we send?" said Mrs. Highbred, who was unused to scenes ofdistress and now longed to have her guest far from her dwelling. 

"For her sister Truth, " said one. 

"Truth--Truth, " said the physician. "Is it possible?" and he gazedfrom one to another for revelation. 

"Truth is her sister, " said one of the younger members, and added, "Ithink she is far better and prettier than Error, --"

"Far better, far better, " continued the physician, looking only at thechild, and inwardly saying, "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklingscome words of wisdom. "

"I met her on the hill, --the one you call Truth, " he said, in answer tothe searching look of Mrs. Highbred, who by manner and inquiry plainlymanifested her desire to have an end of the unusual state of things. 

"I will go for her. She will return with me, " continued the doctor, "and soon we will find some spot to which we can remove Error. "

A look of relief came over the face of the lady as he departed. 

Truth heard not the sound of the horses, nor the rumbling of wheelsas they approached, so intent were her thoughts on separation from hersister and her own strange mission to earth; and she scarce sensedwhither she was going, when the kind man courteously lifted her into hiscarriage. But when she stood by the fevered, unconscious form of Error, a few moments later, all her clearness of thought was at her command. 

"Carry her to the cottage on the hill-side, " she said, as she bound acool bandage on her sister's brow. 

They bore her there, and, as though in mercy, a dark cloud shut offthe sun's rays, and their fierce glare was obscured during transit fromthe home of splendor to the humble cottage. 

There for many weeks Truth nursed her sister, while the kind hostessand kind neighbors aided by words and deeds through the long nightwatches. 

Error arose from her illness somewhat wiser, and firmly fixed in herdetermination to follow Truth and share her fate to their journey's end. 

Thus, reader, shall we ever find them together while we dwell on earth, and perchance in the regions above. Let us trust that they are wiselyrelated; and, while we love, reverence, and admire the purity of Truth, let us seek also courteously to endure Error as an opposing force, which, though it may seem for a time to work our discomfort and hinder us inour progress, yet gives us strength, as the rower on the stream is madestronger by the counter currents and eddies with which he has to contend. 

X. 

THE TREE. 

A large shade-tree grew near a house, and under its branches the childrenplayed every summer day. It seemed to take great delight in their voices, and shook its green boughs over their heads, as though it would join intheir sports and laughter. But, alas! one day it got a foolish idea intoits head--it grew discontented, and felt that its sphere of usefulnesswas too limited. 

At that moment dark clouds gathered, a fearful tempest arose, and astrong current of wind, soon set the giant tree swinging with suchviolence that it was torn from the earth and lay like a broken columnon the ground. 

"Now I shall be something: I've got my roots out of the old earth. Bah! such a heap of old black loam, to be sure, as I have been in! I'llsoon shake it off, however, and then the world will see that _I_ can soaras well as other things. "

There was a terrible quaking and noise as the old tree tried to risefrom its recumbent position. The sun's rays were fast parching its roots, causing sharp pains to shoot through its branches. 

"Oh, dear!" said the tree. "I hope I shall be able to get on my feetsoon, else people will be laughing at me for lying here so helpless. "

The golden sun went down behind the hills. Its rays could not gildthe top of its branches now, and the tree missed the benediction of itsparting rays. A feeling akin to homesickness came over it, and a longing, as the dews of evening came, to be once more rooted to the earth. 

A wild wind sang a dirge all through the night, and ceased not till daydarted over the hills. It was not very pleasant for the old tree to hearthe children's regrets and words of grief as they came around it in themorning to play and sit as usual under its pleasant shade. It had hopedto have been far away by dawn, and thus have escaped the sound of theirvoices. 

"I'll wait till they are gone, and then I must be off, " said the treesoftly. 

"Papa will cut it all up into wood, I know, " said the youngest of thegroup, a bright, three-year-old boy. 

"I am going to have a piece of one of the boughs to make a cane of, "said another. 

"And oh, dear me!" sighed little blue-eyed May. "I can't have anymore autumn leaves to make pretty wreaths of for mamma. "

Poor old tree! how it had mistaken its mission and its relation to theearth! So it is with people who lament the position in which Providencehas placed them. In vain the old tree tried to rise: its brancheswithered, its leaves dropped one by one away, and rustled on the lawn. Itfound, to its sorrow, that it was not made for the air, and that the oncedespised earth from which it drew its nourishment was its true parentand source of life. 

Out of respect to its former protection and beauty, its owner had itswood made into handsome ornaments and seats for the garden to keepits memory alive in the minds of the children. 

When any of them repined in after years at the lot which God hadassigned them, the folly of the tree was alluded to, and all restlessnesswas allayed. 

Over the spot where it stood a beautiful rustic basket made of its ownwood was set, from which bright flowers blossomed throughout the summerday. 

XI. 

THE TWO WAYS. 

Two men were informed, as they were listlessly standing and gazinginto a dense forest one day, that beyond it lay a fertile and beautifulvalley, reached only through the dark and close woods; but, whenreached, it would repay them for all their efforts. 

They started one morning, entering the forest together, and forcedtheir way for a while through the tangled woods. They held the branchesfor each other to pass, and walked along in social converse. Soon onebegan to grow restless and impatient of the slow progress made. 

"I must get on faster than this, " he exclaimed, and began to quickenhis pace, regardless of overhanging boughs and thorny branches, whichpierced his flesh at every step. He rushed forward, leaving hiscompanion; and, so intent did he become on reaching the valley with allpossible speed, that he no longer noticed the briers which piercedhim or the underbrush which entangled and made his feet sore. Ina few days he reached the valley, tired, worn, and bleeding from headto feet. 

The laborers who were working in their gardens looked on him withpity, and several, at the command of a leader, carried him to a house(for he could no longer walk), where he was cared for and nursed. 

His companion, whom he had outrun, took a better and wiser course. Finding the wood so dense, he bethought himself of making a pathwayas he journeyed. It would take much longer, but the comfort and good toothers who might follow could not be told. Faithfully he labored, cuttingaway the branches which impeded his progress, and clearing the underbrushfrom the ground; while each day, in the valley beyond, the wounded manwondered that he came not, and concluded that he must have perished inthe forest. 

The days passed into weeks, and yet no sign of his companion. If hecould only rise from his bed, he would go in search of him; but, alas!he was helpless, lame, and sore in every joint. 

At the close of a beautiful autumn day, when the laborers had boundtheir sheaves and were going to their homes, a traveler was seen comingwith a firm step from the forest. On his shoulder he carried the axe, whose polished edge glittered strangely in the rays of the settingsun. The laborers wondered why he was not torn and weary like the other. 

"Thee must have had a better path than the one who came beforethee, " said one of the group to the stranger. 

"I made a path, " was his only answer; and then he glanced around theroom, as though he would find him with whom he started: for the interestfelt for any companionship, however brief, is not easily laid aside. 

The laborers told him of his companion's inability to work, and of hisdays of pain. 

"Let me see him, " he said; and they went with him. 

The next day the traveler who had slowly journeyed, and made a pathfor those who would come after, was able to go to his labors; while hiscompanion was disabled for many days longer. 

Soon after, many others came through the forest to the valley, andtheir first remark was, "Show us the traveler who made for us such acomfortable path;" and, seeing him, they all blessed him in word anddeed for his nobleness in making their way so easy for them. 

"But for that path, " said many to him, "I should never have come tothis lovely valley. "

There are two ways of journeying through life: one, like the firstpilgrim, who thought only of self and of speedily reaching the vale andthe journey's end; the other better and wiser one, productive of greatergood to all, of making a path, that all who come after us may be blessedby our labors. 

XII. 

THE URNS. 

In a peaceful valley there lived a number of people whose leaderdwelt on the hill and guided the tillers of the soil, weaving intotheir lives many lessons of truth. They were supplied with water fromthe mountain, which was sent them every morning by a carrier. It wasthe master's rule that each should have his urn clean, that the freshsupply might not be mingled with the old. For a time all were faithful:as each day's supply was used the urn was made clean for the new. But, alas for human weakness! so prone to fall from the line of duty--soon amurmur was heard among the people. 

"I have had no fresh water for days, " said one of the group standingidly by the roadside. 

"Neither have I, " said another. 

"It's no use for the master to expect us to labor, " remarked a third, "if we are not supplied with fresh water. Life is hard enough to bearwith all we can have to help us, " he continued. "Now there's ourneighbor, Cheerful, over the way--his urn is full of pure, sparklingwater each morning. "

"And why?" broke in a voice in tones of remonstrance. The idlerslooked at each other, and then at the face of old Faithful, who was justreturning from his evening walk and had heard their words of complaint. 

"Let me assure you, my neighbors, " he said mildly, yet with force, "it's all your own fault that your urns are not filled. You each know themaster's command, that they should be kept clean and ready for the freshsupply. Have you all been faithful to the command?"

They thought among themselves, and answered with but partial truth, saying, "We may not always have had our urns clean, but why shouldthey be unfilled for that?"

"Because the new water would be made unclean and useless by beingmixed with the old, as you each can see for yourselves. Our master lovesall alike; but he cannot supply us with fresh waters and new life if wehave not used the old and prepared for the new. "

"I suppose, if we had them ever so clean now, that the carrier wouldpass us by, " remarked one of the group. 

"Try, and see, " said Faithful. "We may always rest assured that if ourpart is done the master will do his; for no one, however kind andmerciful, can benefit us if we do not put ourselves in a state to beblessed. If the master sends us fresh water each day, and our urns areimpure, is it the fault of the benefactor that they are so? We mustprepare to receive. "

Faithful went on his way. The sun sank in its bed of fleecy clouds, the evening dew fell on the earth, and all was still. The lesson musthave penetrated the hearts of the listeners; for on the morrow theirurns, white and clean, were full of sparkling water. 

Do we look into our hearts each day and see that the life from thencehas gone forth for good and made ready for new, or are we idly murmuringthat we have no life-waters? Can the Father's life inflow if we donot _give_? Our souls are sacred urns, which He longs to fill tooverflowing with pure and heavenly truths if we are willing to receive, and faithful to extend, his mercies. 

XIII. 

SELF-EXERTION. 

An aged man who had built for himself a house upon a high elevationof land, and had labored many years, yea, the most of his lifetime, in conveying trees, plants, and flowers with which to decorate hisgrounds, came one day in his descent upon a youth who sat by the roadsidelooking greatly dispirited. 

"Hast thou no parents nor home?" inquired the kind man. 

The youth shook his head, and looked so lonely and sad that the heartof the questioner was touched, and he said, "Come with me. "

The boy looked pleased at the invitation, and, springing to his feet, stood by the stranger. 

Together they commenced the long and toilsome ascent; but the feetof the youth were tender, and ere long the aged man was obliged to carryhim on his back to the very summit. 

He set his burden down at the door of his pleasant home, expecting tosee an expression of wonder or pleasure on the boy's face; but only asensuous look of satisfaction at the comforts which the laborer hadgathered about him was visible on his dull features. 

"I'll let him rest to-night, " said the kind man. "To-morrow he shallhave his first lesson in weeding the beds and watering the flowers. "

At dawn the old man arose, dressed himself, and went forth to viewthe sun as it rose over the hills; while the youth slumbered on tillnearly noon, and when he arose manifested no life nor interest till theevening meal was over. He partook largely of the bounties, and seemedso full of animation that the old man took courage, and smiles ofsatisfaction settled on his features; for he thought he had found ahelper for himself and wife. 

The next day they called him at sunrise, and after many efforts succeededin arousing him from his sleep. The aged couple went to their gardenafter the morning meal, and awaited the appearance of the youth. 

"I sent him to gather ferns to plant beside these rocks: he surely cannotbe all this time gathering them, " remarked the woman. 

The husband went to the edge of the wood whither she had sent him, and found him lying upon the ground, looking dreamingly at the skies. 

The good couple did not succeed in arousing him to a sense of anyduty. He was dead to labor, and had no life to contribute to the scenearound him. 

"I fear you have made a mistake, " said the wife of the good man whenthe shadows of evening came and they were alone. "I see the boy cannever appreciate the toil of our years. He must return and climb themount for himself. He has no appreciation of all this accumulationwhich we have been years in gaining, nor can he have. It is not in theorder of life: each must climb the summit himself. A mistake lies inour taking any one in our arms and raising him to the mount. "

"I see it now, " said her husband, who had, like many people, beenmore kind than wise, and like many foolish parents who injure theiroffspring by giving them the result of their years of toil. 

On the morrow, the youth was sent back. A few years after, the agedman saw him toiling up a steep hill, seeking to make a home of his own. It was a beautiful eminence, and overlooked the fields and woods formiles around. 

"He will know the worth and comfort of it, " said the old man to hiscompanion. 

"Toil and sacrifice will make it a sweet spot, " she answered; "andafter the morning of labor will come the evening of rest. "

XIV. 

THE VINES. 

They grew side by side. The most casual observer would have saidthat one was far more beautiful than the other. Its height was notonly greater, but its foliage was brighter. 

"I should think, " remarked the vine of superior external appearance tothe other, "that, for the gardener's sake, you would try and make abetter appearance. I heard him remark this morning that he almostdespaired of your ever bearing fruit, or looking even presentable. I amsure we each have the same soil to draw our nourishment from, and onehand to prune away our deformities. "

"I think I can defend myself to the satisfaction of both yourself andthe gardener; and if you will listen to me this evening, as I cannotspare any of the moments of the day, I will tell you what labor occupiesso much of my time. "

"Both myself and the gardener would be delighted to have an explanation;for it has been a wonder to us both what you can be doing. Youcertainly have not attained any height, nor put forth foliage of anyaccount for the past year. "

The full-leaved vine spent the day fluttering her leaves in the wind andlistening to the praise of passers-by. 

"What a difference in these vines!" exclaimed two gentlemen as theywalked past the garden. 

"Just what every one remarks, " said the good-looking vine to herself;and, raising her head very high in the air, she put forth another shoot. Yet, with all her fullness of conceit and vainglory, she grew veryimpatient for the hour to arrive when her sister would be at leisureto talk with her. 

At sunset, after the gardener had laid his tools away and closed thegarden gates for the evening, her sister announced to her that she wasready to explain her strange life for the past year. 

"If you can call anything 'life' which has no visible sign of growth ormotion, " pertly remarked the gay vine. 

Her sister took no notice of the remark, though it wounded her, andsome of her leaves fluttered and fell to the ground. Had her sister beenmore sensitive, she could have seen her tremble in every limb, though hervoice was sweet and clear as she commenced, saying, "I have been verybusy the past year, but in a direction which no one but myself couldperceive. Knowing that we are subject to periods of drought, I have been, and I think wisely too, occupying all my time in sending fibres into theearth in every direction. I have already got one as far as the brook, theother side of the wall. I heard the gardener say it was never dry, so Istruck out in that direction, and expect to bring forth fruit next yearfor all. "

"But could you not have put forth some leaves, at least, and made amore pleasing appearance?" inquired her sister. 

"No: it took all my strength to strike into the earth. I hope to seethe time when no one will be ashamed of my appearance. "

The vain vine grew quite thoughtful. Was she, after all, ahead of hersister? Was a good external appearance the sure sign of merit?

These questions kept her busy for many days. She reasoned them in hermind, but did not act on the lesson they taught. She, too, would like tohave made preparation for seasons of drought, but her pride stood in theway. She feared to lose her lovely foliage; and the month sped on. 

Another year came. The earth was parched: no rain fell on the dry plantsand leaves. The once lovely vine lost all her foliage, while her sisterwas full of leaves and promise of fruit. 

"I declare, " said the gardener, "it does seem strange. I expected thisvine had lost all its life; yet it is now bright and vigorous, while theone I looked to for much fruit is fast fading. What can be the reason?"

Later in the season, the vine which had worked so long out of sighthad the pleasure of seeing not only the table of its owner supplied withdelicious fruits from its branches, but also of hearing the gardenerremark to visitors that the sick and feeble of the neighborhood werestrengthened and refreshed by the cooling grapes which she had, throughso much exertion brought forth. 

The other vine bore no fruit, and had to be pruned severely; but pridestood no longer in the way of her progress. She began to send forth herfibres into the earth, as her sister had done. It was hard at first forher to be obliged to listen to the praises of one whom she consideredher inferior; but she at length attained that glorious height whichenables us to rejoice when the earth has been made richer, no matterby whom or by what means. 

XV. 

IN THE WORLD. 

A parent who loved his son more wisely than most earthly parents, and wholonged to see him crowned with the light of wisdom, felt that he mustsend him afar from himself to gather immortal truth: and his heart wasmoved with a deeper grief at the thought that he must send him forthalone, and unprovided with means to procure his daily sustenance; foronly thus could he learn the lessons which were necessary for his soul'sdevelopment. 

The boy lay sleeping upon a soft white bed: his hands were foldedpeacefully upon his breast. Hard was the task the father knew washis, --to break that sleep, that slumber so profound, and send his boyout into a cold and selfish world. But, shaking off the tremor and theweakness of his soul, he said, "Arise, my son: I must send you forthupon a long and dangerous journey to gather truths to light your soul;and you must go without the means to procure your bread and shelter. It grieves my heart, my son, that all this must be so; but yet I knowthe journey must be taken, and all its dangers and privations met. Myprayers and blessings will go with you, child, through all your scenes. "

The astonished son gazed on his father's face. The parent turned andwept; then, wiping away the fast-falling tears, he said, "I do not wonderat your earnest, curious gaze, you who have so long lived in the bosomof my love; but there are lessons that must be learned by every humansoul. I cannot tell you what these lessons are: they must be experienced, else gladly would I spare you the toil, and myself the pain of parting. "

The boy looked sad as he thought of the perils and exposures to whichhe should be subjected, without means to procure the least comfort. 

The night shades fell on the earth. Only a glimmer of daylight tingedthe sky when father and son parted, the one for action, the other toendure and wait his return. 

The journey for many days lay over cheerless hills and barren plains;and many a tear was brushed from that young cheek by the hand whichhis father had so warmly pressed at parting. 

At the close of a dark, stormy day, weary and faint for food, he wasabout to lie down on the damp grass, overcome with weariness, when heespied an elegant edifice a little way beyond. 

"I will travel on, " he said hopefully; "for surely, in such a mansion, Ishall find protection and food for my famished body. "

It took much longer to reach it than he expected; but at last, with tornand bleeding feet, he came to the broad avenue which led to the dwelling. 

"What magnificence!" he exclaimed. "How glad I am that my father sent mehither to see such wondrous things!" With hope beaming in every feature, he approached the door and knocked. 

It was opened by one whose voice and face exhibited no sign of welcome. He cast an impatient glance upon the traveler, who shrank abashed andtrembling from so rude a gaze. 

"Can I find food and shelter here?" he asked, his voice tremulous withemotion. 

The door was shut upon him. 

It was not the cold of the piercing storm which he felt then, but thechill of an inhospitable soul. It froze the warm current of hope that, afew moments before, had leaped so wildly in his veins; and he wentforth from the elegant mansion, and sat upon the ground and wept. 

"O father! why did you send your child so far away to meet the harshand cruel treatment of the world when your home abounds with plenty?"said the weary child. 

The shades of night were gathering fast. The cold, damp ground, which hadbeen his only bed so many nights, offered a poor protection now for hisweary form. 

"I was contented there. Why did he send me hither?" was the questioningof his mind as he sat alone and sad. 

As he was about to lay himself upon the ground, he saw light glimmeringthrough the trees, just as the light of hope breaks on us at themoment of despair. 

"I would journey thither, " he said, despondingly; "but rest and shelterwere denied me here. How can I hope to find it elsewhere?"

But hope whispered to his weary heart; and he arose, and passed on. 

It was a small, humble dwelling, but one in which dwelt loving hearts. 

He turned involuntarily into the little path that wound by fragrantshrubs and flowers to its door, and then checked himself, as though hecould not bear again a cold denial. It were far easier to feel the blastand storm than again to hear unwelcome tones fall on his ears. Despitehis feeble faith, he walked to the door and gave a timid rap. 

The door flew open wide, as though the hinges were oiled with love;and there stood before him a form all radiant with smiles of welcome. She bade him enter; and the traveler, already warm with her brightsmiles and words of welcome, felt a glow pervade his whole being, --afeeling new and unfelt before; for he had never, before this absence fromhis father's house, known a want or woe. 

Both food and shelter did the woman give unto him; and, when the morningsun came over the eastern hills, another sun of joy and gratitude wasshining over his hills of doubt. And when the woman turned from his warm, full thanks, and went about her daily tasks, these words came with a newlife and meaning to her mind: "As ye have done it to the least of thesemy brethren, ye have done it unto me. "

Years rolled away. The murmur of their deeds was like the distantrumbling of retreating clouds after a great storm. 

The youth visited strange cities, saw nations at war with each other, and learned the conflict of the human soul, and how it battles in thegreat life which threatens to bear it down each hour. Amid all thisstrife and selfishness of heart, he found many that were loyal to God andTruth. He daily learned rich lessons which he would not have effacedfor all the gold and pomp of earth. 

The light of wisdom began to dawn. "This is the experience which myfather saw I needed. Had he provided me with means with which to journeythrough the world, how different would have been my life! I then shouldhave known no value of human love and kindness. O my father! I long toreturn to thee, and love thee as I never could have loved thee before!"

He sat weary, but not sad, by the roadside one day, thinking of hisfather's love, when the sound of a traveler's approach was heard on theroad. He turned his eyes in its direction, and saw one of his father'sservants on a beautiful white horse. 

"Your father bids you come, " were the welcome words that fell uponhis ears. 

"Take thy steed, " he said, "and journey quickly home: he waitsimpatiently for your return. "

Fast over hill and dale he rode; and when day passed from sight, leavinga jeweled sky to mark its absence, the long-absent son rode to hisfather's door, and wept tears of joy upon his breast. 

Together they stood, father and son, upon the Mount of Experience, overlooking all the scenes of life. 

Our heavenly Father wakes us all from the slumber of infancy andhelplessness, and sends us forth alone into the world to learn life'sgreat lessons. When we have learned them well, he sends the palemessenger, Death, to take us home. How blessed will be that reunion! Withthe crown of wisdom on our heads, how sweet it will be to go no more out, but dwell with him forever!

XVI. 

FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 

In one of the dark periods, when shadows lay upon the earth, a beautifulangel was sent to abide there and teach the doubting and weary of aFather's love and care. 

She found it a tedious task, and, after many years of toil, felt that sheneeded a helper. 

"If my sister were here, " she often said to the people, "she could aidyou to greater efforts; for, while I seem to supply a needed element toyour souls, I only half succeed in meeting your wants. "

"If she is but half as good as yourself we will welcome her, " answeredthose to whom she spoke. 

"I will go for her, " said Faith, one dark night, after she had beentrying to rouse the people to higher states, with what seemed to her butlittle success. Faith was weary, and wept; and, when her tears flowed, her sister, yet in the realms of peace, by a strange law of sympathy, knew it, and ran to her father, saying, "I, too, must go to the earth;for Faith needs me. "

Her parent sat awhile in deep thought, and Hope waited impatientlyfor his answer, which came spoken in a firm, clear voice: "We have doneFaith a great wrong, I fear, in sending her alone where so much light andcomfort is needed. It was too much for her. Go, Hope, and my blessingattend you. "

She was overjoyed at receiving her father's permission to join hersister; for, since Faith had gone, her beautiful home had seemed lonely. 

Faith sat all night with her eyes uplifted to heaven, and, when themorning sun lit the hill-tops, behold! on its beams Hope was descendingto earth. 

Faith was not long in ascending the hill to meet her sister. Theirmeeting was full of joy. 

"If my eyes had not been lifted heavenward, I should have missed you, Hope: and you must have searched a long time for me; for my journeysare far each day, " said Faith to her sister. 

"Keep your eyes _ever_ uplifted, " answered Hope, "and you will see notonly the brightness of the heavens, but also the father's angels whom hechooses to send to your aid. "

"I will, " answered Faith; and ever after her eyes were raised heavenward. 

They descended to the valley, hand in hand, and reached it as the peoplewere passing to their daily toils. 

How light now seemed the labors of Faith! What a comfort it was tohave Hope by her when she walked along the dreary wayside; and Hope'sbright words, how they cheered the downhearted!

"I wonder your parents ever permitted you to come to the earth alone, "remarked an old and venerable woman to Faith, as the latter was impartingto her some truths which lay almost beyond the grasp of mortals. 

"My father, as well as myself, had to learn that I needed Hope withme to make my work more perfect. We must first feel our own inadequacybefore our helpers can be fully appreciated. I think she came in theright time, " said Faith reverently. 

"No doubt, " replied the woman; "I have often heard you say that allour blessings come at the needful moment; but surely Hope looks asthough she could endure the rough clime, and still rougher ways of ourpeople, better than yourself, although I do not know what my life wouldhave been without you. "

"That was why I was sent here. I came to prepare the way for Hope. I wasneeded first; and now, with my sister's brighter element, I expect to doa good work on the earth. "

"A blessed pair!" exclaimed the woman, as they left her home to goto others more dark and drear. 

Faith was summoned that night to the home of a widow whose only child waspassing away; for the clear, far-seeing eyes of Faith could see the souldepart and take on its heavenly form. It was a great comfort to thebereaved in hours like those to have her near. 

"I wonder how we lived without her, " were household words, and wordswhich she could hear without any semblance of vainglory; for her soulwas too deeply impressed with the magnitude of her mission to allow herto be elated or depressed by any remark that might be made. 

Faith's eyes followed the dying boy far into the realms of light. Shewiped the mother's tears away, and disclosed to her sight the way thesoul had fled, while Hope stood by to assure her that the parting wasnot forever. The two tarried through the night with the mother, and whenfriends came to bury the dead form she had learned that "the grave isnot the goal. "

The sisters toiled together many years. They wove beautiful truthsinto the minds of the people, till the once dark condition of earthseemed passing rapidly away. People grew trustful, and less gloomy: yet, with all the teachings of Faith, and the cheering words of Hope, theyfailed to exercise the right feelings at all times towards each other. 

The sisters sat by the wayside one evening, after a hard day's toil, their eyes lifted to the stars, which seemed to look lovingly on them. They sat without words, while each possessed the same unspoken wish. Theyboth longed for their sister, who at that moment was thinking earnestlyof them. 

Faith glanced from the stars to the scarcely less brilliant eyes of Hope, and a few tears fell over her face. Even Hope sighed, and almost wishedherself back to her starry home with her father. 

"Are you sorry, Hope, that you came to earth?" asked Faith, tenderly. 

"No: but I was thinking--"

"I know your thought: it must be the same as my own, " said Faith. 

"Yes, our sister--" Hope ventured thus far. 

"Charity come too. " Faith finished the sentence. 

"Just my wish, " said Hope, rejoiced to find they had the same desire. 

"I see, " said Faith, "that we are all needed here to make our workcomplete, " while the brilliant eyes of Hope spoke more than words. 

"I have felt for a long time, " answered Hope, "that another element, softer, sweeter, and finer than ours, was needful for the people. "

"Do you suppose that father would spare Charity, too?" asked Hopeof her sister. 

"I know he would, if convinced that earth's people would receive her. "

"Why, Faith, you speak with such confidence!"

"Because I know how good our father is, as you do yourself, Hope. Ifneeded, she will come, " said Faith, trustingly, thinking of her ownexperience that lonely night. 

"Charity is so delicate, " said Hope, a little doubtfully, "I do not quitesee how she could endure this cold clime. "

"She could not without our presence to sustain her, " answered Faith. 

"But, with us to help her, she could; for we can all live wherever weare called to do the work of our father. "

"Let us lift the voices of our souls, " said Hope; and they offered asilent prayer for their sister. 

 * * * * *

That night, in his abode of peace and comfort, the father walked to andfro; for the voices of his children on the earth, pleading for theirsister, had reached him. 

It was not without a struggle that he called the only remaining childto his side to look upon her for the last time for many years. 

"It must be, " he said, "and then will my sacrifice be perfect; and fromperfect sacrifice must fullness of good come forth. Faith alone could notperfect the work; Hope's added brightness was not all that was needed. Charity must be added. " And he drew the fair, frail form to his side, andtold her to go for her mantle. 

He enveloped her slight figure in the spotless garment, and, placingher in the care of Zephyr, the gentle west wind, who was always faithfulto her charges, bade her depart, with his prayers and blessings. 

Zephyr was very tender of her charge, and, after what seemed a longjourney to Charity, she laid her on a soft bed of moss in a pleasantwoodland, where her sisters were gathering flowers. 

She might have lain there some time had not Faith's eyes discoveredher coming through the clouds. 

Full and joyous was the meeting of the three; and when the sun wentto rest they sought shelter among the people. 

With the uplifted eyes of Faith, the clear, soul-speaking face of Hope, and the tender, forgiving words of Charity, their united force was great. 

Some of the people at first refused to admit the last comer into theirdwellings. 

"Faith, with her lovely eyes, and Hope, with her bright ways, are goodenough, " they said; "and why need they bring this pale, fragile one toearth?"

But when once she had spoken, either in council or rebuke, to herlisteners, there was melody and richness in her tones: such an awakeningof their souls' finer powers that they ever after bade her welcome. 

Her strength lay in her gentleness. She always went when called for, butnever obtruded herself on others. Very often her sisters were invited tothe feast of the people without her. It took time for her quality to beknown: she was so still and silent. Her step, too, was noiseless, and herdelicate feet left no prints where she trod. 

Before she grew into favor with the people they used to watch for herfootprints to see whose guest she had been; but they found no traces, and learned to entertain her after a long time for the lovely qualitieswhich she possessed. 

They walk the earth now, each loved and entertained by many, whilesome sit in the shadows, and know not that earth has the angels of Faith, Hope, and Charity to bless them. 

XVII. 

GOING FORTH. 

A wise parent sent his children to a distant country to learn the lessonsof life which experience alone can teach. Before their departure hecalled them to him, and, after providing them liberally with means, toldthem that at their return he would listen to their several experiences;at the same time telling them to use the means which he had given themwell--neither to hoard, nor spend them unwisely; above all, not to bringthem back in their original form, but a full equivalent therefore, eitherin spiritual or material things. 

A year had scarcely passed, when, as the father sat looking at thewestern sky, the youngest son came running breathlessly up the path. 

"So soon returned?" asked his father--which caused a look ofdisappointment to pass over the face of the youth; and his words wereshaded with regret as he replied, "I thought you would be glad to seeme, and would rejoice that I got through so quickly. "

"Not so, my son, " replied the father. "You cannot, in the brief timeyou have been absent, have performed many, if any, deeds of goodnesscompared with what you might have done by tarrying longer; and yourgold--you surely cannot have used it all in so brief a period. "

"Why, I've brought all the money back you gave me, father. You see, I got through without its costing me a penny. "

"It grieves me more than all, my son, that you should go throughany country and return no equivalent for deeds and kindness given. Restawhile, and in a few days return to the land and the people I sent youamong, and come not back again to me till every farthing is wiselyspent. "

The youth murmured within himself, but dared not reply. A few dayslater he departed, to go over the same ground and do the work he hadneglected for the sake of a speedy return. 

At the end of the second year another returned, looking sad anddispirited. 

"Thou hast soon returned, my son, " said the father. "Is thy workdone in so brief a period?"

The youth hung his head, and answered slowly, "I was so weary, father. I saw so much sorrow among those people, I longed to come home whereall is rest and peace. Surely, I was right in that, was I not?"

"Far from it, my child. If there was much sorrow there, that was thevery reason why you should have remained. Dost thou not rememberthose lines I have so often quoted, --

"'Rest is not quitting the busy career:Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere'?"

"I remember them well, father, " the youth replied; "but I never felttheir meaning until now. "

"And if you sense it now, my son, what is your duty?"

"To return, I suppose. "

"But how--cheerfully or otherwise?"

"Gladly and willingly, " said the son, born from the old to the higherself. 

"I will provide you with more means, " remarked his father, while afeeling of joy thrilled his being at the thought that his son was goingto give his life to human needs. 

They parted on the morrow, though that separation was the nearestapproach of their lives; for they were united by a truth which is everthe essence of a divine union. Many years passed by. The hair of thefather grew whiter, and his ears longed to hear the voices of his sons, yet he would not call, in word or feeling, so long as the busy throng wasreceiving or giving them life. 

One evening, when his thoughts were taking a somewhat pensive turn, a messenger came to his door with a letter from the long-absent andeldest, who had not returned to his home since the day of his departure. Its words were these:--

"Dear Father, --I cannot come to the home I love so well, nor toyour side, while this land is so full of need of human words and deeds. With your blessing I shall remain here my lifetime; and when age comeson, and I can no longer serve the people, may I return?"

The tears fell over the good man's face. God had blessed him greatlyin bestowing on him so worthy a son; and he penned warm and glowingwords of encouragement to his child, and sent by the messenger, withgold to alleviate the wants of the needy. 

"Tell him a thousand blessings await him when his work is done, " saidhe to the messenger as the latter mounted his horse to ride away. 

Long after, when the father grew old and helpless, the sons returnedladen with rich experiences and abundantly able to care for him. 

They had learned the great and valuable lesson that all must learn erethey truly live, --that we must give to receive, sow if we would reap, and lose our life to find it. 

XVIII. 

THE FEAST. 

There was once a husbandman who had laborers in a valley, clearing it ofstones and brush, that it might become fit for culture. He resided near, on a fine hill, where he raised rare fruits and flowers of every variety. The view from the hill-top was extensive and grand beyond description, and it was the kind owner's desire that each day the laborers shouldascend and be refreshed by whatever he had to offer them, beside catchingthe inspiration of the lovely and extensive landscape. Some days he hadnot much to offer them; at other times, the repast would be sumptuous andmost tempting: so those who went each day were sure of receiving in theirseason the delicious fruits which ripened at different periods. 

There had been a succession of days in which there was nothing butdry food on the hill, with none of the luscious fruits which invigorateand refresh; for they had been slow in ripening, and the kind husbandmanwould not gather them before they were mellow and fit to spread beforehis laborers. 

"_I_ am not going to climb the hill to-day for a few crumbs, " said onedissatisfied toiler, as he sat by the roadside at noon-day, looking veryunhappy. 

"Nor I!" "Nor I!" added a second and a third, until there was quitea chorus of the dissatisfied. 

The remainder went up as usual. A most tempting repast was beforethem, of fruits and cake and refreshing wines, while the table was deckedwith rare and fragrant flowers. 

How glad was the good man to spread the bounties before them! forwell he knew of the murmurs which had gone out of their hearts for afew days past. "Are they not all here?" he asked of those who hadascended the hill, while a look of disappointment came over his face. 

"Oh! let us go down and tell them what a nice feast is waiting, " saidone of the group, as he gazed on the well-filled table. 

"Nay, not so, " answered the husbandman, in a gentle but commandingtone. "My people should have faith in me, and know that I spread forthem all I can each day. My power, even like that of the Infinite, islimited by conditions. It is not my pleasure ever to have them gounrefreshed; but how much better for them, could they be content withwhatever comes each day, though sometimes meager. How it cheers me tosee those who have come in good courage and faith, _not_ knowing that thefeast was here. Eat and give thanks, " he said; while a band playedsome lively airs. 

 * * * * *

Shall we refuse to ascend each day the mount whereon dwells ourFather? Shall we, because some days no feast awaits us, linger in thevalley of doubt, and lose the bounties which his hand at other times hasready for us? No: the faithful and believing will go up to the mounteach day, and take without murmur the morsel, or the fruits withthanksgiving. 

XIX. 

THE LESSON OF THE STONE. 

It was with feelings of satisfaction and pride that a builder lookedupon a large and costly edifice which, after much exertion, was justcompleted. Long had the workmen toiled to place one stone upon another. Many hours of thought had the designer spent in perfecting itsproportions, and a deep sense of relief came over him as he saw thelast stone deposited on the summit of the structure. Yet it was only tobe followed by one of pain; for, as he walked one evening to enjoy thebeautiful symmetry of his building, he heard words of contention andstrife among the various stones of which it was composed. 

"Just look at my superior finish, " said one of the top pieces to thosebeneath it. "You are only plain pieces of granite, while I am polished, elegantly carved, and the admiration of all eyes. Do I not see all thepeople, as they pass by, look up at me?"

"Not so fast, " replied one of the foundation stones. "A little less pridewould become you; for do you not see that, but for us below, you couldnot be so high? And it matters very little, it strikes me, what part ofthe building we are placed in, if we but remain firm and peaceful. "

The words of the wise stone pleased the owner so much that heresolved to remove a little of the vanity of the top one, and lay awakea long time that night, thinking of some plan by which to effect hispurpose. The elements, however, spared him any effort on his part, forthe next day a terrible hail-storm swept over the land, and its hardstones defaced all the ornaments which had led the lofty one to boast soloudly of its superiority. 

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" moaned the vain piece of granite. "How I wish I hadbeen taken for a foundation stone, instead of being here to have all mybeauty destroyed by this awful storm! I'd much rather have been in themiddle of the building than up here, where all the force of the storm isspent on my head. "

The stone at the foundation could not help smiling, though he reallypitied the vain thing above him. "It will teach her wisdom, " he said tohimself; "and she may learn that none in life are lowly if they beartheir part, and that a lofty position is far more dangerous than a humbleone. "

There was a fearful crash in the air at that instant. The foundationstone thought the building was coming down. Something struck him, which he recognized as a part of the top stone; for he had seen theworkmen cutting and smoothing it day after day for many weeks prior toits elevation. Now she could boast no more of superior finish orposition. 

The following day, the remaining shattered portion was removed andleft by the roadside, where it could see another prepared to take itsplace. 

"I thought that stone was a little weak when we raised it, " said one ofthe workmen as it was placed aside. 

It lay by the roadside until it grew to be humble and glad to be of anyuse, --even delighted when one day the owner of the building took it tofinish a wall which was being built around some pasture land. 

"Here I can be of use, " she said, as the workmen deposited it on asunny corner as the place it was to occupy. It was glad to be there andfind itself useful and at rest; for it had been obliged to listen to theremarks of the passers-by each day, and to endure their comments on itsmisfortune. 

"I suppose I shall never know any other life but this; so now, beingfirmly set, I can sleep a little:" for the stone was sadly in need ofrest. 

After what seemed to be a long period of repose, the stone awoke, withnew pulsations and finer emotions thrilling within it. The sound ofchildren's voices were heard in the air. How sweet and life-giving theywere! far more pleasant than the words of admiration which men utteredwhen she was on the building's top. A new joy was hers also, for softhands were caressing her. Beautiful mosses had grown on her surface, and delighted children were gathering them. 

Useful and beautiful too! and the stone was silent with happiness. She hoped the children would come again; and they did, bringing otherswith them. 

"I wonder how this beautiful moss grew on me, " she said one day toherself--at least she thought no one heard her. But an older stonebeside her replied, "By being perfectly quiet we become covered withthis lovely moss, firmer than grasses of any lawn. "

The once vain stone grew to be perfectly contented, and never longedfor her former position. When the storms came, it knew it was close tothe earth. It had no fearful height to be pulled from, and the beautifullichens which grew upon its surface were far more ornamental than itsformer carved and elegant adornings. 

XX. 

THE SEEDS. 

They lay side by side one morning, while the gardener was preparingthe ground in which to plant them and many other varieties. 

"Just think, " said the more talkative one of the two, "how sad it isthat we are going to be put in that dismal ground! I shall not allowmyself to be buried out of sight this lovely morning. "

"But, " answered the more quiet seed by her side, "it is only for a briefperiod that we shall lie there, and then we shall be far more beautiful. "

"What care I for beauty for others to look at? I want my freedom, and intend to have it, too. The wind is my friend, and I shall ask herto waft me over to those lovely hills, where I can see something of theworld. "

"I think it would be wiser to remain where we are, and let the gardenercare for us: he must know what is for our good, " remarked the gentleseed. 

"You are too prosy by far. I think our own feelings tell us what weneed. So good-by, " exclaimed the self-reliant seed, as she motioned tothe wind to bear her away. 

She thought her breath was leaving her, as she was borne throughthe air, and wished she were back in the garden. But when she foundherself on the warm hill-side she felt reassured, and nestled herselfamid the soft grass, whose waving motion soon lulled her to sleep. 

Now the two seeds which the gardener had laid on the ground were ofa very choice and rare kind; and he felt very sad that the wind shouldhave blown one away. He took the remaining one and laid it carefullyin the ground, with many hopes that it would spring up and bear richblossoms, which would yield more seed. That night a cold wind cameon; but the little seed in the warm bed did not feel it at all, while herabsent sister shook all night with the cold. 

After what seemed a long time to the seed in the ground, somethinglike a new life came over her. There was a deeper pulsation throughher being, and a strong desire to shoot upward to the light and air. Thisfeeling deepened every hour. 

"At this rate I shall soon be in the air, where I can see all that isgoing on about me, " she said joyfully. Then she felt very quiet, and fellasleep. When she awoke she saw the gardener bending over her with ajoyful face. "When did this happen? How came I up here in the warmsunlight?" the seed exclaimed to him. 

"Because the wind did not bear you away, and I could put you in theground, is the reason why you are here. First out of sight, then to thelight, my little seed! But, " he said sorrowfully, "I wish we had theother one, for your kind is rare. "

The plant then told the gardener that her sister purposely went away, at which he wondered that she had power of motion until she became aplant. 

"Oh, she asked the wind to carry her, " answered the fresh-growingplant. 

"If I knew where she had gone I'd search for her, and bring her back. "

"She asked the wind to take her to yonder hill-side, " said the plant, hoping, oh, so much! that he would go and find the seed, and plant itbeside her, that she, too, might have the pleasure of becoming a plant asbeautiful as herself. 

The gardener went towards the hills; but the seed saw him, andbegged the south wind to bear her away. And she took her on her wingand wafted her many miles from home. 

The gardener searched a long time, and was obliged to return withouther. So he took extra care of the plant, and it grew to be the pride ofthe garden; while the seed that had her own way was roaming over theworld. The truant one soon lost all her influence over the winds, whofinally refused to carry about a good-for-nothing seed while they had somuch needful work to perform. A cold northern blast was the last oneshe could persuade to bear her, and he dropped her on a rock, where sheat last perished from exposure to the rain and cold. 

The day before her death, a company of people passed by her, bearingin their hands some rare and fragrant blossoms, to which she felt astrange attraction. This gave place to a deep thrill of sorrow as sheheard them describe the lovely plant which grew in a beautiful garden, and which by their description she knew was her own home, which shein her folly had left. 

"Had I but accepted the conditions of growth, I too might have beena lovely plant, giving and receiving pleasure, " she said, after thepeople had passed on. "But now, alas!" and her breath grew quick andshort, "if I had only some one to profit by my last words, telling of mylife of folly, I might not have lived wholly in vain. " But there wasnothing about her which she could discern save a tuft of moss upon thecold, hard rock which must now be her death-bed. 

But behind the rock, on the south side, there was growing a family ofwild daisies, who were going to migrate to a warmer part of the countryto plant their seeds before the winter came on. This was one of theconditions which Providence ever has around the most seemingly desertedand desolate, that her words might not only profit them, but thatthey could convey the benefit of them to all wayward seeds who wereunwilling to accept the natural conditions of growth. And thus the seed, though dying with its mission unfulfilled, did not live wholly in vain;for its wasted life saved others from a similar fate. 

XXI. 

ONLY GOLD. 

A parent sent his children forth one day into a fertile land to gatherfruits, flowers, and whatever was beautiful to adorn their homes. Theywandered till nightfall, gathering their treasures, while their joyouslaughter filled the air, and made music to the listening laborers in thefields. 

Just as the shadows of evening came on they approached an open field:it was barren of verdure, but the ground was covered with golden stones, which glittered strangely in the setting sun. They gathered as many asthey could with their other treasures, and then all but one of the groupbegan to prepare for home, while he lingered, eager to gather the shiningpebbles. 

"We must return, " they all said in chorus to him. They disliked toleave without him; but darkness was fast coming on, and they must obeytheir parents' command and return before the shades of evening hadcovered the earth. One voice after another died away on the air as theypleaded vainly for him to go with them, but he heeded them not: thegolden stones were far more precious in his eyes than kindred, home, orfriends; and they departed sorrowfully without him, while he remainedand added stone to stone, till he was obliged at last, from exhaustion, to lie down on the damp ground. 

It was not like his warm bed in his pleasant home; and he missed thecheerful voices of his brothers, and more than all his parents' fondgoodnight, after the evening prayer. He slept; but his dreams were wildand feverish, and there was no atmosphere of love about him to soothe theweary brain. 

The next day at noon his parents sent a messenger to him, bidding himreturn. But the love of his golden stones was paramount to the wishesof kindred, and the unnumbered comforts of a happy home; and his reply tothe messenger was, "I will return, when I have enough of these, " pointingto a large collection which was already higher than his head. Atnightfall hunger seized him. He felt too weary to go in search offood, but the demand of nature asserted its claim, and he dragged himselfto a field near by, where grew berries and fruits in abundance. Hisspirits rose after the cravings of hunger were satisfied, and he lay downagain by his precious pile of stones. 

The days glided into weeks, and still he fed upon the berries andgathered the golden pebbles. His father had ceased to send messengers tohim, knowing that nothing but a long experience would teach his childthe value of life's many blessings, and that gold _alone_ has no power tobless us. The father suffered much in knowing and realizing that hisson must learn the truths of life through such severe lessons; but wisdomtold him it could not be otherwise. 

The chill air of autumn came, and no longer could the fruits and berriesripen for him. He saw some laborers one day in a field near by, eatingtheir meal which they had brought from their homes. Oh; what would he notnow give for some of their meat and bread! "I will go to them, " he said, "and offer some of my golden stores in exchange for just a few morsels. "

He did so; and they only smiled at his offer, saying, "What would thenrefresh and fit us for the rest of our day's labor? Surely your goldwould not. "

"But it would help you to buy more, " he replied. 

"Yes, to-morrow: but we cannot spare a morsel to-day, for we needall our supply to strengthen us for our work. "

He turned away in deep thought. Was he not losing all of life's joysand comforts in living thus alone only to amass such quantities of gold?But as he looked again on the shining treasures his ambition arose withincreased power; and he forgot, for a time, his hunger in his toil. Thena new thought came to him. "Now that the fruits are gone I can go tothe forest and gather nuts. They will be better food, too, for thesechilly autumn days. Surely I am provided for, at least till winter, " andhe left his labor and repaired to the woods, where he feasted andgathered enough for many days. 

The household mourned much for their absent brother. They missed him intheir daily joys, and every hour they watched, waited, and hoped to seehim return. They almost rejoiced when the bleak winds of autumn swept thefoliage from the trees, because they could look farther down the road fortheir brother. 

"I shall soon be able to travel and see the world, " said the youth tohimself every day as the pile of gold grew higher; but, alas for humancalculation! he awoke one morning to find his huge mountain of goldone solid mass. The action of the light, heat, and atmosphere had fusedthem together, and no exertion of his could break off even the smallestatom. 

Must he return with not even one golden pebble? for he had gatheredthem all--not one was in sight, no more were to be found. 

His golden dream of travel was over, and, worse, the freshness andbuoyancy of youth had departed. His limbs, alas! were stiff and sore. He had a mountain of gold, not one atom of which he could use for himselfor others. And now he must return to his father's house empty-handed, and void of truths or incidents to relate to his brothers. 

But some kind angel led him home, where his blessings were yet instore, awaiting his return. One evening when the shadows crept overthe earth, he walked up the well-known path. The brothers had longbefore ceased to watch for his coming; and great was their surprise tosee him again among them, although not the brother of that happy, sunny day of long ago. He told them sadly of the result of his long toil, while they related to him the good results of their few golden pebbles, which they brought home, and with which their father had purchasedland, which was now yielding them rich returns, aside from the healthand pleasure which they derived from its culture, the labor of which theyperformed with their own hands. "Health, wealth, and happiness combined, "he murmured sadly, as he felt keenly that his youth and opportunitieshad departed. 

Are there not too many who seek for gold alone, forgetting the joyswhich it purchases, and forgetting that its possession alone has novalue? Rightly acquired and used it alleviates and mediates, but gatheredand amassed for itself only it is but a mountain of shining ore, valueless and unsatisfying to its possessor. 

"Fool that I have been thus to waste my time and strength!" said thelong-absent son that night as his father bade him welcome. 

"If wisdom is purchased by the experience, it matters not how greatthe price, " answered his parent. 

"But I have lost my youth and my strength, " responded the son. 

"Which loss will be compensated by more thought and greater abilityto labor mentally, " said his parent consolingly. 

In after years the youth who had wasted his bodily strength became aworker in words of cheer and hope to others, and hence he had notwholly lived in vain. He learned to love the angel Truth so well thatshe came to his side each day, and gave him sweet counsel and manylessons for mankind. 

But he had purchased the light at a cost which few can afford to give. 

XXII. 

THE SACRIFICE. 

A large party of travelers on their way to a distant country were obligedto pass through a dense forest to reach it. Their leader went forward, and, seeing the darkness of the dense woods, was convinced of theimpossibility of his people going through it, without the aid of alight to guide them. He sat beside the mossy stones at the entrance, trying to devise some means by which to light up the darkness. Thereseemed but one way, and that almost hopeless, as it involved a sacrificeof life, and he knew too well the nature of the trees to expect any ofthem to give themselves up for his travelers. How could he ask it, as hestepped into the deep wood, and looked on their grand proportions andrich foliage? His was no enviable position to entreat them to give up theexistence which must be dear to themselves, --to pass from the known tothe unknown life. 

Vainly he tried to think of another way to accomplish his purpose. Nonepresented itself; so with glowing words he appealed to their noblerselves, telling them all the great need of the travelers who were obligedto pass that way. First he appealed to a fine birch which bordered theforest. 

"Not I, indeed!" answered the tree. "Do you think I would give mylife to light a few people through this woodland? I prefer to live a fewyears longer. "

He next addressed a walnut. She shook a few leaves from her branches, and made a similar reply, preferring to live in her own form, and amidher sister trees, to going she knew not whither. 

"Are there none here, " he continued, "who are willing to sacrifice theirlives for the needs of others?"

He looked around the forest in vain: all were silent, and he was aboutto return to the people, when a large and stately oak spoke in clear andringing tones, saying, "I will give my body that the travelers may havelight. "

"What! that grand old body of yours, that has been so many yearsgrowing and maturing to its present stately and fair proportions!"exclaimed several of the trees. 

"You are not only rash, but foolish, " remarked a small fir growing byits side. 

"Beside taking away the pride of our grand old forest, " said a delicatebirch, that had always admired the oak. 

"Just throwing your life away, " broke in a tall and rather sickly pine. 

"When will you be ready for me?" asked the oak of the leader, whohad stood admiring its beautiful proportions, and sorrowing withinhimself that it must be so. 

At the close of the next day the travelers came to the edge of theforest, and tarried while their leader lit the fire at the roots of theoak. Now the flames went upward and flashed in the darkness; for it wasevening, and not a star was visible. The flames rose upward and touchednot even the bark of another tree, but wound closely around the oak, asthough it knew its work and that the light of that tree only was neededto pass the travelers through in safety. It touched their hearts to thuswitness that the life of the noble oak must be sacrificed, and theyoffered, with one accord, a silent prayer that its life might be extendedin a higher form. Having passed through, they tarried at the end ofthe forest until the flames died away, and then pursued their journey. 

 * * * * *

Years passed away. From the pile of ashes left by the departed oaksprang lovely flowers, which charmed the eyes of all the trees in theforest, and atoned, in a great measure, for the loss of their noblecompanion. 

After a brief period workmen were seen in the forest felling the trees. 

"Ah!" exclaimed the old pine who had refused to give its life for thetravelers, "I don't see as we have gained anything. If our life is to go, it might as well have gone by the fire as by the axe. "

"Just so, " answered the beach, "only if we had perished by the firewe might now be coming again into another form of life, as our oak seemsto be, from that pile of dust and ashes; for see what lovely blossoms arecoming forth from that unsightly heap of dust. "

"I heard the workmen say that all these trees were to be cleared away, and houses erected on the land, " remarked a trembling ash, and her leavesquivered beyond their wont with the terror of this new thought. 

"And that will surely be the end of us, " moaned the pine. 

"Our happy life is all over now, " said a small fir, who would havecontinued bemoaning their destiny had not her attention at that instantbeen arrested by two forms entering the forest. They went to the spotwhere once stood the brave oak, and gazed admiringly on the lovely tintedblossoms. They had heard of the sacrifice of the tree, and had come togaze upon its resurrection. 

"We will gather some for our festival to-night, " they said, and stoopedto pluck the fragrant blossoms. 

The fire had not destroyed the consciousness of the oak: its soul wasstill alive, enjoying its new form of existence, and it sent forththrills of gratitude, which took the form of sweetest odor, filling theair around with fragrance. "Instead of losing my life it is beingextended, even as the good leader of the people said, " were its words asthe two departed, bearing the flowers, instinct with its oak life, away. 

Many went to the forest while the workmen were there, to gather theseeds of the rare blossoms to plant in their gardens. 

How much of human life did the soul of the oak learn as it went forththus amid the throngs of people; and how it rejoiced that it had givenits life for the good of others, knowing not that greater bliss was instore for it! It was held in the hands of the aged; it crowned fairbrows; it was carried to the bedside of the suffering; it was laid uponthe caskets of the dead; it was planted by the door of the cottage andreared in the conservatories of the rich, --everywhere admired andwelcomed. Was not this life indeed worth all the pain and heat of theflames, and the loss of its once statelier and loftier form?

It never sighed for its forest home, but often longed to know of thefate of its brother trees. One day a child, bearing in her hand one ofits blossoms, wandered to the ground where once arose the tall trees. Theeyes of the oak, through the flower, looked in vain for its kindred. Nonewere standing. They had all been felled and their wood converted intodwellings, --a useful but less beautiful form of existence than that whichthe oak possessed, --and they learned, after a time, that it is only byapparent destruction that life can be reconstructed. But they could onlyhave the experiences which came within the scope of their life; and theoak was more than ever satisfied with its own, and rejoiced that it hadpassed through the refining element, losing thereby only its grosserform. It filled the air with the fragrance of its gratitude. Whenever itwished to journey, the winds, who were its friends, conveyed its seeds toany portion of the earth it designated. Its blossoms were not only brightto the eye, and their odor sweet to the sense of smell, but the leaves ofthe plant were healing. Three forces connected it with human life: sothat it was in constant action, and its highest joy lay in theconsciousness of its increased usefulness. 

XXIII. 

STRANGERS. 

In a large and elegant mansion dwelt a wealthy man who had three lovelydaughters. The house was built on an eminence upon the banks of a riverwhich wound like a thread of silver through the valleys for many miles. Afar from the mansion were a large number of cottages, in which dweltcarpenters, shipbuilders, gardeners, and some of every trade. Most ofthem were good and honest people, though tinged with the love of earthlygains, and many of them, too, often crushed many of the soul's finer andbetter emotions in the greedy love of material things. The owner of themansion sorrowed over this failing of theirs, and, to rid them of it, devised a plan by which to give those who wished an opportunity to be ledby their better nature, and forget, for the time, self and gain. 

Accordingly, he told his daughters to deck themselves in their richestapparel and ornaments, which were rare and choice, and then to throwover the whole large and unsightly cloaks, so that the disguise might beperfect, and conceal all the splendor beneath. To each he gave a pursefilled with gold to bestow upon the one who should welcome and givethem shelter. 

At evening he went forth with them to the narrow street, and badethem knock at the doors of the cottages, while he waited outside, and seewho would admit and give food and shelter to travelers in need. Theyobeyed him, and first approached a dimly-lighted cottage. Makingknown their presence by a gentle rap, the door was opened by a womanof large and coarse features, whose eyes had no welcome in their rudestare. She scarcely waited for the words of the travelers to be spoken, ere she gruffly answered, "No: we have neither room nor food forbeggars, " and closed the door abruptly. 

They applied next upon the opposite side, saying to the man who openedthe door, "Can you feed and give shelter to three weary travelers?"

"We have no food to waste, and our home is scarcely large enough forourselves, " he replied, and quickly shut the door upon them. 

The same answer came from all, and they turned to their parent, saying, "Shall we try any more?"

"There are but two more: try all; see if one at least can be found notwholly selfish; and, as you are not truly in need of their bounties, youcan well afford to importune and be denied. " He then guided his childrento the end of the street. 

"This one looks quite gay compared with the others, " said the eldestof the daughters, as they all looked on the well-lit rooms, and beheldforms flitting to and fro within. 

"We shall certainly be admitted here, " said the others. 

But the parent kept his council, and was invisible while they rappedat the door, which was opened by a bright and rather stylish-lookinggirl, who gazed wonderingly on the group. 

"Can you give us shelter for a night, and a little food?" asked theeldest. 

"Not we, indeed: we have just spent all our money for a merry-makingfor our brother Jack, who has just come home from sea. Not we:we have not one bit of room to spare; for all our friends are here. "

"But we are weary, and ask rest and food, " pleaded one of the three;and her eyes wandered to the well-filled tables. 

"Yes: but what we have is for our company and ourselves--not forbeggars, " said the girl, and she closed the door upon them. 

"Shall we try again, father?" they said to their parent. 

"Just this one, which is the last, " he answered, leading them to thedoor of a cot where dwelt a poor and lonely widow. 

They paused at the threshold, for a voice was heard within, low andsweet; yet they heard the words of the kneeling form, in deep petition, saying, "Give me, O Father, my daily bread; forgive me my trespasses, and lead me not into temptation. For thine is the kingdom, and thepower, and the glory, forever and forever. Amen. "

She arose at that instant. A gentle knock was heard. Without delayshe opened it, and smiled upon the strangers, who asked for more thanshe could give. 

"I have shelter, but no food; yet enter and be welcome, " she said, andopened wide the door. 

They passed in, and left their parent, whom they knew would soon follow, outside. 

"I grieve that I have no food to offer thee, " said the woman, "but cometo my fireside; for the evening air is chilly, and you must need rest. "

She placed for them her only chairs beside the fire, saying, "I am gladyou come to-night; for this is my last fuel, and to-morrow eve it will beall dark and chill within my dwelling. "

The eldest bowed to the woman gracefully, and threw aside her cloak;and at once the others followed her example. 

Great was the surprise of the widow. She thought her senses haddeparted, and, for an instant, had no voice, no words, naught but wonderbeaming from her eyes, so sudden and great was the surprise. Anothergentle rap at that instant seemed to help her to find herself, and shewas hastening to open it, when the eldest one said, "It is our father, come to thank you for admitting angels in disguise; for, though notangels in form, we hope to prove such by our administration to yourneeds. " And they laid upon her only table the purses of gold. 

"He will ever give daily bread to those who forget not to entertainstrangers, " said their father to the widow, as they took their leave ofone who had not refused to receive strangers. 

The next morning there was great commotion in the neighborhood;for the widow had been seen to exchange gold for bread at one of theshops; but greater still was their surprise when she told them, as theyflocked around her dwelling, that it was given by three strangers whohad asked for bread and shelter the night before. 

"Three strangers!" exclaimed they all. "They must be the same that calledat our dwellings. What fools we were that we did not let them in!"

"Nay: it but shows how dead you were in sympathy for human need, "spoke a voice among them, which, as they turned, they found to be thatof the owner of the mansion. 

Shame and confusion came over their faces; for he had long been theirbenefactor, both in words of counsel and deeds of kindness. Their eyesfell to the ground, as he in gentle tones chided them for their lack ofkindness and want of faith in the Father's love. "He who giveth not inanother's need shall receive none in his own, " he continued; "and letthe lesson taught you by the experience you have just had, and theexample of the poor widow, last you through all the years of your life;for she refused not the strangers whom you turned from your doors theshelter which they apparently needed. "

"But they were not cold and hungry, " said one of the group. 

"The demand upon your sympathies was just the same; for you knew not tothe contrary, " he answered, and they could not but feel the truth of hiswords. 

The lesson was not lost; for in after years they grew less mercenary, more kindly of heart, and never again closed their doors to strangersasking aid.