Two friends were walking along a country road, and as they went on one said: "I do believe there are violets somewhere on this bank, the air smells so sweet". The other lady replied that she did not see any; but, looking carefully, they at last found the leaves, and there, hiding away among them, was the little sweet violet, with its delicious scent.

Why does the little violet hide away? Because she is modest, which means that she does not like to boast, or make a display of her pretty petals and sweet perfume. Modest people do not like to talk of kind, noble or clever things they may have done; they prefer to hide their good deeds, and in this they are like the violet.

There is another way in which children can be modest—they can be modest about dress. A child's dress is not so long as that of a grown-up person, because children want to romp and play about, but a modest child always likes its dress to cover it nicely, and will take care that no buttons are unfastened.

One evening some children were playing about on the hearthrug, when one of them, a little girl named Jessie, jumped up quite suddenly, and, with a blushing face, ran out of the room. The governess followed to see what was the matter, and Jessie told her in a whisper that she was so ashamed, because in romping about her dress had gone above her knees.

Some people might say that Jessie was too modest, but I do not think so; a nice little girl will always like to keep her knees covered.

In America the children have much longer dresses than in our country, and they would think little girls very rude who were not as careful as Jessie.

You will think for yourselves of many other ways in which children can be modest. It is a good rule never to do anything that we would be ashamed for teacher or mother to see.

XXII. ON GIVING PLEASURE TO OTHERS.

"Selfless" and "Thoughtful" were sisters of the little "Gold-wings" (Story Lesson 1). I cannot tell you which of the two was the sweetest and best; they were both so lovable, for like "Gold-wings" they were always thinking of others, and especially of how they could give pleasure to the sick and weak. One day, as they sat on a mossy bank in the Fairy wood, "Selfless" asked, "What shall we do next, sister?" and "Thoughtful" made answer, "I have been thinking of little Davie, who is so lame and weak; suppose I go to the Kindergarten and try to get some one to be kind to him". "A good idea," replied "Selfless," "and I will fly over the fields and see what can be done there; then in the moonlight we will meet, and tell each other what we have done." So they spread their pretty wings and flew away.

Now it is night in the Fairy wood, and in the silver moonlight the sisters rest again on the mossy bank and talk.

"I flew to the Kindergarten," said "Thoughtful," "you know Davie used to attend there before he was ill. Of course no one saw me, and as I hovered over the teacher's desk, little Bessie, a rosy-cheeked maid, came up and laid a lovely bunch of crimson roses upon it for the teacher. The scent was so delicious I could not help nestling down into one of the roses to enjoy it better. The teacher picked up the flowers, not knowing I was there, and as she buried her face in the soft petals, to smell the sweet perfume, I whispered 'Send them to Davie'."

"A smile instantly came over her face, and she said: 'Bessie, a good fairy has whispered a kind thought to me; shall we send your pretty roses to Davie?'"

"'Oh! yes,' said Bessie, 'please let me take them to him with your love, for I gave them to you."

"So the roses were taken to Davie, and how happy they made him to be sure! and the teacher was happy because she had remembered poor Davie, and Bessie was happy to carry the flowers to him, so I came away glad, also; but what have you done, dear sister?"

Then "Selfless" answered:—

"I flew away over the fields, and there I saw a little boy, dressed all in his best clothes, speeding away across the field-path, and I knew that he was going to a birthday party, and that he was walking quickly so as to be in time; for there was to be a lovely birthday cake, all iced over with sugar; and little pieces of silver, called threepenny pieces, had been scattered through the cake, so of course Edwin wanted to be there when it was cut up.

"I saw a little girl in the fields, also, walking along the hedges looking for blackberries, and in trying to reach a branch of the ripe fruit that grew on the farther side of a ditch, the poor child overbalanced herself and fell in, uttering a loud scream.

"Edwin heard the scream and said to himself, 'I wonder what that is? I should like to go and see, but oh, dear! it will perhaps make me late for the party'. Then the Bad Voice spoke to him, and said, 'Never mind the scream; hurry on to the party," and Edwin hurried on, but his cheeks grew hot, and he looked unhappy.

"Soon the child screamed again, and the Good Voice said, 'Help! Edwin, never mind self,' and with that he turned back, and ran to the place where the sounds had seemed to come from. He soon saw the little girl, who was trying to scramble up the steep side of the ditch, and could not; it needed the help of Edwin's strong hands to give her a good pull, and bring her safely out. Oh, how glad she was to be on the grass once more! Edwin wiped her tears away, and told her to run home; then he made haste to the party with a light, glad heart, and he arrived just as they were sitting down to tea, so he was in time for the cake after all. But even if he had missed it, he would have been glad that he stayed behind to help the little girl."

"What a nice boy," said "Thoughtful". "Did he tell the people at the party what he had done?"

"Oh, no," replied "Selfless"; "his mother told him that people should never boast of kind things they had done, for that would spoil it."

"True," said "Thoughtful"; "but what did you do, dear "Selfless"? It is not boasting to tell me."

"I only helped Edwin to listen to the Good Voice," replied "Selfless," as she looked down on the moss at her feet.

"A good work, too," said "Thoughtful"; "and now, what shall we do next?"

"I have been thinking," said "Selfless," "that Christmas will soon be here, and how nice it would be if we could help the children at the Kindergarten to think of Davie, and make ready a Christmas present for him."

"A lovely idea," said "Thoughtful "; "we will go to-morrow, for it wants only a month to Christmas."

Next morning the two fairy sisters came to the Kindergarten, and floated about unseen, as fairies always do. First they rested on the teacher, who was very fond of these unseen fairies, and she began to think of Davie. "Children," said she, "Christmas will be here in a month; shall we make a present for little Davie?"

(Do you know, I believe that doing kind things is like going to parties; when you have been to one party, you like it so much that you are glad to go to another, and when you have done one kind thing, it makes you so happy you want to do another.)

Bessie was the first to answer, and she said, "Oh, yes, it would be lovely to make a Christmas present for Davie; do let us try". And all the children said, "Yes, do let us try".

"It must be something made by your own little hands," said the teacher. "Think now, what could you do?"

"We could make some little 'boats'[12] in paperfolding," said one child. Teacher said that would do nicely, and she wrote it down.

Another child said, "I could sew a 'cat' in the embroidery lesson," and Bessie exclaimed, "Please let me sew a 'kitten' to go with it," and the teacher wrote that down, and remarked that some one else might make the "saucer" for pussy's milk, in pricking. Then others might make a "nest"[13] in clay with eggs in it, and a little "bird" sitting on the eggs, suggested the teacher; and as the "babies" begged to be allowed to help also, it was decided that they should thread pretty coloured beads on sticks, and make a nice large "basket".[13]

"Now," said teacher, "I have quite a long list, and we must begin at once." So they all set to work, and when breaking-up day came, Davie's present was ready. There was a whole fleet of "ships," white inside and crimson outside. The pictures of "pussy" and her "kitten" were neatly sewn, and the "saucer" was white and clean, and evenly pricked, while the "bird" on its "nest" looked as pretty as could be, and the "bead basket" was the best of all—at least the babies thought so.

I have no words to tell of the joy that the children's present brought to little Davie, his face flushed with pleasure as the "boats" and other gifts were spread out before him; it was so delightful to think that the children had remembered him and worked for him.

"Selfless" and "Thoughtful" sat once more on the mossy bank, and rejoiced that the plan had worked so well.

If these little fairies and their sister "Kindness" should ever suggest thoughts to you, dear boys and girls, do not send them away. They will speak to you through the Good Voice, and the happiest people in the world are the people who listen to the Good Voice.

XXIII. CLEANLINESS.[14]

(Show the children a sponge.) Here is a sponge! What do we see all over the sponge? We see little holes. There is another name for these—we call them pores. (Write "pores" on Blackboard.) What comes out on your forehead sometimes on a hot day? Drops of water come out. They come through tiny holes in the skin, so tiny that we cannot see them, and these also are called pores.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was to be a grand procession in a fine old city called Rome, and a little golden-haired child was gilded all over his body to represent "The Golden Age" in the procession. When it was over the little child was soon dead. Can you guess why? The pores in his skin had been all stopped up with the gilding, so that the damp, warm air could not get out, and that caused his death.

You see, then, that we breathe with these little pores, just as we breathe with our nose and mouth, and if the pores were all closed up we should die. Now you will understand why we have to be washed and bathed. What is it that the dirt does to your pores? It stops them up, so

57. Little Creatures who like to be Clean.

You know that pussy likes to be clean, and that she washes herself carefully, and her little kittens, also, until they are big enough to wash themselves; but there are other creatures, much smaller than the cat, who like to be clean.

Do you know what shrimps or prawns are? I daresay you have often eaten a shrimp! Have you ever counted its ten long legs? On the front pair there are two tiny brushes, and the prawn has been seen to stand up on his eight hind legs, and brush himself with the tiny tufts on his front legs, to get all the sand away. Is not that clever for such a little fellow?

There is another creature, very much smaller than the prawn, that is particularly clean, though we do not like to have it in our houses.

If the housemaid sees its little "parlour" in the corner of a room, she sweeps it away. You remember who it was that said: "Will you walk into my parlour?" It was the spider, and it is the spider who is so very fond of being clean, that it cannot bear to have a grain of dust anywhere about its body. Its hairs and legs are always kept perfectly clean.

Then there is the tiny ant, which is smaller than a fly, and it loves to keep itself nice and clean, so if

Sydney was a little boy who did not like to be washed. He disliked it as much as the little dog in Story Lesson No. 4. When the time came for his bath he screamed and kicked and made such a fuss that at last his mother said he should remain dirty for a while, and see what would happen. So Sydney had no bath when he went to bed at night, neither was he washed in the morning. Of course no one wanted to kiss him, or play with him, for he was not sweet and clean; he had to play all by himself in the garden.

Presently a carriage drove up and stopped at the garden gate; then a gentleman stepped out, walked up to the door, and rang the bell, which was answered by Sydney's mother.

"I have called to take your little boy for a drive," said the gentleman, "but I am in a great hurry; could you have him ready at once?"

Just then Sydney peeped in at the door. Oh! what a little blackamoor he was, not fit for any one to see! His mother had to explain to the kind gentleman how it was that he looked so dirty, and, as nothing but a bath and a whole suit of clean clothes would make him fit to go, he had to be left behind. Poor Sydney began to feel very sad and sorry now, and when the carriage had driven away he ran up to his mother, hid his little black face in her dress, and burst into tears. "Oh, mother," he cried, "do make me a clean boy again; I will never be naughty any more when I am washed." Sydney never forgot the lesson he had learnt that

What a good thing it is that we have nice, hard nails to keep the tips of our fingers from being hurt! How sore they would get if it were not for those bright, horny nails, and how well they protect the finger-tips, which have to touch so many things!

Most of the nail is fast to the finger, but at the outer edge there is a little space between the nail and the finger, and if we are not careful this little space gets filled with dirt, and then the nail has a black band across the top, which looks very ugly. When the nails are long, the band is wider, and, although the dirt is under the nail, it shows on the outside, because the nail is transparent, that is, it can be seen through.

Do you like to have your hands clean? Then there must be no black bands to disfigure the pretty, shining nails; our hands cannot be called clean if there is a little arch of dirt at the tip of each finger. Ask mother to cut the nails when they get too long, then you can keep them clean more easily.

Men who do work that soils their hands very much like the chimney-sweep (Story Lesson 62) cannot possibly keep their nails clean, but children can.

There was once a little boy who had the funniest finger-tips I ever saw. The nails were so short that there was not the tiniest space between the outer edge and the fleshy part, and so the tip of each finger had grown out like a little round cushion, not at all pretty to look at. If the little boy saw any one noticing his hands, he would hide them away, lest he should be asked what it was that caused the finger-tips to look so funny. I wonder if you can guess the reason? It was because the boy bit his nails. What a horrid thing to do! Was it not? And how do you think his mother cured him? She dipped the tips of his fingers in tincture of bitter aloes, so that when he put them in his mouth he might get the bitter taste, and leave off biting them.

I once heard a gentleman say that he thought it was very rude to put a pencil or anything near the mouth, so what would he think of a child who put his fingers in his mouth, and bit his nails? Baby may suck her little thumb sometimes, perhaps, because she does not know better, but sensible children will remember that it is rude to put fingers in mouth.

Can you think of anything else that should be kept clean besides the nails? In your mouth are two rows of beautiful little, white teeth. At least they ought to be white, but if we do not keep them clean, they often get discoloured and begin to decay and give us pain.

We should each have a tooth-brush, and use it every day to cleanse the teeth, dipping it first in nice, clean water, and when the brushing is done, the mouth should be rinsed several times. The teeth should be brushed up and down from the gums (not from left to right), so that we may get all the particles of food from the tiny spaces between the teeth. If we do this regularly we shall not be likely to suffer much from toothache.

XXIV. PURE LANGUAGE.

There was an old woman at a well, who, when a little girl came to draw water, asked for a drink, and the kind little maiden lifted the jug to the old woman's lips, and told her to take as much as she wished. Then the old woman blessed her for her kindness, and said that whenever the child spoke, pearls and diamonds should fall from her lips. Then another girl came to the well, and again the old woman asked to drink, but the girl said, "No! draw water for yourself". That was rude and unkind, was it not?

The old woman, who was really the Queen of the Fairies, could not bless this girl for her kindness, because she had showed none, so she said that whenever the girl spoke, toads and vipers should fall from her lips. That is like the people who do not speak good, pure language; the bad words that fall from their lips are like toads and vipers. I hope you have never heard such words, but if you ever should, do not stop to listen, for wicked words are like the pitch that Martin tried to play with (Story Lesson 63); the person who says them cannot be pure and true, for bad words are not clean.

A lady was travelling in a railway train one day, and several young men were in the carriage, who spoke and looked like gentlemen. But by-and-by they began to swear dreadfully, and the lady asked if they would be kind enough to say the bad words in Greek or Latin, so that she could not understand them. She did not want to hear the bad words, you see; they were like toads and vipers to her, because she loved what was pure and clean.

XXV. PUNCTUALITY.

There was once a little boy called Lewis, who had one bad fault—he was very, very slow; so slow, that I am afraid he was really lazy. He could do his sums quite well, but he was always the last boy to get them finished; and in a morning his mother had no end of trouble to get him off to school in time, he did everything so slowly. (Read the following sentence very deliberately, and allow the children to fill in the adverbs): He got out of bed (slowly), dressed himself (slowly), washed himself (slowly), laced his boots (slowly), ate his breakfast (slowly), and walked to school at the same pace (slowly).

Now one day a gentleman came to the school, and told the teacher that he was going to take all the children in a boat down the river to have a picnic by the seaside. Could anything be more delightful? The scholars clapped their hands for gladness, and talked and thought of nothing but the picnic. It was to be on the very next day, and they were to start from the school at nine o'clock in the morning.

"Lewis," said the teacher, "remember to be in time, for the boat will not wait!"

The morning came, and Lewis was called by his mother at seven o'clock. "There is plenty of time," said Lewis, "I will lie a little longer;" and he did so. Then his mother called again, and this time he rose, but he went through all his work as slowly as ever, and all the time his mother was telling him to "hurry up" or he would be too late.

At last he is ready to start; but just as he leaves the house a bell is rung. "What is that?" says Lewis; "it must be the bell of the steamer. I have no time to go round by the school; I must go straight to the pier," and off he ran. But, alas! by the time he reached the pier the boat was steaming off. He could see the children with their pails and spades waving their handkerchiefs in glee, and there was he left behind!

I was telling this story to a little boy once, and when it came to this part he said: "Oh, auntie! could not they get a little boat and take Lewis to the steamer? It is so hard for him to be left behind."

But you see, boys and girls, we must be left behind, if we are slow and lazy.

I am glad to tell you, however, that Lewis was cured of his fault by this disappointment. He really did try to get on more quickly afterwards, and he succeeded. At school he had his sums finished so soon that the teacher began to let him help the other boys who did not get on so well, and Lewis was quite proud and happy. Then he came to school so early that he was made "monitor," and had to put out the slates and books, ready for the others. So, after all, Lewis grew up to be smart and quick, and not like the man you will hear of in another story (Story Lesson 84), who grew worse as he grew older.

XXVI. ALL WORK HONOURABLE.

Not many days afterwards there was a storm. How the wind blew and roared! All through the night it rattled the windows and whistled in the chimney. Frank's mother went downstairs early in the morning to make a fire, but as soon as she lighted it, puff! the smoke came down the chimney, and filled the room, and she was obliged to let the fire go out.

Down came the children for breakfast, and Frank cried: "Is the fire not lighted, mother? I am so cold; and oh! the house is smoky."

"I have tried to light a fire," said his mother, "but the smoke blows down the chimney. I think it needs sweeping; I shall have to give you milk for breakfast; there is no nice, hot coffee for you, because the fire will not burn."

After breakfast Frank's brother went to fetch the chimney-sweep, who soon came, and with his long brushes brought down all the soot, which he carried away in a bag. Then the fire burned merrily, making the room look quite bright and cheerful, and Frank said: "Thank you, Mr. Chimney-sweep, for your good work. I will never call you 'blackamoor' again; and when I meet you in the street, I will not think you are too dirty to speak to."

Frank had learnt two lessons:—

XXVII. BAD COMPANIONS.

You have seen the men at work mending the roads, and you know how sometimes they spread little stones all over the road, and then roll them flat with a steam-roller. But in some places the roads are laid with stones as large as bricks, and when these have all been placed together, the men take a large can with a spout, full of hot pitch, and pour it into the spaces between the stones to fasten them together.

A little boy, named Martin, was watching the men do this one day, and he said to himself, "I should like a piece of that black stuff; it has cooled now, and looks like a black piece of dough; I could make all sorts of shapes with it, and I do not believe it would soil my hands". So he picked up a length that lay near him, rolled it into a ball, and put it in his pocket. Some of the tar stuck to his hands, and when he washed them it did not come off, but it was now school time, and away he went. When he came out of school, he put his hand in his pocket to get the tar, and oh, what a sticky mess it was! His pocket was all over tar, so was his hand, and when he reached home, his mother set to work to get it off, and it took her a long, long time.

Martin was mistaken in thinking he could play with the pitch and not get soiled.

When Martin grew older he had some playmates who were not very good, and his mother said, "Martin, I wish you would not play with those boys; I fear they will get you into trouble".

"Oh! no, mother," replied Martin, "if they wanted me to do anything wrong I would not; I need not learn their bad ways if I do play with them." But his mother shook her head, for she knew better.

Some time afterwards the boys had a half-holiday, and Martin went with his friends into the country. Presently they came to a large garden, with a high wall round it, and the boys began to climb the wall.

"Where are you going?" asked Martin.

"Oh!" said one of the boys, laughing, "a friend of ours owns this garden, and we are going to help him gather strawberries."

There was a large bed of strawberries on the other side of the wall, and as soon as the boys were over, they began to pick and eat.

What the boy had told Martin was quite untrue—they were stealing the strawberries; but before very long the gardener spied them, and with one or two other men came upon them so quietly, that they had no time to get away, and every boy was made prisoner. The gardener locked them up in the tool-house until the owner came, and he took their names and addresses, and said they should be brought before the magistrates, as it was not the first time they had stolen his fruit. Of course Martin had not been with them the other times, but he was caught with them now, and can you imagine how dreadfully ashamed he felt, and how his cheeks burned when he thought of his dear mother, and the trouble it would be to her. When he reached home, he told his mother all that had happened, and begged her forgiveness. His mother was greatly distressed, and said: "You remember playing with the pitch, Martin, when you were a very little boy—you thought you could handle it, and still keep clean, but you could not; so neither can you have bad companions without being mixed up in wrong-doing".

XXVIII. ON FORGETTING.

It was Maggie's birthday, and her father brought her as a present something that she had been wishing for a very long time. It was a beautiful yellow canary, and its little house was the prettiest cage imaginable, for it was made of brass wire, which was so bright that you could almost think it was gold. Of course Maggie was delighted. "It is just what I have been wishing for," said she; "I shall feed the canary myself, and give it fresh water every day; it is the prettiest bird I ever saw."

For some weeks Maggie remembered her little pet each day, and attended to all its wants, but there came a day when there was to be a picnic for all the school children, and Maggie was so excited and glad about the picnic that she forgot all about feeding the bird.

Then next day there was hay-making, and she was in the field all day, and again forgot the poor bird.

This went on for a few days, and when at last she did remember, and went to the cage, the bird was dead.

Maggie was full of grief, and cried until her head ached, but she could not undo the results of her forgetting.

Some people think it is a little fault to forget, but that cannot be, for we know well that "forgetting" often causes pain and suffering to others.

Daniel was a lame little boy. He could not walk at all, nor play about with the other children, so he was very puny and pale. His mother used to put his little chair near the door of the cottage where they lived, so that he could watch the people pass, and one day, as he sat there, a lady came by with a well-dressed little boy, and when she saw the pale-faced child she stopped and spoke to him, and then Daniel's mother came to the door, and invited her to step inside the cottage.

The lady's little boy was called Emil, and he stood on the doorstep talking to Daniel, while the two mothers spoke together within the cottage. Emil, who was a kind-hearted little fellow, felt very sorry for the lame child, and when he found that Daniel was never able to go any farther than the street where he lived, Emil said: "I will ask my father to bring his carriage round and take you for a drive; I am sure he will, and then you can see the green fields and trees, and hear the birds sing".

Daniel's little face flushed with pleasure, and he said; "Oh that would be lovely!"

By-and-by the lady and her boy said "Good-bye," and went away, and then Daniel told his mother all that Emil had said. "Do you think he will come to-morrow, mother?" asked Daniel.

"Perhaps not to-morrow, dear," replied she, "but some day soon maybe."

So Daniel sat at the door each day, and waited for the carriage, but it never came, and when he grew too ill to sit up he would still lie and listen for the sound of the wheels, and say: "I think it will come to-day, mother," but it never did. And do you know why? Emil had forgotten to ask his father, and so Daniel waited in vain for the drive.

You see how much pain and disappointment can be caused by forgetting, and when you promise to do a thing and forget to keep the promise it is just like telling an untruth. You do not intend to speak what is not the truth, but you do it all the same. Remember, then, that it is not a little fault to forget, and that those who do it are not building on the firm foundation of truth.

Little Elsie had a big brother called Jack, of whom she was very fond, and he was fond of Elsie also. Jack was about fifteen years old, and he was learning to be a sailor. When his ship came into port he used to come home for a few days, and then he would tell Elsie all about the places he had seen. One time the voyage had been very long, and Jack told Elsie that when the bread was all finished they had had to eat sea-biscuits instead.

"How funny," said Elsie; "what are sea-biscuits like, Jack?"

"They are very hard and round and thick," replied Jack.

Elsie said she would like to see one, and Jack promised that when he went back to his ship he would send her one.

It was not a great thing to promise, was it? But Elsie felt very important when the postman brought her a little parcel a day or two after Jack had left, and she was very glad when she opened it and found the promised biscuit.

"There is one good thing about Jack," exclaimed Elsie, "he always does what he says." I think Jack would have been pleased to hear Elsie say that; it is one of the nicest things that could have been said about him. I hope it is true of all of us.

XXIX. KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

As Lulu came home from school one afternoon, she noticed three or four boys throwing stones at something—I hardly like to tell you what. It was a poor little brown sparrow that had somehow hurt its leg, and could not fly. However, this happened a great many years ago, and perhaps boys are less cruel now.

Lulu could not bear to see the poor bird treated so badly, and she asked the boys to give it to her. At first they laughed, and went on throwing the stones; but she continued to beg for it so earnestly, that at last one of the boys said, "Let her have it". And Lulu was only too glad to pick up the wounded bird and carry it home. She nursed and fed it carefully, and put it in a warm place by the fire; but, in spite of all her care, the sparrow died in a few hours.

Sometimes pain is necessary, as in Story Lesson 29; we should never think of saying the dentist was cruel; rather we should say he was kind, because he saved the monkey from further pain. But when we cause pain that is needless, as these boys did, it is cruel. They were cowardly also. If the bird had been an eagle, with strong claws that could have hurt them in return, would they have stoned it? No; they chose a poor little sparrow that could not defend itself, and this was cowardly.

Then it was unfair. You do not like to be punished or found fault with if you have done nothing wrong; you feel it is not fair; neither is it fair to hurt a dumb animal that has done nothing wrong.

Just think how many things animals do for us. Where did the wool come from that makes your nice, warm clothes? (Let children answer.) How do we get the coals to our houses—the coals that make the bright, hot fires? (Ans.) What could we do without the brave, strong horses? I heard the other day of a man who did not give his horse enough to eat. What kind of man was he? (Ans.) I would rather be like the Arab, who loves his horse so much that he brings it into his tent, and shares his food and bed with it. Where do we get our milk, butter and cheese? (Ans.) Then think of all the stories of animals in this book, who have done kind, clever things (and all these stories are true). If boys and girls would think, I am quite sure they would never be unkind to animals.

One day a boy was chasing a butterfly, cap in hand, and just as he had caught it, a bee stung him. He was so angry that he threw the butterfly down and trampled on it. Was not that cruel? The butterfly had done him no harm, and the greatest skill in the world could not paint anything so delicate and beautiful as a butterfly's wing; and yet he destroyed that beauty. Sometimes children will hunt spiders out of the crevices in the wall and torture them, and others will torment the little fly, or steal the bird's pretty eggs that the mother sits on with such care. All this is cruel and unkind. Remember it is not noble to hurt. The truest gentleman is he who is full of kindness and gentleness and will not hurt anything.

Have you ever seen children riding donkeys at the seaside? and have you noticed how the boys beat the poor things sometimes to make them go faster? I do not think a kind boy or girl would like to have a donkey beaten. I hope you would not.

There was once a little dog who could not bear to see any creature beaten. If any one were ill-treating a dog he would rush up and bark quite angrily, and when he was driving in the dog-cart with his master, he always used to hold the sleeve of his master's coat every time he touched the horse with the whip, as if he would have said, "Do not beat him, please". Now, if a dog knows that it is not kind to hurt dumb creatures, we are sure boys and girls know.

XXX. BAD TEMPER.

"There was once a little boy, bright, honest and truthful, always ready to run messages for his mother, or to help a schoolmate with his lessons, he was so good-natured. But Henry (for that was his name) had one great fault—he would get into violent passions when any one vexed him, and as he grew older his passion became stronger, and had the mastery of him more and more. He was a sailor, and as time went on he had a ship of his own, and was captain of it. Henry could manage the ship well; he knew just how to turn the wheel to make her go East or West, and he knew also how to trim the sails to make the ship move swiftly along. If he could have controlled his temper as he did his ship, all might have been well. But he used to be very angry with the sailors when they did not please him, and one day when the cabin-boy had done something that vexed him, the captain in a fit of passion beat the poor boy so cruelly that he died. When the ship came home the captain was taken to prison, and in the end he lost his life for having taken the boy's life."

The governess paused, and Paul gazed up into her face with wide-open, anxious eyes. "Is that what happens to boys who get into a passion?" he asked.

"It happened to the captain," said she.

"Then I will never give way to passion again if it has such a dreadful ending," said Paul, and the governess told me that he kept his word.