about it; and for that reason, I put that text in your desk. I want you to feel its influence, whenever you open your books, to prepare for your recitations; whenever you meet your class; whenever you have opportunities of doing a little kindness for any scholar, however inferior she may be, or of saying a kind word, or making any one happier in any lawful way. May we both be enabled to feel at all times, and everywhere, that we are not our own; that we are the Lord's,-bound to obey his commands, to feel and act as He desires.

Your friend, Maria."

ELLESA.

ARTICLE II. TWO CHARACTERS.

Do you know Sarah Simpson? She is a round-faced, happy looking girl, and is often called Miss Obliging. What should we do without Sarah? It is she who amuses the baby, when mother is busy, carries notes, delivers messages, runs up stairs, runs down stairs, and always seems to be at your service. There are many girls who admire the character of Miss Obliging, and en leavor to imitate it, for the sake of the credit such an individual gains. Susan Gordon, for instance, is very officious in company, or whenever she thinks her conduct will be admired and noticed; but at home, how seldom it is, that she is really obliging. The baby cries. Does Susan leave her play, and run to the cradle? The work-basket is up stairs, and mother is tired. Does Susan, without being requested, go and get it? Oh, no; on the contrary, I once heard the following conversation between Susan and her mother.

Mother. Where can my thimble be? Oh! now I recollect, I left it in the parlor.

Susan, although reading an interesting book, heard all her mother said, and thought at first, she would go and fetch the thimble; but concluded on the whole, that the fire was too comfortable to be left, and so kept her seat.

Mother. Susan, my thimble is down stairs, on the mantlepiece; will you get it for me?

Susan. Oh, dear! Can't Mary go? I'm cold.

Mother. It will take you but a moment; and besides, you know that I am at work on your dress.

Susan. Well. I'll go in a minute. Just as soon as I have finished this chapter. Only two more pages.

I have been acquainted with Sarah Simpson and Susan Gordon for several years, and have observed that the one grows

more kind, more benevolent, and more obliging; the other more unkind and unpleasant. Sarah has acquired the habit of doing unto others as she would that others should do to her, and knows, by experience, the pleasure of conferring happiness. No one is afraid of calling upon Sarah, to do an errand, or confer a favor; for it is well known that she always delights to oblige her friends. Did I say always? No. Sometimes she would rather be excused from leaving her work or play, to oblige other people, but after a few moments' thought, inclination yields to duty, and Sarah still maintains the character of Miss Obliging.

But Susan Gordon is all selfishness. I should almost as soon think of calling upon a miser for relief, in distress, as to request assistance of Susan Gordon, in a case where it required the least benevolence on her part. And if, perchance, she should do you a favor, the parade and talk she makes about it, is really disgusting.

"Susan, when you go to school, will you take this note to Mr. B.'s?"

"Why, I don't think," replies Susan, "that I shall have time this morning; but perhaps I shall, if I walk very fast."

Then, after spending several minutes in talking about the note, takes it and delivers it as she goes to school. When she returns home, you are obliged to listen to another recital of the trouble it occasioned her, and how she was late at school, tired and out of breath. You thank her a thousand times for doing the errand, but resolve that you will never again lay yourself under obligations to Susan Gordon. MAYRIEE.

ARTICLE III. - USEFULNESS.

A Story to be read to very Young Children.

Lucy, William, Jane, come running to me to hear this story, which I am going to read you, out of this Magazine.

Jane was a good little girl, only five years old. Her mother was poor, and had to work very hard. Little Jane was a great help and comfort to her. You will wonder what such a little girl could do, to be of any help. I will tell you some of the things, which she did. One day, when her mother was dusting the furniture, after she had been sweeping the room, Jane looked at her for a little while, to see how she did it, and then she said, "ma, I think I can do that: will you let me try?"

"Oh, yes," said her mother, "I shall be glad to have you try, for I want to go and do something in the kitchen. Take the duster, and when you have done, I will come and see."

Her mother went into the kitchen, and Jane began to dust the things. She wiped all the rounds of the chairs, and the table, and the bureau; then, when she had shaken all the dust out of the cloth, and put it in its place, she asked her mother to come and look.

Her mother came, and she couldn't see any dust, any where about. "You have done it all, nicely," she said. Always after that, Jane dusted the things every day, and this saved her mother a great deal of time.

Sometimes Jane would ask to do something, that was too hard for her. One day she asked her mother to let her iron some clothes. "Oh, no, Jane," said her mother, "I can't let you iron yet; you must wait till you are a little larger girl." And then Jane didn't ask her any more. She didn't say, "Oh, yes, ina, do let me iron, will you, ma?" Jane never teased her mother. Sometimes she would say, please, ma, to get me a piece of bread and butter." But if her mother said, "I can't get it now; you must wait a little while," she would go away, and not ask again, till her mother was all ready to get it for her.

Jane had a little brother, only about a year old. He was a pretty little fellow, with curling hair, and bright blue eyes, and rosy cheeks.

Jane loved her little brother, Willy, very much, and she took almost the whole care of him. In the morning, as soon as she woke up, she would be ready to take him up. Then she would dress him, and wash his little hands and face. She always did it softly, so as not to make him cry. Sometimes she would say to herself, "Now, I mean to see how long I can keep little Willy, without his crying, so that ma will have to cone and take him away;" and some days he didn't cry, during the whole forenoon.

Willy was a little cross, once in a while. All babies are cross sometimes. One day, he cried a great deal. Jane carried him to a window, and showed him the things out of doors. "There is a dog, Willy," she would say. "See how the dog runs. The dog says, bow, wow, wow." This would make Willy still for a moment; but presently he would begin to cry again. Then Jane brought him some pictures, and she got

"You are a cross

him her doll, and his wooden horse, and then she sung to him. But Willy kept crying almost every minute. At last, Jane was quite out of patience. little boy," she said, "and I won't try to play with you." She went and told her mother, that the baby was as cross as he could be, and that she didn't want to take care of him. Her mother was sorry to hear her speak so. work, and came and took little Willy in her lap. very pale, and she knew that he was not well. him in her arms, and presently he fell asleep, and she put him in the cradle.

She left her

He looked She rocked

Then she called Jane, and took her in her lap, and talked with her a little.

er.

She said, "Jane, you was a little baby once, just like brothDid you know it?"

"Yes, mother," said Jane.

"Well; and who do you suppose took care of you, when you were such a little girl?"

"You took care of me, ma, didn't you?"

Yes," said her mother; "I used to carry you about, and play with you, and rock you to sleep, just as I do Willy." And sometimes you used to cry a great deal, just as he did, to-day."

"Why, mother," said Jane, "did I use to be so cross?"

"Babies are not always cross, when they cry," said her mother. "Very often they feel uncomfortable, when they cannot tell what is the matter. They don't know any better than to cry when they are in pain. Do you think I ever went off, and left you, when you cried, and said, 'I didn't want to take care of such a cross baby?'"

No, ma, I know you wouldn't," said Jane.

"Well then," said her mother, "you must never be cross to little Willy, when he cries. Mother loved her little Jane, as much as she does Willy; and Jane must love her little brother, and be pleasant to him always."

"I do love little Willy," said Jane.

"I know you do," said her mother, "and you are generally very kind to him; you must try to be pleasant to him all the time. If he cries, you must remember that all babies cry sometimes."

"I won't be cross to him again," said Jane. "I am going to play with him, when he wakes up; and if he cries, I will come and call you."

THE SISTER.

THE RETAILER'S DREAM.

AN elderly gentleman was sitting, one afternoon, before hist fire, in his little store, which, small as it was, was the principal one in the village. On one side, a long counter extended itself, behind which were arranged the various commodities essential to make up the assortment of a country store. Strings of but tons, and bunches of tape, and faded handkerchiefs, hung at the windows; near it the shelves were occupied with boxes covered with fancy-colored paper, and full of fancy colored things. Next came cambrics and calicoes, and ginghams, carefully folded, above, with boxes of raisins, and figs, and almonds below. Then glass and crockery ware, from a long row of little mugs on the uppermost shelf, down to the dinner set of a dozen pieces, which filled the lowest. There was a row of painted puncheons next, arranged in very neat order, and with spigots at the bottom of each. Their contents were marked upon them in painted letters, and the row was terminated by a great tin cylinder, placed near the fire, as if to keep the contents of it warm. The fire-place was in a back corner, beyond. The whole of the other side of the room was occupied with boxes, and bales, and barrels, leaving a narrow passage way, along the counter, to the snug little corner in the rear.

It was after dinner; and as there were no customers in, the proprietor of this establishment was sitting in an old, worn-out elbow-chair, with his feet on a wooden block before the fire, or rather before an immense bed of ashes, on which a few brands were slowly burning. He was reading a religious newspaper, for he was a very decided Christian; i. e. we mean a very active professor of religion. What the precise subject of the article he was reading was, we have no means of ascertaining. In a few minutes, however, he stopped, and laid the hand containing the paper, on the arm of his chair, the paper itself hanging down towards the floor. He seemed, for a few moments, lost in thought, moving his lips, however, and nodding his head, as if reasoning with some one. Presently, he began to talk more audibly, and his words were as follows:

"I am sorry, but then I am not to blame; the people around here will have it, whether I supply them or not. If I could prevent their getting it, it would be another thing: but they will use the article; and if I do not supply them, they will