Chapter I: HAD been thinking how strange a thing it was that I disliked so many (1)

people and liked so few. Only to look at some persons seemed enough to put me out of humor and make me feel like saying cross things. But there were others, though not near so many of them, whom I loved to meet and whom I could hardly be cross to if I tried. I had been thinking about this, when I fell asleep and had a dream.

I thought I was carried away to a strange country where it was always dark. No morning ever came there, the sun never shone, and there were no stars in the sky. Yet people were living there, and I could see them walking about. But they were very strange people, such as I had never seen before, nor heard of, nor even thought of. I called them the lantern-people because they looked like great lanterns with lights inside of them that shone through.

And they were of a very strange shape, for they had ever so many sides, and on every side was a picture. Some were pretty and some were ugly pictures. Every person I saw had both pretty and ugly sides.

Of course I was very much surprised and stood looking a long while, for the people could not see me though I could see them and was close to them. On some of their sides were pictures of snakes, wasps, and pigs; on other sides, of doves, lambs, flowers, and such beautiful things.

And now I want to tell you a very curious thing about the way the people acted when they met each other. I noticed, when a man met another in the street, he would quickly turn around one of his sides, so that the man he met could see it, and nothing else—that is, nothing but the picture that was on the side turned toward him.

While I stood watching I saw a man coming along who turned almost the whole way around, so as to bring the picture of a dog in front, where it could be most plainly seen. It was a bull-dog—one of the sort that shows its teeth—very ugly and cross-looking. I could not understand why he should take so much trouble to turn out that ugly picture (for he had prettier ones that I could see) until I saw another man coming toward him, who turned out a picture uglier still. It was of a bear.

As soon as they came close up to one another the pictures seemed to be alive. I was astonished to see their eyes move and their mouths open and shut, seeming to snap at one another. And all I could hear were barkings and growlings until they were gone, the dog and the bear trying to bite each other as far as I could see them.

Next came a little girl. Happening to look behind her, she saw another little girl following her. At once she turned round one of her sides, that had the picture of a wasp on it. But the little girl who was coming after her turned out the picture of a beautiful butterfly. As soon as they met, the wasp began to buzz and dart out its sharp sting, and I saw the butterfly fluttering and fluttering, till presently it was scared away and the picture of a great spider came in its place. Then the spider seemed to dart at the wasp, and the wasp tried to sting the spider; and the little girls went off quarrelling as fiercely as the two men had done.

Next I saw a young woman. She was prettier than any of the lantern-people I had yet seen. I saw her coming from a long way down the street, and she never turned her sides, no matter whom she met, but always kept one picture in front, and that was of a dove. It had a ring of black around its neck and an olive-leaf in its mouth. I thought to myself:

“What a beautiful picture!”

Just then another young woman came up and pushed rudely against her, and I saw this rude one turn out the picture of a snake. And the snake hissed and darted out its forked tongue, but the dove would not go. All it did was to coo softly and flutter with its wings and hold out the olive-leaf.

When the snake found that it could not frighten the dove away, it began to creep off itself, as if ashamed; and what was my surprise to see, presently, another dove come in its place! And the doves began to coo to each other, and to look pleased and happy, and the two young women took hold of each other’s hands; then they put their arms around each other’s neck and kissed each other and so they passed happily by.

After this I walked about the streets looking at the strange people I met there, and, seeing a crowd of them going into a building that had wide-open doors, I went in with them. I found it was a church. In a little while the minister stood up in the pulpit and began to preach to them about being kind to one another and loving one another, very much as the ministers do that we hear. I was up in the gallery, and could see all the people as they sat listening to him. As he went on in his sermon I saw how they turned out their good sides, one by one, some quickly, some more slowly, until hardly an ugly side could be seen in the whole congregation.

But no sooner was the sermon finished, and the blessing pronounced, than there was a shifting round of sides again, some doing this before they left their pews, some as they passed down the aisle, some as they walked down the church-steps; so that most of them came out pretty much the same as they went in.

After leaving the church, I passed before a large private house where a servant-man was standing at the door. As he could not see me I stole by him softly and went into the house. I found everything very elegant there. Beautiful furniture filled the rooms, and costly paintings covered the walls. But I soon learned that these things were not for use or enjoyment, but only for show.

The family was a fashionable one that had a great deal of company and visited a great deal. The mother, a tall, fine-looking woman, was evidently the ruling spirit among them. Whenever she and her daughters were getting ready for a walk, or a drive, she turned out the picture of a large peacock, and her daughters turned out little peacocks. I followed them into the street, and as they walked along could see the people bowing and smiling to them; but as soon as they had passed, these same people made fun of them.

In a second house that I entered the family was seated at dinner. Though not so fine a house as the first, nor so expensively furnished, I could tell at a glance it was a far happier home. I looked round to see if I could discover the cause of this difference, and here again my eye rested on the mother, who sat at the head of the table; but what a contrast with the other! The dove was on her breast, and a brood of doves on the breasts of the little ones who were gathered around her. There was cheerful, innocent talk in which all took part, without a word of unkindness for any one, present or absent.

I stayed about this house for the rest of the day—it was a pleasant place to be in—and when, toward its close, the mother stole apart to a little room alone, I peeped in and saw there a chair, and a table with an open book on it, and a kneeling-cushion, well used, on the floor beside the table. Then I said to myself:

“Perhaps here is the secret of the difference between this and the more elegant home.”

I cannot close this account of what I saw while I was in that strange country without telling of a difference that I noticed between the old and the young people there. The young were constantly changing their sides; the old did not change them nearly so often. It appeared that if they had turned out their ugly sides for the most part during their former lives, they lost the power, as they grew old, to draw them back again. On the other hand, if they had struggled against the bad and kept out the good, the good became fixed there.

My dream seemed to last a long time, and I visited a great many places and saw a great many persons that I have not told about here. But this I noticed everywhere I went—that those who kept out their good sides had the best time of it. They were contented and cheerful themselves, and helped to make others so. The doves, as we have read, brought out other doves, and the flowers brought out other flowers. Whoever turned out these saw them turned out by other people also. And so, with a pleasant prospect without and a kindly spirit within, the good-sided people experienced a happiness which the ugly-sided people never knew.

GRAND RELATIONS.

A BLACKBIRD that wanted to impress on his neighbor the wren a proper sense of his great importance took occasion every now and then to remark that he was related to still larger birds.

“My cousin the crow,” he would say, “did so and so,” or “invited me to his nest at such a time.”

After hearing this over and over again, the wren answered one day,

“When I used to look at you alone and by yourself, you appeared as a very large bird in my eyes; but since I’ve got to contrasting you with the crow, you seem to have grown smaller even than myself.”

* * * * *

Better be satisfied with our own significance than seek to array ourselves in the consequence of other people.

FAIR AND FOUL WEATHER.

A SHOWER having come up suddenly while the chickens were scattered over the barnyard, they ran from every direction to the chicken-house and disappeared, one by one, through a hole near the ground that had been left open for them to enter.

A young cock, however, that happened to be in an adjoining field, took refuge under a tree, where he straightened himself up, letting his tail droop, so that the water would trickle off from it. But when he found that the shower did not pass over, as he expected, he too took to his heels and joined the rest under shelter. And there they all stood, chickens, ducks, and guinea-fowls, dolefully watching the rain.

After waiting for a time, and finding it likely to continue, the cock, shaking out his feathers, said:

“I’m going out to hunt for my dinner.”

“What! in such a pour as this?” exclaimed an old hen.

“And what would you have us do?” replied the cock. “We cannot carry umbrellas, like our master and mistress. And, for all we know, it may rain the rest of the week.” So saying, he walked boldly out into the shower.

Now, the wet having brought the worms to the surface, he soon picked up a good meal; which the others descrying, they quickly came after him, until the whole flock was scratching about the barnyard, quite contented notwithstanding the rain. Seeing this, the rooster flew up on a fence and crowed. Then, looking slyly at the old hen that had opposed him, he said:

“Which is best—to work only in fair weather, or to keep on scratching whether it rain or shine?”

* * * * *

He will gather most in the end who does not easily give way to discouragement when success is hard to attain.

WRECKAGE.

TWO men were walking along the sea-beach together. The sand, as far as the eye could reach, was swept clean and smooth by the falling tide, but here and there at intervals lay fragments of wrecked vessels, some made of heavy timber, some of lighter weight. Now, the men, who were both of them well on in years, lived in a port near by on that same coast, and as they walked they recognized some of these wrecks.

“I remember the night when this came ashore,” said one, stopping before a huge piece of keel half buried in the sand. “She was a fine ship, well manned, and the bar on which she struck was laid down plainly on the chart; but her master thought he could come close in, and yet just miss it. But the current caught him, and he was lost.”

Then, stopping before another fragment:

“And I recollect this one too: she was a stanch bark, and I saw her heaving up her anchor on a fine morning with the promise of a prosperous voyage; but she tried to go out without a pilot, and she too came ashore. Ah, my friend!” the speaker continued. “As I look up and down this coast, and see so many wrecks whose history I know, a gloom settles over me that makes life seem, as I look back on it, more like a time of clouds and storms than of pleasant, sunny weather.”

“There are wrecks enough to sadden us, that is true,” replied the other; “but do not let us forget the good ships we have known that sailed the seas for many a long year, and at last came back to lay their old bones down in quiet waters on the flats behind our harbor. Yes, and many another is still ploughing the deep, to return safe in due time, bringing joyful crews and rich cargoes with them.”

* * * * *

The evil that sometimes darkens the path before us should not prevent our seeing the good that is spread above, beneath, and around us on every side.

THE ROBIN.

A POOR widow who was all alone in the world earned her living by going out to wash and scrub, day after day. She left her room early in the morning, and did not return to it until night. Then she had but one living thing to keep her company, a pet robin. That it might catch a glimpse of the blue sky, from the narrow alley in which she lived, she used to hang it on a nail quite outside of her window, before she left. On her return she took it down and suspended it again near the head of her bed.

One evening on coming home she found the cage with its door open, and empty. After searching again and again, through every corner and cranny of her room, thinking her bird could not have left her, she was forced to admit it was gone.

Now, those who are surrounded with objects on which to bestow their affections, know not what a loss such an insignificant creature may be to one who has no other familiar thing to love. The poor woman missed her bird when she awoke in the morning, when she went out to her day’s work, and when she came back, tired and sad at heart, after her work was over. The cage still hung near her bed; she looked at it and grieved—yes, more than she ought to have done.

While it was thus with her she had, one night, a dream. She thought she was walking through a forest. The air was pure, the shade was cool and delightful, and every leaf around her looked fresh and green. She stood comparing the scene, in her thoughts, with the crowded alley in which she lived, when suddenly the silence was broken by a loud note far above her head. She looked up, and recognized her robin. It was leaping from bough to bough, and its song was not as it used to be, with a note of sadness in it, but glad and full of joy—the song of the prisoner set free.

She awoke, rose up, took down the cage and put it in a closet out of sight, not forgetting its former inmate, but thinking of it as she had seen it, since its escape, in her dream.

“I am satisfied,” she said, “and would not call it back. Its prison door has been opened; I will wait patiently until mine is opened for me.”

RIDDLES.

THE ground was barren and wet, and covered with stagnant pools. Only rank weeds grew on it, and venomous reptiles crawled through it. But at length the husbandman came and labored over it. He dug trenches and ditches that drained it, and turned a stream of pure water to flow through it. Then he hedged it, and set up a fence around it; and now flocks pasture there, and flowers bloom on every side.

* * * * *

A GARDENER planted some seed in his garden in the early spring, but no sooner had it grown up than the frost nipped it. It sprang up a second time, and a bird flew down and plucked off the tender shoot. Once more it grew, but now, summer having come, the sun scorched it. Nevertheless, because the root remained, it sprang up again and again, until the gardener, rejoicing, gathered in his fruit.

* * * * *

A MOUNTAIN-STREAM ran over the edge of a precipice. In its descent to the valley below it fell upon a point of projecting rock. On this rock clods of earth were continually dropping from the ground it was imbedded in. Sometimes they fell of their own weight, sometimes were loosened by the foot of a wild beast in passing. There was never a day that the rock was not soiled by them. But the stream, in flowing over it, washed away each stain as soon as it appeared; so that to the eye looking from above, it seemed always pure and clean.

THE EMIGRANT’S WAGON.

AN emigrant who started in a new wagon for his far-off Western home seemed to forget, because the wagon was new and strong then, that it would ever wear out. As a consequence, he was very careless in his way of using it, driving as fast down hill as up, and over rough places as smooth. Sometimes he raced with other wagons, and occasionally loaded his own so heavily and drove so recklessly, it was upset.

In spite of all this ill-usage, however, the wagon seemed to remain almost as good as new until it had travelled over about half of its journey, when it began to show the effects of abuse. First some rivets broke, leaving the floor-boards loose; next a spoke in one of the wheels began to rattle; then a tire rolled off. After this, one breakage followed another so rapidly that its owner was often forced to stop for repairs. Neither could he always make these by himself, but was obliged to call on the blacksmith and the wheelwright to help him. As he waited at their shops day after day he could not help thinking of his past folly, and saying to himself:

“Oh that I had the first part of the road to go over again!”

But, as this was impossible, it only remained for him to use the utmost care while passing over the portion that was left.

And so he did, creeping along slowly, avoiding every little jolt and rut by the way, and often turning out to let others, who had started after him, pass by. For the farther he went, the weaker his wagon grew, until it fell into such a decrepit state that it was threatening all the time to break down under him, and travelling in it, instead of being a pleasure, as it was at first, became only labor and pain.

But at last, though in miserable plight, he came to his journey’s end. It is true that his wagon could not have remained new until then, no matter what care he had taken of it; on the contrary, it must have been well worn, and old, beside, for it had come a great distance and been a long time in doing it. But if he had used it properly, and as a wagon ought to be used, from the start, without doubt it would have carried him all the way safely and comfortably.

And then what a different account of his coming would have been written! For, in the first place, he could have given the time to pleasanter things that, as it was, he had to spend in patching up his wagon. Then he could have occasionally helped some poorer and more heavily-loaded emigrant that he came up with along the road. And lastly (beside escaping numerous bruises and pains) he would have been saved many poignant regrets and recollections, which added greatly to the burdens he had to bear during the latter part of his journey.

* * * * *

We are all emigrants, and our bodies are the wagons given us to travel in. If we abuse them in youth, we shall ride uncomfortably for it in our later years.

BIG AND LITTLE LANTERNS.

TWO countrymen who were neighbors started out on a dark night for the nearest market-town, each carrying a basket of butter and eggs and garden-produce on his arm. They took different roads, which were, however, of about equal lengths. One of the men—the taller and stronger of the two—carried a large and heavy lantern on a pole high above his head, by means of which he was enabled to see far over the road in front of him; and he set out with long and rapid strides.

The other man carried a light and small lantern, which he held down close to the ground, by his side, so that he could see no farther than the spot on which to plant his foot, as he moved on more slowly and cautiously, step by step.

Some time during the night the latter reached his destination and quickly sold out his basketful of produce to the early risers of the town; but afterward, on looking around for his neighbor, was surprised to learn that he had not yet appeared. He waited a while, and then, fearing the man had met with some disaster—for the two were friends—started back to find him; and about midway of the road he found him, sure enough, fallen down into a pit that he had not seen, because, instead of looking well to the ground that was close around him, he was, by means of his great lantern, gazing far ahead.

But, though he could not get out, happily none of his bones were broken; and when his friend had torn a rail from a fence near by and thrown it to him, he managed to clamber up the side and escape from his trap. Yet his butter and eggs were spoiled and his lantern damaged, and, as he was badly bruised by the fall, he begged his neighbor to remain with him, saying:

“There is nothing left for me but, by your help, to hobble back to where I started from as best I can.”

And so it came to pass that he who was the better furnished and more confident at the start, came out a good deal worse off at the end.

* * * * *

Not always does he who can see the farthest travel most safely; and a lowly talent well improved may gain more than a lofty one wasted or misapplied.

THE CAT AND THE TIGER.

A CAT that was a pet in a farmer’s family, understanding from the talk of the children that a show of wild animals had come to the neighboring village, stole off one morning to see it, and, creeping in under the edge of the great canvas tent, proceeded to walk around the ring and look in at the cages.

She had not gone far when she came opposite to the tiger’s cage, and, looking up, saw there a creature of her own species so powerful, so immense, and withal so beautifully marked, that she was lost in admiration and felt almost ready to bow down and worship it.

“Great king of our race,” she cried, “I admire, and am willing to obey you!”

But the tiger, insensible to her praise, replied with contempt:

“You poor little mouse-eating creature, do you come here to claim relationship with one so great and strong as I am?”

At this the cat, quickly regaining her composure, answered:

“If your strength is so great that it must be restrained, and causes you to be shut up where it is only a torment to you as you walk up and down before the bars of your cage, then I would rather be as I am, weak and little, but suited to my place in the farmer’s kitchen.”

* * * * *

The qualities which make men great often make them miserable while they see around them those of lowlier station, and humbler abilities, more happy and useful than themselves.

CHARITY.

A CERTAIN rich man appointed an hour when the poor people of his city had permission to call at his house and ask for charity. When the hour arrived, the man sat in his parlor, while his servant stood at the door to question those who called and report what they said to his master.

The first one who came was a day-laborer. He was willing to dig or to carry, or to work at anything he could find, but he could find nothing. To him the rich man sent a piece of silver.

The second one was a sailor. Only a few weeks before, he had sailed, full of hope, out of the harbor; but his ship was wrecked in a storm, and he saved only the clothes that covered him. To him also was sent a piece of silver.

The one who came next had seen better days; he had owned the little house he lived in, with enough out at interest beside to keep the wolf from its door. But misfortune had robbed him of all, and now he was in want. To him were sent two silver pieces.

After him came a mechanic who long ago had worked for the rich man’s father, and helped to build the beautiful house that his father once lived in. To him the rich man sent a piece of gold.

Then came an old man who was still erect and vigorous, but with silvery locks and flowing beard. In his younger days he had been a merchant. He well remembered the rich man’s father when he was a merchant too, and told of his honor and influence, and spoke feelingly of the favors he had often done him. To him the rich man sent two golden pieces.

When the next person called, the servant came in and told his master that this one seemed to be the most needy of all. He was bowed down with age and leaning upon a staff, and had travelled a long and weary journey from the place where the rich man’s father was born, and used to live before he came to the city and made his fortune.

“Your master’s father and I were boys together,” he said, “and, in truth, I was a near relation to him, and so I am to your master. But sickness and misfortune have left me without bread to eat, or a place to lay my head.”

But when the rich man heard this sad story, he looked at his watch, saying:

“The hour is past that I appointed to listen to the poor. Go tell the man he is too late; and when he is gone, shut the door, and bolt it after him.”

* * * * *

If we will analyze our motive in giving, and take from it all that issues of pride, we shall, many a time, be astonished to find how little is left.

THE DAY-LABORERS.

A CERTAIN land-owner called two of his hired servants early in the morning and sent them out to work in his field. On the way there one of them said to himself:

“Though I do not care for my master, I care for the wages he will pay me; therefore I will do a good day’s work, not for him, but for myself.”

But the other man said:

“Though I take wages, my master’s profit is dearer to me than my own; therefore the work that I do is not so much for myself as for him.”

So the men went out into the field to do their master’s bidding. And while they labored there the sun rose up high above them, and his fierce rays beat down on their heads. Yet they did not rest from their labors, but toiled on until he passed through the heavens and began slowly to descend again. And in the evening, after he had sunk below the horizon, they came and stood before their master to give account of the day.

The first one said:

“I have ploughed deep in your field and cast out the heavy stones that were buried there.”

The second one said:

“I have gathered up the stones, and carried them to the edge of the field, and set up a strong fence around it.”

And as the master looked at their soiled and toil-worn garments and their sunburned arms and hands, he knew that what they told him was true. But when he looked in their faces, on one was the expression of coldness and on the other was the expression of love. Then he gave to each of them his wages, but the one who loved him he called into his house, to be with him and wait on him continually.

* * * * *

The work brings the wages, but the motive the reward.

THE ARTIST’S ANSWER.

A MAN who had accompanied an artist around his studio, admiring his pictures, exclaimed,

“What an easy and privileged life is yours, calling forth and putting into visible shape such beautiful forms from day to day! You give delight to others, it is true, but surely the largest share must remain for yourself.”

Said the artist,

“Name to me some object in nature that you admire.”

“This rose,” replied the other, “which you have placed as a model on your table.”

“We will take that,” said the artist. “Now, what is its history? First, the parent slip was laid in the ground, and at once began its struggle for life. It put forth tender roots, doubtful of the result, but the soil received them kindly, and it lived. Then the tiny stalk appeared above, and at length an embryo bud. But suppose the sun had scorched this bud or the storm destroyed it? They destroyed many another, yet it was spared, and at last opened in full bloom as you see it here.

“Now, if the plant that bore it could speak, what would it say? Something like this: ‘The rose you admire did not spring up uncalled, like a beautiful thought, but is the result of slow development. I could not but labor to bring it forth, for such was the work appointed me. But the throes of effort were needed, and, now that it is perfected, my delight is not in looking at it as a brilliant flower, but as the fruit of my labor, hoping it may fill its place among beautiful things and accomplish that for which it was called into being.’

“So, my friend,” continued the artist, turning to his companion, “if you think that these pictured forms which you delight in were of easy creation, springing up spontaneous like a passing emotion, you have in what the flowers says my answer.”

* * * * *

Each beautiful work costs labor, but how much only he knows whose hands have formed it.

THE HEMLOCK AND THE SUGAR-MAPLE.

A SUGAR-MAPLE tree and a hemlock grew close together, high up on the side of a mountain. All summer they were, alike, covered with green, so that they could hardly be distinguished one from the other. But as autumn approached, the maple put on gayer colors. Branch after branch changed to orange, and crimson, and gold, until the whole tree seemed to be robed in these gorgeous tints. Seeing this, the hemlock said discontentedly to its neighbor:

“Why am I not beautiful like you? While your branches are growing brighter every day, mine do not change at all, unless it be to a duller hue. I am tired of this stale, old-fashioned green.”

But the maple made no answer.

A little while after this there was a change in the weather. Heavy gray clouds covered the sky. A cold rain came on, and the sun was not seen for several days. And now the leaves of the maple began to wither and lose their bright hues, and as the gusts of wind shook them they fell in showers from the branches. Then the maple, looking down upon them, said to the hemlock:

“You envied my beauty, but where is it now? See the remains of it lying scattered over the ground! My branches are being left bare for the long winter’s cold, while yours are still clothed with their thick, warm foliage.”

* * * * *

He whose good fortune we covet has also, linked with it, some compensating evil which we would not be willing to take off his hands.

BREAD AND THE BEAUTIFUL.

A MAN who was strolling through the country for his own enjoyment came to the top of a hill, where he stopped to admire the view. While he was standing there a laborer with pick and shovel on his shoulder and dinner-basket on his arm passed by. The man spoke to him and the laborer answered civilly, but, hurrying on, was soon out of sight.

After viewing the prospect from the hilltop, the man proceeded on his way until he came to a waterfall on the edge of a wood. Here he rested for a good while watching the stream break into foam and spray as it flowed over the rocks into the deep basin below.

From here he proceeded along the lonely road, wondering what beautiful object would next appear, when presently he saw, spread out before him, a lake of blue water with bushes and wild flowers growing around its edge. It was almost noon by the time he was satisfied with gazing on this charming scene.

Then he started on his ramble again, but had not gone far when he spied the laborer who passed him earlier in the day, digging away with his pick and shovel in a rocky field beside the road. Leaning against the fence, the pleasure-seeker stopped, and said:

“Rather hard work grubbing at these stones?”

“You are right,” replied the laborer, “but nothing else will bring them out of the ground.”

“This is a pleasant country to look at,” continued the other, “but not to make your living out of, I should think.”

“You’d say so if you tried it. I suppose you’re a stranger about here?”

“Yes; this is my first visit, and I’m just sauntering along feasting on the beautiful view. You people who live in the country don’t half appreciate its charms.”

Here the laborer, looking up at the sky and seeing the sun just over his shoulder, dropped his shovel, and, going to a shady spot beside a spring, where he had deposited his dinner-basket, opened it and began to eat. His new acquaintance looked on until he had seen slice after slice of bread and meat emerge from the clean white napkin and disappear, when he said:

“My friend, would you mind sparing me a bit? This walk has made me hungry.”

“Well, now,” replied the laborer, “you’ve been feasting on the view all the morning, while I’ve been grubbing at the stones. If I give you my dinner, then you’ll have two feasts, and I’ll have none.”

* * * * *

If we cultivate our taste for the beautiful, to the neglect of earning our bread, we cannot expect those who deny themselves this luxury, to supply our needs when we come to want.

THE HARPER.

A HARPER stood before the door of a house and played a number of tunes without seeming to attract the attention of any one within until he played a sad and plaintive air, when an upper window opened and a hand reached out and dropped a coin into the hat that he held beneath.

From this house he went to another, and played the same air; but no notice was taken of him until he changed from it to a more cheerful tune, when a piece of money was again thrown to him.

After this he was careful to note down in a little book that he carried what sort of music pleased the inmates of the different houses in his round; and whenever he selected a new tune, it was always with some special hearers in view, to whom he went and played it as soon as it was learned. In this way he was kept busy from day to day, and by means of his harp earned a good living.

Now, although he played a variety of tunes to please many different hearers, he had strong preferences of his own. There were a few of his pieces that he loved better than all the rest, and at the houses where these were played his music was at its best, because he played it out of his heart.

So, one day, as he was trudging along with his harp on his back, he said to himself:

“A portion of my work is a joy and delight to me, but the rest is labor and toil. Why should I not play that music only that I love, and to those alone who can appreciate it? In it lies not only my chief pleasure, but my real power as well. I am resolved henceforth to adopt this plan.”

So he gave up all but the few tunes in which he himself delighted, and played only at the houses where these had been enjoyed. But in a little while he noticed that he was not welcomed at these houses as he used to be, and the cause (though he was loath to acknowledge it) was not hidden from him. His favorite airs, by their sameness and constant repetition, had ceased to stir his own heart as they once did; hence his music had lost its fervor, and with this its power over the hearts of others. Then he said to himself:

“The plan which necessity imposed on me was better than my own. Its discords tended to heighten its harmonies. Experience having taught me this, I will now return to that plan.”

So he took up all his old pieces, practising them over again, and playing them, as he used to do, from door to door. And in thus doing (mingling the bitter with the sweet) he soon prospered again.

* * * * *

In a higher state of being we shall be able to sustain the purest joys uninterruptedly. But here, that we may only taste of them, our joy must alternate with sorrow—our pleasure, with pain.

THE UNAPPRECIATED GIFT.

A HUSBANDMAN was at work in his field, earning his living by the sweat of his brow, when there came a man carrying a young tree in his hand, which he planted at one side of the field, saying:

“Give this the space that it needs, let it spread and grow, and wait patiently: in due time its fruit and shade will repay you;” having said which, he departed.

The husbandman heard the man’s words, but went on with his labor from day to day without much regarding them. The tree remained where it had been planted, putting out new branches and growing higher and stronger.

But after a time strange doubts and suspicions concerning the tree entered the husbandman’s mind. As it took up more ground, he looked on it grudgingly, and said to himself:

“This is not a fruit tree at all, but a thorn. If I let it stand, it will send up its evil shoots all over my field.”

Then, taking his axe in his hand, at one stroke he severed the stalk from the roots.

After this the seasons came and went as they ever had done. The husbandman sowed in the spring and reaped in the harvest. And so he continued to do from year to year, until his labors began to tell upon his strength, and he felt stealing upon him the infirmities of an old man. His field still yielded its crop, but was bare and sunny, without a sheltered spot in which he could sit down and rest.

It happened one day after hours of toil that he sank exhausted, and slept even under the burning rays of the sun. In his sleep he dreamed that he was sitting in the shade. Over him green branches were spread. They were loaded with fruit, which hung so near the ground that he put forth his hand as he sat, and plucked and ate. Birds were also singing in the branches, and a cool breeze passed through them, fanning his brow. He said:

“Surely these have been growing, and their shadows deepening, to cover my head and refresh me in my old age.”

As he spoke suddenly the man who had long ago appeared to him again stood before him, saying:

“Such would have been the tree that I planted on this spot had you not, in unbelief and self-will, cut it down.”

The husbandman awoke from his sleep and found it was only a dream, and that he was still lying alone and unsheltered under the burning rays of the sun.

* * * * *

Not recognizing the Sender, we refuse the gift, to bewail our folly when it is too late.

THE WORN-OUT TEAM.

TWO horses, a bay and a gray, were bred on the same farm. Being nearly of an age and about equal in size, they were mated in harness, and, working well together, were kept as a pair. They went to the plough, the harrow, and the hay-wagon season after season. In this close companionship there grew up something of an attachment between them, although they differed in disposition. The gray was patient and uncomplaining, while the bay, though quite as good a worker, was not of so good a temper.

The seasons came and went. In the spring they toiled together turning up the heavy sod, in the autumn hauling in great loads of hay and grain, until at length, as years passed by, their bulky forms began to shrink and ribs and thigh-bones to appear. More than this, the gray lifted one hind leg higher than formerly, giving a hint of the string-halt, and the bay panted so violently after a short journey as to suggest a thought of the heaves. But they had done their share of work, and the farmer was not the man to sell them off now to some hard fate: they were allowed to stand in the stable or given lighter tasks, while a pair of young horses, that had come on in the mean while, were put to the heavy work about the farm.

One summer day, while the old horses were resting in their stalls, the hay-wagon came in with a load from the field. As it drew near the barn the farmer’s son shouted to encourage his young team up the rise that led on to the barn-floor, and the old pair heard them, as they entered, pounding overhead.

“That is what we used to do,” said the bay, “until they put the colts in our place.”

“We never thought then of getting old and past work,” said the gray.

“But we’ve come to it now.”

“Many a heavy load have we hauled up that rise before them.”

“Yes, I think of it often,” said the bay, “and of something else too: I think of that hard hill over across the bridge. I was not always good to you when we were climbing up that.”

“You always pulled your full share, though.”

“But I needn’t have put back my ears and snapped at you angrily every few steps.”

“Let that go; think no more of it,” said the gray.

“And not only the hill do I remember,” continued the bay, “but many a hot day on the road, while you were doing your best, I jerked in the harness and jeered at you because my nose happened to be a few inches ahead.”

“Think of the pleasant trots we had together, instead,” persisted the gray—“the gambols in the clover-field, and the rolls in the sand down beside the creek. As for the rest, they’re past and forgiven; let them be forgotten.”

“You may forgive them,” said the bay, “but I can’t forgive them myself. And now, while I stand here by your side, both of us grown old, they come back and worry me—yes, more than ever the heavy loads did, or even the driver’s whip.”

* * * * *

Youth is the time of anticipation and of sowing the seed; age is the time of recollection and of reaping the fruits of what we have sown.

THE WISE FARMER.

A FARMER came into possession of some new land. It consisted of three fields that lay adjoining each other, but on going to examine them he was astonished at the difference in their quality. The first was stony ground; the next, though not stony, was of a thin and light soil; while the third, lying lower and being meadow-land, was covered with rich, dark loam. As a whole, the ground was not what he had expected, and in his disappointment he hardly knew what to do. But after consulting with his wife, who was a prudent adviser, he concluded to do his best with all three fields, and not, on account of its inferior quality, to neglect either one.

The stony field was hard to cultivate. The ploughing was laborious, and so were all the other processes of farming it. Yet he persevered till it was well seeded down with grass and clover. The middle field—the one with the thin light soil—required a great deal of help. He had to spend largely for different kinds of fertilizers, and afterward was at much trouble in clearing the ground to receive them. But by hard work he got this field also planted with oats in good time.

The rich loamy field, which from the start he had longed to begin on, was left, purposely, till the last. As he took down the bars and drove his team into it day after day he chuckled to himself, saying: “I do love to farm this field!”

It required but half the expense and labor to make it ready that either of the others required, and no sooner had he drilled in the wheat than there came a shower that made it spring up, so that he could almost see it growing.

The planting being done, he waited patiently for the harvest. Then the stony field yielded him a good crop of hay, which he got safely into his barn without a single wetting; the field with the thin light soil gave a fair crop of oats—enough to feed his stock during the winter; and the rich loamy ground yielded a splendid crop of wheat—sufficient not only to furnish his family with flour, but also to let him sell a portion, that brought in enough money for all his other needs.

“How much better are we off,” he said to his wife one day after the harvesting was over, “that we took the land willingly, just as it came to us, instead of finding fault with it and neglecting the poorer fields because they did not equal our expectations! And, now that we have got them so well started, we may expect them, with proper care, to go on improving from year to year.”

* * * * *

Among those who come under our care (our own children, it may be) we shall find some less answerable to our wishes than others. But our duty to all is alike, and by performing it we shall not only do justice to them, but secure a recompense, in the end, to ourselves.

WAYFARERS.

A MAN who had an ugly limp in his gait, but was nevertheless a good walker, sat down on a bench by the wayside one day, saying, impatiently:

“This lameness embitters my life. I cannot for a moment lose sight of it. I go limping along, my legs are unlike, my steps are uneven, and, though I do not suffer positive pain, I very often experience discomfort. Beside all this, I fear, as I grow older, my halt will increase upon me, so that I shall be even more of a cripple then than I am now. How I wish I could change places with yonder cheerful-looking man who is coming this way with such an even, measured tread!”

As he ceased speaking the man he referred to suddenly turned toward the bench on which the speaker was resting and took a seat at his side, but rather closer than was needful, as they two had it alone.

“Excuse me,” said the new comer as he felt himself crowding his neighbor; “I am blind, and, although I know this path so well that I can walk along it without a guide, I could not see that another was seated here before me.”

“I am sorry for you,” said the lame man, feelingly. “Surely, no one would suspect you were blind from your firm step and your cheerful countenance. May I ask how it is you preserve so happy an aspect under so great a misfortune?”

“By looking at what I have, and not at what I have lost,” replied the blind man. “Though I cannot see, I can hear the voice of my friends, the sound of music, the singing of birds. I can taste three good meals, and enjoy them, every day. I can smell a rose in bloom farther than you can, for all my senses that remain are keener for the absence of the one that is gone. My health, too, is good, and I have learned to work so skilfully at basket-making that, with a little I have beside, I am able to pay my own way without being a burden to others. Thus, in the apportioning of my lot, so much more has been given than taken, that I consider life’s bargain a good one for me.”

Having thus spoken, the blind man, after a few moments’ rest, bade his new acquaintance “Good-bye,” and, rising from the bench, felt his way cautiously, counting each step, until he reached the middle of the sidewalk, when he wheeled around and proceeded on his way with the same measured tread that had first attracted his companion’s attention. As he disappeared the latter said:

“What is my limp, which still permits me to walk wherever I will, to his blindness, which shuts out every ray of light? Yet he is the happier of the two! After all, blind as he is, I was doing myself no unkindness in wishing I could take his place.”

* * * * *

How often does he who has the most go poor because he is unconscious of it! while he who has the least is made rich by being able to appreciate what he has.

OTHER BIRDS’ FEATHERS.

A GANDER and a cock lived on the same farm. They were young and handsome birds, each well satisfied with himself, but, unfortunately, jealous of the other. This made them always ready to pick a quarrel. Chancing one day to meet beside a brook that ran by the farmhouse, the cock straightened himself up and said:

“Look at my long and graceful tail-feathers, and compare them with the short stubby quills in your tail.”

To which the gander replied:

“Look at the soft white down on my breast, and compare it with the frowsy black stubble on yours.”

“I can crow,” said the cock, “but you can’t.”

“I can swim,” said the gander, “and you can’t.”

“I can!” “I can!” cried both birds in a rage; and with that the cock jumped into the water and nearly drowned himself in attempting to swim, and the gander strutted up and down trying to crow.

Just then a goose, with her brood of goslings passing by, looked at them, and said:

“My children, take warning from these two fools. Be content, when you grow up, to wear your own feathers, and to let other birds wear theirs.”

* * * * *

There are always persons about us who possess some gifts that we lack. To deny them credit for these only makes our defects more plain, and brings disgrace on what good qualities we have.

THE NIGHT-WATCHMAN.