throw that box out of the window and break it for fun.' I looked beseechingly at my father, and made no answer. 'But, perhaps, you would be very glad,' he resumed, 'if suddenly one of those good fairies you read of would change the domino-box into a beautiful geranium in a beautiful blue and white flower-pot, and that you could have the pleasure of putting it on your mamma's windowsill.'

'Indeed I would,' said I, half crying.

'My dear boy, I believe you; but good wishes don't mend bad actions-good actions mend bad actions.'

So saying, he shut the door and went out; I cannot tell you how puzzled I was to make out what my father meant.

The next morning my father found me seated by myself under a tree in the garden; he paused, and looked at me with his grave bright eyes very steadily.

'My boy,' said he, 'I am going to walk to L, will you come? And, by-the-by, fetch your domino-box; I should like to shew it to a person there.' I ran in for the box, and, not a little proud of walking with my father on the high-road, we set out.

'Papa,' said I by the way, there are no fairies now.' 'What then, my child?'

'Why, how then can my domino-box be changed into a geranium and a blue and white flower-pot?'

'My dear,' said my father, leaning his hand on my shoulder, everybody who is in earnest to be good, carries two fairies about with him-one here,' and he touched my forehead; one here,' and he touched my heart.

Ah! how proud, how overjoyed I was when, after placing vase and flower on the window-sill, I plucked my mother by the gown, and made her follow me to the spot.

'It is his doing and his money!' said my father; 'good actions have mended the bad.'

'What!' cried my mother, when she had learned all; and your poor domino-box that you were so fond of. We shall go to-morrow and buy it back if it costs us double.'

'Shall we buy it back, my boy?' asked my father.

"O no-no-no-it would spoil it all!' I cried, burying my face on my father's breast.

'My wife,' said my father, solemnly, 'this is my first lesson to our child-the sanctity and happiness of selfsacrifice-undo not what it should teach him to his dying hour.'

CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.

1.

How happy is he born and taught

That serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought
And simple truth his utmost skill!

2.

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Not tied unto the world with care

Of public fame, or private breath;

3.

Who envies none that chance doth raise
Or vice; who never understood.
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good :

4.

Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make accusers great;

5.

Who God doth late and early pray
More of His grace than gifts to lend;

And entertains the harmless day

With a well-chosen book or friend.

6.

This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

THE DISCONTENTED FARMER.

Antony Crutcheley, the farmer, was standing in front of his house, looking at the thatched roof with a troubled air.

'There is the moss covering it all again already,' he murmured; it will be green all over, and the granaries will be as damp as so many cellars; but the townsfolk think anything good enough for the country people.'

'Who do you mean by the townsfolk, my good friend?' asked a voice behind him.

The farmer turned his head sharply, and found himself face to face with his landlord, Mr Ferrers, who had just arrived, and had overheard his remark. He greeted him in rather an awkward manner.

'I did not know you were there, sir,' he said, without answering his question.

'But you were thinking of me- is it not so?' replied Mr Ferrers smiling; 'I see you will be always the same, my poor Antony, seeing nothing on the rosebush but its thorns, and nothing in life but its troubles.'

Antony shook his head.

It is easy for the rich to talk,' he said sullenly; 'you can do what you please.'

6

'Because it pleases me only to do what I am able,' replied the squire; but to be content with that state of life to which you are called is a rule of conduct which seems to have been left out of your catechism.'

'A good lease would do me more good,' replied the farmer; we poor people, who have only our wishes, and no means of satisfying them, ought not to be judged too harshly. It seems to me not a very great thing to ask for a roof that would let the water run off it, and not attract all kinds of vermin, like this abominable thatch.'

'That is to say, that you still wish for a slate roof.'

'So much, that if I had the means I would do it at my own expense, and I should be a gainer by it, for my house would be more healthy, and my wheat better protected.'

"But you, my good friend, would you be more contented?'

'I would never ask for anything else,' said the farmer. 'Then I should have a quiet time of it,' said Mr

6

Ferrers. Although I look on it as an outlay that will bring little profit to you, and nothing to me, I will see if there is any way of satisfying you. You shall have a slate roof, Master Antony, and when the fine weather returns I will send the workmen.'

Antony, surprised at this this unexpected concession, thanked his landlord with much gratitude, and, as soon as he was gone, went to tell his family the good

news.

He spent part of the day in examining the consequences of this transformation of the roof. Besides the new appearance it would give to the farmhouse, the improvement of the granaries would be a real advantage; but Antony soon perceived that by raising the walls a little, they might be made doubly commodious. This discovery completely changed the current of his thoughts. dreamed of nothing but the profit such an improvement would bring him. Without this, the new roofing was a change of no consequence; things might as well be left as they were!

He

Here, then, was our farmer fallen back into his dark mood, and bitterly deploring the want of money which always stopped him in carrying out all his plans. As he was obliged to go to Mr Ferrers to pay his rent, the squire observed his anxious mien, and asked the cause. After some hesitation, Antony confessed his new desire.

'It is not that I ask it, sir,' he continued; it is quite enough to have promised me a slate roof; there was no obligation to do even that; poor people have only a right to what is due to them.'

'And that right they have in common with rich people,' said Mr Ferrers; but I see it is difficult to cure you of your discontent-one desire accomplished