Sunday-school times

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VOLUME VI. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT ONE DOLLAR AND FIFTY CENTS A YEAR.--PHILADELPHIA, SEPTEMBER 10, 1864. number 37.
THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TIMES,
A "Weekly Religious Paper.
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Philadelphia, Penn'a.
For the Sunday-School Times.
THE NOISY SUNDAY-SCHOOL.
By Rev. Alfred Taylor.
THERE is so much clatter that the place
seems more like a factory than a Sunday-
school. But there is not so much system as
in a well conducted factory. Everybody
seems to be doing that which is right in his
own mind. The visitor who sets foot within
the school is alarmed and confused by the
general hubbub. The superintendent is pro¬
vided with a sonorous, bell, and a short, thick
stick. When he wants to call the school to
order, he rings his bell, and thumps upon his
desk with the stick. The noise which he
makes, being greater than the general noise
made by the rest of the school, arrests the at¬
tention of the teachers and scholars for a
moment. When the moment is over, each
begins making his individual noise again, as
actively as before.
The spirit of noise seems to be the moving
and controlling spirit of the establishment.
As we listen to the teachers imparting in¬
struction to the scholars, we gain the idea that
the teachers think the. scholars are partially
deaf, and are raising their voices sufficiently
to meet the infirmity. Each teacher interferes
with the teachers whose classes are next to
his; and the scholars are as apt to hear the
instruction of the teacher of a neighboring
class, as that which is given by their own
teacher. This affords sharp-eared boys op¬
portunities for the comparison of the views
of several teachers, which are not afforded in
quiet and orderly schools. Such boys gene¬
rally prefer to listen to what is being taught
in another class, rather than to that which is
provided for their own. The result, so far as
the gaining of information is concerned, is a
sad jumble of imperfectly remembered Scrip¬
tural knowledge.
The motions of the superintendent from
class to class are not of the most quiet sort.
He makes three times as many errands to
each class as he need make, and each errand
- is at least thrice as noisy as it ought to be.
His bootmaker bas an unfortunate habit of
putting Bqueaky leather in his boot-soles,
the effect of which is to add to the disturbance
created by his impetuous movements. Each
particular noise added to the general noise
increases the difficulty of getting along ; and,
after the superintendent has paid his brief
visit to half a dosen, classes, be is obliged to
return to his desk, riDg his bell, thump with
his stick, and declare that there must be less
noise. There is " less noise" for the space cf
a minute and a half, when the clatter again
commences, and gees on till it meets with a
similar official interruption.
The operations of "fife library, also, are at¬
tended with more commotion than is necessa¬
ry. The giviDg out of books is a simple mat¬
ter, which should be attended to as noise
lessly as an apothecary attends to putting up
prescriptions. But the lihrarian of the noisy
school is a fj3sy genius, and handles his books
as heavily as if they were kits of niaGkerel or
pigs of iron. In one day'* session, he makes
as much noise as would la3t the librarian of
the Astor library for a year. The aggregate
of noi3e which he makes in the course of a
year's operations is so great that it almost
stuns us to think of it. He permits each child
who thinks he has an errand at the library
case, to stamp up to it; some of the more
heavily shod boys make three or four trips to
it in the course of the day. All this is unne¬
cessary. The librarian should quietly collect
from each class at the commencement of the
exercises, the bcck3 which tbe children have
returned, and, at the close, as quietly carry to
each the pile of books to be distributed. When
he buys his boots, he should not select those
whose creak will herald his approach to the
classes. If he can get no others, however, the
teachers should present him with a pair of
slippers, to wear during the performance of
his duties.
To establish a thorough reform of this
noisy way of carrying on a Sunday-school, it
is necessary not only that the officers should
reform their habits, but that each teacher
study the art of keeping reasonably qaiet, and
imprVsa the duty on his .scholars. Of'-course,
it is ooroewhat difficult, in a large school, for
every teacher so to modulate his voice that it
will be heard distinctly by hi3 own scholars,
and yet by no others. A lutle careful prac¬
tice, though, will show the secret of it. The
classes must be seated on semicircular or.
square forms. Long, straight benches will
alw.tys be productive of noisy classes. Let
the teacher sit in the midst of a form so shaped
that the heads of his scholars are very near
hia own head. Let him then, being tho¬
roughly prepared on the lesson, and feeling
an c:\rnest senpe of his responsibility in teach¬
ing it to his scholars, proceed with his instruc¬
tions in the most interesting way he knows how
to. The children will draw nearer, and as near
as they can. They will not want to lose a word
of it. There will be no necessity to scream
out the instruction to them, nor to bellow at
them for making a noise in their answers to
questions asked them. But, if the teacher
comes uaprepared, or from any other reason
is unable to gain and keep the close attention
of his scholars, his class will be listless, and
consequently noisy; and he will spend half
his time and energy in fruitlessly lecturing
them en the wickedness of making a noise in
school.
"Let all things be done decently and in
order.''
Bristol, Pa.
For the Sunday-School Times.
"My Sunday-School Teacher!"
"DETURNING from a walk on a pleasant
-"J summer evening, I saw two little girls in
a neat cottage garden by the road-side. They
seemed to be engaged in arranging some play,
and on drawing nearer, I recognized in the
sun-burnt features and bright eyes of one of
them, a little scholar of the previous Sab¬
bath.
" My Sunday-school teacher I" she exclaim¬
ed, bounding forward with delight.
" I am glad to see you Lottie," I said ; " do
you live here ?"
"No, ma'am, I live a little lower down the
lane. Mary," pointing to her companion,
"lives here; she is going with me to school
next Sunday."
" That is right, Lottie; you love the Sun¬
day-school, and you must try to take your
friends with you, that they may learn to love
it too."
"Are you coming next Sunday?" she
asked.
"No, my dear; I expect to return home in
a few days."
" 0, I am so sorry 1" she said ; u. I thought
that perhaps you would stay here."
" But I am only on a visit to G , and
there is a class of little girls in the city ex¬
pecting my return."
" And they would feel very sad if you did
not come back,  I know,"  she said.    "We
missed our teacher, Miss J , so much when
she went away in the spring."
Then closing the garden gate, and taking
me by the hand, she said, " May we go a little
wayJWLthypu?".,.....v ,. ■--..---,_ 	
I assented, and as we walked on Lottie
talked in her own artless way about the Sun¬
day-school, and the sweet lessons she had
learned there, and both the children listened
attentively while I told them of the Saviour's
love for the precious lambs of his fold. We
had reached a turn in the lane, when Mary
observed that they had better not go any
further, as it was getting .late.
A shade of regret passed over Lottie's face,
but brightening up a little, she said, " Per¬
haps when you come to G again you will
teach our class."
"We will hope so, dear children, and in
the meantime let us not forget our pleasant
conversation this evening." And so, with an
affectionate " good bye," we parted.
My meeting with Lottie gave rise to serious
and profitable reflection. " This dear child,"
I thought, " calls me her teacher, although I
was only placed in that relation for one short
hour. And yet how important that one hour I
Was it rightly improved? What record will
it bear at tbe last great day ?" How respon¬
sible did the office of the teacher appear, while
deep feelings of thankfulness were awakened
for the blessed influences of the Sabbath-
school.
Fellow-teachers, are we improving the time ?
0, let us prize each opportunity of usefulness !
When absent from the scene of our special
duties, let us still seek employment in this
hopeful field. Let us ever labor in entire de¬
pendence upon " the Spirit of grace."
It may be, that while thus engaged, some
pleasing incidents will encourage us to perse¬
vere—some dear little ones, like the flowers
by the way-side, which the careless traveler
passes unnoticed by, may reward our care and
attention, by yielding sweet instruction to
cheer and gladden us on our way.       S. A.
EARLY IMPRESSIONS.
A GREAT painter said that he "never
looked on a poor picture without catch¬
ing a tint from it;" and the converse of this is,
no doubt, equally true. It wa3 by the study
of pure and exalted models that his own'soul
became imbued with tbe true inspiration of art
We may well treasure up this suggestion for
practical application in our intercourse with
the world. No one should needlessly expose
himself to contaminating influences, and
especially should parents watch against the
ever-varying shades and tints of evil to which
the minds of their little children are exposed.
There is no conscientious mother but would
shrink from sending forth her little one into
the company of rude, profaDeboys, who would
take delight in inducting him into all their
evil ways; but there are countless other
devices of the adversary, which are quite over¬
looked.
Your child will not fail to catch a low and
most degrading impression from a book of
comic prints, which you may thoughtlessly
permit to fall into his hand. The perverted
taste of the present day causes these pernicious
caricatures to greatly abound; but one has
well said, he wo'ild about as soon admit a
viper into the bosom of his family as one of
them. Be sure your boy's mind will catch an
evil tint from them, which you can never
erase. The same is true of those senseless
jingles of rhymes of the "Mother Goose"
order, which still persist in elbowing their
way into our bookstores, all decked out in
holiday raiment, which make3 them particu¬
larly attractive to. bright young eyes. The
rude age which gave them existence has long
since passed away, and these work3 should be
buried with it. We do not need them. There
is a pure and beautiful literature for children
provided now-a-days, within reach of the
humblest—a class of books which children
grasp often eagerly, and which they never tire
of having read to them over and over, long
before they can read them themselves. The
" Songs for the Little Ones" should be house¬
hold words in every home in our land. 0 !
who would not rather fill the mind of a child
with pure and elevating thoughts, with noble
aspirations, than with such senseless trash,
which only helps develop a frivolous character
and a degraded taste. How much better
to have these early readings teach some
sweet lessons of love to God or his won¬
derful works. They will be stamped on the
young mind with the ease of the seal on
melted wax; but no marble retains its in¬
scription as the young soul that impression.
The marble will " moulder in dust away,"
while that soul lives on for ever. 01 in view
of the long eternity which is but a step before
us, can we feel that any vigilance is too great,
any effort too laborious, that shall guard those
dear ones from the snares of evil to which they
are hourly exposed !—The Presbyterian.
For the Sunday-School Times.
Not Your Own.
HOW little of the spirit of the early Chris¬
tians is found now-a-days in the heart
of the church. "And the multitude of them
that believed were of one heart and of one
soul; neither said any of them that aught of
the things which he possessed was his own."
Now tljere seems to be almost as many minds
as there are members, and every one who has
tried it, knows how hard it is to get even a
small company to act in unison. Any one
who really acted out the principle that what
he possessed was not his own, would be
thought almost insane. Yet we are taught to
consider not even ourselves our own. " Ye are
not your own, ye are bought with a price."
If we cannot lay claim to that possession,
isuTeTjr there rrndt'htag^eisB'We' nlay caTTblirs?
If we could only imbue our souls with this
truth, what a wonderful change would come
over the church and the world. Now the
cause of Christ has to creep like a beggar to
the church door, and beg for the crumbs that
cai be spared from the tables of luxury. The
averted face and impatient expression, "a beg¬
ging sermon," seldom come from those outside
the visible fold. But the cutting sarcasm on
such Christian consistency is often heard from
the world's lip.
Too many called by Christ's name have
plenty of money for pleasure, and dress, and
luxurious living, but almost nothing for the
church, for the Sunday-school, for the calls
of benevolence. Have such the Spirit of
Christ? If not, he has declared " they are none
of his." Ob, the church needs to come up to
a higher level of consecration to its blessed
Master; to realize that all her wealth is his,
to be employed as it will best advance his
cause. We shall never hear of " a begging
sermon" then. -The mission cause will rise
from its mendicant posture, and go forth full-
handed to carry the gospel light into the dark
places of the earth. Then will Christians
become true lights of the world. They will
lay aside their silken robes and gird on the
iron harness to work for Christ. All the gold
and all the service will be laid at the Re¬
deemer's feet, and we shall count ourselves
still but as unprofitable servants. We shall
then have done but what was our duty to do.
L. L.
SUBLIME  PASSAGES.
AN obscure Scotch peasant calling on busi¬
ness at a gentleman's house in Edinburgh,
saw a bust of Shakspeare, and these lines
from the " Tempest" inscribed beneath it:—
" The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inhabits shall dissolve,
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a wreck behind."
The gentleman, seeing the peasant's eyes
attracted by these lines, asked him if he had
ever seen anything equal to them. His reply
was just and striking:—"Yes, I have. The
following passage from the book of Revela¬
tion is more sublime :—
"'And I saw a great white throne and him
that sat upon it, from whose face the earth and
the heavens fled away, and there was no place
for them.'"
PRAYER.
When hearts are full of yearning tenderness,
For the loved absent whom we cannot reach
. By deed or token, gesture or kind speech,
The spirit's true affection to express ;
When hearts are full of innermost distress,
And we are doomed to stand inactive by
Watching tho soul's or body's agony,
Which human efforts help not to make less;
Then, like a cup capacious to contain
The overflowing of the heart, is prayer.
The longing of the soul is satisfied—
The keenest darts of anguish blunted are;
And though we cannot cease to yearn and grieve;
Yet here we learn in patience to abide.
—Trench.
A LESSON FOR TEACHERS.
Wisdom Necessary, as Well as Zeal.
ROGER TSNNEY had been a very success-
, ful colporteur, and when he settled in the
city, and connected himself with one of the
evangelical churches there, the Sabbath-
school where he worshiped, at once enlisted
his services as teacher. A fine class of young
men was assigned him, and he labored with
them diligently and successfully, until every
one of them was hopefully a Christian. Then
the present war broke out; and the call to
arms summoned them to the ranks, and
scattered them over the country.
"You have lost your class," said the super¬
intendent, " but we are going to make you up
another, by dividing one that i3 too large."
"I would rather," replied Mr. Tenney,
modestly, " gather a new class from the out¬
siders. Walking to and from my daily busi¬
ness, I pass some factory laborers who, I fear,
go to no religious meeting. My heart has
ached over them: and I long to do them good.
Perhaps they could be persuaded to attend
God's worship; perhaps to study his word. I
should be glad to try them."
" Do, by all means," was the answer; " we
should like a mission class in the school."
The men referred to were rough and wicked;
their persons and garments being in such con¬
dition as indicated too truly the "unclean
spirits" which possessed them. But with all
their hardness, they were not proof against
the power of Christian love intent on doing
them good. At first two, then a third, a
fourth, and soon the whole dozen consented
to meet their new friend in the Sabbath-
school, and learn the way to heaven. It is
true that they made many objections. The
first excuse was their want of respectable
clothing. This Mr. Tenney tried to obviate by
offering to give them such as was decent and
suitable.
" We are not beggars, or charity children,"
was the reply.
" I like your independence," said their friend;
" and you may pay me for the clothes as fast
as you earn the money, so that I may have it
for those who are more needy than you."
" But how can you trust us to do that ?"
asked the roughest and worst looking of the
set.
" I am not afraid," said Mr. Tenney, with a
smile of genuine good will, as he looked the
questioner full in the eye. " When you are
clean and well dressed you will respect your-
■aeive* tri*ro tntm you tro nowy Tinrl~tllB"StUdy
of God's Word will make men of you—honest
men—whom anybody can trust. Try it, and
see."   And so he won them to his purpose.
Steadily for three or four Sabbaths they
were seen in the corner pew, which he had
selected, near the door of the chapel, conning
their lessons, with docility and attention.
Their teacher knew intuitively that they would
not like display or observation; and wisely
avoided it. But at length the Sabbath-school
concert came ; and some of the officers wished
to create a new interest for the occasion, by
parading this mission class as a sample of
Christian zeal and praise-worthy enterprise.
Without consulting Mr. Tenney, one speaker
after another pointed to the class; glorified
the teacher, as one " who was not ashamed to
go into the highways and hedges," to gather
in the outcasts; and expressed the hope or the
prayer that they might prove as " brands
plucked from the burning."
" I fear you have scattered that adult class,"
said the pastor, as he stopped a few of the
teachers after the service. " Those men did
not like your remarks and allusions: and
brother Tenney looked grieved enough. We
must remember that wisdom is necessary as
well as zeal."
The result proved the correctness of the
pastor's judgment. The class were offended
and disgusted; and could not be persuaded
to come again to " the parade ground," as
they for some time persisted in terming the
school.
ft Let them go, if they feel like that," said
the unwise co-laborers of Mr. Tenney.
"No," he replied with tears, " I cannot give
them up so."
And he did not. Hiring a private room at
his own expense, he succeeded in again
securing their attendance; and there he has
punctually met and instructed them, until all
are deeply interested, and some of them are
rejoicing in the truth. The above, which is
substantially a reality, is told to induce Chris¬
tian laborers to add wisdom to their zeal.—The
Congr'tgationalist.
For the Sunday-School Timcf.
RtJTHERFORDIAlVA.—No. 31.
Memories Sweet and Sad.—The memory
of tbe fair feast-days which Christ and I had
in his banqueting house-of-wine, and of the
scattered flock once committed to me, and now
taken off my hand by himself, because I was
not so faithful in the end as I was in the first
two years of my entry, when sleep departed
from my eyes because my soul was taken up
with a care for Christ's lambs, even these add
sorrow to my sorrow.
Light Through the Clouds.—Albeit this
honest cross gained some ground on me by
my heaviness, and my inward challenges of
conscience for a time were sharp, yet now, for
the encouragement of you all, I dare say it,
and write it under my hand, "We'come,
welcome sweet, sweet cross of Christ." I verily
think that the chains of my Lord Jesus are
all overlaid with pure gold, and that his cross
is perfumed, and that it Sjnelleth of Christ.
Taking Strokes   With   Christ.—Blessed
are they who are content to take strokes wih
their weeping Christ.
Taking Strokes From Christ's Hand.—
Strokes with the sweet mediator's hand are
very sweet. He has always been sweet to my
soul, but since I suffered for him his breath
has a sweeter.smell than before.
Strength in Hope—When I look over be¬
yond the line, and beyond death to the laugh¬
ing side of the world, I triumph and ride upon
the high places of Jacob, howbeit I am other¬
wise a faint, dead-hearted, cowardly man,
often borne down and hungry in waiting for
the marriage supper of the lamb.
An Easy Cross.—No king is better provided
than I am. Sweet, sweet and easy is the cross
of my Lord. w. P. B.
For the Sunday-School Times.
"It Is I; Be not Afraid."
"Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of gcod cheer; it
is I; be not afraid."   Matt. 14: 27.
While in humble faith I pray,
Saviour, be thou near to aid!
To my trembling spirit say,
"It is I; be not afraid."
In the hour of bitter grief,
Let my trust on thee be stayed;
Tell me, while I seek relief,
" It is I; be not afraid."
When the skies above are drear,
And when storms my path invade,
Let those accents calm each fear,
"It is I; be not afraid."
When the foaming billows roll,
In their angry force arrayed,
Whisper to my troubled soul,
"It is I; be not afraid."
Saviour ! fix my hopes above ;
I can never be dismayed
While I hear that voice of love,
"ItisI; be not afraid."
When I reach the darkened vale,
Guide me through its fearful shade;
Say, when flesh and heart shall fail,
" It is I; be not afraid." S. A.
For the Sunday-School Times.
"FORBID THEM NOT."
WE are apt to look almost with resent¬
ment on the conduct of the disciples in re¬
fusing to allow the little children to be brought
to Jesus, well meant, no doubt, as their inter¬
ference was. But, are we not guilty of the
same, too often, in our dealings with these
little ones ? i)o we not, in effect, forbid them
to come to Jesus? Is not the Saviour hin¬
dered from doing many mighty works among
the children by our unbelief? How many of.
us expect to see little children, five and six
years old, converted to God ? Yet thej- are
old enough to commit wilful sin. Surely,
they are not too young to win God's favor,
if they are not too young to displease him.
We do not pray and labor for the conversion
of little children as we ought, or many more
would be brought into the fold. We do not
think it is of much consequence whether they
are brought to the house of God or net, and
we look on the infant class in the Sabbath-
school, more as a harmless Sabbath recreation
for the little ones, than as the medium of con¬
veying-to them any important spiritual bless¬
ings. _
In times of religious awakening, how slow
are many to admit the possibility of the Spi¬
rit's influence affecting the hearts of little
children. If some tender heart is touched
with a sense of sin, and with childlike ear¬
nestness prays* to God for forgiveness, it too
often meets with a cold check to its ardor,
and is very likely to be told that it is too young
to understand these things; to wait a few
years longer, and they will be clearer to the
heart and understanding. There are plenty
in every church who look with a cold, unfa-
voring eye, on the admission of a young com¬
municant to the church. " It would be much
better to wait a few years longer, to see how
they will hold out." As one has remarked,
" they would-keep the tender lamb3 outside
the warm fold, and see how well they can
stand the winter blasts, and if they survive
them then they may be brought in." " I have
often had occasion to regret," said a minister
of large experience, " taking older people into
the church, but never a child."
I know a beautiful, worldly mother, who
would not permit a sister to take her little
son to the noon-day prayer meeting in the
time of revival, because she said they might
make him feel bad—thsy always did her—and
he was so little, she would not have him made
unhappy by the thought that he was a sinner I
What mistaken tenderness I He wished very
much to go, but hi3 mother beguiled his atten¬
tion by bright toys and childish amusements,
until he fjrgot his disappointment. Oh, be¬
ware how you thus forbid your little, child to
come to Jesus. Rather take him by the hand
and lead him to that Saviour's feet, and you
may be sure those pierced hands will be laid
more tenderly than a mother's upon the young
bowed heads, and that the blessing which
those heavenly lips bestow will outweigh all
the riches of earth. Lois.
D
O not be discouraged by difficulties, nor
— vex yourselves with what may be the
final results of your efforts. Just go on
quietly and diligently, seizing hold of every
occasion for improvement, and acquire habits
of industry, which will form your characters,
and stick to you through life. The likelihood
is, that by this simple but persevering course
—a course unmarked by any great effort—
you will pass the idle, the dissipated and the
timorous, realizing those re wards which usually
wait on well directed enterprise.
For the Snnday-School Times.
THE GREAT TRAVELER.
BY THE  REV. JOHN   TODD, D. D.
New Series—No. 27.
(T1HE large ant-hill, the home of many thou-
J- sands of industrious little creatures, was
near the stump of the great pine tree that
blew over a f=w years ago. The tree fell to¬
wards the lake, and it3 top sunk down far
under the waters. All around this huge log
the ants used to creep and forage, and if by
chance one found a dead musquito or a fly that
was a cripple, he immediately seized his prey
and proudly bore him home to the ant-hill
and laid him up for their winter's supply.
Nothing came amiss that an ant could eat.
How proud she felt when she came home tug¬
ging some decrepid insect that she had caught t
How the ants would make way for her, open¬
ing a path and lifting their heads in admira¬
tion I Is this the reason why a member of a
community, say the Jesuits, or the Shakers,
will work harder to get money, and make a
closer bargain than he would for himself
alone ? Is it because so many stand ready to
applaud him ?
In this community of busy ants, was one
brave fellow, whose legs were strong and
swift, and whose ambition was boundless. He
had been known to go as far as twenty feet
from home, a thing unheard of before. He had
come home "backwards, dragging the largest
grasshopper ever contributed to their larder-
At length stout Griffith was missing. The day
closed, and he did not return. The sentinels
around the door listened for his steps, but
heard them not. Had some voracious serpent
glided along and eaten him up ? Had some
great bird come along and snapped him up?
Had he stepped on the wet stone in the lake
and slipped off? Had the foot of that huge
monster, who don't know enough to walk only
on two legs, stepped on him and crushed him?
What had become of " Stout Griffith?" Run¬
ners were sent out who scoured round in every
direction, but who could procure no tidings of
him. The whole community got together and
made speeches, and went into mourning, and
voted him the greatest, noblest, most wonder¬
ful ant that ever lived I
Now it came to pass that just at sun-set of
the second day, as they were doing up the last
chores of the day, that poor Griffith came
creeping in! He was thin, and faint, and
weary, and almost dead with fright. He had
been through dangers such as no other ant
ever dreamed of I All gathered around to
hear the narrative of his escape. But he was
so faint that he could not say a word till he
had nibbled the leg of a fly to give him
strength. Having thus been revived, he thus
began:
" My friends, you all know my courage and
fearlessness; but I have just passed through
dangers such as are enough to make the hair
on your heads stand up as you listen. You
must know, then, that early in the morning of
my departure, I climbed up that great Etump
of the tree, and as I stood looking off upon the
great world, all of which lay directly under
my eye, I noticed a limb or stick hanging from
the stump down near the great log. So I crept
along on the stick, and had just reached the
log, when a gust of wind whirled my bridge
away 1 I was now alone on the mighty log,
on which no one had ever before placed his
foot. It was a vast, round, immeasurable
thing, very smooth and nice. I exulted to be
on it, and never stopped to ask how I could
get off. On and onward I traveled, till 1
found myself hundreds and hundreds of ouj
ant-miles away, and was over the water. As
I looked down into the water, there were the
most awful monsters ever seen. Some had
green long legs. Some eeemed to have no
legs, but a kind of wing, so that they could
move any way. How they lived there and
breathed there I could not tell. Just as I was
wondering over them, my foot slipped and
down I fell—down, down, four thousand feet,,
as we ants measure! I was stunned at first,
but on picking myself up I found I was float¬
ing on a great maple-leaf! The wind soon
began to blow, and the leaf rose and fell with
the great billows. Why! they were as big as
a man's thumb! So I ran from one side to
the other, to see if I could get off; but no ! it
was water, water, all around me. The wind,
too, blew me off the shore, and my vessel
floated off into the lake. I was now in awful
terror and danger. All around me those
swimming monsters would pop up and flap
their tails or catch the flies. What if they
should hit my leaf! Then those huge crea¬
tures called swallows kept flying and skim¬
ming over the lake. Then the night came onr
and the leaf floated, and the thunders roared,
and the lightning flashed, and the rain fell,
all the night long, and 0 what a night! I
was there clinging to my raft, and expecting
every moment to perieh. But in the morning
the wind changed and blew the leaf back
again to the shore, and at the peril of my life
I climbed up a rock and got ashore. And
here I am, the greatest traveler the world ever
saw, and a wonder to myself"
" Uncle Griffith, are you thankful for your
escape ?" cried a good little ant.
" Thankful ? Hem ! why, I'm glad, which
is something like it."
If words could satisfy the breast,
The world might hold a feast;
But words,—when summoned to the test,—
Oft satisfy the least!
Like plants that make a gaudy show,
All blossom to the root;
But where poor nature cannot grow
Ono particle of fruit!
.