A German Parable. head, is of no advantage in making a room comfortable, and does much injury to the Ir happened once, in a hot summer's day, I health, producing a dull irritable feeling of was standing near a well, when a little bird the head, successive returns of sick headache, flew down seeking water, There was, indeed, loss of appetite for food, and a gradual dea large trough near the well, but it was empty, cline of strength of body and vigor of mind. and I grieved for a moment to think that the The sympathy between head and stomach is little creature must go away thirsty; but it such, that very few persons can be any length settled upon the edge of the trough, bent its of time where heat is radiated directly upon little head forward, then raised it again, spread the head, withont the digestive organs being its wings, and soared away singing; its thirst affected, and especially such as are pre-diswas appeased. I walked up to the trough, posed to a dyspeptic habit. The feet may be and there, in the stone-work. I saw a little kept warm, but the head must be cool, to enhole about the size of a hen's egg. The wa-joy health of body and vigor of mind. It is ter held there had been a source of revival not uncommon for teachers and scholars to and refreshment; it had found enough for the complain that their school labors wear upon present and desired no more. This is content-health; but it is not the study and teaching ment. that impair it, rather these, properly conducted in a well regulated room as to heating and ventilation, may become auxiliaries to preserve health. Again, I stood by a lovely, sweet-smelling flower, and there came a bee humming and sucking; and it chose the flower for its field of sweets. But the flower had no honey. In my own school-room, the long reach of This I know, for it had no nectary. What, horizontal pipe overhead, I have had taken then, thought I, will the bee do? It came down and placed a short distance above the buzzing out of the cap to take a further flight; floor extending from the floor to the perpendicbut it spied the stamina full of golden farina, ular that goes up to the chimney. It has proved good for making wax, and it rolled its legs to add much to the comfort of the room; against them until they looked like yellow the oppressiveness that was before felt from hose, as the bee-keepers say; and then, heav- the heated air is now done away. Every enly laden, flew away home. Then said I-school-room should be freed from over-head "Thou camest seeking honey, and finding stove-pipe, except what is required to reach none, hast been satisfied with wax, and hast vertically to the chimney.-A Teacher in Scistored it for thy house, that thy labor be not entific American. in vain. This, likewise, shall be to me a lesson of contentment." The night is far spent -the dark night of trouble-that sometimes threatened to close around us; but the day is at hand, and even in the night there are stars, and I have looked out on them, and been comforted; for as one set I could always see another rise, and each was a lamp, showing me somewhat of the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowlegde of God. Se lected. Gutta Percha in its First State. THE substance which comes to us from the Eastern Archipelago, under the name of gutta percha, is contained in the descending sap of the "Isoundra Gutta," belonging to the natural order, "Sapotacec." This tree attains a great size, being sometimes as much as a yard in diameter, and sixty or seventy feet in height. Its soft and fibrous wood is used for industrial purposes, and its fruit furnishes a fatty oil. It is said that a tree, when cut down, will yield eighteen kilogrammes of gutta Ir is common in school-houses to use con- percha, or solid gum. The juices, dried in siderable overhead pipe from the stove, to in-thin strata, laid one upon another, form ircrease the means for the radiation of heat. regular masses of greater or less thickness, of But in my opinion, heat thrown out over- a reddish or grayish color. During many Overhead Pipe in the School Room. years, the natives of the countries where it is produced, have employed it almost solely in the formation of handles for axes, which possesses, when cold, a certain degree of flexibility, with great toughness. The gutta percha may be purified by rasping it in cold water, which removes the greater part of the soluble organic matter and salts, and also facilitates the separation of any portions of wood or earthy matter. The purification is completed by means of warm water, in several basins; the gutta percha is afterwards dried, and formed into a pasty mass by heating it to about two hundred and thirty degrees Fahrenheit, in a vessel with a steam-jacket. The gutta percha thus prepared becomes sufficiently soft to be readily joined, stretched out into sheets or straps of any thickness, drawn into tubes of various diameters, and moulded into form, whilst on being slowly cooled, it acquires great tenacity and solidity.-Student and Schoolmate. any FIRESIDE DEPARTMENT. For the Schoolmaster. Always on the Mark. YES, always on the mark. It is possible even for boys, and if you are not on the mark while you are boys, you will not be when you have grown up to manhood. Every individual is more or less governed by habit, and if you cultivate the habit in youth of being pnnctual, it will be an easy matter to be always on the mark when you have grown up to assume the active duties of life. How frequently have we heard the remark made in reference to some particular individual,is always late-he never keeps an appointment!" A man who is forever late, always behind the appointed time, will soon loose the confidence of the community, for they will correctly reason that he has but little regard for his word. Endeavor, then, while young, to cultivate the habit of punctuality; aim to incorporate it into your being as an indispensible element of character. I. D., JR. he Hope. BY SCHILLER. WE speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul, Of some better and fairer day; And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal Are gliding and sliding away. A Young Hero. MASTERS WALTERS had been much annoyed by some one of his scholars whistling in school. Now the world becomes old, now again it is Whenever he called a boy to account for such young, But "The Better 's forever the word on the tongue. At the threshold of life Hope leads us in- a disturbance, he would plead that it was unintentional-"he forgot all about where he was." This became so frequent that the master threatened a severe punishment to the next offender. The next day, when the room was Though the best of its charms may with youth unusually quiet, a loud, sharp whistle broke begin, Yet for age it reserves its toy. the stillness. Every one asserted that it was When we sink at the grave, why the grave has a certain boy who had the reputation of a scope, And over the coffin man planteth-HOPE! And it is not a dream of fancy proud, With a fool for its dull begetter; There's a voice at the heart that proclaims aloud, "We are born for something better !" And that voice of the heart, O, ye may believe, Will never the hope of the soul deceive! mischief maker and a liar. He was called up, and, though with somewhat stubborn look he denied it again and again, commanded to hold out his hand. At this instant, a little slender fellow, not more than seven years old, came out, and with a very pale but decided face, held out his hand, saying, as he did so, with the clear and firm tone of a hero; "Mr. Walters, Sir, do not punish him; I whistled. I was doing a long, hard sum, and What kind of a ship has two mates and no in rubbing out another, rubbed it out by miscaptain? A courtship. take and spoiled it all, and before I thought, I whistled right out, Sir. I was very much tippet children I'm thinking of; my mother afraid, but I could not sit there and act a lie always remembers them, and so do I try." when I knew who was to blame. You may ferule me, Sir, as you said you should." And with all the firmness he could command, he again held out the little hand, never for a moment doubting that he was to be punished. Mr. Walters was much affected. "Charles," said he, looking at the erect form of the delicate child, who had made such a conquest over his natural timidity, "I would not strike you a blow for the world. No one here doubts that you spoke the truth; you did not mean to whistle. You have been a hero, Sir. The boy went back to his seat with a flushed face, and quietly went on with his sums. He must have felt that every eye was upon him in admiration, for the smallest scholar could appreciate the moral courage of such an action. Hours. After the next storm, the old merchant sent fifty dollars to the treasurer of a relief socie ty, and said, call for more when you want it. The treasurer stared with surprise, for it was the first time he had collected more than a dollar from him, and that, he thought, came grudgingly." 66 Why," said the rich old merchant afterwards, "I could never get rid of that child's words; they stuck to me like glue." "And a little child shall lead them," says the Scripture. How many a cold heart has melted, and a close heart opened, by the simple earnestness and suggestive words of a child. A Noble Boy. Charles grew up, and became a devoted, THE following touching episode in street life consistent Christian. Let all our readers im-life in Paris-is a beautiful gem, and should itate his noble, heroic conduct. Twilight be in all memories surrounded with pearls of sweetest thought and gentlest sympathy: About nine o'clock in the morning, a little boy of twelve, whose jacket of white cloth and the apron ditto, distinctly indicated that he followed the profession of pastry cook, was returning from market with an open basket on his head, containing butter and eggs. When he had reached the vicinity of the What the Wind Says. "Do you know what the December wind says, grandpa ?" asked a little child at an old merchant's knee. "No, puss; what does it?" he answered, church of St. Eustache, the little fellow, who stroking her fair hair. Remember the poor!' grandpa; when it comes down the chimney, it roars, Remember the poor; when it puts its great mouth to the keyhole, it whistles, Remember the poor;' when it strides through a crack in the door, it whispers it; and, grandpa, when it blows your beautiful silver hair in the street, and you shiver and button up your coat, does it not get at your ear and say so too, in a still small voice, grandpa ? could only with difficulty make his way through the crowd, was violently jostled by a stranger, who was passing, so that the basket tipped, and fell to the ground with its content. The poor boy, when he saw his eggs all broken and his butter tumbled in the gutter, began to cry bitterly, and wring his hands. A person who happened to be in the crowd that gathered around the little fellow, drew a ten sou piece from his pocket, and giving it to the boy, asked the rest who stood grouped “Why, what does the child mean?" cried around him to do the same, to make up the grandpa, who, I am afraid, had been used to loss occasioned by this accident. Influenced shut his heart against such words. "You by his example, every one present eagerly want a new muff and tippet, I reckon; a complies, and very speedily the boy's apron pretty way to get them out of your old grand-contained a respectable collection of coppers father." "No, grandpa," said the child, earnestly shaking her head, "no; it's the no muff and and silver. When all had contributed their quota, our young valet, whose distress had vanished in a moment as though by en chantment, warmly thanked his new benefactors for their kindness. and forthwith proceeded to count the sum he had received, which amounted to no less than 25 francs and 35 centimes. But instead of quietly putting this sum in his pocket, he produced the bill of the articles he had lost, and as its total amounted only to 14 francs, he appropriated no more than that sum, and then, observing in the group a poor woman in rags, the little fellow walked right to her, and placed the remainder in her hand. Certainly it would have been impossible to show himself more deserving of public generosity, or to acknowledge it in a handsomer manner. The boy's noble conduct was greeted with the applause of the crowd, who were delighted to find such delicacy and propriety in one so young.-Burritt's Citizen. Take the Other Hand. Ir was one of the first days of Spring, when a lady, who had been watching by the sick bed of her mother for some weeks, went out to take a little exercise and enjoy the fresh air. She hoped that she might hear a bird sing, or see some little wild flower which would speak to her of future hope, for her heart was full of anxiety and sorrow. After walking some distance, she came to a ropewalk. She was familiar with the place, and entered. At one end of the building, she saw a little boy turning a large wheel; she thought it to laborious for such a child, and as she came near, she spoke to him. "Almost nine." "Do you ever get tired of turning this great wheel?" "Yes; sometimes." "And what do you do then?" "I take the other hand." The lady gave him a piece of money. "Is this for my mother?" he asked, looking pleased. "No; it is for yourself." "Thank you, ma'am," the boy said, and and the lady bade him farewell. She went home strengthened in her devo-. tion to duty, and instructed in true practical philosophy, by the words and example of a little child; and she said to herself, "The next time that duty seems hard to me, I will imitate this child and take the other hand.” Our Old Grandmother. [It may be, that some of our readers have seen the following beautiful tribute to "Our Grandmother;" but, if they are as much pleased with it as we have been, they would like to read it many times. Who has not the most pleasing recollections of a grandmother! Who, that has a grandmother, does not love her, yes, venerate her. Let all honor be given to our grandparents, and especially to our good old grandmother. Would that the daughters, and the granddaughters, oftener followed in the footsteps of the old fashioned grandmother. Let no one whose eye falls upon this, leave it without "Who sent you to this place?" she asked. reading the entire article.-Ed.] Nobody; I came of myself." "Does your father know you are here?" "Are you paid for your "Do you like this work?" "Well enough; but if I did not, I should do it, that I might get the money for my mother." • How long do you work in the day ?” "From nine till eleven in the morning, and from two till five in the afternoon." "How old are you?” "I find the marks of my shortest steps beside those of my beloved mother, which were measured by my own," says Alexander Dumas, and so conjures up one of the sweetest images in the world. He was revisiting the home of his infancy; he was retracing the little paths around it in which he once had walked; and' strange flowers could not efface, and rank grass could not conceal, and cruel plows could not obliterate his "shortest footsteps," and his mother's beside them, measured by his own. And who needs to be told whose footsteps they were that thus kept time with the feeble pattering of children's little feet? It was no other. mother with whom Ascanius walked "with length of days, let them love and honor her, equal steps" in Virgil's line, but a strong for we can tell them they will never find anstern man, who could have borne him and not have been burdened; folded him in his arms from all danger and not have been wearied; everything he indeed could have done for hin, but just what he needed most-he could not sympathize with him-could not be a child again. Ah a rare art is that—for indeed it is an art-to set back the old clock of time and be a boy once more! Man's imagination can easily see the child a man; and he who has learned to glide back into the rosy time when he did not know that thorns were under the roses, or that clouds would ever return after the rain; when he thought a tear could stain a cheek no more than a drop of rain a flower; when he fancied that life had no disguise and hope no blight at all-has come as near as anybody can to discovering the northwest passage to Paradise. And it is, perhaps, for this reason that it is so much easier for a mother to enter the kingdom of Heaven than it is for the rest of the world. She fancies that she is leading the children, when after all the children are leadher, and they keep her indeed where the river is narrowest and the air is clearest and the beckoning of the radiant hand is so plainly seen from the other side it is no wonder she so often lets go her clasp upon the little finger she is holding and goes over to the neighbors, and the children follow like lambs to the fold, for we think it ought sometimes to be written : "Where the mother is, there will the children be also." There is a large old kitchen somewhere in the past, and an old-fashioned fireplace therein with its smooth jambs of stone-smooth with many knives that had been sharpened there-smooth with many little fingers that have clung there. There are andirons, too,the old andirons with rings on the top wherein many temples of flames had been builded, with spires and turrets of crimson. There is a broad worn hearth, by feet that have been torn and bleeding by the way, or been made "beautiful" and walked upon the floors of tesselated gold. There are tongs in the corner wherewith we grasped a coal and “blowing for a little life" lighted our first candle; there is a shovel, wherewith were drawn forth the glowing embers in which we saw our first fancies and dreamed our first dreams — the shovel with which we stirred the sleepy logs till the sparks rushed up the chimney as if a forge were in full blast below, and wished we had so many lambs, so many marbles, or so many somethings that we coveted; and so it was we wished our first wish. There is a chair-a low rush bottom chair; there is a little wheel in the corner, a big wheel in the garret, a loom in the chamber. There are chests full of linen and yarn, and quilts of rare patterns, aud samplers in frames. And everywhere and always the dear old wrinkled face of her, whose firm elastic step mocks the feeble saunter of her children's But it was not of the mother we began to children-the old-fashioned grandmother of think, but of the dear old-fashioned grand-twenty years ago. She, the very Providenec mother, whose thread of love "by hand" on of the old homestead-she, who loved us all life's little wheel was longer and stronger than they make now, was wound around and about the children's arms, in a true love knot that nothing but the shears of Atropos could sever, for do we not recognize the lambs sometimes when summer days are over and autumn winds are blowing, as they come bleating from the yellow fields, by the crimson thread we wound about their necks in April or May, and so undo the gate and let the wanderers in ? Blessed be the children who have an oldfashioned grandmother. As they hope for and said she wished there was more of us to love, and took all the school in the Hollow for grandchildren beside. A great expansive heart was hers beneath that woolen gown or that more stately bombazine or that sole heirloom of silken texture. We can see her to-day-those mild blue eyes, with more of beauty in them than time could touch or death do more than hidethose eyes that held down smiles and tears within the faintest call of every one of us, and soft reproof that was not passion, but regret. A white tress has escaped from beneath |