It is just the way with every thing I undertakè,” he continued', as he threw himself into a chair, with an air of vexation; "too bad!" he repeated once morè; and, suddenly snatching up the ill-fated sheet, he tore it hastily in pieces, and then', to finish the work of destruction', crumpled up the fragments', and threw them into the fire. His sister remonstrated, telling him that he might have used the pieces for drawing smaller maps', instead of wasting the whole sheet. But he should'nt want to draw any more maps after that, he said. He would nēvēr toūch ånōthēr ōne in his life, if he could help it. But, as it was, it could not be helped. A map must be ready before the next Saturday, and there was no time to be lost. His sister brought him another sheet', and encouraged him to try again. Frederic took the offered sheet', but he did not go to work with alacrity and good-humor, as he ought to have done', when his sister was at so much pains to assist and encourage him. He knew that he should not succeed any better than before; and he did'nt believe that he should draw Cape Cod half as well. All this he stopped to fret about', instead of going to work immediately to do his best'; and when, at last, he took the pencil, and commenced drawing', it was with such a careless, languid air', it was not to be expected that he would succeed. There he sat', with his chair at some distance from the tablè, and with his hand upon one side', as if merely scribbling upon the paper for amusement. Stopping to survey his work after a little while', he declared that every line of it was wrong. He took up the India rubber'; but, instead of drawing it across the paper only in ōne direction', as he had been cautioned always to do, he began to rub back and forth with all his might, till the paper slipped', and was wrinkled so badly as to be completely spoiled. Frederic's patience was now entirely gone. He declared that he would'nt try again', for it was of no sort of use. Again his sister tried to soothe his feelings. She advised him to put up his things for that evening, as he was tired'; and she promised to wake him early in the morning', when he could take hold afresh. She would help him all she côuld, she said`; and she had no doubt that he would make a very handsome map, after all', if he would only try to be patient and cheerful about it. Frederic made no answer', but sat still, in a disconsolate mood, at the table', while his sister gathered up his implements and papers. This was not the way in which Frederic ought to have received his sister's kindness'; and so he himself thought, after he had retired to his room', and had opportunity for reflection. "How much trouble I have been giving Mary all this evening', besides interrupting her from her work! What an improper spirit I have shown'! It does no good for me to resolve not to get out of patience, for so I always do when any thing perplexes me.' It is of no use, it is true, to make good resolutions of any kind', if we trust to ourselves to keep them'; but God has promised his assistance to all who will seek it. This thought came into Frederic's mind as he pursued his reflections'; and he sincerely offered a prayer that he might be able to conquer the impatient', fretful spirit', into which little difficulties were so likely to betray him. His feelings had become calm'; and now he began to look forward to the next day', and almost to wish that something might happen to trouble him', that he might have an opportunity to try his newly-made resolution. He awoke early the next morning, and contrived to creep into the parlor', and have time for an hour's work upon his new map', before his sister came to knock at his door. She was surprised, on entering the room, to find him successfully at work', with a calm and a pleasant countenance; and her pleasure was equal to Frederic's, when the map was finally completed without accident', and without so much as an "Oh, dear!" having escaped his lips. He had almost hoped that he should meet with some trouble with it, as he told his sister', that she might see how much better he could behave about it', than he did the evening when he had given her so much trouble. But the truth is, when people go calmly and patiently about any piece of work', calculating to meet with difficulties', but resolved not to be fretted or put out of humor by them', such difficulties are not half as likely to occur; or, at any rate, the work will be sure to get on better', by far', than it would do in the hands of hasty', impatient', fretful people. LESSON LIÍ. CRUELTY. WHILE you are young, avoid cruelty. You would not tear away the wing of a robin'; why should you tear that of a butterfly'? You wonld not run a spike through a spaniel dog'; why should you run one through a cockchaffer'? You would not rob a house'; why should you pilfer the nest of a poor bird' ? Show me a cruel boy, and I will show you one who will be a hard-hearted man'. Whether the object of your cruelty be great' or small-whether it be an insect', a bird', an animal', or a human being', it is of little consequence only, cruelty is more mean when practiced against the weak and defenceless', than against the strong and powerful. The boy who is ignorant', may be pitied'; he who is thoughtless', may be pardoned'; but he who is crûel, ought to be despised. Some boys seem to find their chief happiness in persecuting defenceless animals. If an unlucky dog or cat comes within their reach', they can never rest until they have devised some ingenious way of tormenting it. The more the animal seems to suffer', the more they enjoy it. It was but the other day that I saw a tall bōy, twelve years of age', amusing himself with the struggles of a poor little mouse which he had taken prisoner. The boy tied a long string to the leg of the mouse, and then let it run as far as the string would allow. The little trembling captive seemed to supposé, for a moment, that it was at liberty', but as soon as it had run the length of the string' the boy pulled it back with a sudden jerk. And this was done many times', till the panting little thing was entirely exhausted. Such a boy ought to be despised'; to be shunned by every acquaintance, who possesses a noble and generous spirit. I have somewhere read an anecdote which pleased me much. It was this: A hare, closely pursued by hounds', was suddenly lost to sight'; she had plunged into a deep ditch overgrown with briers'; and, after running some distance along its bottom, crept slowly up the bank and stretched herself', breathless and almost dead with terror and fatigue', beneath the legs of a group of school-boys', who had there seated themselves', watching, with deep anxiety and interest', the fortunes of the chase. As soon as the astonishment excited by this unexpected appearance of poor puss had somewhat subsided', an animated debate arose among the boys', respecting the disposal of the exhausted creature. The majority, allured by the hope of reward', voted that the poor refugee should be promptly given up to her merciless pursuers. One boy, however, declared loudly against it as an act of perfidy', and said very firmly' that he would defend poor puss', let it cost what it would. The intrepid fellow was at length joined by one or two of his more generous associates. After some dispute', the voice of honor and mercy prevailed'; a glow of exultation lighted up the eyes and expanded the hearts of the youthful defenders of the persecuted creaturé, when they heard voices of dog and man, after a short pause', grow fainter upon the breeze. The poor hare, recruited by a few minutes respite', limped off in safety, or at least to die in peace' in an adjoining wood. These boys exhibited the right spirit'; they performed a noble deed', which will give them real pleasuré, whenever they think of it', as long as they live. The exercise of kind feelings strengthens their power. And the boy who begins by protecting a poor persecuted, and suffering animal', is likely to grow up a humane', benevolent', and noble-hearted man. Be kind, then, to every creature. Try to promote happiness whenever you can. The world is full of suffering', and animals have a large share of it to endure. A good man ought not to let any opportunity to lessen the amount pass without improving it. If we neglect to give relief in cases where the uneasiness or pain, though apparent, is not great', we shall be in great danger of becoming indifferent`; that habit will strengthen, and at last, hard-heartedness and cruelty will become traits of our character. A good man, who probably had cultivated tenderness of feeling towards animals', relates the following anecdote of himself: "One day I got off my horse to kill a rat, which I found on the road only half killed. I am shocked at the thoughtless cruelty of many people', and yet I did a thing, soon after', that has given me considerable uneasiness', and for which I reproach myself bitterly. As I was riding homeward, I saw a wagon standing at a door with three horses'; the two foremost were eating corn from bags at their noses`; but I observed that the third had dropt his' on the ground', and could not stoop to get any food. However, I rode on, in absence of mind', without assisting him. But when I had arrived nearly home' I remembered what I had observed, while busily thinking of some subject', and felt extremely hurt at my neglect', and would have ridden back', had I not thought that the wagoner' might have come out of the house and relieved the horse. A man could not have a better demand for getting off his horse', than such an act of humanity." I am of the same opinion. LESSON LIII. DIVINE CARE AND PROTECTION. A HYMN. THERE springs to light no beauteous flower' No mountain pine, amid the sky', The bee, that stores his curious cell The fountain whence such bounty flows. The condor, mightier than the king' The dazzling myriads of the stream', |