Did I do all in my power to assist my sister'?—I was ill-natured', and do not deserve the box. It is not mine."

Ellen felt too unhappy to keep the box', and at last she sorrowfully returned it', saying': "Mother', I was not good. I do not deserve the present which you have been so kind as to buy for me.'

"Why have you done anything that is wrong'?" "Yes, mother', I was very ill-natured towards Mary, just now', when she asked me to go up stairs." "Well, Ellen', I will place the box on the shelf. When you think that you have overcome your habit of petulence and ill-nature', you may take it for your own."

Three days after this scene had taken place', Ellen entered the parlor. She looked at the box', and then placed her finger to her lips', and reflected. "Why have I been so much happier," said she' for these three days past, than I was before'? It has not been because I hoped to have the box', for I could have taken that at any time. It must have been because I have left off that ill-natured habit', which is so disagreeable to others as well as to myself. Shall I take the box now'? No. I think I will wait a little longer."

With great self-denial, Ellen refrained from taking possession of the box for a whole month. At the end of that time she took it down', and carrying it to her mother, said, "Here, mother', is the box which you gave me, and though it is very pretty', I do not think it has made me so happy as the victory which I have gained over my ill-nature."

"You speak truth', Ellen'," said her mother'; "the ill-natured child is, after all', a greater enemy to herself than to any one else'; while, on the contrary, she who studies to oblige and make those around her

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contented', will be happier than jewels or riches can render her."

Will young readers take a hint from this simple but true story'? Our lives are short', and you may never be happier in this world than now', while you are children. Why should we embitter each other's moments by ill-nature and petulence'? Why should we not strive to render each other every obligation in our power', especially when such an act is a means of ensuring our own happiness'?

Ill-natured children will be disliked by young and old. Their selfishness will render them an object of aversion to others', while their cross and dissatisfied humor will make them a burden to themselves. Let us look to the example of our meek and long-suffering Saviour', and act according to his precepts.

LESSON LXXI.

GOOD-HUMORED OBEDIENCE.

"OH dear! Mother', must I finish all this hemming before I go to walk' ?" said little Helen Somers', as she held up the handkerchief she was at work upon. "I do wish you would let me go now;-will you mother' ?"

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No', Helen'," replied her mother'; you must do all that I gave you to do. I want to see the handkerchief done and put away before you go out."

"Why, mother'," persisted Helen', "there is no hurry about the handkerchief`, and I can finish it just as well after I come home. I know I can do it before dark', and why may I not go out a little while first' ?"

In this way Helen went on to tease and trouble her

mother', until she received a peremptory and decided refusal'; and then she made up her mind that her mother was really very cross and unkind to her.

Her mother had taken the work into her own hands' to look at the sewing', and she told Helen she thought that she had not taken quite pains enough to do it well. This made Helen still more vexed. Instead of saying pleasantly', "I am sorry it is not done neatly, mother'-I will try to do the rest better',' she declared it was done as well as she knew how to do it, and that she could not do it any better if she tried.

Her mother looked very sad to see her daughter behave in so undutiful a manner', and she sighed when she returned her the work. Helen seemed not to notice this, but she took the handkerchief with something of a jerk', and then turned herself about a little upon her cricket', so as almost to sit with her back to her mother`.- "How cross mother is, not to let me go, when she knows I want so much to do it, and when I could finish this just as well another time." These were her thoughts as she sat pouting, and twitching her thread', and making the most of every knot or other difficulty in her way.

If, instead of this, she had said', "what a perverse, undutiful girl, I am," she would have been more nearly right. Helen could see no reason, in this case, why her mother refused to let her do as she wished. But that was no reason at all why she should be vexed', or refuse to acquiesce in her decision. Her mother

had, in reality', very good reasons for refusing to let her go out until her work was finished. She wished to accustom her little girl to habits of industry and stability; and when Helen asked to go out', she said to herself'" If I allow her to leave her work for this time', she will want to leave it at other times', and she

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will come to feel restless and discontented' whenever I give her a stint`; she will always be thinking of something else' that she would like to be doing';the hour for work will seem more tedious than it does now', and when the time for play comes', she will not enjoy it half as well as if she had been industriously employed until its arrival."

Helen' thought nothing about these reasons', but, as we have said before', that was no excuse for her yielding so reluctantly to her mother's wishes. No mother is under any obligation to tell her children the reason why she refuses, in any case', to let them do exactly as they would like. No child ought ever to say', "Why, mother', may I not do so';" or " What is the reason you wish me to do such and such a thing' ?"-It is enough for children to know what their parents' wishes are. They ought to comply with them cheerfully, and with alacrity', whatever they are.

We hope that none of the children who may read this book', will ever imitate the example of Helen. You show an undutiful spirit when you are ill-humored and vexed', or when you make your parents any sort of trouble because you cannot have your own way. It is just as if you were to say in so many words', "I will do as I have a mind to." The next time you make a request of your parents, which they do not see fit to grant', try to act pleasantly' about it. Give up at once', and say no more about it. It is never right for children to tease their parents for any thing. A dutiful, considerate child, will never be heard saying', "Dō, father'," or, "dō mother', let me have such and such a thing," after his father or mother has once refused. It is right, in every case', to tell them that you wished very much for a certain favor'; but it i wrong to teaze them about it', or to be sullen', or out of humor', if it is not granted.

You certainly cannot suppose that your parents would ever wish to deny you any indulgence without a good reason. They love you too much to do that. Whenever they deny you any thing you wish', it is because they know it will not be best for you to have it. Remember this whenever you are refused permission to sit up as late in the evening as you would like', or to go out when your parents think the weather is not suitable', or to take food which they think is not wholesome for you', or to join your companions in play abroad' when they wish you to be in the house with them. Remember that they refuse because they judge it safest aud best for you', and, by no means, because they wish to deprive you of any pleasure'; and that you ought to avoid giving them any pain or trouble, by your ill-humored looks' or reluctant compliance.

LESSON LXXII.

THE LOST NESTLINGS.

"HAVE you seen my darling nestlings'?"
A mother robin cried',

"I cannot find them',

Though I've sought them far and wide.

"I left them well this morning',

When I went to seek their food' ;
But I found, upon returning',

A nest without a brood.

"O have you nought to tell me',

That will ease my aching breast,'

About my tender offspring

That I left within the nest'?