3. A bird flew down to the brink of the clear water, and then, perching on a green bough above, trilled forth its happy song. Squirrels and rabbits leaped along through the rustling grass to her side, and went away refreshed and glad. The merry little minnows darted to and fro in her shallow basin, happy through her, for even their life depended on the home and supply she gave them.

4. The ferns and grasses in their fresh green, goldcrowned cowslips, and buttercups, tiny flowers and blue violets bloomed beside her, giving fragrance and beauty in return for her benison of life and growth, and the glad sunshine threw its mantle of blessing over one and all. It silvered her tiny waves more and more, as, flowing on contentedly, she bathed the roots of a young cherry tree.

5. And then the brook noticed that none of these lived to themselves alone. The tree gave its fruit to the birds, and afforded quiet, shaded resting-places for their nests. The birds brooded and fed their little ones. The rabbits and squirrels were busy carrying home food to their families. The elder, which bloomed beside her, gave its blossoms to make tea for a sick child, as she learned from the talk of two little girls who came for them; she was restless, they said, and it would soothe her to sleep. All were busy, all contented.

6. The brook had learned her lesson. She rippled gladly on, bearing health and strength to all she touched, knowing not how beautiful was the melody she sang, but making her way more and more out of the shadows and into the sunlight. Another and another brook met her on her course through rolling meadows, golden in sunshine.

7. Onward, ever onward, active and cheery, she flowed,

bearing blessings wherever she went, and reflecting the sunlight of heaven. Far back amid mountain solitudes and shady woods the little brook could be traced; but a deep, calm, broad river rolled through meadow-lands and between shores of changing scenery- - forest, field, and hill, and happy human homes.

peat tō tāl

LESSON XC.

swamp

děp ō şi'tion

ORIGIN OF COAL.

growth work'å ble

1. COAL is undoubtedly derived from the vegetation of the numerous swamps that existed during the Carbonic Period. The proofs of this statement are found in the coal-beds and in the strata above and below. In the coal itself, the microscope reveals decomposed vegetable tissue. Leaves are found abundantly in the shale above and roots in the shale below. If all this is not conclusive, an examination of the swamps and bogs of to-day will reveal incipient coal-beds. The peat is but coal in its first stages. All vegetable matter when it decomposes under water in the absence of air, becomes more and more bituminized till it is finally coal. If it decomposes in the presence of air, nothing but vegetable mold results.

2. The swamps lasted longer in some places than in others, and hence the coal-beds are thicker in those situations. In the same swamp, also, some parts had a thicker deposit of leaves than others, and therefore thin coal-beds

may thicken in portions of an area to such an extent that it pays to work the beds for the coal.

3. Careful estimates state that one-eighth of an inch of coal represents the growth of swamp vegetation for a century; therefore a ten-inch bed of coal represents the growth of swamp vegetation for eight thousand years. A bed of coal forty inches thick represents a swamp growth and deposition of peat for thirty-two thousand years; two hundred and sixty inches represent a swamp growth of vegetation for over two hundred thousand years.

LYMAN C. WOOSTER.

LESSON XCI.

NEW EVERY MORNING.

1. EVERY day is a fresh beginning,

Every morn is the world made new. You who are weary of sorrow and sinning, Here is a beautiful hope for you;

A hope for me and a hope for you.

2. All the past things are past and over.

The tasks are done and the tears are shed.

Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover;

Yesterday's wounds, which smarted and bled,
Are healed with the healing which night has shed.

3. Yesterday now is a part of forever;

Bound up in a sheaf which God holds tight,

With glad days, and sad days, and bad days, which never

Shall visit us more with their bloom and their blight,
Their fullness of sunshine or sorrowful night.

4. Let them go, since we cannot relive them,
Cannot undo and cannot atone;

God in His mercy receive, forgive them;
Only the new days are our own-
To-day is ours and to-day alone.

5. Here are the skies, all burnished brightly;
Here is the spent earth, all reborn;
Here are the tired limbs, springing lightly
To face the sun and to share with the morn
In the chrism of dew and the cool of dawn.

6. Every day is a fresh beginning;

Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain,
And spite of old sorrow and older sinning,
And puzzles forecasted and possible pain,
Take heart with the day and begin again.

LOIS CATESBY.

play fěl lowş
mirth

meas'üre (mězh)

1. FOUR sunbeams came to the earth one day,

Shining and dancing along on their way,

Resolved that their course should be blest.

"Let us try," they all whispered, "some kindness to do— Not to seek our own pleasure all the day through Then meet in the eve at the west."

2. One sunbeam went in at an old cottage door,

And played hide-and-seek with a child on the floor,
Till baby laughed loud in his glee,

And chased with delight his strange playmate so bright,
The little hands grasping in vain for the light
That ever before them would flee.

3. One sunbeam crept to a couch where an invalid lay, And brought him a gleam of a sweet summer day Its bird-song and beauty and bloom

Till pain was forgotten and weary unrest;
In fancy he roamed to the scenes he loved best,
Far away from the dim, darkened room.

4. One stole to the heart of a flower that was sad,
And loved and caressed her until she was glad,
And lifted her white face again.

For love brings content to the lowliest lot,
And finds something sweet in the dreariest spot,
And lightens all labor and pain.

5. And one, where a little blind girl sat alone,
Not sharing the mirth of her playfellows, shone
On hands that were folded and pale;

And it kissed the poor eyes that had never known
sight,

And that never should gaze on the beautiful light,

Till angels should lift up the veil.

6. At last, when the shadows of evening were falling, And the sun, their great father, his children was calling,