rse of the wealthy.

We like the Spring with its fine fresh air;
We like the Summer with flowers so fair;
We like the fruits we in Autumn share,
And we like, too, old Winter's greeting:
His touch is cold, but his heart is warm;
So, though he brings to us snow and storm,
We look with a smile on his well-known form,
And ours is a gladsome meeting.

[Decoration]

STITCHING AND TEACHING.

Will had had the croup. Then the measles took possession of him, and
lastly, the whooping-cough, finding him well swept and garnished,
entered in, and shook and throttled him in a manner quite deplorable.

His convalescence, however, was relieved of its monotony by a headlong
fall from a step ladder in the library, whereby he sprained his wrist,
to say nothing of the mischief that he made, in his descent, amid the
ink, books, and papers.

Treading on a pin in the sewing-room was another diversion in his
favor, giving him, for a while, a daily looking forward to bandages
and poultices, and an opportunity to weigh the advantages of obedience
in case he should ever again wish, and be forbidden, to jump out of
bed and run barefoot amid the dressmaker's shreds in search of his
top.

Now, all this is no uncommon experience for a small boy. I simply
mention it by way of apology for introducing Will in an unamiable
mood. One regrets to have one's friends make an unfavorable first
impression.

This was Will's first morning at school since his recovery. He found
that the boys had gone on in their Latin, had gone on in their French,
leaving him far behind; they had got into decimals, and he way back
pages; they had a new writing-master, and wrote with their faces
turned a new way, to the great disgust of Will. They had had a botany
excursion to Blue Hills, which he had lost. He was down at the foot of
the class, and at the end of the morning he had made up his desperate
mind to remain there forever. It was no use for a fellow to try to put
through such a pile of back lessons.

He came stamping up stairs, kicked at the nursery door, slung in his
bag of books, and stood on the threshold, pouting and glaring angrily
at his sister Emily.

Emily sat in the window opposite, the sunlight sifting through the
flickering ivy leaves on to her golden hair and fair sweet face. She
was singing over her sewing as Will made his noisy entrance. She
looked up at the scowling boy in the doorway, her pale c