and though Robbie was much troubled to think what his mother
would do without the little help he had been able to render her, he
was persuaded that the best way to serve her was to improve himself.
He had not been long away before a message came to his mother telling
her that he could earn enough by the sale of his little drawings to
pay one of the village-lads to fetch wood and water, and to do other
little things for her; that he was improving very fast, and that he
had good reason to hope that he should one day be able to earn enough
to keep them all in comfort.

Little Maria was busy braiding straw when this message came.

"I shall not want Robbie to work for me, mother," she said. "I shall
soon be able to earn my own living, and I will help to support our
dear mother when she grows old."

"God bless you, my child!" said the happy mother. "With such dutiful
children as you and your dear brother, no mother need fear to grow
old."

You're starting to-day on life's journey,
Along on the highway of life;
You'll meet with a thousand temptations;
Each city with evil is rife.
This world is a stage of excitement;
There's danger wherever you go;
But if you are tempted in weakness,
Have courage, my boy, to say NO!

THE RUSTIC MIRROR.

Sadie's boudoir is a meadow,
Carpeted with blue-eyed grass;
Slender birches, rounded maples,
Frame her inlaid looking-glass.

Curtains woven up in cloud-land
Trail their fringes over all,
Shifting shadows gray and purple,
Which aerial elves let fall.

Hither Sadie, morn and evening,
Comes for water from the spring,
Pausing ere she fills her pitcher
Where the greenest mosses cling,--

Pausing where, as in a mirror,
She a wistful face beholds;
Magic mirror, for within it
Many a vision fair unfolds.

When the April clouds are driven
Over depths of azure skies,
Windows open into heaven,
And she sees her mother's eyes.

When she binds upon her forehead
Wreath of daisies twined with wheat,
She is queen, and wears a jewelled
Crown, with slippers on her feet.

When the glories of October,
Crimson maple, golden birch,
Make her mirror finer, richer,
Than stained windows of a church,--

She of golden-rod and aster
Weaves a garland for her hair,
Leans above the magic mirro