te shades of pink, and
purple, and green, lying against the bare roots of the oak-trees!
But look deeper, or you will not find the flowers; they are under
the dead leaves."

"Now I have learned a lesson that I shall not forget," said her
friend. "This seems to me a bad world, and there is no denying that
there are bad things in it. To a sweeping glance, it will sometimes
seem barren and desolate; but not one buried germ of life and beauty
is lost to the All-seeing Eye. I, having the weakness of human
vision, must believe where I cannot see. Henceforth, when I am
tempted to complainings and despair on account of the evil around
me, I will say to myself, 'Look deeper, look under the dead leaves,
and you will find flowers.'"

THE FAMILY OF MICHAEL AROUT.

_September 15th, eight o'clock._--This morning, while I was
arranging my books, Mother Genevieve came in, and brought me the
basket of fruit I buy of her every Sunday. For nearly twenty years
that I have lived in this quarter, I have dealt in her little
fruit-shop. Perhaps I should be better served elsewhere, but Mother
Genevieve has but little custom; to leave her would do her harm, and
cause her unnecessary pain. It seems to me that the length of our
acquaintance has made me incur a sort of tacit obligation to her; my
patronage has become her property.

She has put the basket upon my table, and as I wanted her husband,
who is a joiner, to add some shelves to my bookcase, she has gone
down stairs again immediately to send him to me.

At first I did not notice either her looks or the sound of her
voice; but now, that I recall them, it seems to me that she was not
as jovial as usual. Can Mother Genevieve be in trouble about
anything?

Poor woman! All her best years were subject to such bitter trials,
that she might think she had received her full share already. Were I
to live a hundred years, I should never forget the circumstances
which first made her known to me, and which obtained her my respect.

It was at the time of my first settling in the faubourg. I had
noticed her empty fruit-shop, which nobody came into, and being
attracted by its forsaken appearance, made my little purchases in
it. I have always instinctively preferred the poor shops; there is
less choice in them, but it seems to me that my purchase is a sign
of sympathy with a brother in poverty. These little dealings are
almost always an anchor of hope to those whose very existence is in
pe