DISCONTENTED DAISY.

AM afraid you may think that the little girl of whom I am going to tell you was not well named, if she was discontented and yet was called 'Daisy.' That flower seems the very image of contentment, and gives such pleasure, even while we crush it under foot, that, I dare say, you may think any discontented cross-grained child should hardly have had such a pretty name. Yet, so it was. When she was born, daisies were in full bloom out in the fields, in the sunny meadows, and in shady retired places too, where there were not many passers by to admire them, nor children to weave chains of the sweet little flower. Mr Mortimer, proud of his little girl, his only daughter, called her 'Daisy.'

But how did she get 'discontented' joined to her name? Well, you may be sure, that addition was not made all at once. It was not till many summers had passed, and Daisy had grown old enough to take her place in her own little world, playing with brothers both older and younger than herself, visiting companions, learning lessons with them at school, and receiving all possible kindness from an indulgent father and mother; in short, not until she had made for herself what we call a 'character,' did any one speak of her as discontented Daisy.' We have our christian names given us when we are babies, we earn other titles for ourselves as we grow older; and by degrees a girl may find out that she is called kind, obliging, passionate, idle, or discontented, as Daisy was. Perhaps it was just because she had such an indulgent father and mother, and such kind brothers, that the little girl got so used to having her own way, that she gradually became a discontented child.

She was quite a contrast to her cousin Lucy, who had by no means a very easy time of it; not many toys or sweetmeats given her, nor much play either, for she had a sick mother, and the children were often told to make little noise, and to run gently through the house for fear of disturbing her. Lucy and her two sisters were taught to think of others and their happiness, while poor Daisy only thought of what would please herself. Many a time Lucy almost lost heart in the middle of some game, when her cousin would all at once become quite sulky, if everything was not exactly as she wished; had she suddenly seen her face in a looking glass, I think she would have been both ashamed and sorry.

It was Daisy's birth-day, and Lucy was coming to spend the afternoon at Sunnybrae-that was the name of Mr Mortimer's house. Surely,' said Lucy to herself, as she walked along the road, and looked at a pretty book she held in her hand and which was to be her gift to her cousin, 'Daisy will be in good humour to-day, when she is getting so many nice presents: if only mother were well, how happy I should be, though my birth-day is ever so far off, and I have spent all my Saturday sixpences on what I have bought, first for Ellen, then for Mary, and now for Daisy, but I do like to see them pleased.'

Just before Lucy's arrival, Daisy had a sulky fit. It had been a bright morning, and everything promised well for a pic-nic the young people were to have in the dell, as they called it; but about eleven o'clock the sky clouded over, and there was a heavy thunder shower. Very soon after, the sun shone out brightly, but the ground was so wet that Mrs Mortimer said there could be no sitting on the grass that day.

'How provoking, mother,' said Daisy, 'I'm sure it is all nonsense that we could get any harm out there; the summer house is not nearly so nice for our pic-nic.'

'Daisy, dear,' said her mother, 'I did hope you would try to begin the year well, by being more contented. How much you have to make you happy! how kind every

She is up-stairs, Lucy,' said Mrs Mortimer, 'I fear she is much disappointed: the ground is so wet that I cannot allow you to be in the dell.'

Oh, that's a pity,' said Lucy, but nobody can help the rain, and we can all be quite happy in the summer-house. Mary and Ellen are coming soon; they are bringing strawberries from our own garden,' and she bounded upstairs to the nursery. Lucy was trying with all her might to take the advice given her in her text book that morning, 'By love, serve one another,' and remembering at that moment another favourite verse which her mother often repeated, Even Christ pleased not Himself,' she seemed like a sunbeam entering the room.

'What a lovely doll,' said Lucy, as she saw the beautiful birth-day gift of Daisy's brothers lying on the table, and in her admiration of the present, she at first hardly noticed Daisy's sulky welcome.

Oh! 'tis very pretty,' said the discontented child, but this provoking rain! Mother says we can't pic-nic in the dell: it is so tiresome.'

'I dont think so,' said Lucy, the summerhouse will be delightful; the cakes and tarts will be better on the round table than on the grass; and then another shower might come, and where would lovely Dolly be then? for of course she must come with us.'

The splendour of the doll almost made Lucy lose conceit of her own pretty book, which she had thought so grand before, but she put it into her cousin's hand, saying, With my love, Daisy-will you like it, do you think?'

Something very like shame at her bad temper was in Daisy's voice and manner, as she made an effort to be a little more agreeable, and took the book out of Lucy's hand, 'Thank you, dear Lucy,' she said, 'you are very kind: it is a beautiful book, and I dare say the story inside will be nice too. If it had only been fine to-day, I think everything would have been right.'

Lucy saw that Daisy was gradually recovering good humour, but that her

pride would not allow her at once to forget her disappointment. Everything is quite right, Daisy,' said the kind child. 'It sometimes seems to me as if you must be the very happiest girl in the world; perhaps, if only mother were well, I might think I was; and at the thought of the pale cheek she had kissed that morning, and the short hard cough that had waked her again and again during the night, Lucy's blue eyes filled with tears. I am quite sure that the wistful look of her cousin, and her bright, sunny disposition, in spite of the dark shadow that hung over her home, did more to make Daisy thoroughly penitent that day than all the advices and reproofs that her mother had given her.

'Come along then, Lucy,' said Daisy, and with all her might she tried to speak in a cheerful voice. If you like, we can go and make the summer-house all ready before Ellen and Mary come. You can take charge of Dolly, they will like to see her, I dare say: I'll bring the skipping ropes and ball, we can perhaps play on the walks, if not on the grass, and she almost sighed again, as the thought of the dell came over her.

Away they went, nurse following with a pretty birth-day cake; the little girl's name was on the top, and all round it were red and white flowers;-supposed to be daisies -the confectioner said it was quite a work of art, and as he knew best, of course we are bound to believe him. Just when the table was spread, the cake in the centre, and perfect loves' of tarts, as Lucy called them, here and there, Mary and Ellen made their appearance, and the bright strawberries put the finishing touch to the repast. Dolly sat on Daisy's right hand, the seat of honour, and I dont think ever there was a happier birth-day. The spirit of Lucy's text seemed infectious, and Daisy forgot the disappointment of the morning in the effort she honestly made to give happiness to her cousins. If she continues to improve, it will be gradually easier for her to overcome her discontented spirit, and by next birth-day, Mrs Mortimer fondly hopes