our armour in the midst of the battle, and so must not wonder at the worst that follows.

In a word, present prayer is a certain guard against present temptation; but as to what may come, we cannot be assured that it will keep us from it or support us under it.

THE ARUM AND VIOLET.

THE Snows of winter had melted, and the bright sun and soft shower had roused from its long sleep many a fair and lovely flower. Beneath the shelter of an embowering hawthorn hedge,-whose twigs were just beginning to be fringed with pale green leaves, and which cast daily a deeper shadow upon the soft turf that clothed the bank,-grew a stately arum. Its deep myrtle leaves reflected on the shiny surface the few straggling sunbeams that had power to pierce the thickly-woven boughs which shrouded the nook; and which, as they faded, made it yet darker than before.

"What are those tender leaves, half hidden by the thick grass?" cried a young and joyous maiden, who had traversed that morn many a lane and coppice, and whose slender fingers had been busy with the "buds and bells" of spring, which were heaped in delightful confusion into a light wicker basket that hung on her arm. "Can it be the violet, the sweet spring violet? Surely, fair flower, this is no place for thee! Yet I cannot mistake thy leaves of delicate green, nor the tiny buds hidden among them. Thy birthplace is dark and lonely, but I will not forget thee, sweet flower!" And the maiden tripped gaily on.

The arum had heard with angry jealousy the praises of her gentle sister; and the dark spots on her rich mantle grew deeper as she muttered, "And had the maiden no word for me? Am I to be thus slighted, while the little weed at my feet usurps the honour that is my due?"

"I love not praise," said the violet: "rather would I crouch unseen;" and she folded yet closer her screen of leaves, and bent her gentle head. The sun and shower loved to tend and cherish their favourite daughter, and ere three days and nights had passed, the violet had unfolded her snowy petals. The arum beheld with an evil eye the beauty of her rival; but, as her own roseate column increased in height, and her fringed coronet towered aloft, forgot awhile that the humble violet had ever excited envy in her breast. But it was soon revived in all its bitterness. The fragrant breath of the violet lured towards her many a bright butterfly, which, when he once discovered her hiding-place, spread his wings, and rested long in delight upon her pure and spotless bosom. The little gnats, with their gauzy wings, loved to dance in mazy circles over the spot, where they might enjoy the delicious odours breathed forth by her they adored; and at night the glow-worm would ever hang his lamp where it might best display the charms of the sleeping flower to the admiring

nightingale, that warbled her praise among the boughs of the hawthorn above.

In vain the arum eagerly invited the gay throng to deck her, like the violet, with their living gems. Deaf were they to her entreaties; and, in their stead, many a loathsome insect took up its abode with her. The spider hid within the dark folds of her green robe his treacherous toils, and the gloomy beetle found there a home. Oft, too, would the venomous wasp conceal himself near, hoping that he might, perchance, surprise some unwary bee, intent on collecting a rich harvest of honeyed sweets from the nectary of the violet close by, and rob him of the fruits of his hard-earned labour.

The violet bore with meek patience the taunts and reproaches of her haughty neighbour, and sighed for the return of the maiden, who had promised to forget her not.

And the maiden came at last, and severed her from the stem, sparkling with dewdrops, and breathing forth in gratitude her sweetest odours.

The gay tribe of insects mourned their goddess, the blithe gnats no longer sported around, and the tiny butterfly sadly fluttered his wings, and sped away.

The violet had at length found a meet and peaceful home in the maiden's bosom. That night the glow-worm sought the white bell he had been wont to illumine; dewy tears hung from the broken stem, but the flower was gone, and the nightingale sung a mournful dirge of lament for his beloved one.

Long did the arum pollute the air around with her poisonous breath, and harbour many a venomous insect, till at length she sunk decaying to the earth, gnawed to the heart by the evil inmates she had fostered, and found an ignoble grave, for none wept her death.

MIDAS; OR THE BLIND WISH.'

MANY a long and weary journey | in their revels. Amongst these was did Bacchus take from place to place, Silenus, the nurse and instructor of and city to city, teaching men the Bacchus, who ever attended upon the arts of husbandry, and the cultiva- steps of the god. Now it chanced tion of the vine, and proving that he that on one occasion, Silenus strayed was of Divine origin. In these ex- from the rest, and was left behind in peditions he was attended by compa- a strange country, and among strange nies of men and women, who were people, of whom he knew nothing. devoted to the service of the god. These bare in their hands the Thyrsus, a long pole, the head of which consisted sometimes of apples of the pine, which was sacred to Bacchus, though more frequently it was composed of ivy leaves and berries, surrounded by the leaves of the acanthus. They had also cymbals, and many instruments of music, which they used

Wearied by his wanderings, and overcome by wine, he had lain him down in the gardens of the king of Phrygia, where he fell asleep. Some Phrygian husbandmen found him whilst he was in this condition. The chaplets formed of ivy and vine leaves, which he was in the habit of wearing, were lying at some little distance from him; so the husbandmen took these

1 By the Rev. W. B. Flower, B.A.

"Thou canst not do more than thou hast," replied Silenus. "Had I been a brother king, thou couldst not have treated me better, and ever shall I, with pleasure, remember the days I have spent beneath thy hos-render unto me. Thou hast treated pitable roof.""

stores of wealth. Besides which, he had frequently indulged in pleasing dreams of sunny happiness, and quiet ease, and had wondered when the day would come, on which the riches of which he thought should be his. For in his dreamings he had joined wealth and happiness together, and foolishly imagined that when he had the one, the other would certainly follow; and that to be able to satisfy all his desires, was to be happy. Now then, thought he, the wished-for day is come at last. Here is a golden opportunity, but if I let it slip, I may, perchance, never have another. Now is there within my reach that prize for which I have long sought; but if I do not grasp it now, it may never be offered me again. So instead of acting with wise and prudent caution, and leaving the god to make the choice for him, as knowing what would be best, he asked for the power of turning into gold whatever his body touched. Bacchus nodded assent; but he felt bitterly grieved that Midas had not made a wiser and a better choice.

Deep joy thrilled through the breast of Midas when he saw that the god had given his consent, and thanking Bacchus for the favour that had been so readily granted, he set off on his journey home. He had not, however, proceeded many paces before he felt tempted to make some experiments, in order to see whether the god had been deceiving him, or whether the coveted gift had really been bestowed; for he could scarce induce himself to believe that such wondrous power should be wielded by mortal hands. So he plucked a twig from a green holm-oak that grew near at hand, and, as soon as he touched it, it became a bright rod of solid gold. Then he took up a stone from off the ground; and then he touched some ears of corn that were waving gracefully beneath the gentle breeze; and in all cases the like result attended his attempts. But yet was

he hard of belief, and once again he tried his skill upon some apples, and in an instant they changed their nature so as to vie in beauty with the rich fruit that, they say, grows in the lovely gardens of the HesperidesWhere themselves the fresh beauties of

Nature unfold,

And the fruit-trees are covered all over with gold."

With these proofs before him he could doubt no longer. His triumph was complete, and his joy knew no bounds. Now said he to himself, "The sun of good fortune shall ever shine brightly over my path, and no dark cloud arise to hide its rays. Now shall I be master of whatsoever I desire, for there is nothing which money cannot obtain. And my palace shall be a glorious palace of wealth; for its walls and roofs shall be of burnished gold, and from golden dishes, placed on golden tables, will I feast. Hereafter men may envy, but they will never be able to vie with me.'

Musing thus, he arrived in time at his palace, and the servants could not but wonder when they remarked the unusual signs of joy which were written upon his face. He sat him down to a table laid out with sumptuous food, and was preparing to take his meal. But, behold, the time was come when he was to learn that in his folly he had asked for that which would prove his curse. For when he touched the food, or took into his hands the goblet of wine, a mass of gold was presented to his view. vain did he strive to satisfy his hunger and quench his thirst. There he sat, miserably poor in the midst of wealth, hungry and thirsty in the midst of abundance.

In

Long paced he up and down his room in deepest grief, wringing his hands and beating his breast, because of the sad distress that had come upon him. The tempting food that stood untouched before him served but to increase his misery. And when the calm shades of evening stole on they

brought no comfort with them. For the gentle grains of peaceful slumber were not scattered over his eyes, but whilst his domestics and the poor peasant were calmly sleeping, he was bedewing his couch with tears, almost dreading the approach of day. And when the golden hues of morning were suffused over the awakened earth, and the light-hearted arose, refreshed by sleep, to follow their wonted labours, wearied Midas still was weeping. At length he remembered that he had often heard that the gods exercised their power to deliver the miserable, and to grant forgiveness to those who had acted wrongly, when they became conscious of their errors. He determined, therefore, to see whether Bacchus would yet be propitious unto him, and hear his entreaty in the day of his distress. So he lifted up his hands and golden-robed arms to heaven, and amidst tears and sighings, supplicated Bacchus. "Bitterly," said he, "have I sinned, and grievous is the penalty I have been doomed to pay. Long have I been wearied with never-ending care through my desire to possess abundance of wealth. So brightly glittered the prize, that I would have

done anything to win it. But now I have found out by sad experience, that things which promise fair at first, cheat and deceive, and that the proper use of what we have is real happiness. Hunger and weariness and grief have come upon me, and my cup of gold is a cup of many bitter sorrows. Pardon, O Bacchus! my folly, in that, through blind ignorance, I panted for what it is unlawful for man to have. Be propitious, I entreat thee, and free me from this glittering curse."

Thus in hope and fear did Midas pray, and the god lent a friendly ear to his request, and revoked the gift. "But," said he, "that thou mayest be for ever free from it, go thou to the foot of Mount Tmolus, where the river Pactolus takes its rise, and plunging into the part where its waters are most copious, wash away thy power which now thou hast, at the same time that thou washest thy body."

Gladly did Midas comply with the command that Bacchus had given, and transferred to the Pactolus the fatal gift for which he had blindly wished, and after that the river washed the neighbouring shores with waves of gold.

THE SEA.

WHEN We place ourselves upon the shore, and from thence behold that immense body of water, stretching away on all sides as far as the eye can reach; and when we consider how large a portion of the globe is covered in like manner, what a noble idea are we hereby enabled to form of the immensity of that Being in Whose sight the ocean is no more than a drop!

When we see a mass of water rising up by a gradual ascent, till the sky seems to descend and close upon it, a thought immediately strikes us, what is it which prevents these waters from breaking in upon and overflowing the land, as they appear in heaps so much above it? It is God's will that it should be so; and when He gives the word, the obedient waves bow themselves and retire. How grand and awful is the noise of the sea, even as the sound of the voice of the Almighty when He speaketh!

Pleasing is the variety of prospect which the sea at different times