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wrong to keep it-it would be right to give it up," she thought, " and I will do so."

Poor little Eva ! it was a hard trial though; and her lips quivered, and the tears gathered fast in her blue eyes as she told Grace that she might have the sweet rose tree.

“Do you really mean it, Eva ?” asked Grace; for she thought that such a piece of self denial was too much for a little girl.

“ Yes: I do, Grace,” said Eva, “are you glad ?”
“I am, indeed,” said Grace; “you are very, very kind, Eva.'

When mother received her daughters presents, and heard all about them, she was pleased not only with the rose tree, but with the little needle book too, and commended Eva very much for her kindness.

This was Eva's first lesson in self denial, but not her last. “I am so glad I gave up,” thought little Eva, as she lay in

bed that night. “It was very hard though. But, oh dear, | how many things Jesus Christ gave up while he was on

earth. I shall have to try much harder before I am like him. But mother says he will help me if I ask him; and I know he will." And with these words still in her mind her eyelids closed in sleep, and a sweet smile was on her rosy

cheeks. She never looked more happy or more lovely. 1

Summer passed over,-autumn faded away,--winter with his chilly blasts swept over the frost bound earth—and spring with her balmy breath again broke winter's icy chains, and bade the frozen earth break forth into life and loveliness. Spring again grew into summer, which, with its sunny skies, its gentle breezes, its blooming flowers, and never ceasing melodies, came back once more. The modest lilies of the valley took the place of their modest sisters the sweetscented violets. The blue eyed forget-me-not fringed the green banks beneath which the cool clear waters ran murmuringly along, and the happy influence of the golden summer time was felt by all.

It was evening, and the bright rays of the declining sun came in through the open window of the room where Grace and Eva sat, filling it with a flood of radiant brightness, and throwing a sort of golden tinge on the fair blush rose which stood in greater beauty on a little stand near the window; for it had been tended all the year with great care.

“To-morrow is mother's birth-day, again,” said Eva; "you and I have changed places since then, Grace; this year it is I who have nothing to give."

Eva spoke sorrowfully; but from Grace's face no shadow of her sister's grief was reflected. She only smiled, and left the room with a light step. Returning, she placed in Eva's hand a beautiful little book. “Dear Eva,” she said, “I knew that this year you were not able to buy mother a birth-day token, so I have ventured to provide one for youyou will not refuse it Eva ?”

Oh, no, dear Grace," replied Eva, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes. “How kind of you to remember me. I cannot thank you enough, dear sister."

“Nay, you must not say so much,” said Grace, smiling, you forget how kind you were to me a year ago; I have never forgotten it. There stands the blush rose, ever reminding me of your kindness, dear Eva. If ever I feel tempted to be unkind to yon, it whispers to me of the time when you so nobly gave up what would have been to you a great pleasure, because you loved me, and did not wish me to be deprived of a joy on which I had set my heart. So, dear sister, the balance is even now; and let us always remember what mother has so often told us, that kindness begets kindness, and that love to each other makes life brighter than anything else on this side heaven." Manchester.

M. P.


COME along, charming Spring, we would hail thy appearing;
Thy victory is won and we join in the cheering;
Old Winter has ended his rigorous reign,
And thou art returning in beauty again;
And now we will seek for those sweet woody dells,
Where daisies and kingcups and pretty blue bells,
Will await in our path to gladden our eyes,
And add to our pleasures and heighten our joys;
Where the birds we shall find all ready to greet
From each leafy bough, with their melodies sweet.
Yes: there we will go, and hours we will spend,
And to aid the sweet chorus our voices we'll lend;
And join with all creatures to praise the great King,

Who fills us with joy at the coming of Spring.

W. M.

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The old way

PERHAPS you are wondering what the curious looking thing is in that picture on the other side. I will try to tell you. It is what is called an Hydraulic Press—that is, a press which is moved by the power of water. Presses are used to squeeze things together, or to lift things up. of squeezing things together was by wooden screws, which you may see done now in farm houses where cheese is made. A hole was made through the wood at the bottom of the screw, and a round piece of wood was passed through the hole. This piece of wood was about half as long as the handle of a mop or sweeping brush, and so, when put through the hole, it had two handles left, each of which was about as long as your arm. In screwing up the press they took hold of these handles with both hands, and so screwed the press together by main strength. The screws of other presses were made of iron, and screwed up by putting a long iron bar in the hole, which, standing out longer, two or three persons could pull at it at once, and so the power was greater. But all this was done by the arms of the men who worked the presses, and it depended upon their strength whether the work was done well or not.

But clever men are always inventing some new plans for saving labour, and for doing by machines far greater things than many human arms can do. And hence the discovery of the power of water. You have heard of the power of steam from hot water; but this is the power of cold water alone. The way it is done is this. The old screw pressed

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