Suppose you're dressed for walking,
And the rain comes pouring down,
Will it clear off the sooner

Because you scold and frown?
And wouldn't it be nicer

For you to smile than pout,
And so make sunshine in the house
When there is none without?

Suppose your task, my little man,
Is very hard to get,
Will it make it any easier

For you to sit and fret?
And wouldn't it be wiser

Than waiting like a dunce,

To go to work in earnest

And learn the thing at once?

Suppose that some boys have a horse,
And some a coach and pair,

Will it tire you less while walking
"It isn't fair?"

To say,

And wouldn't it be nobler

To keep your temper sweet,
And in your heart be thankful

You can walk upon your feet?

And suppose the world don't please you,
Nor the way some people do,
Do you think the whole creation
Will be altered just for you?

And isn't it my boy or girl,
The wisest, bravest plan,

Whatever comes, or doesn't come,

To do the best you can?

THE WOODCUTTER.

N the kingdom of nature there are few more interesting objects than trees. They add greatly to the beauty of the earth, as much so in their way as flowers. A landscape without them is not nigh so delightful to look upon as when they appear in it. Many trees grow so symmetrically that they are objects of beauty in themselves, but their beauty is greatly heightened when properly grouped in the landscape. They make many spots of earth like fairy scenes, fit abodes, one could almost think, for supernal beings. They are the homes of our songsters. Trees, flowers, and birds make our world pleasant and beautiful.

In their changeful beauty trees possess peculiar advantage over all other forms of vegetation. Though they are always ornamental, yet, whether viewed alone, or seen in wild sylvan masses, they look the loveliest in nature's decay. Fair are the woods in Spring, when first their leafy boughs unfold the bright and exquisitely tender verdure of a new life. Fairer still they seem in the deep beauty of their summer foliage, with its tints of richest green, extending cool and inviting shades, and filling the air with the soft sweet music of their rustling leaves. But fairest by far are the trees in the fall of the year. Well has it been said, "As the golden autumn steals over the forest, comes the period of its richest glory; that in which the painter revels, vainly tasking his palette for its imitation; and though these bright hues are the tokens of decay, the foliage has a glory in its approaching dissolution, unknown to it in youth and vigour." Then the birch shines one mass of burnished gold. The beech is resplendent with brightest tints of orange. The " ensanguined dog-wood," after a purple stage, passes into the most intense crimson. Many rich brown hues adorn the oak; the maple family assume a splendid mantle of variegated colour; while in addition to these,

"A thousand tints,

Which Flora, dressed in all her pride of bloom,
Could scarcely equal, decorates the groves."

Trees, like ourselves have their periods of growth, maturity, decay, and death, but, as our picture shows, they are not always allowed to fill up the full course of their existence. Man appropriates them to his service in any way he may require. And they are useful to him for more purposes than we can enumerate. With them he builds houses and ships and vehicles of transit.

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In the 74th Psalm we read that "A man was famous according as he had lifted up axes upon the thick trees." This gives us an insight into the opinions which prevailed among men many ages ago, Distinctions have always existed in society, they do so at the present day. We give positions of honour to the rich and the learned. We also praise and magnify the successful warrior. In the times

of which the Psalmist speaks, the man who was able to work, and willing to work, and who worked for some useful purpose was held in esteem. He was a famous man, a man whom the people extolled and praised. If we do not altogether return to these primitive ideas, we may somewhat approach to them with advantage. We have sought out many inventions to lessen the need for manual labour, but it is still true that man must eat his bread by the sweat of his face. Industry, and not speculation, is the root of all true prosperity both in nations and families.

THE PHILOSOPHER IN THE PLAYGROUND.

By TOM BROWN, Author of "In sheltered Vales," &c., &c.

IX.-" FOR GOOD OR FOR NOUGHT?"

JOR good or for nought?" Such were the words I overheard some weeks ago as I passed a little group of boys in the village street. Something in the words struck me as familiar, and yet for a time I could not think where I had heard them before. At length a faint glimmering of recollection dawned, and, helped by the association of ideas, I gradually recognised the phrase as a long buried reminiscence of the playground and the school. I stopped to observe what the lads were doing. Yes, there they were, just as memory had pictured the boys of my youth, playing at marbles.

"For good or for nought?" As I passed on I could not help smiling at a remembrance of the first time I ever played "for good." The scene came back with all the distinctness that so distinguishes the memories of early youth.

I was but a little fellow and had just bought my first pennyworth of clay marbles, common ones, we called them. I had a neat black holland bag to hold them, and I marched up the street with a proud consciousness of being on a footing of equality with other property

owners.

It was not long before my proud bearing and the rattle of my marbles attracted the notice of some of my schoolfellows, and one of the number soon marked me for his prey. He was no bigger than I, but was two or three years older, and at least as many classes above me at school.

"How many have you got, Tom?" he asked, with a patronising interest in my circumstances that was quite flattering.

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Sixty," I answered, rattling my possessions.

"Shall we have a game," said he familiarly, as if we were regular playmates.

What could I do but gladly accept the condescending proposition?

"What will you play at?" asked he, rummaging his pocket for the few marbles he possessed.

"Shoot in the ring," answered I boldly. It was about the only game I thoroughly understood.

"All right; for good or for nought?"

"For good, of course!" replied I, with equal boldness. I knew he must be a much better player than I, but it did not strike me as unfair for him to challenge me; nor did it occur to me that it was not quite fair for me to risk losing sixty marbles on the chance of winning six, while he only risked six against the possibility of winning sixty.

I scarcely need tell the sequel. I had started out after school with a bag full of marbles, but at tea time I returned a sadder but wiser boy, poor in marbles, but rich in experience. I had lost every one of my sixty common ones. To the winner's credit be it said that to this day I remember the shame-faced look with which he pocketed the last of his gains, and that he returned me six out of his winnings to set me up again.

Mr. Brewster wouldn't allowing any playing "for good" in the playground at Wingate school if he knew it. And very good reasons he had for the rule. In many cases the older players win of the very young and inexperienced either by superior skill or by cheating. And even where the players are well matched, the fact of playing "for good" imparts to games an element of eagerness and excitement which takes them out of the range of play and makes them a struggle and a contest. Evil tempers are roused, high words follow, and not unfrequently a dispute about a game comes to be settled by a fight. Mr. Brewster always said that if a game was worth playing at all, it was worth playing for itself, without any idea of a gain therefrom. He was quite right too. If you can't enjoy a game of skill with marbles without hoping to increase your store, there is something wrong either in the game or yourself; and if a cricket club cannot play their very best without the inducement of winning a bat or a ball, they have not realised the true meaning of recreation.

But though Mr. Brewster would not allow "winnings for good" in the playground, he could not altogether prevent greedy boys taking advantage of the simplicity or bad play of their schoolfellows. Sometimes a game "for good" would be played in a secluded corner, but generally they were indulged outside the playground, beyond the observation and out of the jurisdiction of the masters. Such boys as Will Harrison and Tom Taylor would beguile unsuspecting youngsters to play out of bounds by pretending there was a quieter corner, or a more level ground. And having got the little fellow away from any friends who would be likely to take his part, and out of sight of the masters, who would have put a stop to their proceedings, they would alternately coax and threaten the lad to play on, until he had lost all his marbles.