. We will, therefore, perform the wonderful task
of moving the mountain as we promised; but before it can be
accomplished, we shall require you all to bring a large waggon and place
the mountain on the top of it ready for starting. Until you have done
this, we shall not be able to move the mountain.'

Then the moles retired to their hole to watch the effects of their
speech. The animals saw at once that they had been deceived, and they
tried to tear down the place, but could not, for the wily moles lived
too far under the ground to meet with any hurt.

MORAL: Do not be taken in by the vain promises of those who only wish to
make a name for themselves. (From H. BERKELEY SCORE'S _Original
Fables_.)

TOO MUCH FOR THE WHISTLE.

When I was a child about seven years of age, my friends one holiday
filled my pockets with half-pence. I went directly to a shop where toys
were sold for children, and being charmed with the sound of a whistle
that I saw on my way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered
him all my money for it. I then came home, and went whistling over the
house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My
brothers and sisters and cousins, understanding the bargain which I had
made, told me that I had given four times as much for it as it was
worth. This put me in mind of what good things I might have bought with
the rest of the money, and they laughed at me so much for my folly that
I cried with vexation. My reflections on the subject gave me more
chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure.

This little event, however, was afterwards of great use to me, the
impression continuing on my mind, so that often, when I was tempted to
buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself, 'Do not give too much for
the whistle,' and so I saved my money.

From '_Benjamin Franklin's Life_.'

THE BEE.

A little Bee, one sunny day,
Through garden beds sped on its way;
It went from flower to flower.
As on its busy way it flew,
It entered blossoms white and blue,
And lingered by the bower.

Each lovely blossom with its cup,
Something of sweetness yielded up,
Something of what was good.
There was no flower that I could see
But gave up something to the bee--
Each one did what it could.

As on through life I go each day,
And here and there pursue my way,
Like to that busy bee.
Oh, may I gather what is good,
And find for heart and mind s