THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE.

BY MISS ELIZABETH DOTEN

   “Daily striving, though so lonely,
     Every day reward shall give,
   Thou shalt find by striving only,
     And in loving, thou canst live.” 
                              Miss Edwards.

“On dear!” said Annie Burton, as she sat down under the old apple-tree by the spring; “I wonder what ails me; there’s been such a choking feeling in my throat all this afternoon, and though I winked and swallowed with all my might, the tears would come in spite of myself.  Here I’ve been wandering for more than three hours, up hill and down, through brambles and brier-bushes; my hands are scratched and bloody, and the sun has burnt me as brown as a berry.  Three long precious hours in the sunny month of August! and what does it all amount to?  Why, I have picked a basket of berries that can be eaten in half an hour; and here is a bunch of flowers for little Katie, that she will take and admire, and then tear to pieces; that will be the end of them.  But that isn’t the worst of all; no, not by a great deal; there is a great rent in my frock, gaping and staring at me, waiting to be mended; and nobody knows how long ’t will take me to do that.  Oh dear! how I hate to work!  I don’t see how it is; there’s mother takes care of the children, sews, makes bread and washes the dishes, just as willingly and cheerfully as if she were playing on the piano or reading a pleasant book.  They say that good people are always happy; but I never am.  Oh, I believe I am the worst creature that ever lived!” and she bent her head upon her lap and burst into tears.

It was not long before she was roused by the sound of footsteps; she raised her head, and saw an old woman coming down the road with a large basket on her arm.  She looked tired and weary, as well she might be, for she had travelled a long distance; it was a hot, sultry afternoon, and every footstep stirred a cloud of dust.  She came towards the spring; but before she reached it, she struck her foot against a stone and fell.

“Have you hurt you?” exclaimed Annie, as she sprung to her side.

“Not a bit, not a bit,” she replied, as she shook the dust from her apron, and replaced the things that had fallen from her basket.

“Oh, yes, you have!” said Annie; “see, the blood is streaming down your arm!”

“Oh that’s nothing; only a scratch.  Blessings on the good Father that watches over me!  I might have broken my arm, and that would have been a deal worse!  How fortunate I happened to fall just by the spring here!  I’ve been longing for a drink of cold water, and I sha’n’t need it any the less for getting such a mouthful of this hot dust.”

“Heart’s dearest!” she exclaimed, as she put down the iron dipper that always hung by the spring, after having satisfied her thirst, “what is it troubles you?  Such sorrowful eyes and a tearful face belong only to older heads and more sinful hearts; and God forbid it even to them, unless it is wrung out of the agony of their very souls; for though his providences are just and wise, yet nature must have its way sometimes.”