A

FROM THE FRENCH.

IN envious and discontented character is a perpetual cause of suffering; it is like a thorn sticking in a man's shoe, the prick of which he feels at every fresh step in life.

Robert and Simon had lived next door to each other for twelve years, and it is probable that these neighbours would have continued in perfect harmony if Simon had not succeeded to an inheritance, which enabled him to support the infirmities of illhealth under which he had been suffering for a long time. This inheritance was to Robert a continual source of jealousy.

Every time that Robert went to pay his rent he repeated grumbling that his neighbour was very lucky, and that he could easily pay his rent; whilst he, poor wretch! had great difficulty in making the two ends meet at the end of the year.

Robert contented himself at first by making these reflections in a low voice, and addressing these remarks only to himself, but by degrees his discontent expressed itself more publicly, and this was soon his constant and favourite theme of conversation.

One week when he was in arrears for his rent, and was walking sadly towards the house of M. Duval to make his excuses to him for this backwardness, he met his neighbour Simon, who was as regular as a clock in paying his rent, and who had just come from doing so. The very sight of Simon had upon Robert the effect of an illness so, when he lowered his head in answer to his neighbour's greeting, his look singularly resembled that of a bull who shows his horns to a dog. Arrived at the house of his landlord, Robert did not fail to receive a reprimand, and had the example of Simon quoted to him, who always paid his dues regularly.

'Yes, yes,' murmured Robert, 'there are those who are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Simon is very lucky, and I am not astonished that he pays regularly, when he has had such a legacy left him.'

'Simon has had a legacy left him, it is true,' replied M. Duval, 'but his infirmities are a heavy cross to him; and if you were afflicted by them, you would complain very much more.'

'No,' replied Robert, the heaviest cross I know is to be obliged to work without ceasing so that I may be able to pay my rent.'

M. Duval was a man of happy humour, but a keen observer. He had remarked for a long time the envious disposition of Robert, and was resolved to prove to him that the lightest cross would soon become heavy to an ill-regulated mind.

'I see,' said he to Robert, 'that you are quite determined to do nothing. Well, I will exempt you from the obligation of work, of which you complain so sadly. You say the cross of your neighbour is very easy to carry; will you accept a much lighter one? and if so, I will engage to let you off your rent.'

6

But what kind of a cross would you put upon my shoulder?' asked Robert, with anxiety, who thought that the proposition might not be acceptable to him.

'This one,' said M. Duval, taking a piece of chalk and tracing a

white cross upon Robert's coat. As long as you wear this I will not ask you for a farthing of your rent.'

Robert thought at once that his landlord was joking with him, but being assured that he spoke seriously,

'M. Duval,' cried he, you can well say that you have seen the last of my money, for I am resolved to carry such a cross all my life.'

Robert went out directly, congratulating himself on his luck, and on the road he laughed to himself at the folly of M. Duval, who had let him off his rent at such a price. He had never been in such a good humour as when he returned home, so he found nothing to grumble at.

Having sat down when he arrived, his wife had not at first noticed the white cross which he had upon his shoulder, but having passed behind her husband to draw up the weights of her cuckoo clock, she cried all of a sudden, in a cross voice,

"Ah, Robert, where have you been? You have there upon your back a cross a foot long. You have come without doubt from the public-house, and some of your drunken companions have played you this trick to give you the air of a fool; as if you needed such a ridiculous ornament for that! Get up and stand still, that I may brush off this cross.'

"Stop!' cried Robert, jumping up quickly: 'my clothes do not want you. Go and knit your stockings, and leave my coat alone.'

'It shall not be !' cried his wife. I do not want my husband to be the laughing-stock of the village. Even should I tear your coat in pieces, you shall not keep that ridiculous cross.'

Speaking thus, the housewife tried to brus Robert's shoulder, and he, knowing that all resistance was useless, rushed out, and slammed the door after him.

'What a fury!' murmured he, moving away. If she had been more gentle I might have told her how lucky I have been; but she does not deserve to know.'

'Oh, oh!' cried old François, at the moment when Robert turned the corner; what is that white cross for which you carry on your back?' 'Mind your own clothes!' answered Robert, and went on his way. 'Mr. Robert,' said little Annie, the grocer's daughter, 'one moment, if you please, while I rub off that great cross which some one has made upon your shoulder.'

'Go and sell your sugar, child!' replied Robert, roughly; and do not take notice of passers-by.'

The little girl, quite frightened, hastened to return to her mother's shop.

At this moment Robert arrived at the house of the butcher, who was talking to the blacksmith, his neighbour.

'You are just the man that I want,' cried he, stopping Robert; and he began to talk to him on business matters. But just as he had begun old Catherine arrived, and said,

'Ho, there, Mr. Robert! your back is dreadful to look at!'

Robert turned round to tell her to leave him alone, but the black

smith now perceived the mark made by M. Duval.

'I say! look there!' he said, laughing: Robert would do for the sign-board of the "White Cross" tavern."

'I suppose,' added the butcher, that his wife has put this mark his shoulder for fear of losing him.'

upon

Robert felt that there was no way for him to escape these jokes, so he hastened to leave the place, but not without having called the good woman an old witch, and his two neighbours idle fools: but the cross began to weigh heavily upon his shoulders, more than he had at first supposed it would.

Moreover, the unfortunate Robert seemed destined to unlucky meetings on that day, for as soon as he had gone a little way he found himself in front of the school-house. The class was just over, and the scholars were running about at this moment, ready to profit by any occasion of mischief which presented itself. As soon as he had passed the school a troop of boys ran after him, pointing at him with their fingers, and throwing up their caps into the air.

'Look! look!' cried one of them: he is just like a sheep marked by the butcher.'

The shouts and bursts of laughter began anew. Robert became pale with anger, and turned round like an ill-tempered dog followed by children; and perhaps he would have dealt out blows upon his young persecutors, if the master of the school had not appeared at the door of his house. Robert advanced towards him, complaining of the boys' behaviour.

The master answered that he did not wish to encourage the rudeness of his pupils, but that the white cross which he had upon his shoulder might make wiser people than school-boys laugh.

'What does this cross matter to you?' replied Robert, in a surly tone; is not my back my own property?

The master inclined his head smiling, and Robert continued his road; but the cross became heavier and heavier upon his shoulders. He began to think that it would not be so easy to be let off his rent by M. Duval. If he had already endured so much mockery, what would it be when they found out the cause of the strange ornament which he carried? It would be as though his landlord had attached a general receipt to his back.

We will pass over other tribulations through which our poor cross-bearer had to pass, either in the street, in the public-house, or at home from his better half, who was certainly not of an enduring spirit, as we have already seen. For some time longer Robert steeled himself against these attacks by the energy of his anger; but at last he understood that there was no rest for him, either out of doors or in doors, whilst he had this ornament upon his back, and he himself at last began to rub it out.

The following Monday he came at an early hour to the .house of his landlord, the week's rent in his hand.

Ah, Robert,' said M. Duval, as soon as he perceived him, 'I thought that you would not be long in repenting of your bargain. This is a good lesson for envious and impatient characters. Remember this at the right time: God who has created us has proportioned his trials to the strength of each. Do not complain any more of being less happy than others, for you do not know what your neighbour suffers; all crosses are heavy, that which makes them light is patience, courage, and a good conscience. C. S. C.

HAT an excellent thing is knowledge!' said a sharp-looking, bustling little man, to one who was much older than himself. Knowledge is an excellent thing! Knowledge is power! Why, look at my boys! they know more at six or seven years of age than I did at twelve! They can read all sorts of books,' he continued, and talk on all sorts of subjects! The world is a great deal wiser than it used to be. Everybody knows something of everything now. Do you not think, sir, that knowledge is an excellent thing?'

'Why, sir,' replied the old man, looking gravely, 'that depends entirely upon the use to which it is applied. It may be either a blessing or a curse. Knowledge is only an increase of power, and power may be a bad as well as a good thing.'

'Well, that is what I cannot understand,' said the bustling little man. 'How can power be a bad thing?'

'I will tell you,' meekly replied the old man. When the power of a horse is under restraint the animal is useful in bearing burdens, drawing loads, and carrying his master; but when that power is unrestrained the horse breaks his bridle, dashes his carriage to pieces, or throws his rider.'

'I see! I see !' said the little man.

6

When the water of a pond is properly conducted by trenches, it renders the fields round it fertile; but when it bursts through its banks it sweeps everything before it, and destroys the produce of the field.'

'I see! I see!' said the little man.

'When a ship is steered aright, the sail that she hoists enables her the sooner to get into port; but if steered wrong, the more sail she carries the further she will go out of her course.

'I see! I see!' said the little man.

'I see clearly!'

THE MONT ST. BERNARD DOG.

It

VERY one has read of the Alpine mastiffs, sent out from the Monastery of St. Bernard to the rescue of travellers overtaken in snowstorms. Many will remember pictures showing the dogs with small casks slung round their necks, rousing the almost insensible traveller, half buried in the snow. appears, however, that the painters have indulged fancy rather than portrayed facts. What these St. Bernard dogs do, when they go out with the kindly monks, is to show them the way home when the paths are snowed up, and to guide them with their capital noses to any traveller who may have been overcome by cold, or weariness, or blinding snow. But almost all dogs would do this as well as the St. Bernard dogs. The Scotch sheep-dog will scent and show where the poor buried sheep lie in the snow-drift, and their instinct telling them what their master is feeling for with his pole, they soon learn to help him with their nose. Most dogs will try, by staying beside him and howling, to give notice of any human being whom they find lying in a ditch or by the road-side.

The St. Bernard dogs vary very much in appearance-some are like the mastiff, and others more like the colley. They are moderate in size, with lovely brown eyes and a close cat's foot. Some are almost smooth, others shaggy, others curly, with bushy tails, which they whisk about in rather conceited fashion.

But whatever they look like, their services remain the same, and every year many lives would be lost were it not for the help which the St. Bernard dogs give to their masters in the vast Alpine solitudes.