mirror; and I have known children who neglect all their other powers, and only use this one, which costs no trouble to use. It is innocent to use it a great deal, and especially when we are resting from study; we may sit still or run about, and let-now the flowers, and now the clouds, and now the birds, and now our playmates-flit across our minds. But who would wish to be in such a state that none of these images should ever stay in our minds; who would wish to have no power of keeping the thought of our dearest friend with us, but the creaking of a door should put it entirely out? Such was Undine's condition: neither a pleasure nor a pain ever lasted but a minute.

As Undine disappeared through the doorway in pursuit of the bird, the good fisherman's eyes filled with tears. "She is but a child," said his wife. He smiled, and said "Yes, she is only a child;" and he was comforted, for he knew children's thoughts changed rapidly, from their want of strength and habit, and because they do not know enough to judge of the comparative

importance of objects. They did not suspect when thus they saw Undine use the mirror of her mind, that she had no other power-that Undine's mind was all mirror; that she never would improve.

During the day, Undine played sometimes within doors, and sometimes without; sometimes very harmlessly, and at other times very mischievously; always deaf to the good woman's call of “take care!" but easily turned from what she was doing, if another thing more attractive presented itself to her mind. Sometimes she would go out on the shore, and gather beautiful shells and stones, and arrange them on the good woman's shelves, so that they looked very prettily. And she would dry sea-weed on the rocks, stretched out in all its fibres, and then fasten the sprigs upon the walls, and clap her hands with joy. But she would take up the china ware if it came in her way, and throw it out of doors, notwithstanding remonstrance and entreaty. She showed perfect indifference to the comfort of her friends, and seemed to care

for nothing but herself. "No one is so near to one, as one's self," she would sometimes say; but even herself she would tire out with fretfulness and sometimes exhaust with bursts of passion. If they found fault with her, sometimes she would cry and sometimes be angry, yet the moment they forgave her, without considering they might be made angry with her again, she would go and do the same mischief as before. So she seemed to take pleasure in their caresses, when they coaxed her; but neither her love of their caresses nor her fear of their displeasure influenced her one moment beyond the time she was looking at them.

For Undine was absorbed in the present moment, she did not realize past or future time. It is the soul which binds the past and the future to the present. Poor Undine had no soul; and the past and the future were no more to her mind than the images of yesterday and tomorrow are in the looking-glass today.

If you look into your own mind, my dear little reader, you will perceive how great the differ

ence is between such a mind as Undine's and your own. Suppose you only knew the present moment; that yesterday was merely a picture out of yourself, and not something which makes up a part of yourself! Suppose a pleasure which had passed away in time was no more to your mind than to another person's who had not enjoyed it! Suppose you could not enjoy any of the pleasures produced peculiarly by time! Oh! you do not know half these pleasures yet, though you know enough to pity Undine. You do not know how much dearer the place in which you live will become, when a few more summers of happiness have been added to all its present charms. You do not know how much more pleasure it will be to you to look at your dear mother and father, when to all their goodness you can add recollections of the years of happiness which they are giving you.

Time is a great gift! but it can only exist with those who have souls. And even they are not compelled to connect the past and the future to the present. We are free agents; when we

reflect upon the past and consider the future, we are voluntarily using our souls. We are doing what Undine could not do. As you value the influence of time, then, in making your life interesting, I advise you to use your soul and consecrate the precious moments. Do not be a trifler. Trifling is not amusement. Amusement will have some sense or feeling in it. If you are arranging shells like Undine, you may make a different matter of it; you may connect it with the thought of pleasing your dear mother, or some little friend, or with the thought of His goodness who scatters over the shores of ocean such beautiful things, just to make us think of Him with a happy feeling. Such reflections would fill your heart with love, and love would connect that moment of time with all your life, and it would be a present pleasure with you whenever afterwards remembered.

Undine had no pain in remembering she was separated from her father; she never looked back with a child's longing to the coral groves where she played in her infancy. She escaped