HEALTH IS WEALTH

Good health is a boon. It is the real jewel of life, the most precious possession of man. If a man losses his health, the world losses all it§ charms for him. A good wealth of health can be obtained in a number of ways. It needs regular exercise, good food, good thoughts, and cleanliness. A healthy person does not spend money on medicines and visiting doctors. Just opposite, a sluggish person is another form of hell of diseases.

The simplest and most traditional definition of health is that it is the freedom of sickness and diseases. According to World Health Organisation (WHO), a branch of the United Nations, health is physical, mental and social well being and not merely the absence of disease. Next to life itself, good health is the most precious gift and is necessary for a purposeful existence.

'Sound mind in a sound body' is an old saying. Healthy persons can work for long hours without getting tired. They can enjoy all the pleasures of life, whereas unhealthy persons can't. The world has no charm for them. They are always worried due to their physical complications. Wealth has no importance for them.

To keep good health no money is needed. It can be achieved only through our efforts and proper health care. We can maintain good health only if we are aware of various factors which affect our health. There are certain things which are essential for keeping our body free from diseases. Nutritious food comes first.

We should takeVpnly that food which has nutritious value. Some regularity in life is also important for good health. We should get up early in the morning, go out for a walk, breathe in fresh air to keep our lungs clean and in good order, and take brisk walk, move arms while walking. Maintaining clean habits is also important in this regard. If we don't take bath regularly, don't wear clean clothes, don't eat fresh food, we may develop physical complications in the long run. Hence regularities, good habits and cleanliness have great value in maintaining good health. Balancing sleep and rest are also useful in this regard.

We know that a great deal of the waste matter in our bodies escaped by means of the skin, which contains many millions of tiny drainpipes called 'pores'. If we neglect keeping our bodies clean, these pores get choked up and the waste matter cannot escape. Hence we must keep this important point in our mind and do accordingly.

Laughter is the best medicine of good health. So, we should keep calm by overcoming anger, greed, fear, envy and enmity. Life of a healthy man is his long lasting wealth. It makes him able to enjoy life to the full. Those who are wealthy may not always be healthy but the healthy people are always wealthy.

How can we make our country clean from child labour

Education is the basic necessity for every one at that time especially in our country. The rate of literacy of our country is very low as compared to other countries.Main reason of low literacy rate is that our child labour.Our gournment should take strick action against those parents who send their child(like gold) to earn money instead of sending to the place where they can learn their basic rights. When the root of child labour finished from our country than our country will make progress very fast. No matter, it can't be done.It can be done by just giving attention and take serious notice against those harsh peoples.

Improve your stamina

how to improve stamina

"Stamina" is the strength and energy needed to exert oneself for an extended period of time. The word most commonly refers to the exertion needed for physical activities like exercise and sports. However, "stamina" can also refer to the mental exertion needed to perform a task or get through a difficult situation. Improving either type of stamina (or both!) is a great choice if you're interested in living and feeling healthier.

Eat a healthy, balanced diet. Food is the fuel your body gets its energy from. Try to eat a well-balanced, low-fat diet that includes plenty of fruits, vegetables and lean meats.

Stay hydrated. The health benefits of drinking lots of water are numerous . Water can also increase stamina by fighting muscle fatigue.

Get plenty of physical exercise. Though it will tire you out in the short term, physical exercise increases your overall energy level and stamina over a long period of time.

Choose physical activities that you love. It's easier to push yourself physically, improving your stamina, when you're doing something you genuinely enjoy, rather than something you dread. like swimming and biking and running .

Involve others in your activity. If you find that you're not able to achieve the stamina level you'd like on your own, consider doing your physical activity of choice in the company of friends.

Get plenty of rest. A good night's rest should leave you refreshed, energized, and focused, ensuring that you'll be able to physically give your all.

Useful Tips about Essay Writing

The essay occupies a prominent place in all examinations where the object is to assess the student’s ability in composition. It is an excellent means of “training of judgment in the power of selecting the best and most suitable information on any given subject”. An essay can be written on an infinite variety of subjects but the point to bear in mind is that it should be written well. We should be clear about the ideas we wish to express and the manner in which we plan to set forth and arrange them.

Essay may be classified in a number of ways but generally they are narrative, descriptive, literary or abstract. May be asked to narrate a historical event or tell a story; to describe a country or a building; to reflect upon some habit or quantity; to argue upon a proposition of elaborate a saying. For all these and many more the you should be prepared.

Students mostly fight shy of writing an essay. In fact, they find the whole business utterly irksome. The writing of an essay, however, need not be unpleasant a task. A little reading, a little practice and a little familiarity with the rules of the game can go a long way in dispelling doubts and allaying ill-founded fears. A habit of read good literature is a great aid in writing. It must be cultivated, for educational gain is immeasurable. Ideas garnered from fast read lend charm to an essay and make the whole exercise worthwhile.

How do we set about writing an essay? We should choose subject about which we know most and on which we can write most. Then we should make an outline, for an outline is an important to an essayist as a blue print is to an architect. The two most important parts of an essay are the beginning and the end. The beginning must be striking and an appropriate quotation could be one pleasing way of creating the right effect. Stilted or stereotyped openings lack euphony and should be avoided. Similarly, much emphasis should be laid on the way we close our essay. It should form a kind of climax, a summing up in a few vigorous sentences. After completing the essay, the student should go over his effort once again to detect mistakes or grammar or faulty style which he may have overlooked in the first instance.

Examination System

Our examination system is not of that standard of which it should be. Examination is way of testing the knowledge of students and identifying the intelligent and dunce students but unfortunately in our exams intelligent students don't perform hugely .And some time dunce student pass exam with flying colors because of poor marking .The teachers which do the marking and check papers often check carelessly and do not check papers thorouly instead focus on calligraphy and color papers .Due to which brilliant student are given low marks due to demerit of their marking and those dunces Which only focus on calligraphy get more marks. there it should be standardized to save career of good students. There should a good marking system.

Smut

NOW, this story is quite true. Once upon a time there was a cat called Mr. Puff; he lived in a grand house, quite close to the Turkish Embassy. A lord and a lady 'and several servants lived with Mr. Puff; he was very kind to them, letting them do in all things as they liked, and never sending them away or keeping the house to himself. One day Mr. Puff, being out in the rain, found a poor little kitten, covered with mud, and crying bitterly : so Mr. Puff took the kitten between his teeth, carried it home, and set it down on the drawing-room hearth-rug. The lord and the lady had the kitten washed, and gave it food, and called it Smut. Then Smut went and sat him down on the lord's writing-table.

When Smut grew to be a cat, but before he was yet a large one, the lord and the lady thought awhile, and spoke, " We have a dear friend," they said, "and he is catless; therefore, if Mr. Puff will agree, we will take Smut to him as a present." And Mr. Puff agreed. So Smut was put into a birdcage, for there was nothing else to serve him for a travelling carriage, and taken to the dear friend's house. The dear friend had a little girl with golden hair, and when she saw Smut, she cried out for joy, and said, “Never before did I see a dicky-bird with a furry coat, a long tail, and little white teeth." But Smut shook his head, as if to say, “I am not a dicky-bird, sweet maid, but only a four-legged cat;" then they opened the birdcage door, and he walked out, waving his tail.

Now, when Smut grew up, his gravity and dignity made all who knew his history wonder, and few could believe that he had once been a dirty kitten, covered with mud, glad to accept the charity of Mr. Puff. When a year had gone, or perhaps even a longer time, there was a great war in Turkey, and terrible battles were fought. Then Smut looked very anxious, and went quite bald, and his coat fell off in little patches; but none could tell why. At last he died, and the little girl wept sorely, and all who had known him grieved and lamented.

And when Smut had been sleeping only a little while beneath the lilac tree, accident revealed that, instead of a lowly foundling, he had been of high degree, for the little vagrant Mr. Puff had found was no less a person than the Turkish Ambassador's coachman's wife's cat's kitten.

Tommy

TOMMY was sitting on the bench near the end of the lane. By his side was a basin tied up in a cotton handkerchief; in the buttonhole of his coat there was a sprig of sweet-william. The girls from the big house came and stood still in front of him, staring at him rudely, but he did not speak.

“Tommy, are -you tired?" they asked.

"Yes," Tommy answered, crossly," I'm very tired, and father's working in the fields, and I have got to take him his dinner before I go to the fair."

“Why don't the servants take it?”

“Servants!” said Tommy scornfully ; " we've no servants. We are not rich people!”

"Wouldn't you like to be rich ? " the eldest sister asked, while the two little ones walked slowly round Tommy, looking at the feather in his hat ; he had put it there so that he might look smart when he went on to the village.

"No, it's too expensive," said Tommy, shaking his head; “rich people have to buy such a lot of things, and to wear fine clothes, and they can't have dinner in the fields."

“My father has his dinner in a room," said the girl.

"That's because he's rich," answered Tommy,” and people would talk if he didn’t; rich people can't do as they like, as poor can."

"And my father lives in a big house," the girl went on, for she was vulgar, and liked to boast.

"Yes, and it takes up a lot of room; my father's got the whole world to live in if he likes; that's better than a house."

"But my father doesn't work," said the girl, scornfully.

“Mine does," said Tommy, proudly. “Rich people can't work," he went on, "so they are obliged to get the poor folk to do it. Why, we have made everything in the world. Oh! it's a fine thing to be poor."

“But suppose all the rich folk died, what would the poor folk do?"

“But suppose all the poor folk died," cried Tommy,” what would the rich folk do? They can sit in carriages, but can't build them, and eat dinners, but can't cook them." And he got up and went his way. “Poor folk ought to be very kind to rich folk, for it's hard to be the like of them," he said to himself as he went along.

The Kite

IT was the most tiresome kite in the world, always wagging its tail, shaking its ears, breaking its string, sitting down on the tops of houses, getting stuck in trees, entangled in hedges, flopping down on ponds, or lying flat on the grass, and refusing to rise higher than a yard from the ground.

I have often sat and thought about that kite, and wondered who its father and mother were. Perhaps they were very poor people, just made of newspaper and little bits of common string knotted together, obliged to fly day and night for a living, and never able to give any time to their children or to bring them up properly. It was pretty, for it had a snow-white face, and pink and white ears ; and, with these, no one, let alone a kite, could help being pretty. But though the kite was pretty, it was not good, and it did not prosper; it came to a bad end, oh! a terrible end indeed. It stuck itself on a roof one day, a common red roof with a broken chimney and three tiles missing. It stuck itself there, and it would not move; the children tugged and pulled and coaxed and cried, but still it would not move. At last they fetched a ladder, and had nearly reached it when suddenly the kite started and flew away right away over the field and over the heath, and over the far far woods, and it never came back again-never -never.

Dear, that is all. But I think sometimes that perhaps beyond the dark pines and the roaring sea the kite is flying still, on and on, farther and farther away, for ever and for ever.

Midsummer-Night

THE children were very much puzzled what to do, for it was Midsummer-night, and they knew that there was a dream belonging to it; but how to come across it they could not tell. They knew that the dream had something to do with fairies, a queen, and all manner of lovely things; but that was all. At first they thought they would sit up with the doors and windows open, and the dog on the steps ready to bark if he saw anything unusual. Then they felt sure that they could not dream while they were wide-awake, so three of them went to bed, and one dozed in a corner of the porch, with her clothes on. Presently the dog barked, and two children in their night-gowns ran out to see, and one took off her night-cap and looked out of window; but it was only old Nurse coming back from a long gossip with the village blacksmith's wife and mother-in-law. So the dog looked foolish, and Nurse was angry, and put them all to bed without any more ado.

"Oh," they cried, "but the fairies, and the queen, and the flowers! What shall we do to see them?

“Go to sleep," said Nurse,” and the dream may come to you; you can't go to a dream," she added, for you see she was just a peasant woman, and had never travelled far, or into any land but her own.

So the children shut their eyes tightly and went to sleep, and I think that they saw something, for their eyes were very bright next morning, and one of them whispered to me, softly, “The queen wore a wreath of flowers last night, dear mother, and, oh, she was very beautiful."

The Proud Boy

THERE was once a very proud boy. He always walked through the village with his eyes turned down and his hands in his pockets. The boys used to stare at him, and say nothing; and when he was out of sight, they breathed freely. So the proud boy was lonely, and would have had no friends out of doors if it had not been for two stray dogs, the green trees, and a flock of geese upon the common.

One day, just by the weaver's cottage, he met the tailor's son. Now the tailor's son made more noise than any other boy in the village, and when he had done anything wrong he stuck to it, and said he didn't care; so the neighbours thought that he was very brave, and would do wonders when he came to be a man, and some of them hoped he would be a great traveller, and stay long in distant lands. When the tailor's son saw the proud boy he danced in front of him, and made faces, and provoked him sorely, until, at last, the proud boy turned round and suddenly boxed the ears of the tailor's son, and threw his hat into the road. The tailor's son was surprised, and, without waiting to pick up his hat, ran away, and sitting down in the carpenter's yard, cried bitterly. After a few minutes, the proud boy came to him and returned him his hat, saying politely.

"There is no dust on it ; you deserved to have your ears boxed, but I am sorry I was so rude as to throw your hat on to the road."

"I thought you were proud," said the tailor's son, astonished; "I didn't think you'd say that I wouldn't."

"Perhaps you are not proud?”

"No, I am not."

"Ah, that makes a difference," said the proud boy, still more politely. "When you are proud, and have done a foolish thing, you make a point of owning it."

“But it takes a lot of courage," said the tailor's son.

"Oh, dear, no," answered the proud boy; "it only takes a lot of cowardice not to;” and then turning his eyes down again, he softly walked away.

The Rainbow-Maker

“THE children stood under an archway. Behind them was the blue sky; in front of them the clear, still lake that wandered and wound about the garden; above their heads the leaves of a tree whispered and told strange stories to the breeze.

“Poor tree! It is sighing for the blossoms the wind has carried away," they said to each other, and they looked back at the garden. "And, poor flowers, too," they said, "all your bright colours are gone, and your petals lie scattered on the ground; to-morrow they will be dead." "Ah, no," the flowers sighed, "the rainbow-maker will gather them up, and once more they will see the sun." Before the children could answer, a tall fair maiden came down the pathway. They could see her plainly in the twilight. Her eyes were dim with gathering tears, but on her lips there was a smile that came and went and flickered round her mouth. All down her back hung her pale golden hair; round her neck was a kerchief of many colours ; her dress was soft and white, and her snowy apron was gathered up in one hand. She looked neither to the right nor to the left. She did not utter a single word; and the children could hear no sound of her footstep, no rustling from her dress. She stooped, and picking up the fading petals, looked at them tenderly for a moment, while the tears fell slowly down her cheeks ; but the smile hovered round her mouth; for she knew that they would shine again in the sight of their beloved sun. When her apron was quite full, she turned round and left the garden. Hand-in-hand the children followed. She went slowly on by the side of the lake, far, far away across the meadows and up the farthest hill, until at last she found her home behind a cloud just opposite the sun. There she sat all through the summer days making rainbows. When the children had watched her for a long long time, they went softly back to their own home. The rainbowmaker had not even seen them.

"Mother," they said one day, "we know now where the colours go from the flowers. See, they are there," and as they spoke they thought of the maiden sitting silently at work in her cloud-home. They knew that she was weeping at sending forth her most beautiful one, and yet smiling as she watched the soft archway she had made. “See, they are all there, dear mother," the children repeated, looking at the falling rain and the shining sun, and pointing to the rainbow that spanned the river.

The Violets

THE sun came out and shone down on the leafless trees that cast hardly any shadows on the pathway through the woods.

"Surely the spring is coming," the birds said; “it must be time to wake the flowers."

The thrush, and the lark, and the linnet sang sweetly. A robin flew up from the snow, and perched upon a branch; a little ragged boy at the end of the wood stopped and listened.

"Surely the spring is coming," he too said; “and mother will get well."

The flowers that all through the winter had been sleeping in the ground heard the birds, but they were drowsy, and longed to sleep on. At last the snowdrops came up and looked shiveringly about; and a primrose leaf peeped through the ground, and died of cold. Then some violets opened their blue eyes, and, hidden beneath the tangle of the wood, listened to the twittering of the birds. The little ragged boy came by ; he saw the tender flowers, and, stooping down, gathered them one by one, and put them into a wicker basket that hung upon his arm.

“Dear flowers," he said, with a sigh, as if loth to pick them, "you will buy poor mother some breakfast," and, tying them up into little bunches, he carried them to the town. All the morning he stood by the road-side, offering his flowers to the passers-by, but no one took any notice of him; and his face grew sad and troubled. “Poor mother!” he said, longingly; and the flowers heard him, and sighed.

"Those violets are very sweet," a lady said as she passed; the boy ran after her.

"Only a penny," he said, "just one penny, for mother is at home." Then the lady bought them, and carried them to the beautiful house in which she lived, and gave them some water, touching them so softly that the poor violets forgot to long for the woods, and looked gratefully up into hei face.

"Mother," said the boy, "see, I have brought some bread for your breakfast. The violets sent it to you," and he put the little loaf down before her.

The birds knew nothing of all this, and went on singing till the ground was covered with flowers, till the leaves had hidden the brown branches of the trees, and the pathway through the woods was all shade, save for the sunshine that flecked it with light.

In the Moonlight

HE picked a buttercup, and held it up to her chin. "Do you like butter?” he asked.

“Butter!" she exclaimed. "They are not made into butter. They are made into crowns for the Queen; she has a new one every morning."

"I'll make you a crown," he said. “You shall wear it to-night."

" But where will my throne be ?" she asked.

"It shall be on the middle step of the stile by the corn-field."

So when the moon rose I went out to see.

He wore a red jacket and his cap with the feather in it. Round her head there was a wreath of buttercups; it was not much like a crown. On one side of the wreath there were some daisies, and on the other was a little bunch of blackberryblossom.

“Come and dance in the moonlight," he said ; so she climbed up and over the stile, and stood in the corn-field holding out her two hands to him. He took them in his, and then they danced round and round all down the pathway, while the wheat nodded wisely on either side, and the poppies awoke and wondered. On they went, on and on through the corn-field towards the broad green meadows stretching far into the distance. On and on, he shouting for joy, and she laughing out so merrily that the sound travelled to the edge of the wood, and the thrushes heard, and dreamed of Spring. On they went, on and on, and round and round, he in his red jacket, and she with the wild flowers dropping one by one from her wreath. On and on in the moonlight, on and on till they had danced all down the corn-field, till they had crossed the green meadows, till they were hidden in the mist beyond.

That is all I know; but I think that in the far far off somewhere, where the moon is shining, he and she still dance along a corn-field, he in his red jacket, and she with the wild flowers dropping from her hair.

The Sandy Cat

THE sandy cat sat by the kitchen fire. Yesterday it had had no supper; this morning everyone had forgotten it. All night it had caught no mice; all day as yet it had tasted no milk. A little grey mouse, a saucerful of milk, a few fish or chicken bones, would have satisfied it ; but no grey mouse, with its soft stringy tail behind it, ran across the floor ; no milk was near, no chicken bones, no fish, no anything. The serving-maid had been washing clothes, and was hanging them out to dry. The children had loitered on their way to school, and were wondering what the master would say to them. The father had gone to the fair to help a neighbour to choose a horse. The mother sat making a patchwork quilt. No one thought of the sandy cat; it sat by the fire alone and hungry.

At last the clothes were all a-drying, the children had been scolded, and sat learning a lesson for the morrow. The father came from the fair, and the patchwork quilt was put away. The serving-maid put on a white apron with a frill, and a clean cap, then taking the sandy cat in her arms, said, "Pussy, shall we go into the garden?" So they went and walked up and down, up and down the pathway, till at last they stopped before a rose tree; the serving-maid held up the cat to smell the roses, but with one long bound it leaped from her arms and away-away-away.

Whither?

Ah, dear children, I cannot tell, for I was not there to see; but if ever you are a sandy cat you will know that it is a terrible thing to be asked to smell roses when you are longing for a saucerful of milk and a grey mouse with a soft stringy tail.

The Light on the Hills

"I WANT to work at my picture," he said, and went into the field. The little sister went too, and stood by him watching while he painted.

"The trees are not quite straight," she said, presently, "and oh, dear brother, the sky is not blue enough."

"It- will all come right soon," he answered. "Will it be of any good?"

"Oh yes," she said, wondering that he should even ask, "it will make people happy to look at it. They will feel as if they were in the field."

"If I do it badly, will it make them unhappy?"

“Not if you do your very best," she answered; "for they will know how hard you have tried. Look up," she said suddenly, "look up at the light upon the hills," and they stood together looking at all he was trying to paint, at the trees and the field, at the deep shadows and the hills beyond, and the light that rested upon them. "It is a beautiful world," the girl said." It is a great honour to make things for it."

"It is a beautiful world," the boy echoed sadly." It is a sin to disgrace it with things that are badly done."

“But you will do things well?”

"I get so tired," he said, "and long to leave off so much. What do you do when you want to do your best, - your very, very best?" he asked, suddenly."

I think that I am doing it for the people I love," she answered. “It makes you very strong if you think of them; you can bear pain, and walk far, and do all manner of things, and you don't get tired so soon."

He thought for a moment. “Then I shall paint my picture for you," he said;" I shall think of you all the time I am doing it."

Once more they looked at the hills that seemed to rise up out of the deep shadows into the light, and then together they went home.

Soon afterwards a great sorrow came to the boy. While the little sister slept, she wandered into another world, and journeyed on so far that she lost the clue to earth, and came back no more. The boy painted many pictures before he saw the field again, but in the long hours, as he sat and worked, there came to him a strange power that answered more and more truly to the longing in his heart the longing to put into the world something of which he was not ashamed, something which should make it, if only in the person of its meanest, humblest citizen, a little happier or better.

At last, when he knew that his eye was true and his touch sure, he took up the picture he had promised to paint for the dear sister, and worked at it until he was finished.

"This is better than all he has done before," the beholders said. "It is surely beautiful, for it makes one happy to look at it."

"And yet my heart ached as I did it," the boy said, as he went back to the field." I thought of her all the time I worked, it was sorrow that gave me power." It seemed as if a soft voice, that spoke only to his heart, answered back

“Not sorrow but love, and perfect love has all things in its gift, and of it are all things born save happiness, and though that may be born too”

“How does one find happiness?" interrupted the boy."

It is a strange chase," the answer seemed to be; "to find it for one's own self, one must seek it for others. We all throw the ball for each other."

“But it is so difficult to seize."

"Perfect love helps one to live without happiness," his own heart answered to himself;" and above all things it helps one to work and to wait."

"But if it gives one happiness too?" he asked eagerly.

"Ah, then it is called Heaven.”

The Boy and Little Great Lady

SHE was always called the "little great lady," for she lived in a grand house, and was very rich. He was a strange boy; the little great lady never knew whence he came, or whither he went. She only saw him when the snow lay deep upon the ground. Then in the early morning he swept a pathway to the stable in which she had once kept a white rabbit. When it was quite finished, she came down the steps in her white dress and little thin shoes, with bows on them, and walked slowly along the pathway. It was always swept so dry she might have worn paper shoes without getting them wet. At the far end he always stood waiting till she came, and smiled and said, “Thank you, little boy," and passed on. Then he was no more seen till the next snowy morning, when again he swept the pathway ; and again the little great lady came down the steps in her dainty shoes, and went on her way to the stable.

But at last, one morning when the snow lay white and thick, and she came down the steps as usual, there was no pathway. The little boy stood leaning on a spade, his feet buried deep in the snow.

“Where is your broom? and where is the pathway to the rabbit house? “she asked.

“The rabbit is dead, and the broom is worn out," he answered;” and I am tired of making pathways that lead to empty houses."

“But why have you done it so long?” she asked.

“You have bows on your shoes," he said;” and they are so thin you could not walk over the snow in them why, you would catch your death of cold," he added, scornfully.

“What would you do if I wore boots?”

"I should go and learn how to build ships, or paint pictures, or write books. But I should not think of you so much," he said.

The little great lady answered eagerly, “Go and learn how to do all those things; I will wait till you come back and tell me what you have done," and she turned and went into the house.

"Good-bye," the boy said, as he stood watching for a moment the closed door;” dear little great lady, good-bye." And he went along the unmade pathway beyond the empty rabbit house.

The Duck Pond

SO little Bridget took the baby on her right arm and a jug in her left hand, and went to the farm to get the milk. On her way she went by the garden-gate of a large house that stood close to the farm, and she told the baby a story:-

“Last summer," she said,” a little girl, bigger than you, for she was just able to walk, came to stay in that house she and her father and mother. All about the road just here, the ducks and the chickens from the farm, and an old turkey, used to walk about all the day long, but the poor little ducks were very unhappy, for they had no pond to swim about in, only that narrow ditch through which the streamlet is flowing. When the little girl's father saw this, he took a spade, and worked and worked very hard, and out of the ditch and the streamlet he made a little pond for the ducks, and they swam about and were very happy all through the summer days. Every morning I used to stand and watch, and presently the garden-gate would open, and then the father would come out, leading the little girl by the hand, and the mother brought a large plateful of bits of broken bread. The little girl used to throw the bread to the ducks, and they ran after it and ate it up quickly, while she laughed out with glee,, and the father and the mother laughed too just as merrily. Baby, the father had blue eyes, and a voice that you seemed to hear with your heart.

“The little girl used to feed the chickens too, and the foolish old turkey that was so fond of her it would run after her until she screamed and was afraid. The dear father and the little girl came out every morning, while the black pigs looked through the bars of the farm-yard gate and grunted at them, as if they were glad, and I think the ducks knew that the father had made the pond, for they swam round and round it proudly while he watched them, but when he went away they seemed tired and sad.

“The pond is not there now, baby, for a man came by one day and made it into a ditch again; and the chickens and the ducks from the farm are kept in another place.

“The little girl is far away in her own home, which the father made for her, and the dear father lives in his own home too in the hearts of those he loved."

That was the story that Bridget told the baby.

The Sisters

THE little sisters went into the room to play at ball.

We must be careful not to wake the white cat," the tall one said, softly.

“Or to spoil the roses," the fat one whispered; " but throw high, dear sister, or we shall never hit the ceiling."

"You dear children," thought the white cat, "why do you come to play here at all? Only just round the corner are the shady trees, and the birds singing on the branches, and the sunshine is flecking the pathway. Who knows but what, out there, your ball might touch the sky? Here you will only disturb me, and perhaps spoil the roses; and at best you can but hit the ceiling!"

The Bad Girl

SHE was always called the bad girl, for she had once, when she was very little, put out her tongue at the postman. She lived alone with her grandmother and her three brothers in the cottage beyond the field, and the girls in the village took no notice of her. The bad girl did not mind this, for she was always thinking of the cuckoo clock. The clock stood in one corner of the cottage, and every hour a door opened at the top of its face, and a little cuckoo came out and called its name just the same number of times that the clock ought to have struck, and called it so loudly and in so much haste that the clock was afraid to strike at all. The bad girl was always wondering whether it was worse for the clock to have a cupboard in its forehead, and a bird that was always hopping in and out, or for the poor cuckoo to spend so much time in a dark little prison. "If it could only get away to the woods," she said to herself, " who knows but its voice might grow sweet, and even life itself might come to it!
"She thought of the clock so much that her grandmother used to say--

"Ah, lassie, if you would only think of me sometimes! " But the bad girl would answer--

"You are not in prison, granny dear, and you have not even a bee in your bonnet, let alone a bird in your head. Why should I think of you?”

One day, close by the farm, she saw the big girls from the school gathering flowers.

“Give me one," she said; "perhaps the cuckoo would like it." But they all cried, "No, no!" and tried to frighten her away. "They are for the little one's birthday. To-morrow she will be seven years old," they said,” and she is to have a crown of flowers and a cake, and all the afternoon we shall play merry games with her."

“Is she unhappy, that you are taking so much trouble for her?“ asked the bad girl.

"Oh, no; she is very happy: but it will be her birthday, and we want to make her happier.”

"Why?"

“Because we love her," said one;

“Because she is so little," said another;

“Because she is alive," said a third.

“Are all things that live to be loved and cared for? " the bad girl asked, but they were too busy to listen, so she went on her way thinking; and it seemed as if all things round the birds, and bees, and the rustling leave*, and the little tender wild flowers, half hidden in the grass answered, as she went along

"Yes, they are all to be cared for and made happier, if it be possible."

“The cuckoo clock is not alive," she thought.

"Oh, no; it is not alive," the trees answered; "but many things that do not live have voices, and many others are just sign-posts, pointing the way."

“The way ! The way to what, and where?”

“We find out for ourselves; we must all find out for ourselves," the trees sighed and whispered to each other.

As the bad girl entered the cottage, the cuckoo called out its name eleven times, but she did not even look up. She walked straight across to the chair by the fireside, and kneeling down, kissed her granny's hands.

The Swallows

THERE were some children in the north looking at the swallows flying south. “Why are they going away?” the little one asked.

“The summer is over," the elder sister answered, ”and if they stayed here they would be starved and die of cold, and so, when the summer goes, they journey south."

“Our mother and sisters are in the south," the little one said, as they looked after the birds. “Dear little swallows, tell mother that we are watching for her!” But they were already flying over the sea. The chilly winds tried to follow, but the swallows flew so swiftly they were not overtaken; they went on, with the summer always before them. They were tired many a time; once they stayed to rest upon the French coast, and once, in the Bay of Biscay, they clung to the rigging of a ship all through the night, but in the morning they went on again.

Far away in the south, two English children were looking from the turret window of an old castle.

“Here are the swallows," they said; "perhaps they have come from England. Dear swallows, have you brought us a message?" they asked.

"It was very cold, we had no time for messages; and we must not lose the track of summer," the swallows twittered, and they flew on till they reached the African shore.

“Poor little swallows," said the English children, as they watched the ship come into port that was to take them back to their own land ; "they have to chase the summer and the sun, but we do not mind whether it is summer or winter, for if we only keep our hearts warm, the rest does not matter."

"It is very good of the swallows to come to us," the elder sister said, in the next spring, when she heard their first soft twitter beneath the eaves, "for the summer is in many places, and we are so far from the south."

"Yes, it is very good of them to come," the children answered; “dear little swallows, perhaps they love us!”

The Children and the Garland

“TOMORROW is May-day," the children said; "the birds must call us very early, and we will go to the woods and make a garland." And in the morning, long before the sun had looked over the tops of the houses into the village street, they were far away in the woods.

"I will give them some roses as they come back," the gardener said. "They shall put them among the spring flowers, as a swallow among the thrushes, to show that summer is on its way."

When the children had made their garland and a posy for each one of them, they went singing all down the village street, over the grey stone bridge, beyond the hayricks, and past the houses on the hill-side.

In one of the houses there was a pale little child with a sad, thin face. "Mother," he said, “here are some children with a garland. Will it be summer when they have gone by?" He called after them as they went on, " Come back, oh, come back again!”

"Yes, we will come back," they answered, but they went on their way singing. All through the day he waited for them, but they did not come; and at last, when it was evening, the mother took him up into her arms to carry him to his bed. Suddenly he heard the children singing in the distance. “Oh, mother," he exclaimed, “they are coming;” and he watched till they came up the hill again and stood before him. " But where is your garland? “he asked.

" We gave it to lame Mary, the postman's wife, for she is always longing to see the fields," they answered ; " but these roses are for you, dear little boy; they are all for you," and putting them into his hands they went back to the village.

“You are very tired," the child said to the roses; “all your leaves are drooping. Poor roses, perhaps you are lonely away from the garden; but you shall sleep near me, and there is a star rising up in the sky; it will watch us all through the night." Then the child nestled down in his white bed he and his little warm heart, in which there was love for all things. While he slept the roses looked at his pale little face and sighed, and presently they stole softly on to his cheeks and rested there. The children saw them still there when the summer was over; when the garland was quite dead, and lame Mary longed for the fields no more.

Peace

HE looked over his shoulder quickly. She saw him, and turned still more quickly away. "I shall go and take a long walk in the woods," he said.

"You don't know where the rabbit-holes are," she answered.

"Yes, I do ; I found them out the other day."

“I shall go out with Mary."

"All right."

“And I shall never go into the woods with you any more."

"Very well. I don't care," he said. Then she broke down and sobbed.

“You are a very unkind boy."

“It’s all your fault."

"No, it's all yours. You began."

"No, you began."

“You don't like me now," she sobbed.

"Yes, I do."

“You said I was a nasty, disagreeable thing."

"Well, I didn't mean it if I did. You said I was an ugly, unkind boy."

"Oh, but I didn't mean it," she said.

“You know I'm very fond of you."

“So am I of you."

"All right, then, let's make it up." So he turned round quickly and she turned round slowly, and he put his arms round her waist, and she put her hands up on to his shoulders, and they kissed each other, and hugged each other, and rubbed noses, and laughed.

“Shall we go to the woods? “she asked, doubtfully.

"Yes, come along."

“You said you'd go without me," she pouted.

"Oh, but I shouldn't have liked it a bit."

“And I should have been so unhappy," she said.

"And now we just will have a game," he answered, as hand-in-hand they went off as fast as they could scamper.

Seeking the Violets

ALL the wood had been blue with violets, but now they were nearly gone. The birds sang louder and louder to keep them and to call them back, but soon there was not a violet left in all the wood from end to end. The snowdrops died, and the primrose faded, the cowslips and blue-bells vanished, the thorn grew white with blossom, the wild honeysuckle filled the wood with its fragrance, and soon the fruit began to ripen.

The blackbirds and the swallows and the chaffinches, and all the birds they knew, gathered round the garden trees and bushes, and forgot the woods, until suddenly one day they espied a little child. She was sitting on a chair under a tree; she had a little table before her and a pink ribbon round her hat; she was eating fruit with a large silver spoon. The birds were afraid, and held aloof until a sparrow chirped and the child looked up, and when they saw how blue her eyes were, they sang out bravely and fluttered round her, thinking that she had brought them news from the violets. But she never looked up again, though the birds crowded on to the branch above her, and perched upon' the table, and rubbed their little beaks against her plate. She just held on her hat with one hand, and with the other went on taking up fruit with a silver spoon.

"Ah, dear child," a swallow twittered, "perhaps you do not know what is written in your eyes; so many of us carry secrets that we ourselves know last of all"

Over the Porridge

THEY sat down to eat their porridge. The naughty little girl turned her back upon her sister, and put a large spoonful into her mouth.

“Oh oh oh!" she cried, "I have burnt my tongue."

“Eat it slowly," said the good little sister. She took up her porridge carefully, and after blowing it very gently, and waiting for a minute or two while it cooled, ate it, and found it very nice.

"I shall not eat mine until it is quite cold," said Totsey, getting cross.

"Then it will be nasty," said the good little sister, still going on with her own porridge.

"Oh, dear," said Totsey, "if I eat it too hot it burns me, and if I eat it too cold it's nasty. What shall I do?

“Take it as I do mine," said the good little sister. "It is the right way."

“There are two wrong ways and only one right way; it isn't fair," sighed the naughty little girl. "And, oh! my porridge is so nasty." Then she asked, “Did you ever eat your porridge too hot and burn your tongue?"

"No," answered the good little sister; "I never ate my porridge too hot and burnt my tongue."

“Did you ever eat your porridge when it was quite cold and very nasty?”

"No," answered the good little sister again; "I never ate my porridge when it was quite cold and very nasty."

"Well, I have," said Totsey ; " and so I know about two things that you do not know about." And the naughty little sister got up and walked away, and the good little sister sat still and thought about many things.

The Broken Horse

Tina was a 6 years old cute girl. She is very fond of wooden toys, especially she had a beautiful wood horse gifted by her uncle when she was 2 years old. The wooden horse has been her close pal and her pet. She has a 9 years old brother. She went on a vacation to a nature resort in the woods with her family. She carried the wooden horse with her. She enjoyed her holiday with her family in the woods. While she was packing things with her brother as they planned to return home, the wooden horse fallen down and one of the legs were broken. Tina was too sad and silently cried for her horse.

She was very upset. They packed all things and left the woods. Entire family tried to cheer up the sweet little girl, but Tina was so silent, very upset. Tina’s brother tried to console her a lot.  

They had a break for lunch and Tina refused to eat. Her momma requested her to eat food, she ate a very little amount of food.

While others were eating, she sat quietly in their car. Her brother came to her and kissed her cheek, told her,

‘Tina dear, don’t worry, don’t get upset dear. It is only a wooden toy. The horse doesn’t have a life like us and it is just a lifeless thing. Don’t be so sad for the broken leg. Even if the horse loses its tail, it won’t be hurting the horse. Even if all four legs are broken, the wooden horse remains same. Even if the horse loses its head, it won’t be painful. I will buy a new wood horse for you!’

Tina replied, ‘You think it doesn’t matter that a leg of my pet toy was broken?’

Her brother replied, ‘Yes dear!’

Tina replied, ‘Yes brother you are right. It won’t be a major issue for you even if the horse is broken into pieces at this age. But if you are in my age, if you had a pet like I had, you will feel how painful it would be to even if a small part of horse is broken!’

Her brother left silently!

Just like Tina, everyone has different feelings of different aspects. What we considered of no importance will be a treasure of somebody!

The Poor Little Doll

IT was a plain little doll that had been bought for sixpence at a stall in the market-place. It had scanty hair and a weak composition face, a calico body and foolish feet that always turned inwards instead of outwards, and from which the sawdust now and then oozed. Yet in its glass eyes there was an expression of amusement; they seemed to be looking not at you but through you, and the pursed-up red lips were always smiling at what the glass eyes saw.

"Well, you are a doll," the boy said, looking up from his French exercise. "And what are you staring at me for is there anything behind?" he asked, looking over has shoulder. The doll made no answer. "And whatever are you smiling for?" he asked; "I believe you are always smiling. I believe you'd go on if I didn't do my exercise till next year, or if the cat died, or the monument tumbled down." But still the doll smiled in silence, and the boy went on with his exercise. Presently he looked up again and yawned. "I think I'll go for a stroll," he said, and put his book by. "I know what I'll do," he said, suddenly; "I'll take that doll and hang it up to the apple tree to scare away the sparrows." And calling out, "Sis, I have taken your doll; I'm going to make a scarecrow of it," he went off to the garden.

His sister rushed after him, crying out, "Oh, my poor doll! oh, my dear little doll ! What are you doing to it, you naughty boy?”

"It's so ugly," he said.

"No, it is not ugly," she cried.

“And it's so stupid, it never does anything but smile, it can't even grow, it never gets any bigger."

“Poor darling doll," Sis said, as she got it once more safely into her arms, "of course you can't grow, but it is not your fault, they did not make any tucks in you to let out."

“And it's so unfeeling. It went smiling away like anything when I could not do my French."

"It has no heart. Of course it can't feel."

“Why hasn't it got a heart?

“Because it isn't alive. You ought to be sorry for it, and very, very kind to it, poor thing." "Well, what is it always smiling for?" “Because it is so good," answered Sis, bursting into tears. "It is never bad-tempered; it never complains, and it never did anything unkind," and, kissing it tenderly, "you are always good and sweet," she said, “and always look smiling, though you must be very unhappy at not being alive."

On the way to the Sun

HE had journeyed a long way, and was very tired. It seemed like a dream when he stood up after a sleep in the field, and looked over the wall, and saw the garden, and the flowers, and the children playing all about. He looked at the long road behind him, at the dark wood and the barren hills; it was the world to which he belonged. He looked at the garden before him, at the big house, and the terrace, and the steps that led down to the smooth lawn it was the world which belonged to the children.

“Poor boy," said the elder child, "I will get you something to eat."

“But where did he come from? “the gardener asked.

"We do not know," the child answered; "but he is very hungry, and mother says we may give him some food."

"I will take him some milk," said the little one; in one hand she carried a mug and with the other she pulled along her little broken cart.

“But what is he called? “asked the gardener.

“We do not know," the little one answered; "but he is very thirsty, and mother says we may give him some milk."

"Where is he going?" asked the gardener.

“We do not know," the children said ;" but he is very tired."

When the boy had rested well, he got up saying, "I must not stay any longer," and turned to go on his way.

"What have you to do?" the children asked.

"I am one of the crew, and must help to make the world go round," he answered.

“Why do we not help too?”

“You are the passengers."

“How far have you to go?" they asked.

"Oh, a long way!" he answered. "On and on until I can touch the sun."

"Will you really touch it?" they said, awestruck.

"I dare say I shall tire long before I get there," he answered sadly. "Perhaps without knowing it, though, I shall reach it in my sleep," he added. But they hardly heard the last words, for he was already far off.

"Why did you talk to him?” the gardener said. "He is just a working boy."

"And we do nothing! It was very good of him to notice us," they said, humbly.

"Good!" said the gardener in despair. "Why, between you and him there is a great difference."

 "There was only a wall," they answered. “Who set it up? “they asked curiously.

“Why, the builders, of course. Men set it up."

“And who will pull it down ?"

"It will not want any pulling down," the man answered grimly. "Time will do that."

As the children went back to their play, they looked up at the light towards which the boy was journeying.

"Perhaps we too shall reach it someday," they said.