16. GOD EVERYWHERE.

A certain Dervise once met on the borders of a deşert, a young man who was running along in greāt haste. "Where göëst thou, my son?" said the Dervise. "I am flying from God," replied the young man, “for I have offended him." Alas!" said the Dervise, “and whither wilt thou fly?" "I will fly to the woods, or the caverns, or the great deșert," was the reply. "Son! said the Dervise, "how knowest thou, when thou seëst not thy fellow-men, that thou art surrounded by them?” "I know it by the habitations they have builded, and by the works of their hands." "And how knowest thou," continued the Dervise, "that the wild beasts are about thee when thine eye dişċerneth them not?" "I know it by the noise of their roaring, and by the print of their footsteps on the sand. "Fly where thou wilt," said the Dervise, "the same märks of the Holy One will surround thee." The young man retraced his steps, and, convinced that God was everywhere, sought His forgiveness, whose justice hē could not avoid.

17. THE BUCKWHEAT.

If, after a tempest, yoû chance to wâlk through a field where Buckwheat is growing, you may observe that it is burnt as black as though a flame of fire had passed over it; and should you ask the reason, the peasant will tell yoû, "That the lightning has done it."

But how is it that the lightning has done it? I will tell yoû what the Sparrow tōld mē; and ṭhe Sparrow heard the story from an ōld Willow-tree, which grew, and still grows, clōse to a field of Buckwheat.

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This Willow-tree is tâll and highly respectable, but, at the same time, ōld and wrinkled; its trunk has been riven asunder from top to bottom; grass and brambles grow out of the gap; the tree bends forward, and the branches hang down âlmost to the ground, looking like long green hair.

There were different kinds of corn growing in the fields around the Willow; rye, wheat, and oats-the beautiful oats, whose ears, when they are ripe, look like a number of little yellow canary-bîrds sitting upon one branch. The corn ears were richly blest; and the füller they were, the lower they bowed their heads in pious humility.

But there was âlsō a field of Buckwheat, lying just in front of the ōld Willōw-tree; the Buckwheat bowed not like the rest of the corn; he stood stiff and proud.

"I am quite as rich as the Wheat," said hē; “and, besides, I am sō much mōre handsome; mỹ flowers are as beautiful as the blossoms of the Apple-tree; it iş delightful to look at me and my companions. Do you know anything mōre beautiful than wē are, ÿoû ōld Willow-tree?"

And the Willow-tree bent his head, as much as to say, "Yes, indeed, I do!" But the Buckwheat was

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puffed up with pride, and said, "The stupid tree! Hē iş sō ōld that grass is growing out of his body."

Now came on a dreadful storm; âll the flowers of the field folded their leaves, or bent their heads, as it passed over them. The Buckwheat, however, in his pride, still stood erect.

"Bow thy head as we do!" said the Flowers. "I have no need," said the Buckwheat.

"Bow thy head, as we do!" said the Corn. "The angel of storms comes flying hitherwârd; he has wings which reach from the clouds to the earth; hē will strike thee down before thou hast time to entreat for mercy."

"No, I will not bow!" said the Buckwheat.

"Clōṣe thy flowers, and fold thy leaves," said the ōld Willow-tree; "look not into the flash, when the cloud breaks. Men even dare not do that; for the flash reveals to us God's heaven, and that sight must dazzle even human eyes. What, then, would it prove to mēre vegetables like us, if we should dare to look into it—wē, who are sō inferior to men?"

“Sō inferior, indeed!" said the Buckwheat. "Now, then, I will look right into God's heaven." And in his pride and haughtiness he did gāze upon the lightning without shrinking. Such was the flash, that it seemed as if the whole world was in flames.

When the tempest was over, Flowers and Corn, greatly refreshed by the rain, once more breathed pure air; but the Buckwheat had been burnt as

black as a coal by the lightning: it stood on the field a dead useless plant.

And the ōld Willow-tree waved its branches to and frō in the wind, and lärge drops of wâter fell from the green leaves, as though the tree wept. And the Sparrows asked, "Why weepest thou? It is sō beautiful here! See how the sun shines; how the clouds pass over the clear sky; how sweet is the fragrance of the flowers! Why, then, weepest thou, ōld Willow-tree?"

And the Willow-tree tōld of the Buckwheat's pride and haughtiness; and of the punishment which followed. I, who relate this story, heard it from the Sparrows-they told it to me one evening when I asked them for a tale.

18. THE COAT AND BUTTONS.

Edward had one day been reading a fairy tale, in which not only beasts and bîrds, but inanimate things, flowers in the gärden, and teacups on the table, were made to speak and give an account of themselves. "I think it would be very funny to hear my coat speak," said Edward; and a few moments afterwârds a soft voice issued from the bōṣom of his coat, and spoke as follows:

"I recollect once growing on the back of a sheep." Edward could not help stärting back with surprīṣe; however, he interrupted him, saying, "I am afraid,

Mr. Coat, you do not know what you are talking about, for coats do not grow, nor do sheep wear coats." "I was only wool when I grew on the sheep," replied the voice; “and a very pleaṣant life wē led together, spending âll the day in the green fields, and resting at night on the grass. Sometimes, indeed, the sheep rubbed himself so roughly against the trees and shrubs, that I was afraid of being tōrn off; and sometimes the bîrds came and pecked off a few flakes of the wool to line their nests, and make them soft and wârm for their young; but they took so little that I could easily spare it. Wē had long led this quiet life, when one day there was a great alärm. The shep-herd and his dog drōve âll the sheep into a fōld, and then took them out one by one, and washed them in a stream of wâter that ran close by. The sheep on which I grew was sadly frightened when his turn came; and, for my part, I could not imagine what they were going to do with me, they rubbed and scrubbed mē so much; but when it was ōver, I looked sō delicately white, that I was quite vain of my beauty, and I thought we were now to return and frisk and gambol in the meadow aṣ wē had done before. But, alas! the sheep and I were going to be pärted for ever. Instead of setting the sheep at liberty, the shep-herd took out a lärġe pair of shears. Only imagine our terror! The poor sheep, I believe, thought his head was going to be cut off, and began to bleat most pitëously; but the shep