And affection and encouragement brightened up Davy’s wits so much that he ceased before long to occupy that unenviable and lowly position, and astonished his teacher by his rapid progress. No punishment was ever meted out to old Sim; but it is scarcely necessary to say that the boys were careful to let him severely alone after that memorable Saturday on which Davy became a hero. THE BLIND GIRL AND THE SPRING. BY SYDNEY GREY. Yes, it is true that I am blind (it was not always thus), But oft it comes into my mind how God can comfort us. For if, of some good gift bereft, we bend before His will, He ever has a blessing left which should our sorrows still. This very morn I found it so; scarce had the day begun, Ere with small, pattering, restless feet that hither swiftly run, The children came in joyous mood, and shouted, “Spring is here!” And when they led me through the wood, I knew that she was near. I felt her breath upon my cheek, and while we walked along, A thousand times I heard her speak the rustling leaves among, In tones as though a harp had thrilled beneath an angel’s touch, And all my soul with rapture filled: yet when I said as much, The others laughed and whispered low, “Nay, nay, it is the wind!” To them perhaps it might be so; but, ah! if folks are blind, They learn in every sound that floats around their pathway dark-- The breeze, the brook, the glad bird-notes--some hidden voice to mark. Therefore, when spring begins to don her garments fresh and gay, Because I cannot look upon her beauty day by day, Nor see the pointed crocus flame above the garden mold, Nor watch the snowy tips that frame the daisy’s heart of gold; Because unto my longing eyes may never be displayed The changeful glory of the skies, warm shine and soothing shade, Nor the great sun’s far-reaching rays which crown the day with light, Nor yet the star-lit purple haze that comes before the night; She breathes the tender tale to me, in accents clear and plain, Until I nearly rend the veil and see it all again. And though I’m blind, I know quite well, when to the woods we go, The place to find the wild bluebell, and where the lilies blow; Shy violets tell me, as I pass, their buds are at my feet, And through the lengthening meadow-grass run murmurs soft and sweet. Oh! I thank God that He doth bring such daily joy to me, For even I can welcome spring, like happy girls who see. [Illustration] How to Make A Canvas Canoe, (_Concluded._) BY E. T. LITTLEWOOD. The covering is best made of what is known as “crash,” strong and close. It must be wide enough to go completely under the canoe, and can be had about 5 ft. wide, which will be quite wide enough. Seven yards of it will be sufficient.