The old man dropped his knife and fork, and leaning over the table, looked with a sharp eye upon the youth, and said: "John, you do not know what you are doing! Boy, you are serving the devil! Do you want to make me what I once was, a poor, miserable man, unfit to govern my tribe? John, the acorn grows into an oak; the cub becomes a bear; the brook swells into a river; and a single spark of fire will spread through a whole forest. So one drop of your beer would make me want more, and then I should want something stronger, and I would drink rum until I became as wretched as I once was. Do you not know that I am an Indian? I tell you that I am; and that if I begin to drink beer I cannot stop without tasting rum. _John, while you live, never again tempt a man to break a good resolution._" The young man knew not what to say. He felt that he had done a mean thing in trying to get old Zachary to break his pledge. His parents were deeply affected at the scene, and often reminded their son of it afterward, charging him never to forget it; and he did not. For years after the Indian chief died, John made frequent visits to his grave, repeating to himself the valuable lesson he had learned, never to tempt a man to break a good resolution. Men, and children too, who are trying to become better, ought to be helped, not hindered. Kind words and kind deeds will greatly encourage them; but to frown upon them, to sneer at them, or to make sport of them, is often a sure way of making them as bad as ever.--_The Christian._ TRUST IN PROVIDENCE. On a bridge I was standing one morning, And watching the current roll by, When suddenly into the water There fell an unfortunate fly. The fishes that swam to the surface, Were looking for something to eat, And I thought that the hapless young insect Would surely afford them a treat. "Poor thing," I exclaimed with compassion, "Thy trials and dangers abound, For if thou escap'st being eaten, Thou canst not escape being drowned." No sooner the sentence was spoken, Than lo, like an angel of love, I saw, to the waters beneath me, A leaflet descend from above. It glided serene on the streamlet, 'Twas an ark to the poor little fly; Which, soon to the land reascending, Spread its wings to the breezes to dry. Oh, sweet was the truth that was whispered, That mortals should _never_ despair, For He that takes care of an insect, Much more for His _children_ will care. And though, to our short-sighted vision, No way of escape may appear, Let us trust, for when least we expect it, The help of _our Father_ is near. THE WIFE.