“There, my child, cherish this little bird tenderly. Let the door of its cage be open all day, that it may wander about the garden where it will. It will not go away from you very far. Every night it will sleep in its cage.” Mary looked on the little bird, and was greatly pleased. She put her lips to the golden wires, and the pretty little creature came and kissed them. She opened the door, and it flew upon her finger and sang, and with its pretty round eyes looked into hers, and played with its beak about her pretty mouth. “Oh, fairy! dear fairy! a beautiful bird indeed! I will take great care of it, for I love it tenderly.” “My child,” said the fairy, “I have lent you this beautiful creature for your good, not for your amusement merely. This little bird has the power of speaking to you when you need it. Listen attentively to his songs, and let the meaning and spirit of them sink deep into your heart.” So saying, the fairy went away, and left Mary alone with the bird. For awhile the pleasure of looking at it quite filled her mind. Its beautiful plumage, its little round sparkling eye, its pretty, affectionate ways, its clear, sweet note, were always delightful and charming. After a time, however, she remembered the day’s pleasure that had been promised to her at her aunt’s, and she lifted up the blind of the window to look at the weather. O dear! dear! it rained worse than ever!—Drip, drip, drip—patter, patter, patter. Little bits of spongy cloud kept scudding overhead, sometimes black and sometimes grey, sometimes dropping a good drenching shower, and sometimes only a drizzling sheet of spray. The roads were soft and miry, with little pools of water here and there, through which the horses and carts passed with a splashing sound. Mary sighed. She thought of her aunt’s beautiful garden and meadow, of the games of play with her cousins, of the swing under the boughs of the mulberry tree, of the pet lamb and the little dog, and little Johnny trotting about and enjoying it all; and then she looked out into the gloomy rain. How vexatious! “Rain, rain, go away!” the lips of the little maiden pouted, and presently she began to cry. “Swe-et!—swe-et!” said the little bird, from his golden cage, and then he broke out into song:— “Oh! Foolish little maid to pray The fruitful rain to go away. Showers as well as sunbeams fall, From that deep Soul which loveth all; Dark or bright, the Heavens are full Of mercies—sweet and beautiful.” “Ah, little bird! is that you, dearest?” said Mary; “I did not mean to ask anything improper. I know the rain is very beautiful; but then so much of it, you know—and just at this time, too, when we are invited to auntie’s! O! really, little bird, it is very, very——”