Or think of a grain of wheat. It is just as useful for food as if it contained nothing but a little flour mixed with a little bran. In fact, when it is ground there is nothing else to be seen; but beside these it contains a little plant, too small to be made out by common sight. When one of these grains or seeds is put into moist earth, it begins to suck in water, which softens it and makes it swell. The little plant inside begins to grow, and in a few days a small, delicate root peeps out from one end of the seed. The seed may be lying on its side, or with the root end uppermost; but the little root, whether it comes out at the top or bottom of the seed, immediately turns downward, and grows in that direction. Soon after, a little white shoot comes out at the other end, which turns upwards, and becomes green as soon as it gets into air and light; and thus we have a little plant. In the mean time, the seed itself spoils and decays; or, as St. Paul calls it, dies. The flour changes into a kind of gummy sugar, which is sucked up by the young plant as its first nourishment; the husk shrivels and rots, and the plant grows up until it becomes a thousand times as large as the seed. At last it produces many other seeds, just as wonderful as that from which it grew. In all the works of man, there is nothing like this. A watch is a remarkable invention, and a man would be set down as mad who should think it should be made by chance. But how much more wonderful would a watch be, if it could make other watches like itself! Yet a seed does this; and every cornfield in harvest-time contains millions of seeds, each of which is far more wonderful than the best watch. The reason is, that men make watches, but God makes seeds. It is true that the skill by which men make watches comes from God, and should be acknowledged as his gift; but the more wonderful power by which a seed is made, he keeps in his own hands, that we may know that we have a Maker and a Master in heaven, and may serve him with reverence and godly fear. Fanny Gossip and Susan Lazy; A DIALOGUE. _Susan._ Well, Fanny, I was on my way to your house. I thought I never should see your face again. Did you ever know such a long, stupid storm? nothing but rain, rain, rain for three everlasting days! _Fanny._ And in vacation-time too! it did seem too bad. If our house had not been on the street, so that I could see something stirring, I believe I should have had the blues.