It was something new. A horse, a plow, a beautiful field of corn, a fresh, lovely morning, nature singing all around. The work was simple -just pass up and down each row of the young corn cultivate its roots and destroy the weeds. And, in its own language, it seemed to be thankful, for it looked the greener in the newly stirred ground. Earnestly, and with a light heart, the boy at the plow went on, making nice headway. Bat the sun was going on too, and as he rose, the heat of the day began to be trying. It grew hotter Still, insects made the horse fretful, and this made the plow unsteady. Perspiration rolled down the boy's face, and his task assumed a painful aspect. At the end of a row, he stopped, looked back, and measured with a glance how much he had done. Another glance forward showed a field whose end he could not see; it was far off, beyond the sloping hill. Discouraged, he sat on his plow and wept.

Just then, from over the hill, where the end of the field was hid, a well-known figure came in sight-his mother. There she was, with a pitcher and a plate. Amid her many cares she had not forgotten her boy. Nor would sending a messenger with the refreshments do; she would go herself.

"Why, my boy, what is the matter?"

"Mother, I have worked faithfully since I commenced, and see, I have only an insignificant strip of the field done. I can never get through this whole field."

"My child, you have not the whole field to do, but only one row. Can you not do one row?"

"Oh yes, mother; that is easy enough."

"Well, that is all you have to do."

The boy's courage had returned, the refreshments had revived him, and by doing only one row he finished his task in peace and good cheer.

I leave the application of this incident of real life to those who, having tasted the freshness of the morning of another and better life, may now be lagging under the heat of the day.