A LAWN, all covered with mounds of cut grass fast turning into sweet-smelling hay. A small boy on one of the hammocks near the gate that led through the garden, looking very sad, and not a little cross. The gate opened, and his father came in on his way to the house. 

"What's the matter, Vinton? Why are you not playing or studying your lessons?" 

"Can't do my sums," said the little boy, crossly. His father made no reply, but stood looking down on the ground for a few moments. Presently he said:— 

"Come here, my son. Now sit and watch that for a little while, and see if it won't help you," and passed on into the house. 

This is what Vinton saw: A little anthill, and near it a small black ant trying with all its might to roll a large white crumb up the hill. First he would push it on one side; then pull it on the other, only to gain a little ground, and have it roll back on him again. Over and over, this happened; but the little black ant never gave up, never seemed to despair. 

Vinton got very much interested, and sat and watched for some time. At last, the patient effort was crowned with success; and the little ant stood on top of the hill with a lame white crumb before him, and pushed it down into his hole. 

Vinton clapped his hands, and cried, "Bravo," then stood looking sober for a minute, turned, and went into the house. 

He took up his slate and pencil, and sat down once more to the neglected task. He had to try very hard, fix his attention upon it closely, and reckon the figures over and over again. But, at last, he, too, succeeded. They were all right, and he put the answers down, as he said, "in black and white." 

Then he went to mamma, exclaiming very cheerfully:— 

"I have done my sums, and who do you think helped me? My ant!" 

"What, Aunt Mary? I did not know she was here," said mamma. 

"No, the little black ant in the garden, that papa showed me." And then he sat down and told her all about it. 

"Mamma, I think I'll take for my motto, “If you find you don't succeed, try, try, try again."

 'And a very good one it is, too," said mamma. 

There are not a few lessons little folks might learn, and large ones, too, from the insects.—

Leigh Nath. 

EVERY-DAY heroism consists in being brave in little things. For instance, in not crying when hurt or scratched; in being patient when sick; in doing without candy, toys, or new clothes; in studying with all one's might; in looking out for others' pleasure; in being glad that others have a better time than you have; in being willing to be useful in little ways and not waiting for great opportunities, and in minding whenever conscience speaks.

Little Unity.