The good merchant patted Benjamin on the head, and evidently considered him a wonderful boy. When his parents saw how much their son's performances were admired, they no doubt remembered the prophecy of their old friend respecting Ben's future eminence. Yet they could not understand how he was ever to become a great and useful man merely by making pictures.

One evening, shortly after Mr. Pennington's return to Philadelphia, a package arrived at Springfield, directed to our little friend Ben.

"What can it possibly be?" thought Ben, when it was put into his hands. "Who could have sent me such a great square package as this?"

On taking off the thick brown paper in which it was wrapped, behold! there was a paint-box, with a great many cakes of paint, and brushes of various sizes. It was the gift of good Mr. Pennington. There were likewise several squares of canvas, such as artists use for painting pictures upon, and, in addition to all these treasures, some beautiful engravings of landscapes. These were the first pictures that Ben had ever seen, except those of his own drawing.

What a joyful evening was this for the little artist! At bedtime he put the paint-box under his pillow, and got hardly a wink of sleep; for, all night long, his fancy was painting pictures in the darkness.

In the morning, he hurried to the garret, and was seen no more till the dinner-hour; nor did he give himself time to eat more than a mouthful or two of food before he hurried back to the garret again.

The next day, and the next, he was just as busy as ever; until at last his mother thought it time to ascertain what he was about. She accordingly followed him to the garret.

On opening the door, the first object that presented itself to her eyes, was our friend Benjamin, giving the last touches to a beautiful picture. He had copied portions of two of the engravings, and made one picture out of both, with such admirable skill that it was far more beautiful than the originals. The grass, the trees, the water, the sky, and the houses were all painted in their proper colors. There, too, were the sunshine and the shadow, looking as natural as life.

"My dear child, thou hast done wonders!" cried his mother.

The good lady was delighted. And well might she be proud of her boy; for there were touches in this picture, of which old artists, who had spent a life-time in the business, need not have been ashamed. Many a year afterward, this wonderful production was exhibited at the Royal Academy in London.

Well, time went on, and Benjamin continued to draw and paint pictures, until he had now reached the age when it was proper that he should choose a business for life. His father and mother were in considerable perplexity about him.

According to the ideas of the Friends, it is not right for people to spend their lives in occupations that are of no real and sensible advantage to the world. Now, what advantage could the world expect from Benjamin's pictures?

This was a difficult question; and, in order to

set their minds at rest, his parents determined to consult the preachers and wise men of their society. Accordingly, they all assembled in the meeting-house, and talked the matter over from beginning to end.

Finally, they came to a very wise decision. It seemed so evident that Providence had intended Benjamin to be a painter, and had given him abilities which would be thrown away in any other business, that the Friends resolved not to oppose his desire. They even admitted that the sight of a beautiful picture might convey instruction to the mind and might benefit the heart as much as a good book or a wise discourse.

They therefore committed the youth to the direction of God, being well assured that He best knew what was his proper sphere of usefulness. The old men laid their hands upon Benjamin's head and gave him their blessing, and the women kissed him affectionately. All consented that he should go forth into the world and learn to be a painter, by studying the best pictures of ancient and modern times.

So our friend Benjamin left the dwelling of his parents, and his native woods and streams, and the good Friends of Springfield, and the Indians who. had given him his first colors,—he left all the places and persons whom he had hitherto known, and returned to them no more. He went first to Philadelphia, and afterward to Europe.

Here he was noticed by many great people, but retained all the sobriety and simplicity which he had learned among the Friends. It is related of him, that, when he was presented at the court of

the Prince of Parma, he kept his hat upon his head, even while kissing the prince's hand.

When he was twenty-five years old, he went to London, and established himself there as an artist. In due course of time, he acquired great fame by his pictures, and was made chief painter to King George the Third, and President of the Royal Academy of Arts.

When the Friends of Pennsylvania heard of his success, they felt that the prophecy of the old preacher as to little Ben's future eminence was now accomplished. It is true, they shook their heads at his pictures of battle and bloodshed, such as the "Death of Wolfe," thinking that these terrible scenes should not be held up to the admiration of the world.

His picture of "Christ Healing the Sick” was exhibited at the Royal Academy in London, where it covered a vast space, and displayed a great number of figures as large as life. On the wall, close beside this admirable picture, there hung a small and faded landscape. It was the same picture that little. Ben had painted in his father's garret, after receiving the paint-box and engravings from good Mr. Pennington.

He lived many years in peace and honor, and died in 1820, at the age of eighty-two. The story of his life is almost as wonderful as a fairy tale; for there are few more wonderful changes than that of a little unknown boy of the Society of Friends, in the wilds of America, into the most distinguished English painter of his day.

Let us each make the best use of our natural abilities as Benjamin West did; and, with the bless

17.-MOTHER NATURE'S FAIRIES.

eŎn fi děn ́tial, trusting; secret. | ǎd o pa'tion, the act of paying

honors to a divine being. Ŏr'a tor, a public speaker. plúsh, a fabric with a soft nap on

one side.

eǎn'o py, a covering to protect one.

knōll, a little round hill.

ĕx pe di'tions, marches; excursions.

pro fu'şion, great abundance. ar rāys', dresses; envelopes. lăv'ish, great; plentiful. jŎstle (jõs'l), crowd against.

"Spring-time is coming! search for the flowers!

Brush off the brown leaves, the darlings are here!
Joy of the spring-time picking the May-flowers!

Kiss the spring-beauties, the babes of the year!"

The winter is over and gone; the warm southwind blowing over the snow-banks has melted them and they are now running away, joyous and free, down the hill-sides, and through the meadows, singing such a merry song that the birds and flowers are waking up and listening to it.

The day is gaining on the night, and the bright, life-giving rays of the sun shining on the damp ground, have warmed it; the myriad forms of growing root, stem, and leaf feel the warmth, and are already stretching themselves, preparatory to getting up.

The more courageous flowers that are not afraid of a cold morning, have rubbed their sleepy eyes, are up and dressed, and calling in their sweet, winning voices to their brothers and sisters.

Down in the valley, where the sun shines warm, along the low hill-sides, and in the hazel-thickets, the Dog-tooth-violet is ringing his yellow bell, while he gaily nods to passers-by. This flower is really