Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 The story of Edward Lyon; or, confessing...
 To my good angel
 Henry and his sister
 Anna and her kitten
 Faithfulness; or, the story of...
 The great man
 Philosophy at home. The air...
 The rabbit
 The sleigh ride
 Story of a greyhound
 The truant
 A summer morning ramble
 The Hottentots
 Philosophy at home. The whispering...
 Story of the sea
 The old slate
 Lizzy; a fairy tale
 Philosophy in common things. Corking...
 The lost children
 The two nosegays
 The tame roe
 The secret
 Science of the human frame
 Voices from nature
 King Alfred
 Grace Middleton
 A nurse's song
 The shepherd and the fairy
 Simple pleasures
 The Robin's "good bye" to little...
 The baby-house
 Fidelity and obedience
 Bessie Lee
 The stars--Orion
 The apple
 The new singing school
 The balloon
 Curious little painters
 The upas, or poison tree
 Disobedience, and its conseque...
 The game of weathercocks
 James Cartier. An early traveller...

Group Title: boys' and girls' library
Title: The boys' and girls' library
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001773/00001
 Material Information
Title: The boys' and girls' library containing a variety of useful and instructive reading, selected from eminent writers for youth
Alternate Title: Parley's boys' and girls' library
Physical Description: 278 <i.e. 272> p., <1> leaf of plates : ill. ; 17 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Goodrich, Samuel G ( Samuel Griswold ), 1793-1860
Collins, Henry George ( Publisher )
Monkhouse, William, 1805?-1862 ( Illustrator , Lithographer )
Publisher: H.G. Collins
Place of Publication: London
Publication Date: 1851
Subject: Nature -- Juvenile poetry   ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1851   ( lcsh )
Family stories -- 1851   ( local )
Children's stories -- 1851   ( lcsh )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1851   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1851
Genre: Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Family stories   ( local )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
Statement of Responsibility: by Peter Parley.
General Note: Added title page, engraved.
General Note: Colored frontispiece illustrated and lithorgraphed by W. Monkhouse.
General Note: Baldwin library copy: p. 127 & 128 torn, affecting text.
General Note: Page 193, etc. misnumbered 199, etc.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001773
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002235523
oclc - 45712392
notis - ALH5983
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Half Title
        Page i
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
        Page iv
    Table of Contents
        Page v
        Page vi
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
    The story of Edward Lyon; or, confessing a fault
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
    To my good angel
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    Henry and his sister
        Page 24
        Page 25
    Anna and her kitten
        Page 26
        Page 27
    Faithfulness; or, the story of the bird's nest
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
    The great man
        Page 41
        Page 42
    Philosophy at home. The air thermometer
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
    The rabbit
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    The sleigh ride
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
    Story of a greyhound
        Page 61
        Page 62
    The truant
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
    A summer morning ramble
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
    The Hottentots
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
    Philosophy at home. The whispering figure
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
    Story of the sea
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
    The old slate
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
    Lizzy; a fairy tale
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
    Philosophy in common things. Corking the kettle spout up
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
    The lost children
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
    The two nosegays
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
    The tame roe
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
    The secret
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
    Science of the human frame
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
    Voices from nature
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
    King Alfred
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
    Grace Middleton
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
    A nurse's song
        Page 160
    The shepherd and the fairy
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
    Simple pleasures
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
    The Robin's "good bye" to little Araminta
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
    The baby-house
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
    Fidelity and obedience
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
    Bessie Lee
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193-198
        Page 199
    The stars--Orion
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
    The apple
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
    The new singing school
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
    The balloon
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
    Curious little painters
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
        Page 222
        Page 223
    The upas, or poison tree
        Page 224
        Page 225
        Page 226
    Disobedience, and its consequences
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
        Page 230
        Page 231
        Page 232
    The game of weathercocks
        Page 233
        Page 234
    James Cartier. An early traveller in America
        Page 235
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Published by H.G. Coins.





H. G.

I E27-






Childhood ... ... 7
The Old Year and the
New Year ... 9
The Story of Edward
Lyon; or, Confessing
a Fault ... ... 10
To my good Angel 16
Self-Denial ... 17
Henry and his Sister ... 24
Anna and her Kitten 26
Faithfulness ... 28
The Great Man ... 41
Philosophy in Common
things. The Air
Thermometer ... 43
The Rabbit ... ... 52
Sleigh Ride ... 55

Story of a Greyhound 61
The Truant ... 63
A Summer morning
Ramble ... ... 67
The Hottentots ... 71
Whispering Figure 76
A Story of the Sea ... 79
The Old Slate ... 85
Children, a poem ... 90
Lizzy; a Fairy Tale 91
Ellen. A true story 109
Philosophy in common
things.-Corking the
kettle spout up ... 111
The Lost Children 114
Forgiveness ... 123
The two Nosegays 124



Camgno; or, the tame
The Secret ...
Science of the Human
Frame.-The Skin ...
Voices from Nature
King Alfred
Grace Middleton ...
Shells ...
Emulation.-A conver-
sation between Harry
and his father ...
A Nurse's Song ...
The Shepherd and the
Simple Pleasures
The Robin's "Good
Bye" to little Ara-
The Baby House
Fidelity and Obedience
Bessie Lee ...
The Stars.-Orion
Apple ...
New Singing School






The Balloon ... 215
Curious Little Painters 217
The Upas; or, Poison
Tree ... ... 225
Disobedience, and its
consequences ... 227
The Game of Weather-
cocks ... ... 233
James Cartier. An
early traveller in
America ... ... 235
Anselmo's Escape; or,
the Dog St. Bernard 239
To my Boy Tom, on
giving him his first
Spelling-Book ... 245
Second Story of the Sea 247
The Child at Prayer ... 251
Child Angel 257
Storm ... ... 259
Something about' Dogs 262
The Morning Walk ... 265
" Ostrich ... 271
" Violet.-Modesty 274
" Elephant ... 277





Heaven lies about us in our infancy."
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am a man,
So let it be when I grow old,
Or let me die."
THE angel that takes care of the tender lambs and
sprinkles dew upon the flowers, in the still night,
takes care of thee, dear little one, and lets no evil
come to thy tender years.
Fair child! when I gaze into thy soft, dark eyes,
my childhood returns, like a bright vision, and I

think of the time when every sight and every
sound in nature gave to me such sweet delight, and
all seemed so fair. I almost fancy I hear thy gen-
tle voice breathing forth thy joy in sweet and happy
words, such as little children are wont to use
when they first begin to look up into the blue sky,
to gaze upon the rainbow, or the bright clouds
that float over the moon.
The bright sun, the moon and stars, the murmur-
ing rivulet, the broad ocean heaving to and fro in
the sunlight, the thunder and the storm, the quiet
glen where I listened to the busy hum of the in-
sects, the joyous song of the birds, as they flew
from spray to spray, the odour of fresh flowers-all
filled my breast with heavenly love and peace; and
when I look into thy face, dear Sophia, I feel my
soul return to join you, and I forget the present,
and live only in the past.





As old man, wrinkled with many woes,
Went trudging along through the wintry
'Twas the thirty-first of December, at night,
He had travelled far and was worn out quite.
The clock was just on the click of twelve,
When the old man stopped and began to
And he made a grave in the broad highway,
To be trampled upon on the coming day.
Then in he crept, and had hardly strength,
To stretch himself out at his utmost length,
When the clock struck twelve i-at the
solemn tone,
The old man died without a groan.

Just then a youth came tripping by,
With a holiday look and a merry eye t
His back was loaded with books and toys,
Which he toss'd about to the girls and boys.
He gave one glance at the dead old man.
Then laughed aloud, and away he ran.
But when he comes back, let him laugh, if
he dare,
At the following lines which are written

" Beneath the stone which here you view,
His grandfathers blundered so sadly, that he
Inherited only their penury,
With a few little play-things he's left for his
Who will frolic awhile, and then die of care.
He lived, a wretched life, we're told.
And died at last,just twelve mnthrs Doi 1





" I DON'T like James Parker, and I'll never play
with him again as long as I live," said a little boy,
warmly, whose name was Edward Lyon.
His father, hearing the words of his son, called
him, and said,
Edward, my son, what has happened to cause
you to speak so unkindly of your little playmate ?
I thought you liked James very much."
So I did, father; but I don't like him now."
Why not ?"
: Because he got. angry with me to-day, and
struck me."
Struck you, my son !"
"Yes, indeed! he did so,-but I struck him
back for it !"


When Edward's father heard this, he was very
much grieved. Taking his boy upon his knee, he
asked him to tell him all about his difficulty with
James Parker, and why James had struck him.
Why, you see, father," began Edward, "he
was building a house with the blocks you told us
we might have from the building, and had got it up
very high, when I told him, in fun, that I would
knock it down, and threw a great stone at it, just
by way of make believe. Somehow or other, the
stone slipped in my hand, and struck his house, and
knocked it all to pieces. But I didn't mean to
do it. And then he came up to me, with his face
as red as blood, and struck me with all his might."
"And then you struck him back again ?"
"Yes, sir."
"And then what did he do ?"
He doubled up his fist, as if he was going to
hit me again."
"But didn't do it ?"
"No. He stopped a minute, and then began to
cry, and went off home."
"Suppose he had struck you again-what would
you have done ?"
"I should have hit him back."
Like a wicked boy, as you were, then."
"But he was wicked, too, father."
"Not so wicked as you, I think. In the first
place, it was wrong in yot even to pretend that
you were going to knock his house down. Wrong



in two ways. First, you told an untruth in saying
that you meant to knock it down, when you did
not intend to do so. And then you took pleasure
in seeing him troubled, lest his house, the building
of which gratified him so much, should be wantonly
destroyed. Both the feeling and act here were
evil. And my son, in indulging the one and doing
the other, was not under good influences. And
then, can you wonder that James, after what you
had said, should have believed that you knocked
his house down on purpose? You said that you
meant to do it, and then did do it. What better
evidence could he have had of your unjustifiable
trespass upon his rights? Pleased with his house,
its destruction could only arouse within him feelings
of indignation against the one who had wantonly
thrown it down. Put yourself in his place, and
think whether you would not have felt as angry
as he did; perhaps much more so. Carried away
by this feeling, he struck you. This was wrong,
but not half so much as the fact of your returning
the blow. You knew that you had given him
cause to feel incensed at your' conduct, and you
ought to have borne his blow as a just punishment
for what you had done. But, instead of this, you
made the matter ten times worse by striking him
back. The fact, that he did not return your
blow, but resisted the impulse he felt to strike you
again, shows that he is a much better boy than
you are, Edward; for you have declared, that if he


had struck you again, you would have returned the
blow, and have fought with him, I doubt not, un-
til the one or the other of you had been beaten."
I am sorry I knocked his house down," Edward
said, as soon as his father ceased speaking, and he
hung his head and looked ashamed and troubled.
"And I was sorry the moment I saw that I had
done it."
"Then why did you not tell him so at once ?"
"I would, if he had given me time. But he
doubled up his fist and hit me before I could
Still, knowing that you had provoked him to
do so, you ought to have forgiven the blow."
"And so I would, if I had only had time to
think. But it came so suddenly"-
You have had time to think since, my son, and
yet you have declared that you do not like James,
and never intend playing with him again."
"I didn't feel right when I said that, father. I
was angry at him. But I don't suppose he will
ever play with me again after what has happened."
"Why not ?"
"Of course he is very angry with me."
"More angry with himself for having struck
you, I expect."
Oh, if I thought so, I would go at once and
ask him to forgive me for knocking his house down,
and for having struck him," Edward said, his eyes
filling with tears.



"That ought not to be your reason for asking
his forgiveness, Edward."
Why not, father ?"
You should go to him and ask his forgiveness
because you are conscious of having injured him.
You ought not to think anything about what he
may think or feel, but go to him and confess your
wrong, simply because you have acted wrong."
"But how do I know that he will take it kindly ?"
"That you must not think of, my boy. Think
only of the fact you have injured James, and that
simple justice requires of you to repair that injury
in the best way you can. Surely, the least you can
now do is to go to him, and tell him that you
are sorry for what you have done."
For a time, pride and shame struggled in the
breast of Edward, but at length he made up his
mind to do as his father had proposed. He not
only saw clearly that he had been wrong, but he also
felt that he had been wrong. James Parker lived
only a little way from his father's house, and thither
he at length turned his steps, though with reluc-
tance, for he did not know how James would re-
ceive him.
As he came into the yard of the house where
James' father lived, he saw his little playmate
seated quietly in the door, with his face turned
away, so that he did not notice him, nor seem to
hear the sound of his footsteps, until he was close


to him. Then he turned quickly, and Edward saw
that he had been weeping.
"James," he said, holding out his hand, "I am
sorry that I knocked your house down-but I didn't
mean to do it. And I am more sorry still that I
struck you."
"And I have been so sorry that I struck you,
that I have cried ever since," James said, taking
the offered hand of his young friend. "I might
have known that you did not mean to knock my
house down when you threw the stone,-that it
was an accident. But I was so angry that I didn't
know what I was doing. I'm so glad you have
come. I wanted to see you so bad, and tell you
how sorry I was; but was afraid you would not
forgive me for having struck you."
From that day Edward and James were firmer
friends than ever. Each forgave the other heartily,
and each blamed himself to the full extent of his
error. And besides, each learned to guard against
the sudden impulse of angry feelings, that so often
sever friends, both young and old.




HAIL, protecting spirit, hail!
Guardian of my being here;
Though my faltering footsteps fail,
And I sink in doubt and fear,
Still to cheer me
Thou art near me,
All unseen by mortal eye,-
All unheard by mortal ear;
Thou, a spirit of the sky,
Dost protect and guide me here.

Hail, immortal spirit, hail!
When the storm is in my breast,
And the foes of peace assail,
Thou canst calm my soul to rest.
Then to cheer me
Still be near me-
Guardian angel, to me given,
Guide me still till life be o'er,
Then to that long looked-for heaven,
Let my happy spirit soar.




THERE were two little boys, named James and
William. One day, as they were about starting
for school, their father gave them two or three
pennies a-piece, to spend for themselves. The
little boys were very much pleased at this, and
went off as merry as crickets.
What are you going to buy, William ?" James
asked, after they had walked on a little way.
I don't know," William replied. I have not
thought yet. What are you going to buy with
your pennies?"
"Why, I'll tell you what I believe I'll do. You
know ma' is sick. Now, I think I will buy her a
nice orange. I am sure it will taste good to her."
You may, if you choose, James. But I'm
going to buy some candy with my money. Pa'
gave it to me to spend for myself. If ma' wants
an orange, she can send for it. You know she's
got money, and Hannah gets her everything she1


"I know that," James said. "But then, it
would make me feel so happy to see her eating an
orange that I bought for her with my own money.
She is always doing something for us, or getting
us some nice thing, and I should like to let her see
that I don't forget it."
You can do as you please," was William's
reply to this. For my part, I don't often get
money to spend for myself. And now I think of
it, I don't believe pa' would like it if we were to
take the pennies he gave us for ourselves, and give
them away,-or, what is the same thing, give
away what we bought with them. Indeed, I'm
sure he would not."
I don't think so, William," urged James. "I
think it would please him very much. You know
that he often talks to us of the evil of selfishness.
Don't you remember how pleased he was one day,
when a poor chimney-sweeper asked me for a piece
of cake that I was eating, and I gave him nearly
the whole of it? If that gave him pleasure, surely
my denying myself for the sake of ma', who is sick,
would please him a great deal more."
William did not reply to this, for he could not,
very well. Still, he wanted to spend his pennies
for his own gratification so badly, that he was not
at all influenced by what his brother said.
In a little while, the two little boys came to a
confectioner's shop, and both went into it to spend
their money.



"Well, my little man, what will you have?"
asked the shop-keeper, looking at William, as he
came up to the counter.
Give me three pennies' worth of cream candy,"
William said.
The cream candy was weighed out, and then the
man asked James what he should get for him.
"I want a nice sweet orange, lor a penny,"
said James.
"Our best oranges are twopence," was the
"But I have only a penny, and I want a nice
orange for my mother, who is sick."
"Do you buy it with your own money, my little
man ?" asked the confectioner.
Yes, sir," was the low answer.
"Then take one of the best, for your penny,
and here is some candy into the bargain.
I love to see little boys thoughtful of their mo-
thers." And the man patted James upon the
head, and seemed much pleased.
William felt bad when he heard what the man
said, and began to think how very much pleased
his mother would be when James took her the
orange after school.
I wish I had bought an orange too," he said,
as he went along, eating his candy, which did not
taste half so good as he had expected it would
Do you know why it did not taste so good? I



will tell you. His mind was not at ease. When
our thoughts trouble us, we take little or no plea-
sure in anything. To make this still plainer, I
will just mention the case of a boy, who thought it
would be so pleasant if he could play all the time,
instead of going to school. So much did he think
about this, that one morning, he resolved that he
would not go to school when sent, but would go
out into the woods, and play all day, and be so
So, when he started off, with his dinner in a
little basket, instead of going to the school-room,
he went to the woods.
"Oh, this is so pleasant!" he said, on first
arriving at the woods-" No books nor lessons-
no sitting still all day. Oh, I shall be so
happy !"
As he said this, the thought of his parents, and
of their grief and displeasure, if they should find
out that he had played truant, came into his mind,
and made him feel very unhappy. But he endea-
voured to forget this, and began to frisk about, and
to try his best to be delighted with his new-found
freedom. But it was of no use. His thoughts would
go back to his parents, and to a consciousness of
his disobedience; and these thoughts destroyed all
the pleasantness of being freed from school. At
last, he grew weary of everything around him, and
began to wish that he was again at school. But
he was afraid to go now, it had become so late;



and so be had to stay in the woods all day. It
seemed to him the longest day he had ever spent,
for the thoughts of his disobedience, and the fear
of his parents' displeasure, if they were to find out
what he had done, prevented him from taking any
enjoyment. Oh, how glad he was, when the sun
began to go down towards the west! But it
seemed to him that it never would get to be five
o'clock. Every man he saw with a watch he asked
the time of day, and every answer he received
disappointed him, for he was sure it must be
At last the time came for him to go home. As
he drew near, he began to tremble, lest his parents
should have made the discovery that he had not
been to school. They did not know it, however,
until the little boy, to ease his troubled mind,
confessed his fault.
Now this little boy could not enjoy himself in
the woods because his mind was not at ease. He
was not satisfied with himself. He could not
approve of his own conduct.
So it was with William. He felt that he had
been selfish, and that this selfishness would appear
when his brother carried home the orange for their
sick mother. It was for this reason that his
candy did not taste so good to him as he had
expected that it would. But James eat his with
much satisfaction.



"I wish I had bought ma' an orange with my
pennies," William said, as they were going home
from school.
"I wish you had, too," replied his unselfish
brother, for then we should have two to give her,
instead of one."
"See, ma', what a nice sweet orange I have
Bought you," he said, as he arrived at home, and
went into his mother's sick chamber.
"It is, indeed, very nice, my son, and it will
taste good to me. I have wanted an orange all
the morning. Where did you get it ?"
"Pa' gave me a penny, this morning, and I
bought it with this. I thought you would like
to have one."
You are very good, my son, to think of your
sick mother. And you wouldn't spend your penny
for cake or candy; but denied yourself, that you
might get an orange for me? Mother loves you
for this manifestation of your self-denial and love
for your parent." And she kissed him.
William heard all this, and it made him feel
very bad indeed. Oh, how he did wish that he
had bought something for his mother with the
pennies his father had given him! But it was too
late now.
The pain he felt, however, was useful to him.
It taught him to know that we may often obtain
far greater happiness by denying ourselves for the


sake of others, than in seeking alone the gratifica-
tion of our own appetite; and he seriously resolved
he would try in future to do better.



SAID Henry, one day,
As from school he came in,
"Don't you think, sister dear,
A good boy I have been,
Such a beautiful book to have gained ?

"Just look at these pictures,
The bird on the tree,
These lambs in the meadow,
This flower, and this bee,
With its honey from blossoms obtained.

"And here is a story,
And here is a song;
Let me read the story,
It won't take me lopg;"
And so the nice story he read.

Oh, what a nice story!"
And little Jane's smile
Played on her face,
Like a sunbeam, awhile-
" I'm so glad you were good !" then she said.



Little Anna has a very pretty grey kitten; and she
loves the kitty very much ; and the kitty loves her.
Sometimes when Anna is playing with her doll
and nine-pins, kitty puts out her paw and rolls all
the playthings about the room, but Anna does not
mind that; she knows the little pussy does it all
for play.
One day, when Anna was alone with the kitty,
in the parlour, she made scratches on the window;
and that was a very naughty trick. When her
nurse came into the room, she asked Anna, Who
made these scratches on the window?" Little
Anna felt ashamed of the mischief she had done;
and she did not speak a word.
The kitten was asleep in the chair; and the
nurse said, I suppose this naughty puss did it;"
and she took the kitten out of the chair, and told
her she must box her ears, for scratching the
window; but little Anna began to cry; and she
ran up to her nurse, saying, "Oh, don't whip

little kitty; she did not scratch the window. I
did it."
And so the nurse did not strike poor puss; and
Anna took the kitty in her arms, and smoothed her
soft grey fur, and made her very happy. Anna's
father and mother and her grandmother loved their
little girl very much, because she told the truth,
and was so kind to her good little kitten.



ONE fine spring morning a poor boy sat under a
tree, watching a flock of sheep which were feeding
in a meadow, between a clear, dancing, trout-brook,
and an old oak wood.
He "eld a book in his hand, and was so much
engaged with it, that he scarcely looked up, ex-
cepting that from time to time he cast a quick

glance toward the sheep, to make himself sure they
were all safe, and within bounds.
Once, as he looked up from his book, he saw
standing near him a boy, not much larger than
himself, dressed in the richest and most graceful
manner. It was the prince-the eldest son of the
king, and heir to the throne.
The shepherd-boy did not know him, but sup-
posed him to be the son of the forester, who often
came on business to the fine old hunting-tower,
which stood near by.
Good 'morning, Mr. Forester," said the shep-
herd-boy, taking off his straw hat, which, however,
he instantly' replaced; "can I do anything for
you ?"
"Tell me, are there any birds' nests in these
woods ?" said the prince.
"That is a droll question for. a young forest
man," said the boy. "Don't you hear the birds
singing all around? To be sure there are birds'
nests enough here. Every bird has its own nest."
"Then, do you know where there is a pretty
one to .be seen ?" said the prince.
"Oh, yes; I know a wonderful fine one," said
the boy. "It is the prettiest nest I ever saw in
my life. It is made of yellow straw, and is as
smooth and neat inside, as if it had been turned in
a lathe; and it is covered all over the outside with
fine curled moss, so that you would hardly know
there was a nest there. And then, there are five



eggs in it. Oh, they are so pretty! They are
almost as blue as the bright sky, which shines
through those oak leaves over head."
"That is fine!" said the prince;" come, show
me this same nest. I long to see it."
"That I can easily believe," said the boy, "but
I cannot show you the nest."
"I do not wish you to do it for nothing," said
the prince, "I will reward you well for it."
"That may be," said the boy. "But I cannot
show it to you."
The prince's tutor now stepped up toAtpem. He
was a dignified, kind-looking man, in a plain dark
suit of clothes. The little shepherd had not befov
observed him.
"Be not disobliging, my lad," said he. "The
young gentleman here has never seen a bird's nest,
although he has often read of them, and he wishes
very much to see one. Pray, do him the kindness
to lead him to the one you have mentioned, and let
him see it. He will not take it away from you.
He only wishes to look at it. He will not even
touch it."
The shepherd-boy stood up respectfully, but said,
" I must stick to what I have said. I cannot show
the nest."
That is very unfriendly," said the tutor. "It
should give you great pleasure to be able to do
anything to oblige our beloved prince Frederick."
Is this young gentleman the prince ?" cried the




young shepherd, and again took off his hat; but
this time he did not put it on again. "I am very
much pleased to see the prince, but that bird's
nest I cannot show any one, no not even the king
Such a stiff-necked, obstinate boy I never saw
in my life," said the prince, pettishly. "But we
can easily find means to compel him to do what
we wish."
Leave it to me, if you please, my dear prince,"
said the tutor; "there must be some cause for
this straig ,conduct." Then, turning to the boy,
he said, "Pray tell us what is the reason you will
not show us that nest, and then we will go away
and leave you in peace. Your behaviour seems
very rude and strange; but if you have any good
reason for it, do let us know it."
"Hum !" said the boy; "that I can easily do.
Michel tends goats there over the mountains. He
first showed me the nest, and I promised him that
I never would tell anybody where it was."
"This is quite another thing," said the tutor.
He was much pleased with the honesty of the
boy; but wished to put it to further proof. He
took a piece dof gold from his purse, and said-
"See here! this piece of gold shall be yours, if
you will show us the way to the nest. You need
not tell Michel that you have done it, and then he
will know nothing about it."
"Eh! thank you all the same," said the boy."


"Then I should be a false rogue, and that will I
not be. Michel might know it or not. What
would it help me, if the whole world knew nothing
about it, if God in heaven and myself knew that I
was a base, lying fellow ? Fie !"
Perhaps you do not know how much this piece
of gold is worth," said the tutor. "If you should
change it into coppers, you could not put them all
into your straw hat, even if you should heap them

"Is that true?" said the boy, as he looked
anxiously at the piece of gold. "Oh, how glad
my poor old father would be, if I could earn so
much!" He looked thoughtful a moment, and
then cried out, "No-take it away !" Then,
lowering his voice, he said, "The gentleman must
forgive. He makes me think of the bad spirit in
the wilderness, when he said, all this will I give
thee.' Short and good, I gave Michel my hand
on it, that I would not show the nest to any
one. A promise is a promise, and herewith fare
He turned, and would have gone away, but the
prince's huntsman, who stood near and listened to
what passed, came up, and clapped him on the
shoulder, said, in a deep bass voice, Ill-mannered
booby! is this the way you treat the prince, who
is to be our king? Do you show more respect to
the rude goat-herd over the mountains, than to
him ? Show the bird's nest, quick, or I will hew



a wing out of your body." As he said this he
.drew his hanger.
The poor boy turned pale, and with a trembling
voice cried out, "Oh, pardon! I pray for pardon !"
Show the nest, booby," cried the hunter, "or
I will hew !"
The boy held both hands before him, and looked
with quivering eyes on the bright blade, but still
he cried, in an agitated voice, Oh, I cannot! I
must not! I dare not do it !"
Enough enough !" cried the tutor. "Put up
your sword and step back, Mr. Hunter. Be quiet,
my brave boy. No harm shall be done you. You
have well resisted temptation. You are a noble
soul! Go, ask the permission of your young
friend, and then come and show us the nest. You
shall share the piece of gold between you !"
"Good! good!" said the boy, this evening I
will have an answer for you !"
The prince and tutor went back to the castle, to
which they had come thegday before, to enjoy the
season of spring.
"The nobleness of that boy surprises me," said
the tutor, as they went along. He is a jewel
which cannot be too much prized. He has in him
the elements of a great character. So we may
often find, under the thatched roof, truth and
virtues which the palace does not often present to
After they returned, the tutor inquired of the


steward if he knew anything about the shepherd-
He is a fine boy," said the steward. "His
name is George. His father is poor, but is known
all around for an honest, upright, sensible man."
After the prince's studies were ended for the
day, he went to the window, and immediately said,
" Aha, the littJe George is waiting for us. He tends,
his small flock of sheep by the wood, and often
looks toward the castle."
"Then we will go and hear what answer he
brings us," said the tutor.
They left the castle together and went to the
place where George tended his sheep.
When he saw them moving he ran to meet them,
and called out joyfully,-" It is all right with
Michel; he called me a foolish boy, and scolded
me for not showing you the nest at first, but, it is
better that I should have asked his leave. I can
now show it to you with pleasure. Come with me,
quick, Mr. Prince." 4
George led the way, on the run, to the oak
wood, and the prince and tutor followed more slowly.
Do you see that yellow bird on the alder twig,
that sings so joyfully ?" said George to the prince.
"That is the manikin! the nest belongs to him.
Now we must go softly."
In a part of the woods where the oak trees
were scattering, stood a thicket of white thorns,
with graceful, shining green leaves, thickly orna-



mented with clusters of fragrant blossoms, which
glittered like snow in the rays of the setting sun.
Little George pointed with his finger into the
thicket, and said, softly, to the prince, "There!
peep in once, Mr. Prince! the lady bird is sitting
on her eggs."
The prince looked, and had the satisfaction of
seeing her on her nest. They stood quite still, but
the bird soon flew away, and the prince, with the
greatest pleasure, examined the neat, yellow straw
nest, and the smooth, blue eggs. The tutor made
many excellent remarks, and gave the prince some
information in the meantime.
Now come with us, and receive the money we
promised you," said the tutor to George. But
the gold piece will not be so good for you as silver
He took out his purse and counted down on a
stone, before the astonished George," the worth of
the gold piece in bright new shillings.
"Now divide fairly with Michel!" said the
On honour !" answered George; and sprang,
with the money, out of their sight.
The tutor afterwards inquired whether George
had divided the money equally with Michel, and
found he had not given him a piece too little. His
own part, he carried to his father, and had not kept
a penny to himself.
Prince Frederick went every day to the bird's


nest. At first, the birds were a little afraid of
him, but when they saw that he did not disturb
them, they lost their fear, and went and came
freely, before him.
The prince's delight was full when he saw how
the little birds crept from their shells. How they
all opened their yellow bills and piped loud, when
the parents brought their food. How the young
nestlings grew, were covered with soft down, and
then with feathers; and at length, one day, amid
the loud rejoicings of the parents, they ventured
their first flight to the nearest twig of the thorn-
tree, where the old birds fed them tenderly.
The prince and his tutor often met little George
as he tended his sheep, while they strayed,-now
here, now there. The tutor was much pleased to
observe that he always had his book with him, and
spent all his spare time in reading.
"You know how to amuse yourself in the best
manner, George," said he to the boy. -" I should
be pleased to hear you read a little from that book
which you love so well."
George read aloud, with great zeal, and although
he now and then miscalled a word, he did his best,
and the tutor was pleased.
"That is very well," said he. "In what school
did you learn to read ?"
I have never been in any school," said George,
sadly. The school is too far off, and my father
had no money to pay for it. Besides, I have not




any time to go to school. In summer I tend the
sheep, and in winter I spin at home. But my good
friend, Michel, can read very well, and he has
promised to tell me all he knows. He taught me
all the letters, and the lines of spelling. This is
the same book that Michel learnt from. He gave
it to me, and I have read it through three times.
To be sure, it is so worn out now, that you cannot
see all the words, and it is not so easy to read
as it was."
The next time the prince came to the woods, he
showed George a beautiful book, bound in gilded
"I will lend you this book, George," said the
prince, "and as soon as you can read a whole page
without one mistake, it shall be yours."
Little George was much delighted, and took it
with the ends of his fingers, as carefully as if it
had been made of a spider-web, and could be as
easily torn.
The next time they met, George gave the book
to the prince, and said, "I will try to read any
page that you may please to choose from the first
six leaves." The prince chose a page, and George
read it without making a mistake. So the prince
gave him the book for his own.
One morning the king came to the hunting
castle on horseback, with only one attendant. He
wished to see, by himself, what progress his son
was making in his studies. At dinner, the prince



gave him aq account of the bird's nest, and the
noble conduct of the little shepherd.
"In truth," said the tutor, "that boy is a pre-
cious jewel. He would make a most valuable ser-
vant for our beloved prince; and as God has en-
dowed him with rare qualities, it is much to be
wished that he should be educated. His father is
too poor to do anything for him; but with all his
talents and nobleness of character, it would be a
pity, indeed, that he should be left here, to make
nothing but a poor shepherd like his father."
The king arose from table, and called the tutor
to a recess of one of the windows, where they
talked long together. After it was ended, he sent
to call George to the castle.
Great was the surprise of the poor shepherd-boy,
when he was shewn into the rich saloon, and saw
the dignified man, who stood there, with a glittering
star on his breast. The tutor told him who the
stranger was, and George bowed himself almost to
the earth.
My good boy," said the king in a friendly
tone, I hear you take great pleasure in reading
your book. Should you like to study ?"
"Ah !" said George, if nothing was wanting
but my liking it, I should be a student to-day. But
my father has no money. That is what is wanting."
Then we will try whether we can make a stu-
dent of you," said the king. The prince's tutor
here has a friend, an excellent country curate, who



takes well-disposed boys into his house to educate.
To this curate I will recommend you; and will be
answerable for the expenses of your education.
How does the plan please you ?"
The king expected that George would be very
much delighted, and seize his grace with both
hands. And, indeed, he began to smile at first,
with much seeming pleasure, but immediately after,
a troubled expression came over his face, and he
looked down in silence.
What is the matter ?" said the king; you look
more like crying than being pleased with my offer,
let us hear what it is ?"
"Ah! sir," said George, "my father is so poor
what I earn in summer by tending sheep, and in
winter by spinning, is the most that he has to
live on. To be sure it is little, but he cannot do
without it."
You are a good child," said the king, very
kindly. Your dutiful love for your father is more
precious than the finest pearl in my casket. What
your fat er loses by your changing the shepherd's
crook and spinning-wheel, for the book and pen,
I will make up with him. Will that do ?"
George was almost out of his senses for joy. He
kissed the king's hand, and wet it with tears of
gratitude, then darted out to carry the joyful news
to his father. Soon, father and son both returned,
with their eyes full of tears, for they could only ex-
press their thanks by weeping. When George's




education was completed, the king took him into
his service, and after the king's death, he became
counsellor to the prince-his successor.
His father's last days were easy and happy, by
the comforts which the integrity of the poor shep-
herd-boy had procured hmn.
Michel, the firm friend, and first teacher of the
prince's favourite, was appointed to the place of
forester, and fulfilled all his duties well and faith-




I WILL tell you a tale of a great man who loved
He had two sons whom he also loved.
Now, he hard himself made a law, that whoever
sought to harm the peace of the country where he
lived, should die.
There was a sad cabal against the peace of the
country soon after the law was made:
And the great man's two dear sons were at the
head of this wicked party. Their names were in
the list of bad men.
This great man loved justice more than he loved
his two sons.
He, therefore, made firm his heart, and sat upon
his rich throne, and gave the word that his two
sons should be brought before him;
And he passed sentence on them, as he would
have done on strangers:
For, he thought, why should they not suffer for
their faults ?


We punish the poor and ignorant for their
So, it is just that we should punish the rich and
those who know better, too.
And this great man gave orders that his sons
should be beaten with rods; and that then their
heads should be cut off.
And there he sat upon his seat, as judge,-pale
and cold, but firm and brave.
And when all was past-when both his sons
were dead, and their warm blood lay shed on the
ground before him :
Then, when the judge had done his duty, but
not before, he gave way to the love of the father.
He arose and left his seat;
He went to his own house, and, there wept and
mourned many days.
The name of this great man was Brutus.
Think upon his name, but think more of the true
love of justice and judgment.
This little tale is a fact that happened at Rome.
You have heard of Rome, I dare say; and ybu
will know more of it as you grow up.





IT is a very good amusement for ingenious boys at
home, in the long winter evenings, to construct
such philosophical instruments, or perform such
experiments, as are practicable, with such materials
and means as are within their reach. It is true,
that this may sometimes make parents or an older
sister some trouble, but with proper care on the
part of the young philosophers, this trouble will not
be great, and parents will generally be willing to
submit to it for the sake of having their children
engaged in an entertaining and instructive employ-
ment. We shall, therefore, give our readers such
lessons in practical philosophy, as we suppose may
be of use. In this article we will show them how
they may, with few materials and ordinary in-
genuity, construct an Air thermometer.
The materials which will be wanted are these:


a glass phial,-one that is broad at the base in
proportion to its height, so as to stand firm, is
desirable,-a glass tube of small bore, six or eight
inches long,-a cork to fit the mouth of the phial,
-a little sealing-wax, a lamp, and a small pitcher
of water. The work may be safely done upon the
parlour-table, provided that the materials are all
placed upon a large tea-tray, with an old newspaper,
or a sheet of wrapping-paper spread over it. The
paper will then intercept any drops of hot sealing-
wax which may chance to fall, and which might
otherwise injure the tray, and the tray itself will
receive whatever may be spilt.
The only article of the above materials in
regard to which the reader will have any difficulty,
is the tube. Such a tube, however, can usually
be procured at an apothecary's, at a very trifling
expense. One about the dimensions of a pipe-
stem will be best. In constructing the instru-
ment, this tube is to be passed down through
the cord, which is to be placed in the neck of
the phial, the lower end to go below the surface
of a little water, which is to be put in the bottom
of the phial.
The appearance of the instrument, when com-
pleted and fitted with a scale, as will be explained
hereafter, is represented in the annexed wood-cut.
In constructing the instrument, the operations, or
the manipulations, as the philosophers call them,



First, to bore a hole through the cork,
to receive the tube.
Second, to cement the tube into the
Third, to cement the cork into the
1. The first thing is to bore a hole
through the cork, and this must be just
large enough to admit the glass tube.-
After turning in the gimlet a little way,
it should be drawn out straight, by which
means the chips will be drawn out, and then it
should be put in again. For a gimlet will not clear
its own way in cork, as it will in wood. By draw-
ing it out, however, in the manner above described,
taking care to operate gently, so as not to split the
cork, and to guide the gimlet straight through the
centre of the cork, the hole may be bored without
much difficulty. If the hole is not quite large
enough, it may be widened by a penknife which
has a narrow blade, or it may be burnt out to a
proper size with a hot knitting-needle, or a piece
of iron wire. And thus the hole is bored through
the cork.
2. The next thing is to cement the tube to the
cork. In order to do this, the water is first to be
poured into the phial. About one quarter or one
fifth as much as the phial will contain, will be
sufficient. When this is done, the neck of the
phial inside should be wiped dry, for the cork is to



be sealed into it, and unless the glass is dry, the
sealing-wax will not adhere. Then the tube is to
be passed through the cork, and the cork put into
its place, and the tube slipped down until the
lower end reaches below the surface of the water,
and nearly touches the bottom of the phial. Ob-
serve, then, at what part of the tube the cork
comes, for this part is to be heated, and covered
with sealing-wax, in order to seal it into the cork.
It may be marked with a touch of ink from a pen,
at a point just above where it issues from the cork.
Then take out the cork with the tube from the
phial, and slip the cork along down towards the
lower end of the tube, so that you can put the wax
upon the glass.
In order to cover the part of the tube, which is
to pass through the cork, with sealing-wax, it must
be heated ; for sealing-wax will not adhere to glass,
or any other smooth or hard substance, if it is cold.
To heat glass requires some care. It must be
heated gradually, and one part must not be made
very hot, while the adjoining parts remain cold;
for glass will not bear sudden changes of tempera-
ture, or a great difference of temperature in conti-
guous parts. Therefore, in heating the glass, you
must proceed gradually. Hold the part over the
flame of a lamp, but not so as to touch the flame,
and move it backward and forward, so as to warm
a portion of one or two inches in length, equally.
Then you can hold it more steadily, in such a



manner as to heat the central portion. As you
do this, hold a stick of sealing-wax, so as to touch
the hottest part of the glass with it occasionally,
that is, the part immediately below the ink mark.
When the glass is hot enough to melt the sealing-
wax, the glass will coat itself with the wax. After
holding it a moment over the flame, turning it
round and round, so as to melt all parts of the wax
equally, the cork is to be slipped back again over
it.into its place, where it will become firmly fixed,
as the work cools. Thus the tube will be cemented
into the cork.
3. Nothing now remains but to cement the
cork into the neck of the phial. The cork ought
to be of such a size, that it will go well down into
the neck of the phial, so as to have the top of it
a little below the upper part of the neck. For the
whole of the upper part of the cork ought to be
covered with sealing wax, in order to make it air
tight, and this can be best done if the glass rises a
little above the top of the cork. If necessary,
therefore, the upper part of the cork must be
carefully removed with a penknife, and then, when
it is properly fitted, the sides may be covered with
sealing wax, by heating the wax in the lamp and
rubbing it on all around. When it is covered
with a thin coat of wax, it should be held over the -
lamp a moment, turning it round and round, until
it is melted in every part; and the neck of the
phial should be heated in the same gradual and



cautious manner recommended in the case of the
tube. When both are of the proper temperature,
the cork must be pressed down into its place.
Before the wax cools, see that the bottom of
the tube does not quite touch the bottom of the
phial, and observe also that the tube standsper-
pendicular. If it does not, it may be gently
pressed to one side or the other, as may be re-
quired, and held so until the wax has cooled, when
it will retain its position. The top of the cork
must then be covered with sealing wax, and the
surface smoothed by holding it over a lamp until
its inequalities run together. Thus the cork will
be cemented into the phial, and the air thermome-
ter completed, with the exception of the scale.
And the following experiments can be performed
with it:-
Exp. 1. On examining the instrument, it will
be observed that there is a portion of air closely
confined in the upper part of the phial. It cannot
escape up the tube, for the water covers the
lower end of the tube. If now the instrument
is put into a warm place, so as to expand this
body of air within the phial, the force of the
expansion will press against the water, and cause a
portion of it to rise in the tube. When so much
water has thus ascended as is necessary to allow
such a degree of additional space wit in, as will
enable the expansive force of the air within exactly
to balance the pressure in the top of the tube from



without, the water will remain at rest. If now
the air is warmed still more, the expansion will
cause the water to rise still higher, until the two
forces are again in equilibrium.
Exp. 2. When the water has been forced into
the tabe as high as it will rise under the greatest
heat to which it is safe to expose it, it may be
carried again into a cool place. The heat
which was in the air and the glass will now
pass off, and the air within will lose some
of its expansive force, and will evince a tendency
to return to its former dimensions. This will be
shown by the subsidence of the water in the tube.
Thus by carrying the instrument successively into
warm and cold places, the surface of the water in
the tube will be found to rise and fall, thus indi-
cating, by the level at which it stands, the tempera-
ture of the air around it, at its several places of
exposure. A scale for this thermometer way be
formed of pasteboard, and fastened to the tube by
threads or slits in the pasteboard, or, in any other
convenient manner.
Exp. 3. When the instrument is cooled, the
water in the tube does not simply fall by its own
weight. It is forced down by the pressure of the
outward atmosphere. For although the expansive
force of the air within is diminished by the cold,
there is stil4 force left, far more than sufficient to
counteract the weight of the water. So that
the water descends, not by its own weight, but by



the pressure of the atmosphere without, acting upon
the surface of the water in the tube. This may be
proved in the following manner. Raise the water
in the tube as high as possible, by placing the in-
strument before the fire, and then stop the upper
end of the tube with the thumb, or a little hot
sealing-wax. Now, if the thermometer be taken to
a cool place, it will be found that the water will
not fall. The pressure from above in the tube
being taken off, the water is kept up by the ex-
pansive force which still remains in the air within.
When the stopper is removed from the tube, so as
to allow the external atmosphere to press upon
the water again, it will immediately subside.
Exp. 4. Whatever may have been the tempera-
ture of the room where the thermometer was made,
the water in the tube will be, when at that tem-
perature, just level with the water in the phial;
and of course, when it begins to rise, it will be
some little time before it gets up above the neck of
the phial. Now as it can be seen better above the
neck of the phial than below, it is convenient to
have the instrument so adjusted, as to have the sur-
face of the water in the tube always kept above.
This can be effected by forcing a little more air
into the phial, thus increasing the expansive force
within. A few bubbles of air may be blown in
with the breath, by applying the mouth to the top
of the tube. This will add to the force within, so
that, even when the thermometer is cold, the



water will stand in the tube above the neck of
the phial, and all the changes that take place will
be above that level, where they can be easily seen.
Exp. 5. Place the mouth at the top of the
tube, and blow down into it as long and as hard
as you can. By this means you will fotce air in,
until the expansive force within is increased so
much that you cannot any longer overcome it.
Then, before taking the mouth away, stop the up-
per part of the tube with the thumb. You will
now have so great a quantity of air within, that it
will probably have force enough to raise the water
higher than the top of the tube. If so, on taking
away the thumb the water will spout out at the
top, in a jet,--doing no harm, however, except to
sprinkle the spectators. After a few such experi-
ments, you will find that the water has spouted
itself all out, and you will be sadly puzzled to know
how to get more in without taking out the cork.
There is a very easy way, if you only had philoso-
phical knowledge enough to discover it.





"HENRY, dear, do come out to walk, this beautiful
afternoon. I am going, and do not want to go
alone; please come, won't you ?"

Supposing I should say, No; I won't go; what
would you do, sister ?"
I should say, well, suit yourself, brother Henry,
and I'll try to go alone; but I do wish you would
go with me, it is so pleasant to have some one, and
I would rather have you than any one else."
"Well, you are a darling, good little girl, and I
will go with you."
Oh, thank you, thank you, dear Henry," said
Caroline; and they were soon in the shady lane
which extended from their father's house to their
uncle's, who was their next neighbour.
Caroline and Henry wandered on, admiring the
beautiful things which surrounded them, and now
and then stopping to pick a flower. Often Caro-
line would leave Henry, examining some plant,
(for he was quite a botanist,) and walk along
without him.
Come, Henry; let us walk as far as the brook,
and then we'll go home."
Just wait till I see what this curious flower is,"
said Henry. But Caroline did not mind him, and
continued walking slowly along, that he might catch
up with her, when he was ready. Presently she
stopped; her eyes sparkled, and she almost screamed
with delight; for, on the ground before her, was
a beautiful white rabbit. She held her breath for
fear of frightening it; but though she drew nearer
the dear little creature did not seem disposed to run
away; and she soon perceived that it had hurt its


foot very much, so that it could not walk. Caroline
took the rabbit in her arms, and as she was quite
near the brook, she thought she would give it
some water; so she stepped on the little bridge,
but when there, she found that she had no means
of getting any, and she called aloud:
Henry, come quick; I have found a rabbit al-
most dead; come quick." Henry was soon at her
side. "Let me see," said he; and he bent for-
ward to look at it. Poor little thing, we will take
you home and nurse you till you are well again."
Don't you think, brother, that it would drink
some water ?"
No, no; we had better take it home at once,
and mother will tell us what to do." And the two
children hastened home with all speed. Their kind
mother gave them directions for their new-found
pet, and in a week it was quite well, and their
parents gave them leave to keep it to play with,
after they had learned their lessons, and as long as
they were kind towakds this curious little creature.




" O, I'm afraid I'm afraid !" William Jones cried,
shrinking back, as his father took his hand, in th4
act of leading him forward to lift him into a beauti-
ful sleigh, that had just drove up to the door, and
in which his mother and elder sister were already
seated; their feet comfortably wrapped up in a
warm buffalo robe.
"Afraid! what are you afraid of?" Mr. Jones
asked, in a tone of surprise.
Oh, I'm afraid the horses will run away-or
that the sleigh will break. Jr deed, I'd rather not
Do you not think that your mother, and sister
Ellen, and myself, will be in just the danger you
fear ?"
And is not my son willing to share that danger
with those he loves ?"
"But why do you go, father, when there is
danger ?"
We do not think that we shall be in any more


real danger, while riding with two gentle horses,
than we would be if we were sitting in the house,
or walking in the street. But come, William; I
cannot stand talking to you here; and it is quite
necessary that you try to overcome your fears. So
jump in, and take your place alongside of sister
But, indeed, I would rather not go, father,"
William urged, holding back.
Mr. Jones said no more, but took his boy up
gently, though firmly, and placed him beside his
sister. Then he got in himself,-took hold of the
reins,-spoke to his two fine horses, and at once
the whole party began to move off; the sleigh bells
jingling a merry tune.
Poor little William clung, frightened, to his sis-
ter; and it was a good while before he could get
over the idea that the very next moment they
would all be thrown over and dashed to pieces.
After a while, however, he got used to the motion
of the sleigh, and seeing that they passed on so
smoothly, safely, and merrily, the idea of danger
gradually faded from his mind; and long before he
reached his uncle's house, he was enjoying the ride
as much as the rest.
William's cousins were all delighted to see him,
and he spent with them one of the happiest days in
his life.
And when the time came for Mr. Jones and
his family to return, William parted, with a feeling



of reluctance, from his happy playmates. As he
again stood by the sleigh, and looked at the two
stout horses that were harnessed to it, he felt his
old fear stealing over his mind. But he was not
only now ashamed of that fear, but felt that to
indulge in it was not right. So, with his best
effort, he restrained it-stepping resolutely into
the sleigh.
The last "good-byes" said, Mr. Jones gave the
word, and off they went. When about half of the
way home, and at a time when even the lingering
remains of William's timidity had passed away,
two wild young men, half intoxicated, came dash-
ing along in another sleigh, at a most furious rate.
Bent on mischief, and thoughtless of the harm
they might occasion, they appeared determined to
frighten the horses attached to other sleighs, and
thereby cause those who were in them to be thrown
out into the snow-banks.
It so happened that the sleigh in which were
Mr. Jones and. his family, were passing near a
steep declivity, at the time these young men came
up to them, and ran their horses so close upon
those of Mr. Jones, that he was compelled either
to be rolled down the bank, or receive the shock
of their sleigh against his own. He chose the
latter alternative. As the two vehicles struck
each other, that of Mr. Jones was nearly thrown
over, and it so happened that Ellen, who was
much alarmed, lost her balance, and but for the



fact that William, himself dreadfully frightened,
seized hold of, and clung to her with all his
strength, she would have been thrown down a
very steep hill, and, perhaps, have been killed.
As it was, however, no one was injured.
"If it hadn't been for me," William said,
while they were all talking over the matter, on
arriving at home, Ellen would have been pitched
head foremost down that steep bank."
But if you had staid at home," his father re-
marked, "it would not have been in your power
thus to have saved, perhaps, your sister's life.
And now, a'n't you glad, my son, you were with
us ?"
"Yes, father, I am very glad now."
"Suppose, William," Mr. Jones asked, in a
serious tone, "that in the effort to save your
sister, you had yourself been thrown out of the
sleigh, and badly hurt, would you then have been
sorry that you went with us ?"
William paused for some moments, with a
thoughtful countenance. He was weighing the fear
of bodily pain against his love for Ellen. At last
he said, with the moisture dimming his eyes,
No! I would not have been sorry, father."
"Why not, William ?"
"Because, I would only have been badly hurt;
while, if I had not been along with her, sister
might have been killed."
Very true, my dear boy! And now, you re-



member how often I have talked to you about
selfishness, and what an evil thing this selfish-
ness is ?"
"Yes, father."
"Well, this feeling of timidity, which you in-
dulge so much, is a selfish feeling."
Selfish, father! How can that be ?"
Because there is nothing in it of self-sacrifice
for the happiness or comfort of others."
"I cannot understand you, father."
"I do not know that it will be in my power to
make you understand me fully, William. But I
will try. You knew, this morning, that it would
give your father and mother pleasure to have you
with them, and also that your cousins would be
delighted to see you. But your idle fear, lest some
accident should happen, made you unwilling to go.
You would not risk anything for the sake of others.
If the great and good General Washington, when
called upon to take command of the American
army, had refused to do so, because there was
danger of his being killed; cannot you see that in
that feeling there would have been a strong prin-
ciple of selfishness ?"
Oh, yes. If he had done so, he would have
been very selfish. He would have thought more
of personal safety that the good of his country."
"Just so, William, will you think, when you
grow up to be a man, if you do not conquer this
timid feeling, which you now indulge. You must


learn, for the good of others, to risk personal
danger, and to be willing to bear pain of body as
well as mind, if called upon to suffer while doing
your duty to others. Of danger, it is not our place
to think, when fully satisfied we are doing right;
knowing that the Lord's providence is over all, and
that He will not suffer any harm to befall us that
is not really for our good. Learn, also, this harder
lesson,-a willingness to encounter bodily pain, and
even great danger, for the good of others."

An :



LLEWELLYN, son-in-law to King John, had in his
possession one of the finest greyhounds in England.
His name was Gelert. One day Llewellyn, going
out to hunt, called all his dogs together; but his
favourite greyhound was missing, and nowhere to be
found. He blew his horn as a signal of the chase,
and still Gelert came not. Llewellyn was much
disturbed at this, but at length pursued the chase
without him.
For want of Gelert, the sport was limited; and
getting tired, Llewellyn returned home at an early
hour, when the first object that presented itself to
him at his castle gate, was Gelert, who bounded
with his usual transport to meet his master-having
his lips besmeared with blood. Llewellyn gazed
with surprise at the strange appearance of his dog.
But on going into the apartment where he had left
his infant son asleep, he found the bedclothes all



in confusion, the cover rent, and stained with blood.
He called on his child, but no answer was made:
from which he concluded that the dog must have
devoured him, and, without waiting to reflect, or
examine, plunged his sword to the hilt in Gelert's
side. The noble dog fell at his feet, uttering a
dying yell which awoke the infant, who was sleep-
ing beneath a heap of mingled bedclothes; while
under the bed lay a great wolf, covered with gore,
which the faithful and gallant hound had destroyed.
Llewellyn, smitten with sorrow and remorse for
the rash and frantic deed which had deprived him
of so faithful an animal, caused an elegant marble
monument, with an appropriate inscription, to be
erected over the spot where Gelert was buried, to
commemorate his fidelity and unhappy fate. The
place, to this day, is called Beth-Gelert, or "The
grave of the greyhound."




I RECEIVED part of my education at a beautiful
town on the banks of the river Trent. It was
here, while a boy, that I first learned the danger of
disobedience. The precept had been instilled in
my mind a thousand times, and I knew it was the
command of heaven that we should respect and
obey our parents and teachers; but I had never felt
either the danger or the criminality of a disre-
gard of the Divine command till after the following
It was December; and the river, on whose
beautiful banks the academy was situated, was
frozen over, so that people could travel, and sport
upon it in safety. It was a favourite diversion of
the students, most of whom were between ten and
fifteen years old, to play ball upon the ice, upon
skates; and many times nearly the whole school,
consisting of fifty youths, was collected in one game
on the glassy surface of the frozen stream. We
grew, at length, so fond of this recreation, that we
began to encroach upou the hours of study. The

bell rang unheeded, and when we came into school,
we were, as we deserved to be, reprimanded by
our good and indulgent preceptor; and many of our
number, ashamed of their behaviour, refused to
offend in like manner again. It was not so with
us all.
One day, a part of our number having staid out
upon the river more than a quarter of an hour after
the bell had done ringing, one of the boys was sent
for us; but we soon forgot that we had been called,
and continued our game. Shortly we saw the pre-
ceptor, himself, coming down to the river. We
were then alarmed; and all, but myself and
Nathaniel Beecher, ran, by a round-about way, to
the shore and to school. We resolved to stay the
whole afternoon. The preceptor came out upon
the wharf, and called to us to come to him. Fear-
ing that we should be taken back to school and
punished, we resolved not to answer, and pretended
not to hear him. After repeatedly calling us, and
receiving no answer, he came upon the ice; but when
he had walked a short distance from the shore we
saw that we were in no danger of his catching us,
as the ice was very smooth. At length, in an at-
tempt to catch me, the preceptor slipped and fell
heavily upon the ice. I stood still, and dared not
go near, for fear he would punish me; but I
was now very sorry for what we had done. Our
preceptor had always been kind to us, and my feel-
ings were hurt to think I had been so ungrateful.




Meantime he had got up, and with a painful effort
walked to the shore. I followed him, and Nat
went off towards the other side of the river. As I
approached the shore, 1 turned to see where he
was going, continuing to skate backwards as I
looked. Suddenly I found myself in the water. I
had fallen into a hole which had been eut for fish-
ing. As I dropped I threw out my arms, and thus
saved myself from going under; but the current
was very strong, and it was with the utmost diffi-
culty that I could hold myself above the water. I
felt as though some evil spirit beneath the water
was dragging me under, and my heart sunk within
me. At length I was drawn out of the water by
my preceptor. He spoke kindly to me, and said he
would take me home, that I might change my
clothes. I was very much affected. I had pre-
pared myself to bear my well-merited punishment;
but when I heard his kind and gentle tones, and
saw that he was not angry, I burst into a passionate
flood of tears, and, dropping on my knees, begged
his pardon for my bad behaviour. He took me
up at once, and told me never to kneel but to the
Lord, that he would forgive me, We had nearly
reached the shore, when I looked round for Nat.
He was looking towards us, and skating along with
his arms folded, and all at once dropped beneath
the ice and disappeared. He had, while looking
at us, skated into an air-hole. I involuntarily
screamed, and started with all speed for the place,


The preceptor followed, having guessed the cause
of my exclamation.
The accident had been seen from the shore, and
many persons came hurrying to the spot, and
among them the father of the boy. He was told,
on shore, that it was his oldest son; and rushing
to the spot, and putting his head down in the hole,
held it there a long time, looking, but all was in
vain. The rapid tide had borne him far down the
river, and his body was never more seen.
The events of this day taught me the lesson of
obedience. It stamped upon my mind the truth,
that the first great duty, next to our devotion to
our Maker, is respect and obedience to those who
are placed in authority over us. I never again
played truant.



OH! the happy summer hours,
With their butterflies and flowers,
And the birds among the bowers
Sweetly singing;
With the spices from the trees,
Vines, and lilies, while the bees
Come floating on the breeze,
Honey bringing!

All the east was rosy red
When we woke and left our bed,
And to gather flowers we sped,
Gay and early.


Every clover-top was wet,
And the spider's silky net,
With a thousand dew-drops set,
Pure and pearly.

With their modest eyes of blue,
Were the violets peeping through
Tufts of grasses where they grew,
Full of beauty,
At the lamb in snowy white,
O'er the meadow bounding light,
And the crow just taking flight,
Grave and sooty.

On our floral search intent,
Still away, away we went,-
Up and down the rugged bent,-
Through the wicket,-
Where the rock with water drops,-
Through the bushes and the copse,-
Where the greenwood pathway stops
In the thicket.

We heard the fountain gush,
And the singing of the thrush;
And we saw the squirrel's brush
In the hedges,
As along his back 'twas thrown,
Like a glory of his own,
While the sun behind it, shone
Through its edges.

All the world appeared 'so fair,
And so fresh and free the air,-
Oh it seemed that all the care
In creation


Belonged to God alone;
And that none beneath his throne,
Need to murmur or to groan
At his station.

Dear little brother Will!
He has leapt the hedge and rill,-
He has clambered up the hill,
Ere the beaming
Of the rising sun, to sweep
With its golden rays the steep,
Till he's tired and dropt asleep,
Sweetly dreaming.

See, he threw aside his cap,
And the roses from his lap,
When his eyes were, for the nap,
Slowly closing:
With his sunny curls outspread,
On its fragrant mossy bed,
Now his precious infant head
Is reposing.

He is dreaming of his play-
How he rose at break of day,
And he frolicked all the way
On his ramble.
And before his fancy's eye,
He has still the butterfly
Mocking him, where not so high
He could scramble.
In his cheek the dimples dip,
And a smile is on his lip,
While his tender finger-tip
Seems as aiming

At some wild and lovely thing
That is out upon the wing,
Which he longs to catch and bring
Home for taming.

While he thus at rest is laid
In the old oak's quiet shade,
Let's cull our flowers to braid,
Or unite them
In bunches trim and neat,
That, for every friend we meet,
We may have a token sweet
To delight them.

'Tis the very crowning art
Of a happy, grateful heart
To others to impart
Of its pleasure.
Thus its joys can never cease,
For it brings an inward peace,
Like an every-day increase
Of a treasure!



AT the southern part of Africa, a great many
years ago, there lived a simple race of uncivilized
people,-to whom the name of Hottentots has
been since given,-who supported themselves in
their rude way, and kept sheep and herds, whose
milk served them for food, and whose skins kept
them warm.
The Dutch people, who were very fond of sailing
about in their ships, came to this part of the world,
and finding the country pleasant, and a great many
delicious fruits in it, they resolved to make a set-
tlement, and have a town of their own there.
The Hottentots did not like very much to have
a new kind of people settling down among them,
and as they had been used to fighting with wild
beasts, and were quite brave, they did all they
could to keep the people away.
But the Dutch had so much more skill and
knowledge than the poor Hottentots, that they
soon got the better of the savages, and the natives


were obliged to allow them to settle in their
The Europeans,' when they heard of this plea-
sant, warm country, came in great numbers, and
each emigrant was allowed to receive for his farm
as much land as an officer appointed for the pur-
pose, could walk across in an hour. They probably
always tried to get a tall man, who could take
pretty long steps. Whether they asked the poor
natives' consent to this arrangement, the history
does not say; but at the end of a hundred and
fifty years, the Hottentots had been deprived of
all their land, and were compelled to work for
their invaders, except that some of the more fero-
cious and bolder tribes retreated to the deserts,
and remain in a savage state to this day.
The colony afterwards fell into the hands of the
British, and about eighteen years ago, the Hotten-
tots of the Cape, about thirty thousand in number,
were made free, and allowed to have all the privi-
leges enjoyed by the white inhabitants.
Christian missionaries have visited this part of
the world, and many of the native inhabitants are
said to have been brought under the gentle in-
fluence of Christianity. The Moravian missionaries,
some years ago, collected a number of the Hotten-
tots into a village, built a church, and instructed
them in many of the arts of civilized life. They
were taught several kinds of manufactures, and



travellers speak of their establishment as being in
a very flourishing state.
In the year 1811, this place was visited by a
severe earthquake, which alarmed the people
greatly, as nothing of the kind had occurred since
the settlement of the town. It does not appear
from the accounts, that any lives were lost, but
many of the buildings were cracked, and in part
thrown down.
The Hottentots are said to be kind and gentle
in their natures, and hospitable to strangers. Those
who have been converted to Christianity, have left
off, for the most part, their rude sheepskin dress,
and wear a more civilized attire.
The picture at the beginning of this article
represents a native Hottentot, in his sheepskin
cloak, but the rest of his dress appears to be after
the European fashion. The more savage Hotten-
tots, who have never joined the colony, lead a
wandering life, living on wild roots, locusts, and
eggs, toads, lizards, mice, and such other food as
can be obtained in the deserts. They use, as
weapons of defence, the javelin, and bows and
arrows. Their arrows are small, but they are
tipped with poison, so that a wound from them is
generally fatal.
They teach their children early the use of the
bow and arrow; and some travellers say, that, to
do this, they sometimes put a little boy's breakfast,
probably a nice toad, or half a dozen ant's eggs, or


some other of their favourite kinds of food, up into
the high branches of a tree, and then make the
boy shoot his arrows at it, until he brings it down.
This gives him a good appetite, and teaches him
early the use of the bow and arrow.





SOUND is propagated through a confined channel of
air, as for instance, a loirg tube, very perfectly. It
is not uncommon in large establishments, where it
is necessary to pass many orders to and fro, to have
such tubes laid in the walls, so that words can pass
through them from room to room. The experi-
ment may be tried in a leaden pipe, laid down for
an aqueduct, before the water is admitted, and it
will be found that the slightest whisper can be
heard for a distance of half a mile or more. This
tendency of a confined channel of air to increase
the distinctness of the sound passing through it,
may be shewn by a tube formed by rolling up a
large sheet of paper and whispering through it.
If the tube is gradually enlarged towards the outer
end, it greatly increases the loudness of the sound


transmitted through it, as in the case of the horn,
the speaking trumpet, &c.
When the sound of a voice passes in this man-
ner through a tube, the voice always appears to
come from the end of the tube where the sound
issues, and not from the end where the words are
really spoken. This has given rise to an ingenious
contrivance called the whispering figure, which is
sometimes fitted up in museums for the entertain-
ment of visitors. It is as follows:
A large dog or other image
is placed upon a stand at a
little distance from the side
of the room. There is a tin
Stube within the figure, one
end of which is opposite the
South, and the other passes
i down through the floor, and
thence along under the floor,
as represented by the dotted
line in the cut. After passing
the partition, it is turned up, and opens in a funnel-
shaped extremity in the next room. If now a
person speaks or whispers at the outer end of the
tube, the persons who are in the room with the
figure will hear the sound coming through its lips,
as if the figure itself were speaking. The tube
being entirely concealed within the dress of the
figure, and under the floor, the spectators, not sus-
pecting such a communication with the next room,


wonder by what contrivance an image can be made
to speak.
This experiment is sometimes performed by
children in private, by placing a board across the
tops of two chairs, and covering it with cloth, so
as to represent a table. The tube comes up
through this board into the body of some image
placed upon the table, as a doll, a figure of a dog
or cat, or a grotesque effigy made by means of a
mask. In this case a person is concealed under
the table to whisper into the tube, in answer to
such questions as the spectators address to the
figure. Of course, all these arrangements are
made before the spectators are admitted to the



CAPTAIN ALBERT had recently returned from a
long and perilous whaling voyage, and was seated
beside a bright blazing fire at his own hearth. His
wife sat opposite, with her youngest child in her
lap, while the two sons, Edward and William, stood
on each side looking earnestly in his face, that they
might be quite sure their father had indeed re-
turned, and that they were not still deceived by one
of those pleasant dreams with which they had been
so often visited during his absence.
Oh, father," said Edward, "the next time you
go, take me with you, do !"
Tell us a story of the sea, will you not, father ?"
said William, at the same time.
Very well, my son, I will try," replied their
father; "and that will, perhaps, change Edward's
mind about going with me the next time.
One day, in the great Southern ocean, we had
followed a fine whale farther south than we had
ever before been. The whale was enormously
large, and I saw in a moment that if we could


take it there would be oil enough to fill our casks,
and enable us to return home. Its motions were
very rapid, and we followed it as swiftly as we
could, but, after all, it escaped. I believe the
creature swam under water till it was out of the
reach of my glass. While I was looking out to try
to get a sight of it again, I espied something which
appeared to be an island, to the south, but while I
was looking at it I was sure it moved. It did
move, and we soon came near enough to see what
it was distinctly. It proved to be an iceberg,
shooting up to a great height, like one of the sharp-
pointed Alps, and spreading out to a wide extent,
on all sides. At the same time, the whole ocean,
as far south as the eye could reach, was covered
with floating ice.
"The situation was full of danger, but the wind
was in our fayour, and I prepared to press all sail,
in hopes of escaping, when suddenly a shower of
hail and sleet rushed upon us with such fury that
some of the men were beaten down to the deck,
and all found it difficult to stand under it. The
sails, shrouds, and sheets, were all cased in ice,
stiffened, and almost as immoveable as if they had
been made of iron.
"I now began to blame myself severely for suf-
fering the whale to tempt me so far into those
regions of ice and storms. I looked with bitter re-
gret toward those faithful sailors who had trusted
their lives to my care, and who were now exposed



to unnecessary hardships and dangers by my boyish
rashness. The noble fellows never uttered a word
of complaint, but their generous fortitude did not
help to reconcile -me to myself. Full of anxiety, I
took my glass to look out again for the iceberg.
While I was looking towards it, I spied some-
thing among the cakes of ice, which appeared like
some small craft; but I could not believe a vessel
of that size could have reached a latitude so far
south. A vessel, it certainly was-a small schooner,
sailing among the cakes of ice, as if it knew how to
pick its way alone, for I could not see a person
moving on her deck. We steered, as well as we
could, directly towards her. My ship was new and
strong, and well prepared, so that I did not much
fear the loose cakes of ice. When we were near
enough, I hailed the little craft, and thought I
heard a distant shout in reply. As we came nearer,
I saw a young man alone, and sitting upon the
helm, apparently managing it with the motions of
his body, so as to steer his little vessel safely
We all stood looking for a mo-
ment at the brave young man, with wonder and
admiration; but as soon as I ordered out a boat,
the sailors rushed to the side and began to work
with a will, although everything they touched was
cased in ice, and terrible to handle. Down went
the boat, and was manned in an instant. It was
not long before the young man was on board our



ship, but he would not leave the schooner until he
had seen a rope rigged to tow her after us. The
poor fellow was almost dead with cold and
hunger; he had not tasted any food for more
than twenty-four hours, as he told us afterwards.
He could hardly speak a word, and as soon as he
felt the warmth of the stove, he fainted entirely
away. We put him into a hammock, and did all
we could for him, and soon had the pleasure of
seeing him revive. After he had taken some warm
tea, he fell asleep, and slept till I began to fear he
would never awake again; but Providence had
provided him the refreshment he needed, and when
he awoke, the next day, he was well and lively. I in-
quired how he came into so strange a situation, when
he told me that four young men, without much con-
sideration, had purchased the vessel, and fitted her
up for a voyage of discovery into those far-off seas.
They had encountered a furious storm, which drove
them among the ice, near the place where they
were found. They had suffered very much with
cold and want of sleep, while the vessel was
every moment in danger of being crushed to
In this distress his companions began to drink
spirits to warm them. They offered him some, and
urged him to drink, but he replied it would make
him worse, and reminded them of a ship which was
cast away one very severe winter, among the rocks
near his own native town, when all the sailors who.



drank rum were frozen, while those who did not
drink, escaped. His companions, however, would
not listen to his advice, but continued to drink,
and were soon unable to move, and were all frozen
to death, and were still on the d~ck, covered with
ice and sleet. Robert (this was the young inan's
name,) was saved by not drinking any of the rum,
but by using it outwardly, pouring it into his boots,
and a part into his bosom."
"But how did you escape that terrible iceberg,
and get out of that dreadful sea ?" said Edward:
"were any of your men frozen ?"
"No," replied Captain Albert; "we suffered
very severely, but we did not use any fire-water,'
and every sailor who went out in the ship, returned
in good health; still, all that we were able to do
would have been no more than the fluttering of a
leaf in a whirlwind, without the help of Him, who,
you will remember, was once in 'a little ship when
a great storm arose,' and who said, Peace be still,
and there was a great calm.'"




"I HAVE a great mind to break this stupid old
slate," said little Charlie Fidget, one morning, as
he sat over his first sum in subtraction.
Why, what has the poor slate done ?" asked
the pleasant voice of his sister Helen, behind him.
Nothing; just what I complain of; it won't do
this plaguy sum for me; and here it is almost
school-time !"
"What a wicked slate, Charles "
So it is. I mean to fling it out of the window
and break it to pieces on the stones."
Will that do your sum, Charlie ?"
No; but if there were no slates in the world,
I should have no good-for-nothing sums to do."
"Oh, ho that does not follow, by any means.
Did slates make the science of arithmetic ? Would
people neyer have to count or calculate, if there
were no slates ? You forget pens, lead pencils and
paper: you forget all about oral arithmetic,
Well, I don't love to cipher, that's all I know."


lli; A

"And so, you hasty boy, you get angry with the
poor harmless slate, that is so convenient when you
make mistakes and want to rub them out again.
Now that is the way with a great many thought-
less, quick-tempered people. They try to find
fault with somebody or something else, and get
into a passion, and perhaps do mischief, when if
they would but reflect a little, it is their own dear
selves who ought to bear the blame. Now, Char-
lie, let me see what I can do for you.'
So Helen sat down in her mother's great easy-
chair; she tried to look grave and dignified, like
an old lady, though she was but eighteen. Charlie



came rather unwillingly, laid the slate in her lap,
and began to play with the trimming on her apron.
" Why, what is all this ?" said she; soldiers, and
cats, and dogs, and houses with windows of all
shapes and sizes !"
Charlie looked foolish. "Oh, the sum is on the
other side," said he, turning it over.
Ah, silly boy," said Helen; "here you have
been sitting half an hour drawing pictures, instead
of trying to do your sum. And now, which do you
think ought to be broken, you or the slate ?" and
she held it up high, as if she meant to strike at
him with it.
Charlie looked up, with his hands at his ears,
making believe he was frightened, but laughing
all the while, for he knew she was only playing
with him. Presently, however, she put on a
serious face, and said, "Now, my little man, you
must go to work in good earnest to make up for
lost time."
"Oh, Helen, it wants only twenty minutes to
nine; I can't possibly do this sum and get to
school by nine. I shall be late. What shall I
do ? Miss Fletcher will certainly punish me if it
is not done. Can't you, just this once, Helen ?"
"No," said Helen.
"Oh, do, there's a dear, good sister; just this
"No, Charlie; there would be no kindness in



that. You would never learn arithmetic in that
"Just once," still pleaded Charlie.
No," answered Helen, in a kind, but resolute
tone: if I do it once, you will find it harder to
be refused to-morrow; you will depend upon me,
and sit playing and drawing pictures, instead of
ciphering. I will keep you close at it till you
perform your task.'
So she passed her hand gently round him, and
though Charlie pouted at first, and could hardly
see through his tears, she questioned him about his
rule, and then began to show him the proper way
to do his sum, yet letting him work it out himself,
in such a pleasant manner, that he was soon
ashamed of being sullen. First she held the pen-
cil herself, and put down the figures as he told her
to do; and then she made him copy the whole,
nicely, on another part of the slate, and rub out
her figures.
After all this was finished patiently and dili-
gently, Charlie was surprised to find he should
still be in good time for school.
"Now, to-mo-row, Charlie," said Helen, don't
waste a moment, but go to your lesson at once,
whatever it is, and you will find it a great saving,
not only of time, but of temper. You won't get
into a passion with this clever old slate of mine.
It went to school with me when I was a little girl,
and I should have been sorry if you had broken it


for not doing your work. Generally, Charlie,
when you see a person fidgety and angry, and com-
plaining of things and people, you may be sure he
has either done something he ought not to do, or
left undone something he ought to do."
Away ran Charlie to school, thinking to himself,
" Well, I suppose I was wrong both ways. I
ought not to have been drawing soldiers, and I
ought to have been ciphering."



THE early lark, that spreads its wings
And mounts the summer air,
Obeys its Maker while it sings
In morning carols there.

The skilful bee from flower to flower
Pursues its nectar'd stope,
Nor has it instinct, skill or power
To please its Maker more.

But children, born with nobler powers,
In paths of vice may stray,
Or rise to virtue's fragrant bower
In realms of endless day.

Then let me shun those wicked ways
Which lead to sin and shame,
So shall my heart be taught to praise
My Lord and Saviour's name.


LIZZY was walking in a wood one day, and as she
stooped under a tree to gather some flowers that
grew at its foot, she heard a loud tapping high up
in the tree; she looked up, and there she saw,
clinging to a dead bough, that industrious and

------ I s~n ~u
jr~ ----C
~i~Ef- c~Z~e~iP~


happy bird, the woodpecker. "Are you going to
dig out a chamber for yourself there ?" asked Lizzy.
"That bough is too small, I should think."
"Oh! I am not doing carpentry work now,"
said the bird; "there are some nice little insects
under this bark,-sweet things!-which I love as
well as you love the lambs."
And yet you intend to make a meal upon them
-barbarous bird !"
"Yes, as good a meal as you make upon the
lamb,-barbarous child! But let us forgive each



other; we must eat to live. You would love to
eat me if I were nicely cooked, and I should relish
you exceedingly if I could only change you into a
beetle-bug, or a grub of some sort."
Do not talk so, Mr. Carpenter: I would rather
go without my dinner than to have you killed and
cooked for me."
"Ah I do you love me so well? Then I will
confide in you, and tell you a secret. My chamber
is in the trunk of this tree, and my six eggs lie on
the floor of it. Jump up here, and I will show it
to you."
I could not jump twenty feet into the air," said
"Why! are you not twenty times longer than I
"Oh, more; and more than forty times
heavier ?"
"Well, well, I will go down and help you up."
"I should like to know how you expect to help
me," said Lizzy.
We shall see;" and the woodpecker flew down;
-but where is he? Lizzy looked about, and she
could not see him anywhere.
Ha! ha! ha !" laughed a voice close by her ear;
and Lizzy turned, and saw a pretty little fairy
figure standing close beside her. I was only acting
the woodpecker for my amusement. We fairies
are very fond of masquerading."
"Then I cannot see the woodpecker's nest," said



Lizzy. "It is too bad to disappoint me so, when I
did so want to see his pretty eggs."
Oh, if you wish to see some pretty eggs. I can
show you some as pretty as the woodpecker's. I
have hundreds of them stowed away in a wood-
pecker's hole, up in this very tree. I had come
here this morning to deposit some, and this is what
made me think of acting the woodpecker just
Where did you get so many eggs? Do you
rob birds' nests?"
"Oh, no, indeed! they are not birds' eggs; they
come down in the rain, and we use the large flower-
cups to catch them in."
"And what will hatch from them ?"
"Ah, that is more than I can tell as yet. I
will give you some of them, and they will hatch
just such kind of creatures as you tell them to."
That is a very likely story,-but give me some,
do; and I will tell them to hatch most beautiful
birds and butterflies."
"Stay; let me explain a little, before you count
your unhatched birds and butterflies. I will tell
you how to hatch them. Put them in your bosom,
and they will be hatched by its warmth; but what
is hatched from them must depend entirely upon
what kind of feeling shall warm your bosom, and
upon what deeds you do. If you have a wicked
feeling, an ugly creature will begin to form within
one of the eggs; and if you let that feeling cause



you to do anything wrong, then the egg will hatch.
Are you willing to take the risk of having spiders
and scorpions in your bosom, for the sake of the
hope that they may be pretty birds and butter-
flies ?"

"Oh, yes!" said Lizzy; I do not think I ever
have such bad feelings as spiders and scorpions are
made of."
Come, then," cried the fairy; and she led Lizzy
round to the other side of the tree, where she saw,
high up in the trunk, a woodpecker's hole.
Run up," cried the fairy.
"How can I ? There is nothing but an ivy-vine
to cling to."
"You mistake," said the fairy; and she touched
the ivy-vine with her wand, and there was a nice
rope-ladder leading up to the woodpecker's hole.
It was almost full of small, pearly white eggs.-
"Take out three or four," said the fairy, "and put



them in your bosom, and before you reach home,
they will very likely all be hatched."
Oh, what pretty little things!" cried Lizzy, as
she took them out; "they shall certainly hatch
something pretty."
She was going to put them all in her bosom at
once; but the fairy told her she had better put
only one in at a time, and the others in one of the
pockets of her apron; for it would be rather worse
if there should be several spiders running about in
her bosom, than only one.
"Oh, there will not be any," said Lizzy; "there
will be a pretty bird hopping about there-but I
will do as you advise." She ran down the ladder,
and the fairy tripped along after her, and when
Lizzy turned to bid her good morning, she saw the
ivy-vine clasping the tree, and the woodpecker
tapping away at the bark.
Lizzy ran along through the wood, hoping that
something would happen to arouse in her breast a
good affection of some sort,-for there was nothing
there now but a mingled feeling of pleasure and
dread,-for a sweet-brier bush, for what purpose is
not known, caught hold of her dress, and thus
occasioned a frightful rent; and sweet-brier bushes,
if they do bear sweet roses, do also love to play off
their jokes upon people, in quite as unbenevolent a
way as the blackberry and thorn. But Lizzy
thought it no joke at all. What barbarous cruelty
to tear her dress so, and then to hold upon it so



relentlessly and whilst she was trying to force the
thorns to let go their hold, she became so angry
that she cried out, Oh I wish there was not a
sweet-brier bush in the world, I do! and I wish
this was dead and burnt up." But before she had
released herself from the bush, she felt something
moving in her bosom. Putting her hand in, she
pulled out an empty egg-shell, while the wasp,
which had just been hatched, flew around her face.
She brushed it away with her handkerchief. She
looked at the sweet-brier roses,-those little rosy
cups all arranged so garland-like on the bending
boughs,-and said, "I wonder it was not a scor-
pion. Poor little roses! I do not wish you to
wither; I want you to flourish, and breathe out
your sweet breath;" and she bent her head over
hem, and while they breathed forth their sweet
breath, they looked so much like little infants, that
the tears came into Lizzy's eyes, while she said,
May the Lord that made you, forgive me !"-
When she lifted up her head, she saw a wasp fall
to the ground, and then a pretty bird came, and
picked it up and swallowed it. Lizzy then took
another egg from her pocket, placed it in her
bosom, and walked on, taking care to keep at a
safe distance from sweet-briers and brambles.
She had not gone far when she saw a little
sparrow fly from a low shrub, making a sound as if
he had a nest there. When he had gone so far
away that she thought he would not see her, she



peeped in amongst the leaves, and there she espied1
the little home, with its three inmates; not three
little birds as yet-but, what she knew were quite

as dear to the parents, two speckled eggs. Ah !"
thought Lizzy, "how I should like to see if I
could not hatch a sparrow's egg. I should be sure
that a wasp would not come out of a sparrow's
egg." And she put her hand very slily into the
nest, and stole away one of the sparrow's speckled
treasures, and laid it in her bosom by the side of
the fairy egg. As she left the bush, she turned to
see if the sparrow went to look at it; and while
she stood watching him, she felt a strange nestling
and fumbling in her bosom, that she thought both
eggs must have hatched. Looking in, she saw a
small snake writhing about most energetically. "I
will put the sparrow's egg back," thought she, for
she was struck with horror.
Throwing the snake upon the ground, in an



agony of disgust, she felt for the sparrow's egg;
but, alas! the empty shell was alone there,-the
snake had sucked the egg. "How I wish I had
not stolen away the sparrow's egg! The snake has
eaten what would have been a pretty bird. I
would give the sparrow one of my fairy eggs, if I
thought he would like it, but perhaps he would
not. Vile snake!" she cried, stepping back as she

saw the snake writhing on the ground close by her
feet. Her words seemed to give him a death-
stroke; be lay still, as though lifeless; she touched
him with her foot, but he did not move. wThere
was a little frog-pond near by, and to make sure
that he should not come to life again, Lizzy took
the snake on a stick, and threw it into the pond,
and then put another egg into her bosom. As she
stood by the pond, lashing the water with the stick,
she began to fear she was not quite so delightful a


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