Front Cover
 Title Page
 Back Cover

Group Title: Champney stories
Title: The Poor prisoner
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00005005/00001
 Material Information
Title: The Poor prisoner
Series Title: Champney stories
Alternate Title: King's palace
Physical Description: P. <39>-74, <1> leaf of plates : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: American Sunday-School Union ( Publisher )
Publisher: American Sunday-School Union
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Publication Date: 1866
Copyright Date: 1866
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Salvation -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Allegories -- 1866   ( rbgenr )
Hand-colored illustrations -- 1866   ( local )
Gold stamped cloth (Binding) -- 1866   ( local )
Bldn -- 1866
Genre: Allegories   ( rbgenr )
Hand-colored illustrations   ( local )
Gold stamped cloth (Binding)   ( local )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
General Note: Inscribed date: 1866.
General Note: The kings palace has a separate title page.
General Note: Some illustrations are hand-colored, probably by young owner.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00005005
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA6167
notis - ALG3929
oclc - 49059728
alephbibnum - 002223678

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front cover 1
        Front cover 2
        Front cover 3
        Page iii
    Title Page
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        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
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    Back Cover
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
Full Text

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OME forth to the fields, for the sui
shines bright,
And fills the glad earth with a golden
S And a balmy breath is borne on the breeze
From the woodbine-bowers and the fresh-mown
Come forth to the fields, and lad and lass
SShall make them a seat on the fragrant grass;
And lulled by the song of the neighboring
Dream through the day o'er our Picture Book

For glimpses it gives of the country-side,
Of all its beauty and some of its pride;

,,- ,


Of the boat on the stream, and the bird in its
And-the mountain-lake in its time of rest;
Of many a scene, both old and new,
With words of counsel, so kind, but true,
That none, we think, will be sorry to look,
At the pages bright of our Picture Book!







Ap i'



Pull away, girls, while your oars keep time,
And your voices join in a merry chime;
Down the stream where the lilies grow.
How gently shall the good boat go!

Edward is steady, and he shall steer,
Lest the banks or the shoals we strike too near;
While the oars shall be given to Florence and Nell,
Who will row us safely, and row us well.

The sunshine gilds the sparkling tide,
Save where the trees fling shadows wide,
And all is as gay as a poet'A rhyme;
So, pull away, girls, while your oars keep time.

OTHING is much pleasanter than a

boating-party on a summer evening,

when the breeze blows soft and cool,

and the last rays of the sun seem to

light up the waters in a glory of gold

and purple. How delightful it is to dip your

hands into the wave, or gather the silver cups


and emerald leaves of the water-lilies, and then,
to pause beneath the broad branches of some
noble tree, and listen to the music of the stream
as it ripples by! It is well, however, on such
occasions, not to move carelessly about the boat,
or lean too far over the side, lest a trip of plea-
sure should be turned into one of sorrow by a
painful accident. Boating parties are delightful,
but unless you have skilful and steady rowers,
they are also dangerous; and I have known an
hour's reckless enjoyment purchased by years
of grief and repentance. In all your amuse-
ments, beware of excess; and remember that
there is a wide difference between rashness and
true courage. Many boys run into danger, out
of silly vanity. They think their companions
will admire their boldness. But prudence is far
more commendable, and the truly brave are
never heedless.

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S WONDER where the artist saw this
pleasant lake. Perhaps in far-off
regions, such as Italy or Switzerland;
perhaps in our own country, in the
north of England or the Scottish Highlands.
Steep hills surround it, and shelter it from the
cold winds, just as God's love defends us from
S many a hidden danger. An old castle crowns
the summit, where, a great many years ago,
Some proud lord or gallant knight may have
lived. Would you like to build yourself a hut
on that green island, under the leafy trees? I





daresay you think it would be very delightful
to sit on the shore, and watch the fisherman
casting his net, or drawing it up with its burden
of shining and tumbling fish. But scenes that
look very pleasant in summer change their
character in winter, and when the waters of the
lake roll to and fro, and the snow covers the
hills and the little isle, you would not like your
hut, I fear. So you see, you must not judge by
appearances. But you are quite right to admire
the lake now, while it looks so beautiful, and to
make the most of every good and pretty thing
which is placed within your reach.

The sunbeams on the waters smile,
The green trees cluster o'er the isle,
The gentle breeze with music fills
The bosom of the lofty hills.
His daily task the fisher plies,
And scans thle net with watchful eyes.
So bright the scene, so very fair-
I almost wish that I was there!


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HE Stage-Coach is a thing of the past; you
will hardly ever see one now, but your
parents will remember when travellers
to Edinburgh, or Exeter, or Liverpool,
or any other great city, could only go by the
stage-coach. And very pleasant it was to be
mounted on the outside, where you would obtain
a fine view of the country you passed through,
while the noble horses rattled gaily up hill and
S down hill; and when you swept through a
village, all the boys and girls-ay, and men
S and women, too-ran out to gaze at you as if
they had never before seen a stage-coach,
though they saw it every day; and the guard


blew his horn, and the coachman smacked his
whip, and everybody seemed pleased and jolly!
Very pleasant in summer, mind you; but not
in winter, when the road would be blocked up.
by the snow, and the wind blew so keen and'
cold as almost to freeze an outside passenger:
We travel now by railway, and if not quite so
agreeable in summer, it is both safer and
quicker. Time, you know, is money; and our
merchants now-a-days could never do half their
business if we went back to the old stage-
coach. There were accidents very often in those
days; for, perhaps, a careless boy would run
across the road just as the coach drew near,
and before the coachman could pull up, the
horses would knock him down, and the wheels
go over his poor little limbs, and he would be
taken up all faint and bleeding! You should
remember never to cross a street just as a car-
riage or cart comes up; for the driver may not
be able to stop his horse, and then you may
be punished for your imprudence with a broken
leg, or even worse.
To the words of the wise it is prudent to cling,
For folly will always its punishment bring.



I ITTLE Effie, gay and curly,
Rises in the morning early;
SShe a linnet's nest has found,
And blithely seated on the ground,
With some bread and milk she tries
To keep alive her feather'd prize.
In her hat she keeps them steady,
While their little bills are ready
To receive their welcome meal-
How happy Effie now must feel!
And having fed each little guest,
She puts them in their mossy nest,
Where soon the parent-birds will come,
And find their darlings safe at home!


STHAT is what Effie did with the little
linnets. Their parents had flown away
in search of food. So she sat down and
gave them some of her own bread and
milk; after which she carefully replaced them
in their nest. Had she cruelly carried them
away, I have no doubt they would have died,
for it is very difficult to rear such young birds.
The linnet has a pleasant song, and on a mild
spring morning it is delightful to hear its joyous
music thrilling through the air. It is very fond
of society, and several pairs will build their
nests close together, and rear their offspring in
the same neighbourhood without any contention
or ill-temper. They feed and move about in
company, and when their hunger is satisfied,
will all gather on the top of some sunny tree,
chattering with each other in a low and gentle
note. And they will do this in the winter, on
every bright, clear day, and then fly off to the
nearest pool, and dabble in the water, and
dress their glossy brown plumage, until they feel
refreshed and clean. I do not think that any
one would wish to injure the pretty linnets.


T is winter, you see, and the fields are
covered with snow. Old Gaffer Gray
and his son Dick have gone out bird-
catching, for they are very poor, and
unless they can get some birds to sell, neither
they, nor the good wife and the little ones at
h 4ome, will have any food to-day. Many people
are very fond of keeping song-birds, and so long
Sas they feed them regularly, and provide them
S with a large clean cage, I don't know that we
Scan very well blame them. The birds, however,
.ought to be caught when young, for old birds,


if caged, will pine away and die. For my part,
I must confess that I would rather see the
feathered songsters flying about on happy wing
than imprisoned in ever so fine a cage; and I
think their song is never so sweet in confine-
ment as when they pour out their full hearts
from the tree's leafy branch, orlAvhile hovering
to and fro in the sunshine, or perched in the
blossomy hawthorn hedge.

How sweet the song! it seems a strain
Swept from celestial strings,
Or like a breath of music, fanned
By some glad angel's wings!
In golden drops of melody
The lark's high chant descends,
While Philomel all sounds of joy
In richest burden blends!

Gaffer Gray's mode of bird-catching is very
simple. He props up a sieve with a stick, to
which he has fastened a long piece of string.
Under the sieve he scatters a quantity of seed,
and when the birds collect to eat it, he pulls the
string; the stick gives way; and down falls the
sieve over such of the birds as have not taken
flight. I fancy he will not catch many birds
this way; they soon grow afraid of the sieve.


HESE vast mountains are miles and miles
away! We can scarcely see their lofty
summits for the clouds which hang about
them. Their peaks are covered with
snow; snow that rests upon them in summer and
winter, spring and autumn, year after year;
pure, white, and solid; an eternal crown of
majesty and power. Some mountains are four
or five miles high. Just think of that! You
know how long and difficult a journey it is up
Sa gentle hill. How you draw your breach
Quicker and quicker as you ascend it, and how
.. .. (15) 2


flushed and tired you feel when the top of the
hill is gained. Think, then, how wearisome and
laborious it must be to climb a mountain four
miles high, and covered with snow and ice for
the last two miles. You have never seen any
such mountains, you say. No; but you have
been told of them, and you believe in their
existence. Even so, you have never seen
Heaven, but you read of its glories in your
Bible, and you know that it is the home of God
and the angels, and of just men made perfect.
But before we can attain to its everlasting joys,
we have to accomplish a journey more difficult
than that of ascending a mountain five miles
high. The stout-hearted climber, however, gets
to the top at last; and we, if we trust in Christ;
if we continue hopeful, faithful, and in earnest;
shall surely be repaid for the toil of our travel
by the blisses of Heaven.
Upward, upward, let us climb !
Long the way, and very dreary;
Oft we ask for longer time,
Oft our hearts grow faint and weary;
Oft our souls in sorrow sigh,
Help us, Saviour, lest we die!"


N17-1;.A ~.

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ENEATH the blooming hedge she sat,
A lonely child and wan,
When Alfred, by her sorrow moved,
S His simple speech began:

"Why do you cry, my little girl?
And why are you so thin ?
Alack, it seems as if your bones
Would pierce your very skin!"

" I cry," she said; and still the tears
Rolled down her wasted cheek,
And scarcely could she answer him,
So faint was she and weak,-


"I cry because my mother's ill,
And laid upon her bed;
And now since yester morning I
Have never broken bread."

" 0 Alfred!" Flory quick exclaimed,
She'll starve, I fear, and die!
How sad it is that none for her
A little food will buy:

" But stay !-Here is our lunch !-I'm sure
That we could spare our store,
We breakfasted quite heartily
Till I could eat no more!"

They gave the suffering child their roll,
Who scarce her thanks could say,
And then, with happy hearts, to school
Resumed their pleasant way.

Remember, every kindly deed
In God's high record lives;
He loves the charitable hand,
He blesses him who gives!

A mite, at least, you all may spare,
From out your plenteous store,
And gracious Heaven will surely help
The child who helps the poor.




ANY boys are very fond of birds'-nest-

ing, and think it capital sport to

I deprive the mother bird of her eggs

or her young and callow brood. But

I4 to my mind it is a very cruel amuse-

ment, and one which profits nobody. You

cannot hatch the eggs or bring up the tender


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fledglings. You can admire the beautiful colours
of the eggs without carrying them away; or
examine the wonderful manner in which many
of the nests are made. You see that Ada in
the picture thinks so, and turns away from the
thoughtless boy who has just robbed the parent
birds of their little ones and their tiny dwelling.
Perhaps they are far away now, gathering food
for the support of their young; what will be
their feelings, think you, when they fly back on
rapid wing to their favourite tree, and find
themselves homeless and childless ? They have
built their nest with great pains, and have flown
to and fro in search of twigs and leaves and
moss to make it comfortable, and now-it is
gone! I can fancy that when they discover
their loss, their song of mirth and happiness
will be changed into a sad and melancholy
Oh, do not rob the gentle birds,
Which charm us with their dulcet strain!
All the sweet pleasure that they give,
Would you repay with causeless pain?



S OOK through this grove of venerable
trees, and you will see a picturesque
country house, the home of some
English squire, or, perhaps, of some
well-to-do farmer. Broad plains spread
all around it-meadows for cattle and golden
cornfields; and I daresay a silver-sounding brook
Stinkles in the hollow; and near it will run a
leafy lane; and close to the house, I fancy, will
Bloom a large and lovely garden. There are


many such beautiful homes in England; hand-
some houses situated in fair country-sides, with
comfort in the interior and prosperity round
about. That such homes exist, we owe, under
the mercy of God, to our just government and
reasonable laws, which provide, as far as may
be, for the happiness of the industrious and
honest. But all men are not so favoured, it is
true. Some live in cottages, and some in huts;
for in this world we cannot all be equals in
rank and fortune. But we may be equals in
goodness and virtue ; and all may have happy
English homes, if they will obey the will of
God and keep his commandments. Better than
gilded ceilings or gorgeous hangings is a con-
tented mind. The home may be fair to look
at, with fields and gardens and groves to adorn
the landscape; but if evil passions prevail
within it, I would .rather dwell in a lonely
mountain cave.

Home, sweet home, be it ever so homely!
If Love gilds its walls with heavenly light,
If Content, Hope, and Peace ever smile on its threshold,
And Patience be there with her face angel-bright;
That home will be blest with a blessing divine,-
Be it ever so homely, that home shall be mine!


N .


SLOVE the wild-flowers better than even
the beautiful blossoms of the garden.
No strange rare blooms brought from
tropic lands, or far-off countries in
Asia and Africa, are so dear to me as the
modest blue-bell, the forget-me-not, the wild
rose, or the violet. And then, the wee, modest,
crimson-tipped daisy! Is it not more lovely
in its simple dress than the most gorgeous
plants which flourish in conservatories? Above
all, I value the primrose. How beautiful the

J.` ~,~4z


hedge-rows look in spring when the green grass
is thickly studded with its golden flowers! I
often go out into the fields and lanes, and, like
Master Charley here, dig up a nice plant or
two, root and all, and carefully carrying it home,
put it into a snug corner of my garden, or
into a little wooden box, where it grows and
brightens for many days. I hope you are fond
of0 flowers. Some one has called them the stars
of earth, and I am sure they are as beautiful as
the stars. How good is God to give us so many
sources of delight. Look at their delicate leaves!
Look at their various colours and forms! You
cannot grow weary of watching them. Yet no
two flowers are alike. Is it not wonderful that
God should have created so many kinds? Had
there been only a few, we should soon have
tired of them, but there are thousands of vari-
eties, so that one might spend one's whole life
in studying all about them.

They bloom in the field and the grassy lane,
By the river-bank, o'er the marshy plain,
In the deep dark dell, on the mossy bank,
By the marge of the pool, 'mid the rushes dank;
Hills, and dales, and meadows, and bowers,
Everywhere bloom the gentle flowers!



Many a sun and moon have shone
On this old tower, so still and lone,
With strange and awful shadows cast
About it of the solemn Past:
Its gallant knights are low i'the dust,
Their swords and helmets stained with rust;
But still it rears its turrets high,
The landmark of an age gone by.

'T is evening, and the shades of night
are gathering about the old tower,
investing it with a sterner air than it
possesses in the glad sunny noon. And
yet to my eyes it always looks like a thing
gloomy and sorrowful, with its crumbling walls


thickly bowered in ivy, and its empty windows,
and its ruined courts, where the owl makes his
nest, and the wind seems always whistling and
shrieking. This was a grand castle in the old
days, and look at it now! It is thus that Time
makes sport of the work of human hands. Lords
and ladies, knights and squires, once lived
beneath its roof, but then the walls were hung
wi& beautiful tapestry, and the floors strewn
with fragrant rushes, and huge fires blazed on
the hearth, and thick curtains fell before the
windows. I am sure, however, it could never
have been so comfortable as our modern houses,
and we are learning now-a-days that comfort
and happiness are much better than gloomy
grandeur. Strong castles, with stout walls and
heavy gates, were necessary in the ancient time,
when kings and barons were always at war; but
happily for us, men have learned to set a higher
value on law, and order, and peace, and we do
not need to shut ourselves up, like the owls, in
castle or tower.

4.. ,.,


HIS is rather a dangerous freak of

Master Harry's. If he lost his footing,

or the bush to which he clings gave

( way, he would be dashed to atoms. It

is allowable to run such risks when some useful

object is to be attained; but it is more than

foolish-it is sinful--to do so for idle bravado or

mere amusement. Do you know how they

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gather the sea-birds' eggs in some parts of
England and Scotland ? The birds lay their
eggs in the chinks and on the ledges of stu-
pendous cliffs, at whose base the ocean beats
with a perpetual roar.. It is impossible to
climb up these cliffs, they are almost as
straight as a wall. So three men go out, with
a couple of long, stout ropes, and an iron
bar. The bar is fixed firmly in the ground
near the edge of the cliff, and a rope coiled
round it, to the end of which a strong pole or
spar of wood is fastened. One man sits astride
upon this, holding by the rope, and the other
two men let him down the face of the cliff, very
slowly and surely, keeping the rope off the rock
lest the strands should be worn through. Thus
he goes from ledge to ledge, and chink to
chink, picking up the eggs, and putting them
into two bags which he wears slung across his
shoulders. When .they are full, he jerks the
rope, and his friends at the top draw him up.
Such are the perilous ways by which some men
are content to earn a living. Happy they whose
lives have fallen in pleasanter places, and con-
tented should they be with their peaceful lot.

RAVELLERS say that the great charm
of our own dear land is its green lanes.
Their banks, on either hand, are clothed
with such an abundance of wild-flowers,
hedge-plants, moss, and delicate grasses; the
trees so screen them from the sun, and keep off
the bitter winds; every now and then, as the
lane winds up a hill, you get such charming
glimpses of the country round about; and you
come upon such fine old houses, or trim little
cottages, or such quiet villages with their ancient
churches lifting, above the roofs their tall and


shining spires, that no one can fail to admire
our green lanes, if he be of a happy and cheerful
disposition. A bad temper finds evil in every-
thing. But each country has some charm
which endears it to its inhabitants. The Italians
are proud of their vineyards and blue skies, the
Swiss of their snowy mountains, the Greeks
of their olive groves, the Americans of their
prairies and vast lakes, and we, in our turn,
may be proud of our green lanes.

Oh, the green green lane, I love it well,
As it climbs the hill or winds through the dell,
Or crosses the stream, or skirts the leas.
Or takes its way through the ancient trees
I love its hedges, with hawthorn gay,
Where the thrush sings loud, and the linnets play;
I love the spring, so bright and clear,
Which the thirsty cattle loiter near;
And I would roam again and again
In the happy shades of the green, green lane!




ERE are Edwin and Jesse with their
pet lamb, a pretty gentle creature,
with fleece as white as snow, and meek
tender eyes that beam with an ex-
pression of perfect trust. They have
always treated their lamb with gentleness, and
are now rewarded by the creature's affection.
It follows them about like a dog, and when
either of them appears in the meadow where it
is kept, runs up to them quite merrily, licks
their hands, and frisks about them in a jovial
mood. I am sure there is a great happiness


in making those about you happy, and it is as
easy to please your parents or your masters as
to secure the attachment of a pet lamb.
The lamb will soon be too old for a pet,
however; and when grown up into a fine sheep,
will be handed over to the butcher, and be-
come mutton. That seems very hard, perhaps;
but remember you will have done your best
to make it happy in its early days. Child-
hood will pass away with you in your turn, and
you will have to face the duties of life,-to be
brave, good, honest men, or loving, pious, and
diligent women. I hope you will then re-
member how much was cone by your parents
to make your early days cheerful and pleasant,
and that your gratitude will render you anxious
to cheer their old age by your affectionate
So be as happy as you can, Edwin and Jesse,
with your toys, and your books, and your pet
lamb. Be obedient, be loving, be charitable,
be humane.

Make, then, the best of each quick-passing hour,
And seek in all the will of God to see;
As is the seed, so is the full-blown flower,
And as your youth, so shall your manhood be!



MONG the mountains rises the noble
river; pouring out at first from a tiny
spring, buried deep in ferns and water-
Splants, and rippling in a narrow pebbly
channel that any child can step across.
But as it goes on its way to the sea, it collects
the waters from other springs, and from torrents
that come tumbling and splashing down the
rocks, to swell its volume, and the rains of
heaven increase it, and so it continues to grow
broader and deeper as it rushes through the
mountain-glen, and rolls across the open lea.


Broader and deeper, broader and deeper, until
the stream that a child could have leapt across,
is able to float great merchant-vessels and ships
of war, and from bank to bank it measures two,
five, or perhaps a dozen miles. And then at
last it disappears in the mighty sea, and men
know its course no more. Poets and wise men
have loved to compare human life to a river,
for our life, as you know, begins with the small
beginnings of childhood, passes into youth and
manhood with a nobler flow, and is swallowed
up, after many chances and changes, in the
great sea of Eternity. How calm and gentle
the river looks in its mountain valley! Just
so peaceful is your life, dear children, while
sheltered by the love and care of your parents.
But the river will continue to flow from its
source to the ocean long after you and I have
ceased to be. Only, remember, that for us
there is another and a happier world, where
God's love will fold over us its everlasting


HE oak, they say, often lives to the
age of a thousand years and more, and
there are oaks still flourishing in Great
Britain which were hearty and hale
when William the Conqueror landed on our
shores with his Norman knights. But few trees


are allowed to live to so venerable an age.
The wood is very valuable for ship-building,
and as soon as the oak has grown stout enough
the woodmen come with axe and saw and fell
it to the ground. There it lies, a grand and
noble trunk, to form part of a large ship, per-
haps, which shall bear the British flag to far-
away seas and islands. It will shelter us no
more under its leafy boughs. The summer sun
will smile on it never again, nor will its great
arms in winter again be adorned with the
sparkling snow. The Bible often compares
human life to the life of the brave old oak.
"The lofty looks of man shall be humbled,"
says the prophet, "and he shall be brought
low, like the oaks of Bashan."

Oh, the oak! the oak! old England's tree,
Is very fair, indeed, to see,
With its branches spreading far and wide,
And its massive trunk-a thing of pride!
A thousand winters cannot tame
Its heart of iron, its sturdy frame;
It reigns, the king of the greenwood free,
The royal oak, old England's tree!


T is a hot summer day. The sun seems
to burn and scorch all it looks upon.
The flowers hang their heads; the
grass is dry and withered; the leaves
of the trees droop as if they had lost their sap;
the roads are covered with dust, but there is no
wind to blow it about; the children look too
tired to play, and loiter about on the bridge,
or sit under the hedge and weave garlands of
daisies; the old cottagers place their stools at
the cottage-doors to enjoy the warm sunshine;
and the ducks dabble about in any little pool
they can find. The cattle feel the heat very


keenly. You may see them standing in the
open fields, brushing off the flies with their
tails, and lolling out their parched tongues as
if they were overcome with thirst. How joyful
they seem when the farmer's boy turns them
out of the meadow, and leads them down to the
river-side! Then they drink such long draughts,
you would almost fancy they never intended to
stop! And they plunge into the cool waters,
quite up to their necks, so as to cool their hot
skins and get rid of the troublesome flies. It
is not much trouble for the farmer's lad to take
them to the river, and yet what a happiness it
is to the poor cattle!
We can often render one another great
services at little cost to ourselves. .And we
should always make haste to do so, for we know
not how much good we may effect by what is
really a very little kindness.
Help one another,
Help father and mother,
Help sister and brother;
A kindly hand lend
To stranger and friend;
For ever and ever under the sun,
At a very small cost great good may be done!


"Art thou the bird whom man loves best,
The pious bird with the scarlet breast,
Our little English robin;
The bird that comes about our doors
When autumn winds are sobbing;
The bird who by some name or other
All men who know thee call thee brother,
The darling of children and men? "

0 sings a great poet named Wordsworth,
whose books when you are old enough,
it will do you good to read. He sings
about the robin red-breast, the little red-
coated, hopping, gentle, lovable fellow, that
comes to your window daily for his crumbs of

~2~LA 2_
ui I ~ r-


bread, if you are kind and tender with him.
He will be your guest all the year round, if
you will take care to provide for him. Some
years ago, a pair of robins took up their abode in
an old parish church, and actually, built their
nest upon the church Bible, where it lay on the
reading-desk. The good vicar would not allow
them to be disturbed, and got another Bible.
In another church, the clerk when looking for
the lessons of the day (it was the 13th of April),
saw something under his Bible, which rested
upon a raised ledge. It was a robin's nest, and
held two eggs! The bird was not frightened
or moved, and laid four more, which were
hatched on the 4th of May.
Men love the robin because it is so trustful,
and relies upon their humanity and good feeling.
And it is wise for us to put faith in one another,
and not to be meanly suspicious or envious.
Trust your fellows, and they will trust you.


rJ1 a
41 X: r
h~ ~-2~. ,-i. .r 1j:


T is well to be kind and gentle to dumb
animals. A wise poet has told us,

"Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels;"

that is, never to find a silly amusement in
teasing any poor helpless creature, as I have
seen naughty children tease their dogs and
kittens, or run after the innocent lambs, and
throw stones at the patient cows. They cannot
tell you how it hurts and annoys them, and you
should show to them as much gentleness and


careful kindness as you would to your baby-
brother. For they are God's creatures, and all
God's creatures are worthy of being loved.
Edwin here does not tease his dog Rover.
You may be sure of that, or Rover would not
be so ready to play with him, and jump into the
water when Edwin flings his stick among the
water-lilies. Most dogs can swim, and some-
times their power of swimming is very useful to
their owners. I have read of a little girl who
fell off a plank into a deep stream. No one
was near, and it seemed certain she would be
drowned. But a dog she had treated kindly
saw the accident, sprang into the river, caught
hold of her dress, and dragged her ashore. He
then stood by her and barked loudly, until her
parents came to her help.

Oh, Rover, bold Rover, so gallant and true,
There never was dog more faithful than you!
By night you keep watch, like a sentinel steady,
And by day you are always so active and ready
To run by the carriage or walk at my side;
There never was known one more faithful or tried!
Oh, Rover, bold Rover, so gallant and true,
I wish boys and girls were as generous as you!


T is summer-time, and the children all
gather in the sunny fields, where, in the
shade of some grand old tree, or under
the hawthorn hedge, they sit and
amuse themselves by singing songs, and making
nosegays or garlands of wild-flowers. The
cattle, overcome by the heat, lie down on the
grass, or stand knee-deep in the pools; and the
sheep seem almost too lazy to nibble. How


the birds sing as they rise higher and higher
above the earth, until they seem like specks
against the blue sky! How pleasant the wind
is, as it just stirs the leaves of the trees, and
makes a dimple on the face of the sunlit stream!
What a sweet smell comes from the hedges and
the wild-flowers and the dry grass!-Oh, what
a delightful season summer is! But then we
should not value it so much, if we had no
autumn with its yellow leaves, no winter with
its robe of glittering snow. It is the change,
the contrast, that makes it doubly delightful.
Each season brings with it its own peculiar
blessings, and we must have seed-time as well
as harvest, rain as well as sunshine, to fill up
the measure of God's goodness to man.

The broad, bright sun is rising high
In the summer's blue and cloudless sky,
And the warm light spreads o'er the blooming leas,
And a soft air murmurs through the trees,
And the brook goes sparkling and dancing along
With the joyous flow of a merry song:
Come forth, come forth, to the leafy bowers,
And gladden yourselves in the light of flowers;
Children, come forth with hearts of cheer,
For earth is gay, and summer is here!

S HAT a pretty spot! This is the
ferryman's cottage, placed, you see,
S close to the river's bank, and under
the shade of some grand old trees.
Does it not seem just the sort of
country home that you would like? How
pleasant it would be to dabble in the cool
bright water and play among the rushes, or
row about in a boat so large and comfortable!
I daresay you think the ferryman's life must be
one long stretch of happiness. Well, his life,
like yours or mine, has its pleasures and its
pains. It is summer now, and to row across


the rolling river is not a very difficult task, but
in winter when the waves are high and the
wind blows, or when the rain falls heavily, or
when great blocks of ice drift down the stream,
the ferryman thinks his lot a hard one. But
he takes the rough with the smooth, and
bravely does his duty all the year, pulling from
one bank to the other whenever any passenger
wants to cross. He is a very useful man in his
way. There is no bridge over the great river.
It would cost too much to build one, and so, if
you want to reach the pretty village, whose
church-spire you can see through the trees, you
must employ the ferryman. He and his boat
are always ready, and whether it rains, blows,
or shines, are at their' post. I hope you will
resemble the ferryman in this, and do your duty
honestly under every circumstance. It may not
always be very agreeable, but duty must be

Still at your post courageous stand,
A workman tried and steady;
With honest heart and willing hand
To do your duty ready !


OW different is this rude-looking bridge
of wood to the noble structures of
stone and iron which are thrown over
the rivers of great cities But it does
very well where it is placed, for few
people or carriages ever cross it, and there
would be no traffic to pay for a handsome stone
bridge in this lonely mountain-glen. In some
parts of America where the valleys are very
deep, a rope is stretched across from one side
to the other, and firmly fastened to poles in the
ground, or to huge trees. An* then, if you


want to go over, you have to put yourself in a
basket which is slung upon the rope, and pulled
across by means of another rope. How would
you like such a dangerous journey ? In fact
there are all kinds of bridges-wooden, brick,
iron, stone; for men must cross rivers and
streams and valleys, and they cannot do so
without the help of some kind of bridge. Do
you know the longest bridge in the world ? It
is in North America, and across an immense
river named the St. Lawrence. It measures
two miles in length, all but sixty yards, is
sixty feet high, and cost one million seven
hundred thousand pounds. A railway is car-
ried over this bridge, which is named after our
good queen, the Victoria.
It is thus that human skill and industry con-
quer the greatest difficulties, and build bridges
over great rivers or deep valleys. When men
go to build a bridge they keep on working and
working, in spite of obstacles, until the bridge
is built. That is what you must do.

If at first you don't succeed,
Try, try, try again!


SIALTER VERNON has his gray pony
at last, and away he goes, scampering
SiZ along the dusty road as if neither he
nor the pony could ever grow tired.
He enjoys it all the more because he
knows he has fairly won his enjoyment. His
papa, who is a rich man and well able to afford
it, promised him a pony if he kept dux-that
is, at the head-of his Latin class for a whole
year. Walter is an industrious boy, and he
set to work with a will. He never missed a
lesson, and he kept his place throughout the'
year. So that he has gained his pony, and
what is more, the approval of his own heart.


If he had had no pony, I think he would have
been almost as happy; and you will be so if you
always do your duty, mind what your parents
and teachers say, and endeavour to improve in
your studies. We cannot all have ponies or
prizes, and a time will come when we shall be
too old to care for such things, but we can all
strive to satisfy our consciences. That is a
happiness of which nothing can deprive us, and
which the oldest and the youngest can equally
enjoy. Say to yourself, I will do my duty; I
will be truthful, honest, patient, and obedient;
and my reward shall be the knowledge that I
have acted rightly. I want no other gray pony
than that!" God will smile upon your efforts,
and his blessing will surely attend you.
0 Jesus, help my tender youth
To keep the path of right and truth;
Oh, guide me in thine holy way,
IVIy Hope, my Comfort, and my Stay!


"The stately homes of England!
How beautiful they stand,
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land!
The deer across the greensward bound,
Through shade and sunny gleam;
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream."

HAVE borrowed these lines from a very
agreeable poetess, named Mrs. Hemans.
You see they just describe the beautiful
mansion which is shown in the picture.
There are the tall old trees and the rejoicing
stream. Indeed, it is a fair sight to look upon.

There are hundreds of such mansions in our
rich and peaceful country, and the wealthy gen-
tlemen who own them do great good to their
poorer fellow-countrymen by employing them
on their farms or in their gardens or about their
estates. You must not allow yourself, however,
to fret or repine if your own home is not so
splendid. Remember that if others are richer
than you, many, many thousands are poorer,
and that every lot has not only its sorrows but
'its joys. You can be as happy in a cottage
as in a palace, and in the sight of God all
men who do their duty are equal. When I
hear some thoughtless people wishing that
they had been born to rank or wealth, I remind
them that the things of this world soon pass
away, and that if they only will be good and
true and honest, it will matter little hereafter
whether they lived under a gilded ceiling or a
roof of straw. There is hope and comfort for
the meanest in one beautiful saying of Christ's:
"In my Father's house are many mansions." And
these are open for the peasant as well as the
prince, to all classes and races of the great
family of mankind.


England for the gleaners to go into the
cornfields after the reapers had cut the
corn and bound up their sheaves, and
there they were allowed to collect the stray
stalks for their own benefit. They would take

home all they gathered, and the miller would
grind it for them into nice flour, and so many a
poor family obtained food for several days.
The custom has nearly died out, I think, for
farmers now take care that their fields shall be
better reaped, and there is nothing left for the
Do you remember the story of a gleaner in
the Bible ? If not, ask your mamma to read to
you about pretty, gentle, loving Ruth. She
went, and chme, and gleaned in the field after
the reapers," and there she was seen by the
master, a man of wealth named Boaz, who
could not but admire her innocence, her in-
dustry, and, above all, her affection for her
mother-in-law. And so it came to pass that Ruth
became the wife of Boaz, and their child was
named Obed, who was the grandfather of David.
From David descended Joseph, the husband of
Mary, the mother of our Saviour. Remember,
then, that the husband of the human mother of
Jesus came from the stock of Ruth the gleaner.
It will give you an interest in the scene if at
any time you should see the peasant girls
gleaning after the reapers in the cornfield.




Down with the trees, the mighty trees,
Which long have withstood the winter breeze,
And the summer sun, and the autumn rain,
But shall never lift up their heads again!

SES: down with the trees, for houses
and ships must be built, and furniture
must be made, and timber, as you know,
is of the greatest value to man. Very
grand and stately the beech and the
oak and the chestnut seem, as they spread
abroad their leafy branches, and rear their
crowns of foliage far above our heads; but the
woodman comes with axe and saw, and the
tallest of them are soon brought low upon the


earth. Then their boughs and stems are cut
away, and the solid trunks are piled upon stout
trucks and wains, which require several horses
or oxen to draw them down to the saw-pits.
At the saw-pits they are divided into planks of
various thickness, or into posts and beams,
according to the purposes for which they are
intended. There are different kinds of wood.
The commonest is called deal, which is got
from several trees. Then for shipbuilding men
use oak pnd pine and fir; for beautiful tables
and chairs, they bring'mahogany and rosewood
from abroad; walnut-wood is also used for
making furniture; our floors and stairs, window-
frames andI common doors, are fashioned of deal.
But there are few trees which cannot be made
useful in one way or another. If their timber
is worthless, men often employ their bark or
leaves, from which they get dyes, gums, bal-
sams, medicines, cordage; and others bear
valuable fruits, such as the bread-fruit and
cocoa-nut trees, which are almost the only
support of thousands of men, women, and
children. All that God has created is good,
from the grandest oak to the meanest weed.


HERE the bright sun shines, and fresh
winds blow,
f ^ And summer blossoms most sweetly
Where the grass is green, and all is
Our pretty pet! we will bury you there.

Come, Edgar, quick, and take your spade,
And see that the grave be trimly made;
Where the grass is green, and all is fair,-
Our pretty pet! we will bury you there.


Long time you sung in the window-seat
A daily song of burden sweet;
Where the grass is green, and all is fair,-
Our pretty pet! we will bury you there.

When we offered you seed or a crumb of bread,
How blithely you chirped, and bent your head;
Where the grass is green, and all is fair,-
Our pretty pet! we will bury you there.

As soon as the sunshine reddened the sky,
You raised your warble, soft though high;
Where the grass is green, and all is fair, -
Our pretty pet! we will bury you there.

When twilight came with shadows deep,
On your perch you calmly went to sleep;
Where the grass is green, and all is fair,-
Our pretty pet! we will bury you there.

To all the world shall your name be known,
For over your grave we'll raise a stone,
And write it thereon, in letters fair,-
Ah, GOLDEN DICK! we will bury you there.



Sir Reynard, Sir Reynard, come out of your den;
Ah, you are afraid of the hounds and the men,
But at night like a thief you cunningly prowl,
And have just enough courage to pounce on a fowl!

ERE among foxgloves, and ferns, and
leaves, and grasses of every kind, deep
down in the shelter of a wood, Rey-
nard, the sly old fox, has made his
lair. Unless the hunters and their dogs
should find him out, he will keep himself snug
enough during the day time; but as soon as
night and darkness are on the earth, he will
issue forth, and woe to any rabbit or young hare
that crosses his path! He will steal quietly


into Farmer Hodge's farm-yard, and in spite of
barking dogs and crowing cocks he generally
contirves to seize some poor little chicken, or,
perhaps, a fat young duckling, and then, loaded
with plunder, he glides back to his secret den.
He is very sly and crafty this Master Reynard,
as you may see in his shrewd sidelong glances
and sharp watchful face. He has a broad
head, a sharp nose, erect ears, a long hairy
body, short legs, and a fine long bushy tail.
In size he may be compared to a large dog, but
while the dog id generous, and faithful, and
honest, he is a mean, deceitful thief! So all
men love the dog, and all men hate the fox.
Men generally love what is good, even if they
themselves are wicked, and if you wish to secure
the esteem of your friends and neighbours, you
must lead a peaceful and virtuous life. Would
you not rather be loved and cherished like the
dog, than hated and scorned like the fox ? But
even if the world did not praise us for doing
our duty, we ought to continue doing it, because
we know it will please Him who for our sakes
became man, and who laid down his life upon
the cross that we, through him, might be saved.

BEAUTIFUL landscape is this: a
brook running merrily along, now in
the shade of the stately trees, and
now across the open sunny meadows.
I love to pause on its quaint old
wooden bridge, and watch the waters rippling
by. Here they eddy round a mossy root, there
they dimple in a shallow pool. Here they
tumble and toss over -a ridge of stones; there
they lie quiet, calm, and still under the broad
shadow of the water-lilies. The cattle come
down to drink of the pure and limpid stream,
which, you see, like everything else that God


has made, is for a good and useful purpose.
You will often hear life compared to a broqk
or a river, because it glides by with the same
swiftness, sometimes in sunshine and sometimes
in shadow. Well: this brook may teach you to
make your life of some account to other people.
It is not altogether useless, and you should not
be altogether useless. Young as you are, be
sure that it is in your power to make some
one happier; your parents, perhaps, by your
obedience, or your schoolfellows by your kind-
ness and good temper.

Flow on, sweet brook, nor cease to flow
While leaves are green and flowers are sweet,
And as through mead and vale you go,
Your Maker's praise in song repeat;
For earth below, and heaven above,
All speak of God the Father's love.


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