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The water is frequently so clear and undisturbed, that, at great depths, the minutest objects are visible; groves of coral are seen expanding their variouslycoloured clumps, some rigid and immovable, and others waving gracefully their flexile branches. Shells of every form and hue glide slowly along the stones, or cling to the coral boughs like fruit ; crabs and other marine animals pursue their preys in the crannies of the rocks, and sea-plants spread their limber leaves in gay and gaudy irregularity, while the most beautiful fishes are on every side sporting around.
The floor is of sand, like the mountain-drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow;
For the winds and waves are absent there;
In the motionless fields of the upper air :
The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter;
The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea,
Are bending like corn on the upland lea;
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms
Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies,
Then far below in the peaceful sea
When the waters murmur tranquilly
THE BALL. My good little fellow, don't throw your ball here,
You'll break neighbour's windows, I know; On the end of the house there is room, and to spare ; Go round, you can have a delightful game there,
Without fearing for where you may throw.
With a little more care than before;
He resolved to have fifty throws more.
Already as far as to forty he rose,
No mischief yet happened, at all; One more, and one more, he successfully throws, But when, as he thought, just arrived at the close,
In popped his unfortunate ball.
Poor Harry stood frightened, and turning about,
Was gazing at what he had done: As the ball had popped in, so neighbour popped out, And with a good horsewhip he beat him about,
Till Harry repented his fun.
When little folks think they know better than great,
And what is forbidden them do ;
And that one of the fifty goes through.
First Scholar. Lazy sheep, pray tell me why, In the pleasant fields you lie, Eating grass, and daisies white, From dewy morn to darksome night? Every thing can something do, But what kind of use are you?
Second Scholar. Nay, my little master, nay, Do not serve them so, I pray; Don't you see the wool that grows On their backs, to give you clothes ? Cold, and very cold you'd get, If they did not give you it.
True, it seems a pleasant thing,
THE TRUE HISTORY OF A POOR LITTLE MOUSE,
That a poor little mouse could enjoy;
They feared neither pussy nor boy.
That this poor little mouse made his hole :
With a piece of plum-pudding he stole.
Descried the poor fellow's retreat, He crept to the shavings and set them alight, And before the poor mouse could run off in his fright,
It was scalded to death in the heat!
And died one by one in the flame!
He suffered exactly the same.
THE LITTLE PHILOSOPHER. Mr. L. was one morning riding by himself, when, dismounting to gather a plant in the hedge, his horse got loose and galloped away before him. He followed, calling the horse by his name, which stopped, but on his approach set off again. At length a little boy in the neighbouring field, seeing the affair, ran across where the road made a turn, and getting before the horse, took him by the bridle, and held him till his owner came up.
Mr. L. (looking at the boy and admiring his ruddy countenance) Thank you, my good lad! you have caught my horse very cleverly. What shall I give you for your trouble ? (putting his hand into his pocket.)
Boy. I want nothing, sir.
Mr. L. Don't you? so much the better for you. Few men can say as much. But pray what were you doing in the field ?
B. I was rooting up weeds, and tending the sheep that are feeding on the turnips, and keeping the crows from the corn.
Mr. L. And do you like this employment ?
B. This is not hard work; it is almost as good as play.
Mr. L. Who sent you to work ?