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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;
From coral rocks the sea-plants list

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow;
The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and waves are absent there;
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow

In the motionless fields of the upper air :
There, with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen

To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter;
There with a light and easy motion

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea,
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean

Are bending like corn on the upland lea;
And life in rare and beautiful forms

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,

And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms
Has made the top of the waves his own:
And when the ship from his fury flies

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,

When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies,
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore,

Then far below in the peaceful sea
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove,

When the waters murmur tranquilly
Through the bending twigs of the coral-grove.

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.
Harry thought he might safely continue his play,

With a little more care than before;
So, forgetful of all that his father could say,
As soon as he saw he was out of the way,

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 ;
We must also expect to see, sooner or late,
That such wise little fools have a similar fate,

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,
To crop the herbage in the spring ;
But many chilly nights they pass,
On the cold and wetted grass,
Or pick a scanty dinner, where
All the common's brown and bare.
Then the farmer comes at last,
When the merry spring is past,
And shears their woolly coat away,
To warm you in the winter's day;
Little master, this is why,
In the pleasant fields they lie.

A POOR little mouse had once made him a nest,
As he fancied, the warmest, and safest, and best,

That a poor little mouse could enjoy;
So snug, so convenient, so out of the way,
This poor little mouse and his family lay,

They feared neither pussy nor boy.
It was in a stove that was seldom in use,
Where shavings and papers were scattered in loose,

That this poor little mouse made his hole :
But alas ! Master Johnny had seen him one day,
As in a great fright he had scampered away,

With a piece of plum-pudding he stole.
As soon as young Johnny (who, wicked and bad,
No pitiful thoughts for dumb animals had)

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!
Poor mouse! how it squeaked I can't bear to relate,
Nor how its poor little ones hopped in the grate,

And died one by one in the flame!
I should not much wonder to hear that one night,
This wicked boy's bed-curtains catching alight,

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. Yes, sir, very well, this fine weather.
Mr. L. But had you not rather play?

B. This is not hard work; it is almost as good as play.

Mr. L. Who sent you to work ?
B. My father, sir.
Mr. L. Where does he live?
B. Just by, among the trees, there sir.
Mr. L. What is his name?
B. Thomas Hurdle, sir.
Mr. L. And what is yours?
B. Peter, sir.
Mr. L. How old are you?
B. I shall be eight at Michaelmas.

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