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one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail he was etching another day of misery to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then cast it down-shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle. He gave a deep sigh-I saw the iron enter into his soul-I burst into tears—I could sustain the sight no longer.

THE LITTLE FISH WHO WOULD NOT DO AS

HE WAS BID.

DEAR mother, said a little fish,

Pray is not that a fly?
I'm very hungry, and I wish

You'd let me go and try.
Sweet innocent, the mother cried,

While starting from her nook,
That horrid fly is put to hide

The sharpness of the hook.
When, as I've heard, this little trout

Was young and foolish too,
And so he thought he'd venture out,

And see if it was true.
And now about the hook he played,

With many a longing look,
And, dear me, to himself he said,

I'm sure that's not a hook.

I can but give one little pluck,

Let's see, and so I will
So on he went, and lo! it stuck

Quite through his little gill !
And, as he faint and fainter grew,

With hollow voice he cried-
Dear mother, if I'd minded you,

I need not now have died.

WE ARE SEVEN.

A simple child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage girl,
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

“ Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be ?” “How many ? Seven in all,” she said And wondering, looked at me.

“ And where are they? I pray you tell, *
She answered,“ Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

Two of us in the churchyard lie.
My sister and my brother,

And, in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother.”

“ You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea;
Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet child, how this may be ?"

Then did the little maid reply,
“ Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree.”

“ You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five.”

“ Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little girl replied ; 6 Twelve steps or more, from mother's door, And they are side by side.

My stockings there I often knit,
My 'kerchief there I hem ;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sit and sing to them.

And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
The first that died was little Jane;
In bed she meaning lay,

Till God released her of her pain,
And then she went away.

So in the churchyard she was laid ;
And all the summer day,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side.”

“How many are you then,” said I,
“ If they two are in heaven ?"
The little maid again replied,
66 Oh, master, we are seven !”

“But they are dead ; those two are dead ! Their spirits are in heaven !"'Twas throwing words away; for still, The little maid would have her will, And said, “Nay, we are seven !”

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.

A NIGHTINGALE that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song;
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,

A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent-
Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song :
For 'twas the self-same power divine
Taught you to sing and me to shine ;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.
The songster heard his short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.

HE WOULD BE A SOLDIER.
Charles. Oh Father-indeed I must be a soldier.

Mr. Ashton. I have always told you, my son, that I would never control you in the choice of a profession, and that my narrow means should be stretched to their utmost, to give you a proper education for such a one as you may choose. But it is a great while for you to look forward to an occupation for life.

Char. Yes, but you know, sir, that many great men have begun when they were but boys, and the sooner I determine what I am to be, the more perfect I can fit myself for it when the time comes.

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