BUTTER AND CHEESE.

Milk is the most useful thing we get from

the cow.

We can drink it, or we can make
I will tell you

it into butter and cheese.

how butter is made.

After the maid has milked the cows, she puts the milk into pans and lets it stand in a cool place till the cream rises to the top. When the cream has come to the top, she skims it off. She then puts the cream into a pan till she has a good deal.

When she has plenty of cream, she puts it into a churn. Next, the cream is shaken about, or churn'd, till the thick is parted from the thin. The thick part is call'd butter. The butter is then taken out and wash't and salted, and made into pats and rolls for the market.

Cheese is made of milk, new or skimm'd. The milk is warmed, and a sour stuff, call'd rennet, is put into it to turn it to curd. When the curd has become nice and tough, the whey is drained off.

The thick, hard curd is then broken with the hand, and made fine. It is then put into a cloth, and well squeez'd, and dried.

After this, it is taken out of the cloth, and broken up again, and salt is mixed with it.

Last of all, the dairy-maid puts the curd into a shape, or mould, the size she wants the cheese to be made, and places it under a heavy press. While there, it is often turned, and when taken out, it is put on a shelf, to get quite dry and hard. After standing some time, it is fit for eating.

PLEASURES OF THE COUNTRY.

If I had five hundred houses in the town, I would never live there. It may be all very well to peep, now and then, at the fine sights, but you soon get tired of them all. The smoky chimneys, and the long streets, oh, I cannot bear them!

People say, it is best to live in the country during the summer, and in town during the winter. But I think the country is always delight-ful.

In Spring you have fresh air, green trees, Lud-ding flowers, and singing birds.

In Summer you have the clear bright sky, the sweet-smelling hay, the blossom-ing beanfield, the curds-and-whey, and the merry sports on the green.

In Autumn you have the yellow corn, the merry reapers, the delicious fruits, and the harvest-home.

In Winter you have the frozen pond, the crisp snow under your feet, the trees feather'd with frost, and the snug chimney-corner.

Oh! the country for me, for it is always beautiful and whole-some, through-out all the

seasons.

SAXON SONG OF SUMMER.
Summer is a coming in,
Loud sing, cuckoo;

Greweth seed, and bloweth mead,
And springeth the wood new.
Sing cuckoo, cuckoo !

Ewe bleateth after lamb;

Loweth calf after cow;

Bullock starteth, buck departeth;

Merry sing, cuckoo ;

Cuckoo, cuckoo ;

Well singeth the cuckoo

Sing ever, stop never,
Cuckoo, cuckoo ;
Sing cuckoo !

MORNING HYMN.

Awake, my soul, and with the sun,
Thy daily stage of duty run;
Shake off dull sloth, and early rise,
To pay thy morning sac-rifice.

Lord! I my vows to Thee renew:
Scatter my sins as morring dew;
Guard my first springs of thought and will,
And with Thyself my spirit fill.

Let all my con-verse be sin-cere:
My con-science as the noon-day clear;
For Thine all-seeing eye sur-veys

My se-cret thoughts, my works and ways.

THE DOG, THE CAT, THE DUCK, AND THE RAT.

Once on a time, in rainy weather,

A dog and a cat,
A duck and a rat,

All met in a barn together.

The dog he barked,

The duck she quacked,

The cat she humped up her back,
The rat he squeaked,

And off he sneaked

Straight into a nice little crack.

The little dog said, and he looked very wise, "I think, Mistress Puss,

You make a great fuss

With your back, and your great green eyes.
And you Madam Duck,

You waddle and cluck,

Till it gives one the fidgets to hear you.
You had better run off

To the old pig's trough,

Where none but the pigs, ma'am, are near you.

The duck was good-natured, and she ran away, But old pussy cat,

With her back up sat,

And said she intended to stay;
And she showed him her paws,
With her sharp, long claws,
So the dog was afraid to come near.
For puss, if she pleases,

When a little dog teases,

Can give him a box on the ear.

*

Mrs. Follen.

THE IDLE LITTLE BOY.

There was once a little boy. He was not a big boy, for if he had been a big boy I think he would have been wiser. But this was a little boy, not higher than the table, and his mother sent him to school.

It was a very pleasant morning; the sun shone, and the birds sang on on the trees. Now this little boy did not much like his book, for he was but a silly little boy, as I told you. He had a great mind to play

in stead of going to school.

And he saw a bee flying about, first upon one flower, and then upon another; so he said, "Pretty bee! will you come and play with me?" But the bee said, "No, I must not be idle; I must go and gather honey."

Then the little boy met a dog, and he said, "Dog! will you play with me?" But the dog said, "No, I must not be idle; I am going to catch a hare for my master's dinner I must make haste and catch it."

Then the little boy went by a hay-rick, and he saw a bird pulling some hay out of the hay-rick, and he said, "Bird! will you come and play with me?" But the bird said

'No, I must not be idle; I must get some