THE IRISH BOY.

When the famine was raging in Ireland, in the Winter of 1848, many of the poor people died of starvation, and starving children begged for bread. Listen to the supplication of a poor famished boy, as he pleads at the door of a wealthy person.*

O, LISTEN to me awhile, for it is a sad story I have to tell. The shining beams of the blessed heaven be on your heads, and let me speak a minute, while the biting hunger leaves me strength. O, little did I think that ever I should beg before a stranger's door. It is not long since I was happy in my father's house.

But ah! that house is lone and empty now. The fire has all gone out upon the hearth, and my poor arm will never be strong enough to kindle it again. Many a night have I sat there, to hear the stories my mother told or sung. The red light danced up and down her face, and her voice would rise and fall so soft and sweet, that in spite of me, the tears would come in my eyes.

That was the pleasant crying; but many bitter tears have come from my eyes since then. The blight fell on the crops, and then-oh,

* This note should be read by the teacher, or prompter, before the speaker commences.

then! what could we do but starve! The potatoes were all gone-not one could we have. Then every thing was sold to pay the renteven my little bird, which the good man gave me. I could not hear it sing so sweetly any

more.

I did not care so much for that; but then dear mother did not sing. When she tried to speak joyfully, to cheer my father, there was a shake in her voice, and her lip would tremble. No wonder they both looked pale and sad, for famine and starvation were where plenty was before.

THE IRISH BOY.

In the Winter of 1848, many poor people in Ireland died of starvation. Listen to the story of the famishing boy.

I did not know what famine meant, but I soon learned; for we would often be a full day without tasting food. I would go to bed sick and fainting like; but I didn't mind it for myself at all, at all; only for little sister Norah. In all the country there was not a prettier child, with her cheeks of pink and snow, and her shining eyes, just the color of the sky in June.

O, if you could have seen her as she was! A happy smile was always on her face, and it filled my heart with joy to hear her merry laugh. But ah! when the famine came, it bore hard on little Norah; it rubbed out all the limples on her face, and the red blush on her cheek faded. Her eyes grew dim, and sunk back in her head, as if the tears she shed would out out all the light in them.

O, it would have gone to your hearts, to see her hold out her long, thin hand, and hear her young, sweet voice ask for bread, when there was none to give her. I saw my poor mother wring her hands and cry, because she had no bread to give her starving child. Mother would sooth her to sleep-but she would sob, and her face would keep moving all the time.

But she did not sob long; for one night, after she had been stupid a long time, she roused up and said, "I am very hungry." Then she stretched herself out on her mother's lap, and was still; she never breathed again. Father put an old cloth around her body, and buried her, but she had no coffin to lie in.

Then the hunger was so hard upon my father, that he fell down and could not walk. In

a few days he was dead. After that, the hunger grew very hard upon my mother, and she was soon in the grave, beside my father. Then I was all alone.

I could not stay where I was once so happy, for it was cold and lonely there. May the blessings of kind heaven be upon you, and will you give me some food, that I may not starve ?

WASHINGTON.

How unlike Napoleon was our revered Washington. Engaging early in the glory of the colonies for independence, he exhibited talents, which showed that he was destined not to follow, but to lead. Being placed in command of the whole American forces, he showed by his wisdom, his prudence, and his firmness, that he was by no means unfit for his station.

The motives which urged him onward were pure and honorable. Looking into the deep recesses of his heart, we find there no traces of an unholy ambition. The God he worshipped was the King of kings-the end he aimed at. the deliverance of his country.

Never was he found within the walls of the capitol, enforcing his authority by violence and arms; but the breezes of midnight paused and listened, as they swept by him in some lonely solitude, uttering the homage of his soul in prayer, or seeking counsel of the God of battles. He accomplished his object; the shackles of oppression were broken; his country free!

He might have reigned as a monarch; but he preferred the retirement of a domestic life, to the adoration of a land, he might almost be said to have created. He passed his days in honor and repose, and dying, shed a deep, yet hallowed gloom over a whole continent. The towering monument, or the time-defying marble, are unnecessary to perpetuate his fame. His name is graven deeply upon the hearts of his countrymen; his virtues are inscribed, in living characters, on tablets of memory.

WINE is a mocker; strong drink is raging; and whoso is deceived thereby is not wise. Be not among wine-bibbers, among riotous eaters of flesh; for the glutton and the drunkard shall come to poverty, and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags.