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val, while I was left standing here alone, with only the tempest for my playmate. Go, then, silly little flower; be satisfied with your lot in life; you only die to revive again, more beautiful and lovely than ever."

"What answer did the little flower make to all this?" inquired a little boy, who, like most children, was fond of asking questions. "It felt ashamed and kept silent," said his mamma, "and never again indulged in ungrateful complaints."



[Simply and with distinctness.]

This is the tale of a queer old hen
That sat on eggs exactly ten.

She made her nest with pride and care,
And weather foul and weather fair
You always found her at her post,
For patience was her daily boast.
Alas! how oft it is our lot
To brag of what we haven't got.
This will apply to hens and men,
And boys and girls.

Days passed, and when
The sun began to warmer grow,
And grass and leaves began to show

Their twinkling green on hill and vale;
When sweet and pleasant was the gale,
This queer old hen began to long

To join once more the noisy throng
Of idle gossips-half a score-
That strutted by the old barn door.

"Oh, deari oh, dear! here I am tied
A weary lot is mine," she sighed;
"No gleam of pleasure do I catch;
Why don't these tiresome chickens hatch?

It worries me in heart and legs
To sit so long upon these eggs;

I'm sick of pining here at home.

Oh, chicks, chicks, chicks, why don't you come?
Your little houses, white and warm,
I've sheltered from the angry storm.

"There's Mother Dominique, next door,
Her darlings number half a score,
And they've been out a week or more;
And now she wanders at her ease,
As proud and happy as you please.
So, stir your pinky little pegs,

My yellow bills, come out and walk,
Or else I'll doubt my eggs are eggs,

And think they are but lumps of chalk!"

Then something rash and sad befell;
This old hen pecked each brittle shell,
And, not so wonderful to tell,
Her treatment, which was very rude,
Killed on the spot her tiny brood!
And now, despised by fowls and men,
She lives a broken-hearted hen!

This is the moral of my lay:
To reap success in work or play,
Why spoil whatever you've begun
Through eagerness to have it done?
Remember poor Dame Partlet's fate;
Don't be impatient-learn to wait!





After a great snow storm a little fellow began to shovel a path through a large snow bank before his graudmother's door. He had nothing but a small shovel to work with.

"How do you expect to get through that drift?" asked a man passing along.

"By keeping at it," said the little boy, cheerfully, that's how!" That is the secret of mastering almost every difficulty under the suu. If a hard task is before you stick to it.

Do not keep thinking how large or how hard it is, but go at it, and little by little it will grow smaller until it is done.



[In a descriptive manner.],

Two little urchins started out

To tramp the streets and lanes about
In search of rags, bones, coal or wood,
But taught to seek their needed food
By shunning all the " grocery stores
And rapping at the basement doors.

So, armed with basket and with bag,
They, lest their trade should sometimes drag,
Agreed to share, if either found

A nice "tit-bit" in all their round

A precious morsel of meat or cake,
Fruit, tart or pie, to "give or take."

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Now lucky Jimmy soon espied
A rosy apple, and sought to hide
From his companion's greedy eyes
His unexpected, luscious prize;
But following his mother Eve,
Who, with an apple first deceived,
Took still another road to crime,

The fruit concealing for a time;
She shared with Adam the tempting fruit,

He sought his palate alone to suit!

Now, wary Tom, made keen and bold
By years of strife with want and cold,
Read in his comrade's sparkling eyes
Possession of some valued prize,
And claimed his share by contract right,
Else, from his size, by right of might.

Jim passed the apple, while Tom agreed
To take a bite, and stick to creed
Of "give and take;" he opened wide
Capacious jaws, and lo! inside
The apple popped! Poor little Jim
Saw but a morsel left for him;
"See here!" exclaimed the luckless wight,
"You've taken the apple and left the bite !"




The sun came down to earth one day
And sat in quiet on the road;
But all who came or went that way,
Unmindful of him, onward strode,

Except the little Jackal. He

Observed the sun admiringly: "This handsome little child, I find, The heedless men have left behind."

Then lifting him upon his back,

He screams with vigor at the heat: "Get down! Alack a-day, alack!"

And hurries off with quickened feet.

So, ever since, the Jackal's back
Has worn a sun-marked stripe of black.

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[To be given by a very little boy.]

"I know what I'm going to be when I get big," said Vickery. "What's that?" asked Vickery's mother.

"Something that begins with an "S."

"Shoemaker ?"


41 Sailor ?"


"Soldier ?"


"What then?"

"Stronomer!" said Vickery.



[Naturally and distinctly.]

"When I was a school-boy," said an old man, แ we had a schoolmaster who had an odd way of catching boys. One day he called out to us, 'Boys, I must have close attention to your books!' The first one of you that sees another boy idle, I want you to inform me, and I will attend to his case.' Ah, thought I to myself, there's Joe Simmins that I don't like. I'll watch him, and if I see him look off his book I'll tell. It was not long before I saw Joe look off his book, and immediately I informed the master. 'Indeed,' said he, ' and how did you know he was idle?' 'I saw him,' said I. 'You did? And were your eyes on your book when you saw him?' I was caught, and I never watched for the boys again!"

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