the dog good-naturedly, she goes off in a sulky manner towards the garden. The dog starts up and barks at her again. He considers whether it is worth while for him to run after her and bite her; but finally he concludes that it is not quite worth the trouble; so he lies down again growling.

Al. O Orkney, we did not do so.

Ork. You did as nearly so as boys can.

You cannot bark,

and snarl, and scratch exactly like a cat and a dog, or sit on a post of the fence, but you can do what comes to the same thing; and a very funny way to play it is, when you once know what it is that you are playing. Now, you go out into the yard again, and do just what you did before, and say the same things to each other, and just remember all the time that you are playing cat and dog, and you will find it excellent fun. You can be the cat and Martin can be the dog, or you can be the dog and Martin can be the cat; it makes no difference which.

Mar. Nonsense, Orkney! I will not.

Ork. I am sure you would like it if you only tried it. You did not have a good time at all before; but that was because you did not know what you were playing. Go and try it again. Aleck will propose to play ball. Then Martin must say, in as snappish a manner as possible, that Aleck's ball is not good for any thing-that it is ripped and wet. Then Aleck must growl back that it is not, and so on.

Al. Nonsense, Orkney! you are only making fools of us. Come, Martin, I do not want to hear him talking so any more. Let's go and play.

Mar. Well, so we will, and Orkney may go back to his work. Where's your ball?

Al. Here it is, in my pocket.

[They go off to play.

"I WOULD I were a little bird,
To fly so far and high,
And sail along the golden clouds,
And through the azure sky.

"I'd be the first to see the sun
Up from the ocean spring;
And ere it touched the glittering spire,
His ray should gild my wing.

"Above the hills I'd watch him still,
Far down the crimson west,
And sing to him my evening song,
Ere yet I sought my rest.

"And many a land I then should see,
As hill and plain I crossed;
Nor fear, through all the pathless sky,
That I should e'er be lost.

"Now, if I climb our highest hill,
How little can I see!

O, if I had but wings, mamma,
How happy should I be!"

"Wings cannot soar above the sky,
As thou in thought canst do;
Nor can the veiling clouds confine
Thy mental eye's keen view.

"Not to the sun dost thou chant forth
Thy simple evening hymn;

Thou praisest Him before whose smile The noonday's sun grows dim.

"To other lands the bird may fly;
His pinion cuts the air;

Ere yet he rests his wing, thou art,
In thought, before him there.

"A lovelier clime the bird may seek,
With summer go and come-
Beyond the earth awaits for thee
A bright, eternal home.”

XLIX. - HOME.

My home, my own dear home!
It is a happy place,

Where smiles of love are brightening
Each dear familiar face,—

Where parents' arms enfold me
In fond embraces pressed,
And daily, nightly blessings
Upon the household rest.

Our morning salutations,

How gladsomely they sound! And kind "good nights," at evening, Like curtains, close us round.

The bird seeks not to wander

From its own quiet nest, But deems it of all places

The dearest and the best.

Home is my nest, where round me

Soft sheltering wings are spread, And peace, and joy, and gladness,

With shade and sunlight, shed.

O, may I bring no shadow

Of sorrow or of care,
To dim the open brightness
Of happy faces there!

L. THE DEAD BABY.

"MOTHER, how still the baby lies!
I cannot hear his breath,
I cannot see his laughing eyes
They tell me this is DEATH!

"They say that he again will rise
More beautiful than now;

That God will bless him in the skies.
O mother, tell me how."

"Look at that withered worm, my love; An empty shell it lies;

Now raise your wondering glance above, To where yon insect flies."

"O mother, now I know full well,

If God that worm can change, And draw it from this broken cell, On golden wings to range,

"How beautiful will brother be,

When God shall give him wings

Above this dying world to flee,

And live with heavenly things!"

LI. THE YOUTH OF WASHINGTON.

EVERY boy and girl in America has heard of George Washington. He was one of the greatest and best men that ever lived. He was a true lover of his country, and rendered her the most important services. His memory is deservedly cherished with the utmost pride, gratitude, and reverence by the American people: portraits and busts of him are common every where: many lives of him have been written; and the leading events of his career are known to all.

He was born in the county of Westmoreland, Virginia, on the twenty-second day of February, 1732. His father, Augustine Washington, was a man of large property, and owned a great deal of land. He was twice married: George was the oldest child of the second marriage; but there were two sons of the first marriage who were many years older than he.

When he was only eleven years old he had the misfortune to lose his father. This was a great loss; but, on the other hand, he had the good fortune to have a most excellent mother. She was a woman of good sense, energy, decision, and strict religious principle. She had six children in all; but one of them died in infancy. She governed her little household kindly, but strictly; exacting from her children strict obedience, but never requiring any thing of them that was not proper, and for their good.

Washington always felt the greatest possible respect and affection for his mother. When a boy he submitted cheerfully to her will, and when a man he treated her with uniform attention and deference. He had the good sense to see how much he was indebted for his success in life to the manner in which she had brought him up.

This excellent woman lived to the advanced age of eightytwo, long enough to see her illustrious son the object of universal gratitude, admiration, and reverence on the part of his countrymen, and to taste the pure pleasure of feeling that the