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One of them ran and tore off the gold star. “ Just look what was hanging on the ugly old fir-tree,” said he: and he trampled on the branches till they cracked again. Then the tree saw the flowers in the garden in all the freshness of their beauty, and then it looked at itself and wished that it had never left the green forest.

Soon after the man-servant came and cut up the tree into little pieces, and carried a whole bundle of it into the brew-house. It blazed up brightly under the large brewing-copper, sighing and cracking as it blazed. The children ran in and looked at the fire, crying “Pop! bang !” while, at every crack, the fir-tree thought sorrowfully of the summer days in the wood, and of the winter nights when the stars were twinkling. And then it was all burnt to ashes.





Crav'-ing Trill’-ing
Pray'-ing Chirp'-ing

One summer morning early.

When the dew was bright to see,
Our dark-eyed little Charlie

Stood by his mother's knee.
And he heard a robin singing,

In a tree so tall and high,
On the topmost bough 'twas swinging,

Away up in the sky.
“Mamma, the robin's praying,

In the very tree-top there;
Glory! glory ! it is saying,

And that is all its prayer.


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But God will surely hear him,

And the angels standing by, For God is very near him,

* Away up in the sky.”
“My child! God is no nearer

To robin on the tree,
And does not hear him clearer
Than he does


and me. For he hears the angels harping,

In sun-bright glory drest, And the little birdlings chirping

Down in their leafy nest.” Mamma, if you should hide me

Away down in the dark, And leave no lamp beside me,

Would God then have to hark? And if I whisper lowly,

All covered in my bed, Do you

think that Jesus holy Would know what 'twas I said ?” “My darling little lisper,

God's light is never dim;
The very lowest whisper

Is always close to him."
Now, the robin's song was filling

The child's soul full of bliss;
The very air was trilling

When his mamma told him this.
And he wished, in childish craving,

For the robin's wings to fly,
To sing on tree-tops waving,
very near the sky.

Child at Home.

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CHARLIE AND HIS DOG. Fa'-vour-ite Im-per'-ti-nent Ad'-mi-ral Con'-stant Col'-lar

Of-fend'-ed Com-pan-'ion Suc-ces'-sion Re-spect'-a-ble Dog'-gie

A-cross' Some years since, a little boy named Charlie had a large favourite dog, that was his constant companion in playhours. This dog, whom we shall call Rover, was a fine respectable-looking animal, with one of the best of tempers. He never quarrelled with other dogs, and would let the merry, impertinent little Carlo frisk about his heels, without being in the least offended. How I wish all boys were like him in this respect.

Rover was very fond of the water, and in hot weather he used to swim across the river near which Charlie lived. One day Charlie tied a string to his dog's collar, and ran down with him to the water's edge. Then he took off his clothes, and holding hard by the dog's neck and the bit of string, he went into the river, and Rover pulled across. After playing about on the other side, they returned in the way they had come;

but when Charlie looked for his clothes, he could find nothing but his shoes, the wind had blown all the rest into the water.

Rover saw what had happened, and making his little master let go the string, he dashed into the river, and first brought out his coat, and then all the rest in succession. Charlie dressed, and went home in his wet things, and told his mother what fun he and Rover had had. His mother told him that he had done very wrong in going across the river as he had done, and that he should thank God for making the dog take him over and back again safely; for if Rover had made him let go in the river, he would most likely have sunk, and been drowned.

“ Shall I thank God now, mamma?” said little Charlie, and he kneeled down at his mother's knee, and thanked God. Then, getting up again, he threw bis arms around Rover's neck, saying, “I thank you too, dear doggie, for not letting go.”

“ Little Charlie,” lived to grow up to be a man, and afterwards became Admiral Sir Charles Napier.

Sunday Scholar's Magazine.


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A-poth'-e-ca-ry Liqu'-or


Re-mem'-ber Ar'-ti-cles

Per-spi-ra'-tion Snor'-ing Cap'-i-tal

Di-rec'-tions There was a bear who was very fond of dainties and sweetmeats. Once upon a time he stole at evening into an apothecary's cellar.

There were a great many pots, basins, and barrels filled with sweet and sour, and poisonous articles.

“ Capital ! ” said he, with a whispering voice. “Here is plenty of dainties. Now for a feast !"

He put his nose into the first barrel that presented itself, and smelled the liquor which it contained.

“Brr!” he said, shaking his head too and fro. smells like soot from the chimney; but here is a pot with a fine yellow jelly—I wonder how it smells.”

He put his nose to the pot, and was delighted with the smell . Now,

that jelly was a very strong and sickening medicine. He snuffed at the pot, inside and outside.

“ That's it!” he said ; “ that's the thing for me!”

He pushed out his tongue, and began licking, and he kept on licking till he had swallowed the whole con

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tents. He then sneaked away to the forest, and laid himself down in his den."

It was not long, however, before Mr. Bruin became so sick that he could not lift up his eyelids. The perspiration broke out all over his body. He stretched himself out at full length, with his legs in all the directions of the compass, and beat the ground with his tail, as if he were threshing corn. “Boo! baa !” he groaned; “ what ails me ? O dear! I'm choking! I'll vomit my heart out of my body! Woe's me! I'll never touch a pot again; no, never; never, I say, in all my life;never !

Thus he groaned and roared, till the forest resounded. At length he got some relief, and when he felt a little better, he said to himself,—“Dear me, that was a job; I thought I had swallowed the whole sea, together with the moon and stars. Whatever I may or may not do, I'll never taste dainties again.”

He thereupon laid himself on his side. and fell asleep, snoring as loudly as a bear can snore.

The next evening Mr. Bruin once more went out a-hunting. He passed by the apothecary's cellar.

No, no,” said he; “I wont go in. I'll take care this time; never such a thing again;-never in my life.”

So he passed on. But soon he stopped, and, looking back at the cellar, he said,

“I remember there were some very nice-looking pots. I wonder what they contain. Of course I wont taste anything; but I might take a smell—only a smell.”

So he returned to the cellar, and began snuffing at the pots. At length he stopped at one that smelled very nicely.

“I'm sure," he said, “that's something very fine. I don't think I ever smelt anything so sweet in my life. Just let me take one drop-only one single drop.'

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