could go and see all these places; but if I had wings I'm sure I would make my way to them as fast as I could.'

Floss.-But can't you go to them without wings?' Willie.-'Yes; and that reminds me I am silly in talking as I have been. Many people do visit them and other far off lands, and who knows but when we grow up we also may be able to do so.'

Snake and Frog.

MANY years ago, while in Ceylon, I lived in a house in 'Slave Island,' raised on a high platform. The steps up to the door had become loosened, and behind them a colony of frogs had established themselves. One morning I watched a snake (a cobra) creep up, insert its head into a crack, and seize a frog, which he then and there swallowed.

But the

crack that admitted the thin flat head and neck of the snake would not permit of the same being withdrawn, when the neck was swollen with the addition of the frog inside it. The snake tugged and struggled, but in vain, and after a series of futile attempts disgorged its prey and withdrew its head. But the sight was too tantalising. Again the head was inserted in the crack, and the coveted morsel swallowed, and again the vain struggles to withdraw were renewed. I saw this repeated several times, till, gaining wisdom by experience, the snake seized the frog by one leg, withdrew it from its coigne of vantage, and swallowed it outside.

A Chat about Shakespeare. 'OUR great Shakespeare!' we say. Yes, that is what we love to call him, and we use the words with a sort of pride. Shakespeare, we say, is not only a great man, and a great poet, but he is 'ours.' He was an Englishman, every inch of him. He was born, and lived, and died in England, and every man, woman, and child among us has a share in him. And yet it is difficult to find out much of his personal history. He has left no record of himself, and there is not a line in his writings to say, 'I, William Shakespeare, am this wonderful poet;' not a word to call attention to himself. That he was not only a wonderful poet, gifted with the rarest genius, but a noble-minded, large-hearted, modest, generous, man, full of abhorrence for meanness and pity for suffering, there can be no doubt. All this is evident from his writings. We would scarcely ad

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are gone it will be proper for you to form their acquaintance, and then you will find out the reason why Englishmen are so proud of Shakespeare.

Here we shall briefly mention nearly all the facts known about Shakespeare. He was born at Stratford-on-Avon; the house where he lived with his parents is still standing. He married, when eighteen, a certain Ann Hathaway, who was eight years older than himself. He had two daughters and a son, who died while still a young man. By that time Shakespeare had been years in London, though his wife and children remained at Stratford, where he seems to have spent part of each summer with them. It is said he was obliged to leave Stratford on account of his taking part in deer-stealing from the park of Charlecote. How much truth there is in this report we know not; but even if true, much may be said in extenuation of his faultiness. He could at first find no occupation in London, except holding the horses of people alighting at the theatre doors. Nevertheless, the story goes, that he did this work so well and gracefully, that every one called for Will Shakespeare as he alighted. Before long he gained higher work, and eventually became a writer for the stage. His dramas, though not without the faults of his age, are allowed to rank among the best in the English language, or in any language. Before long his power became known, and illustrious friends supported him. The Earls of Southampton, Pembroke, and Montgomery claimed his friendship; both Queen Elizabeth and James II. patronised him; and in his own rank he gathered round him the most gifted men of the day. It is supposed that he left London entirely a few years before his death, and returned to his native town. He had bought one of the best houses in Stratford several years before, and now, free from the business, and cares, and ambitions of life he settled down, expecting, no doubt, to enjoy many years of rest and quietness. Alas, these expectations, as so often happens, proved delusive. In a short time after his retiring to Stratford, his life was cut short, when in his fifty-second year. His remains were laid in the chancel of the great church at Stratford. It is nearly three hundred years since then, but he still lives in the minds of thousands; his name is a household word among all Englishspeaking peoples, and his writings are regarded as one of the very richest literary treasures the world has in its possession.

Life-story of Cardinal Wolsey.

WHO is this butcher-boy you see, three hundred years ago, whistling down the streets of the little town of Ipswich? He is a fine-looking boy enough, but there is nothing very remarkable in his appearance. Still, he has something about him which attracts you, and you cannot help asking, Who is he? His name is Thomas Wolsey, and he is destined to become the greatest man in England. He was known all over the town to be a very clever lad. He had a strong liking for books, took the highest place at school, and had a secret ambition to be a scholar; but there he was, nothing more than a butcher-boy, with no prospect of being anything better. His parents, however, though poor enough, resolved to do their very best to gain him a university education; and so young Thomas, nothing loth, was packed off to Oxford. He was but a boy when he went; but he worked hard, and succeeded with his work, and by the time he was fifteen years old he took his degree as Bachelor of Arts. Then he began to be spoken of among his fellow students, and you might have often heard one say to another, 'Do you know Wolsey? he's a clever fellow, and carries everything before him!' The beautiful College of Magdalen, where he studied, was proud of him, the whole University was proud of him; and we may be sure his father and mother were proudest of all. Honours and advancement came to him quickly and in abundance. Before he was thirty he was made Parson of Lymington, and a year or two after one of the Royal Chaplains. It seemed to the King that he never had such a Chaplain, and his services were before long rewarded with the Deanery of Lincoln. Promotion followed promotion. He became Canon of Windsor, Registrar of the Order of the Garter, Prebendary of York, Dean of York, and Abbot of St. Alban's, Bishop of Lincoln, and the same year Archbishop of York. On every hand his power increased. He built himself the palaces of Whitehall and Hampton Court, and the wealth which he amassed was enormous. His personal influence was also immense, rivalling, and in many respects exceeding, that of the King. All through Europe he was known and feared. To offend Wolsey was to be lost, to win his favour was certain promotion. The Pope made him a Cardinal, and the Lord Chancellor having resigned his postthe highest in England, next to the King-it was given to Wolsey. But alas for the vanity of human

greatness! all the power and glory of this great man passed away like a dream, and this through his own folly. His wonderful success intoxicated him. His exaltation made him giddy, overbearing, and insolent. He created enemies on all sides, who plotted his overthrow. Finally he lost the confi dence of his Royal master. In one moment his disgrace fell on him. As he had showed little mercy, so he received little; as he had deceived others, he was deceived. Messengers were sent to strip him of his ecclesiastical and civil offices, and to take him to the Tower of London, there to wait the will of the King. He set out for the Tower; but, broken in spirit, and infirm in health, he only reached Leicester. How bitter were his meditations now: 'Had I but served my God as I have served my King, he would not have forsaken me in my old age.' Such was his bitter reflection. Let us hope that in his solitude he found place for repentance, and obtained mercy at the hands of God. His bones lie buried among the monks at Leicester.

Auctioning of the Baby.

WHAT am I offered for Baby?

Dainty, dimpled and sweet,
From the curls above his forehead

To the beautiful rosy feet,
From the tips of the wee pink fingers

To the light of the clear brown eye,
What am I offered for Baby?
Who'll buy? Who'll buy? Who'll buy ?

What am I offered for Baby?

'A shopful of sweets?' Ah, no! That's too much beneath his value Who is sweetest of all below! The naughty, beautiful darling!

One kiss from his rosy mouth Is better than all the dainties

Of East or West or South!

What am I offered for Baby?

'A pile of gold?' Ah, dear, Your gold is too hard and heavy

To purchase my brightness here. Would the treasures of all the mountains Far in the wonderful lands

Be worth the clinging and clasping

Of these dear little peach-bloom hands?

So, what am I offered for Baby?

'A rope of diamonds?' Nay,

If your brilliants were larger and brighter
Than stars in the Milky way,
Would they ever be so precious

As the light of those lustrous eyes,
Still full of the heavenly glory

They brought from beyond the skies!

Then what am I offered for Baby,

'A heart full of love and a kiss?' Well, if anything ever could tempt me, "Twould be such an offer as this; But how can I know if your loving Is tender and true and divine Enough to repay what I'm giving In selling this sweetheart of mine?

So we will not sell the Baby!

Your gold and your gems are stuff, Were they ever so rare and precious

Would never be half enough! For what would we care, my dearie, What glory the world put on, If our beautiful darling were going,

If our beautiful darling were gone!

at some future time, he is placed in like circum

stances.

A good story is told of an English bishop, who was noted for great amiability of temper. A young gentleman, whose family had been well acquainted with the bishop, in making a tour through England before he went abroad, called to pay his respects to his lordship as he passed by Hastlebury. It happened to be dinner-time, and the room was full of company. The bishop, however, received him with much familiarity; but the servant, in reaching him a chair, threw down a curious weather-glass, which cost twenty guineas, and broke it. The gentleman was under great concern, and began to excuse the servant, and make an apology for himself as the occasion of the accident, when the bishop, with great good-nature, interrupted him saying, 'Be under no concern, good sir, for I am much beholden to you for it. We have had a very dry season, and now I hope we shall have a change, for I never saw the glass so low in my life.' That was a very witty turn of the good bishop, and everybody was pleased with it and put in a good humour. The bishop at this time was an old man over eighty years of age -an age when many become peevish and fretful, and yet he had perfect command of his temper. He must have acquired this by watchfulness and frequent prayer to God for help.

Be Sweet-Tempered.

SOMETHING is sure to happen every day to try our temper, and it is well, therefore, to keep watch over it so that we may be always amiable and sweet. If we give way to our temper we not only make others unhappy, but ourselves also. After a fit of anger is over how mean one feels as he thinks about it and remembers the naughty things he said and the foolish acts he did. He is almost ashamed to look into the face of any one who saw him when the fit was on him.

If, on the other hand, we resist the inclination to anger, we feel stronger for it, and, indeed, are stronger for it. We have gained a victory over self, and can more readily gain a victory another time. Besides, if any one has seen that we had a provocation to anger, he cannot but notice the triumph we have gained, and this becomes an example to him. It may do him great good when,

A Fortune.

THREE boys were walking along the streets together. They were all manly-looking little fellows, and no one could well help admiring their bright eyes and animated faces. An old woman, walking with a crutch and carrying a big basket, came along. She stepped upon a bit of orange peel which some careless body had thrown upon the pavement, she slipped, the basket fell from her hand, and in a moment more she would have fallen full length, had not one of our three boys sprang forward and held her up, like the true little gentleman he was. Then he picked up the basket, replaced the things that had fallen out, and with an 'Excuse me, boys,' took it upon his own arm, and said to the old lady, 'I'll carry it for you, ma'am,' and away the pair went.

Two gentlemen stood looking on. One said to the other, 'That boy has a ready-made fortune.'