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some tears, which she could not suppress.

“ Poor Mrs. Goodwin," said the little girl, “will be so sorry when she comes to know it-it was the only lamb she had.”

6 Where does Mrs. Goodwin live?" said I.

“Yonder," she replied, pointing to a cottage on the common about half a mile off.

“Are you going to tell her ?"

“Mother sent me to carry some radishes and milk for her tea, and I can tell her when I get there."

By this time the lamb was dead. “ He won't want any of our help now," said the little girl, and as she took up her basket to go, she turned to look again at the object of her grief.

“O, it was so cruel to let the whee! go over an innocent lamb !" she said, and hurried off to the poor woman's cottage.

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My own feelings were scarcely less excited than her's, and I could not help reflecting, as I pursued my journey, how dead to every tender and generous feeling must be that heart, that can be regardless of pain, even though the sufferer were a worm!

The young man, that would crush an innocent animal under the wheel of his carriage, rather than check or turn aside his horse, is unworthy the name of husband, or brother, or friend.

The righteous man regardeth the life of his beast; but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.


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Isaac. O, don't, Robert, be so cruel

Robert. Who cares? It is nothing but a fly!

I. Yes, but a fly can feel, you know.

R. What if it can? Am I to mind that? We step on little creatures every day and every hour. You, yourself, kill them every time you walk about. Where is the mighty harm, then, of killing a fly?

I. We must kill them when we walk about, for we can not help stepping on them, if we step at all; but this is no reason why we should kill them on purpose. R. No, not many of them, to be

But just to kill one now and then, why, it's a matter of no conse quence.

I. But you seem to take pleasure in it. Now is that right? How can you like to see such a little creature struggling in the agonies of death,


after you have torn its head from its body.

R. But they don't know much, and can not feel much.

I. How do you know but they feel pain, as much as a great animal?

R. O! they do not struggle so hard, and the blood does not flow; but when we kill a great animal, the blood flows almost in streams.

I. Here, look at the fly you have so cruelly mangled, through this glass.

R. 0! 0! 0! Why, what does this mean? Can it be that a fly has

? blood in it?

I. It certainly has; only we not see it without a microscope. It has a heart, and vessels called arteries and veins which carry the blood. Some of the blood is red, as you see; but a great deal more of it is white, or of the color of water.

R. This is wonderful. But let me look in the glass once more.

I. Certainly; look as long as you please.

R. O, this is what I never thought of before, that a fly could be so beautiful. I'll never kill one again as long as I live. But are ants and worms so beautiful, when we look at them through the glass?

I. Perhaps not quite. They look more beautiful, however, than when seen by the naked eye.

R. If they are so curiously made, is it not wrong for us to step on them?

1. That would be carrying the matter too far; but we need not feel a pleasure in killing any creature.


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