Oh, I some meadows know * Beside our good old town, Where millions of them grow, Just like a purple down! They come,—but why, there's none can

tell, Only we love to see them well.

On pastures wide and green,

Upon a thousand stems, Fit for a fairy queen

To wear' for precious gems,
Young cowslips smile at earth and sky,
With sweetest breath and golden eye.

And where the banks are wet
With drops of morning dew,
The gentle violet

Steals out, in hood of blue;
And primroses in clusters rise,
Like pretty, pale-faced families.

I love the pleasant Spring,

Those days of warmth and light,
When every leafy thing
Comes peeping into sight;
It makes me feel,—I cannot tell
How brisk and happy, kind and well.

HOW TO BE GOOD AND HAPPY.

HOW is it that Freddy is not as cross and fretful as he used to be? I have not heard one ugly, fault-finding word from him for ever so long!" That is what his auntie asked.

"It is because I have given my tongue to God," said Freddy, " and I cannot speak bad words any more."

* There is a beautiful growth of the purple crocus every spring, on the meadows of Nottingham, in the valley of the Trent.

That is good. But Freddy must not stop there. He must give his ears to God, and his eyes, and his hands and his feet, and above all, his heart. Then he will be God's child, and God's child will be a good and happy child.

"Take my life, and let it be
Consecrated all to thee;
Take my hands, and let them move

. At the impulse of thy love.
Take my moments and my days,
Let them flow in ceaseless praise;
Take my feet, and let them be
Swift and beautiful for thee.

"Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only for my King;
Take my lips, and let them be
Filled with messages from thee.
Take my silver and my gold,
Not a mite would I withhold;
Take my intellect, and use
Every power as thou shalt choose.

"Take my will, and make it thine,
It shall be no longer mine;
Take my heart, it is thine own,
It shall be thy royal throne.
Take my love, my Lord, I pour
At thy feet its treasure-store;—
Take myself, and I will be
Ever, only, all for thee."

At the Duke of Wellington's funeral a little child was standing with her mother to see the mournful sight. As the Duke's horse was led by, saddle empty, and his boots reversed in the stirrups, she looked up into her mother's face and said, " Mamma, when we die will there be nothing left of us but boots 1"

40

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN NINE AND TEN; OR, HOW GIRLS MANAGE A QUARREL.

THAT makes ten times that I have caught it," Emma said, in a satisfied tone.

"No, it doesn't; it makes nine times, just exactly as many as I have."

This was what Ada said ; and she kept her hoop poised in the air while she waited to settle the question.

"Why, Ada Brooks! you are mistaken. I have caught that hoop ten times."

"And I know you are mistaken: you have caught it just nine times.—Hasn't she, Fannie 1"

"I didn't count," said Fannie.

"Well, / did; and it is quite likely I know how many times I have caught a hoop."

"And I should think it was quite likely I should know how many times my own hoop was caught."

Both girls began to have red cheeks and very bright eyes. Dick, down in the grass at their feet, laughed.

"Now you are getting angry," he said, gaily, as though he thought it was fun. "If you were boys, you would pitch into each other and fight it out. How do girls manage those things?"

"I don't want to play any more," said Ada, dropping the hoop.

"Oh," said Dick, "I know what girls do: they sulk. I think it is just as nice to fight, and a great deal more interesting. Now you will go off in a huff, and not speak to each other for hours."

"What is the use ?" said Fannie. "What is the difference between nine and ten, anyway?"

"The difference between nine and ten, Miss Fannie Mills, is a quarrel between two girls." This from Dick.

Then Emma, after a minute of silence, "No, it isn't either; it is a kiss." And she put her arms around Ada's neck, and gave her a hearty one. "Come, Ada, never mind; perhaps I was mistaken."

"Maybe I was," said Ada cordially. "Let's begin all over again."

"There, Dick !" said Fannie in triumph, "that's the way girls manage those things."

"Some girls," said Dick. Then he went to whistling.

BABY EVA'S PRAYER.

DARLING baby Eva,
Kneeling by my chair,
In the autumn twilight
Lisping out her prayer;

Small hands clasped together,

Bowed the golden head, Blue eyes closed, lips parted, "Our Father" faintly said.

Then, as the head bowed lower
Upon my darling's breast,

Came, " Eva seepy, mamma,
And God knows all the rest."

I took my sleeping child
With all a mother's love,

And laid her down to rest,
Then knelt to God above.

And while the evening shadows

Were falling silently,
I asked for her a blessing

There, on my bended knee.

One half my yearning thoughts
My words have ne'er expressed;

But still I fee), with her,
That God knows all the rest.

THE OLD GENERAL.

OUR peacock lived to be twenty-nine years old. We called him "the Old General." A general is an officer in an army. Officers wear very handsome clothing, called their uniform. The peacock had very showy and elegant feathers. Imagine a bird having one or two hundred splendid feathers, some of them three or four feet long. Was not that a nice "uniform" for any bird?

The Old General had a very stately walk. He walked like a soldier. Soldiers are drilled to have a nice regular step. The General had a fine military gait, and no one had to teach him. I should like to see a sergeant drilling peacocks! It was a

good sight to see the Old General marching and countermarching.

And the way he strutted! When a peacock shows himself off, he is a grand sight. He has the power of making all his longest and finest feathers stand out like a great fan. Think of the loveliest fan you have ever seen, and then imagine it much lovelier, with rich colours—green, blue, yellow, and so on—and full of what we call "eyes;" then you will have some idea of the Old General when he was in full uniform and on dress parade.

Mrs. General was plain, but very domestic, and brought the children up well and carefully. There were several young people in the General's family. I never heard of any disputing among them, and so I think they must have had good parents and very nice bringing-up. They looked as much like their parents as any children I ever saw. The girls grew up exactly like their mother, and the boys exactly like the General. I could scarcely tell mother from daughter. And as for the Old General, one of his sons grew up to be so very much like him, that if the General had not been wounded, and shown it a little in his walk, I never could have told father from son, or son from father.

One day the Old General died. We were all very sorry. It was like losing a favourite cat or dog. Poor Old General! He would have been thirty years of age if he had lived just one year more.

THE longer we live the more we love, or ought to love, little children. Their joys and sorrows come and go very quickly, but every one leaves some impression which goes into character, and perhaps writes its history on the memory. A cruelty, an unjust accusation, or a severe judgment, which the little one cannot argue or even resent, may put a small thorn in the memory which no after years can extract. I sometimes see these little creatures blind, or deaf, or deformed, and my heart goes out towards them with a sympathy not to be described.

At the door of a small cottage just under the shadow of a great mountain, on a bright morning, sat a poor little deformed child. The children were all gathering towards the small school-house near by, and as they came, with their shouts and ringing laughs, swinging their little dinner-baskets, happy as birds, running and leaping, the poor child turned her mild, large eyes towards them, and covered her face with her apron, and sobbed and wept. She knew that she would never run with them, never go to school, never be one among them. Her journey through life, longer or shorter, must be alone. If the children ever stopped to speak to her, not unlikely before they left they would say something to remind her of her deformity, and to show that she was not one of them. She had often felt her lonely lot, but never as this morning did it so weigh down her heart. Her widowed mother heard her sobs,and guessed too well what was the cause, and shed new tears for the thousandth time over her only and dear suffering child. She made no attempt to comfort her ; she knew she could not.

How long the child sobbed I know not;

but some time after, her mother went to her and found her lying on her side, her arm under her head, her kitten purring near her, and herself sound asleep, with a sweet smile playing on her face. "Poor thing," said the mother to herself," she has forgotten her sorrows, and it may be she dreams that she is well and running about with other children. But it is only in dreams that my dear one will ever run. When she has no mother to lift and carry her, what will she do? O Father in heaven, why was this poor sufferer born 1"

A little after, the child awoke and called to her mother. With a step never slow when that voice was heard, the mother hastened to her.

"Oh, mother, I have had such a beautiful dream! It makes me happy to think of it."

"What was it, my child 1"

"I thought I was in a great garden full of roses and tulips and all kinds of splendid flowers. The humming-birds flew among them, the honey-bees went from flower to flower, and the birds sang in all the trees around the garden. There were fountains of water playing, beautiful paths to walk in, benches and chairs to sit on, and a great multitude of people walking about and admiring the flowers. Presently the owner of the garden came in, and seeing me, came to me and took me by the hand, and somehow or other I seemed to be able to walk by his side and move as he moved. He showed me the flowers, told me their names, pointed out their beauties and their nature. At length we came to a plant that stood out by itself, near the hedge. It was a green, leafless, shapeless, ugly-looking thing. I wanted to crush it. It was a real