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CROSS little Patty sat under a tree, As fretful as ever a child could be. "Keep still!" to a singing bird she said; "You are out of tune, and you hurt my

head." "Do stop !" she cried to a dancing brook. A lamb and a pussy cat came to look At cross little Patty beneath the tree, As fretful as ever a child could be.

The pussy cat wondered to see her pout, And the frisky lambkin skipped about; But the brook tripped on over stones and

moss, And never found out that Patty was cross. The bird in the tree-top sang away, And these were the words she meant to

say:

"You poor little girl, why can't you see That there's nothing at all the matter with

me? Mend your manners, my dearie, soon, Or you'll find the whole world out of

tune."

Somehow the wind in the leafy tree,
And the rippling water so wild and free,
The bird on the bough, and the snow-white

lamb, And the gentle pussy so mild and calm, Made Patty ashamed of her naughty

mood; She shook herself well, and said, "I'll be

good." And, presto! the Patty beneath the tree Was just as sweet as a child could be.

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THE BABY OF THE FROZEN LAND.

THE BABY OF THE FROZEN LAND.

TELL me more about other babies, said a little girl called Jenny, who was much interested in what her mother had told her of a brown baby.

Shall I tell you about a baby of the frozen land? asked mother.

Oh yes, cried Jenny; what is her name?

Her name is Equrk, and her brother is called Awahtok.—Such funny names, Jenny thought.

They live in a low, low house, built of stones and plastered with moss, round overhead, like an old-fashioned brick oven. It has but one room, and you crawl into it through a low, long passage, on your hands and knees. Within, there is no fireplace, no stove, no fire, not a chair, or table, or bed.

How do you suppose Equrk's mother cooks? She boils her kettle over a lamp. The lamp is made of the shoulder-blade of a walrus, filled with blubber, with a wick of moss. As for baking, she never does that. Little Equrk never had a cake in her life. She never saw a slice of bread, or a potato, or an apple. She eats a steak of walrus, or broiled blubber, or frozen liver; or she sucks a bear's paw, or the lib of a seal, and that is all.

If Equrk crawls out of doors, what does she see—pretty green grass and buttercups? No. A corn-field over the way? No. Currant-bushes and cherry-trees, or a beautiful elm branching overhead? No, no. One side is a huge ice-mountain, and fields of snow, snow, snow, nothing but snow, with gray rocks here and there. That is what Equrk sees, and nothing else.

A short time in the summer a little pale grass tries to grow in sunny spots, and

a few small flowers smile by the gray rock?. Then the little girl must be happy indeid. Oh, she laughs and has her plays like you. She has no little carriage to run on the smooth ground, but her father has made her a sled.

He had no wood to use, for trees do not grow in that cold country; so he took some bones of the whale and walrus and fastened them together with seal-skin; and he made a back to lean against and hold on by, because it will go over some very rough places; and it runs very swiftly, for who do you think draws little Equrk? Not her father; he has gone hunting the great Nannook, which is the fierce white bear: not her brother Awahtok; he has his sled: but a couple of little brown dogs harnessed in, they run and draw Equrk. And she has such fun!

What does she dress in—hood and cloak and mittens, like our little girls? I will begin with her feet. Nobody knits in that frozen land; so she has no warm woollen socks like yours. Her socks are made of bird skins with the soft down inside. Over this she wears seal-skin moccasins. These keep her feet warm. You have seen the picture of a seal sitting on the rocks drying himself, I dare say. Then she wears leggings of white bear, and a jacket of fox skin.

This jacket has a hood to it; and the garment, jacket and hood together, is called a jumper. That is the fashion of that country. It would look odd enough here. At first sight you would take little Equrk for a stray cub of the white bear.

Oh, you do not know what terrible winters they have. The sun sets in November, and it does not rise again till

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March! Think what a long night that is. We think winter days are short enough; but to have no day at all, how much worse that is. They have the northern lights, to be sure; but there is no light like the round, bright, warm, cheerful sun which our God put in the sky.

'Winter is called okipok, the season of fast ice. By March the sun begins to peep up above the frozen water and slip down again. Next day it stays longer, and the next, until June comes, when it stays all day and night.

Summer is called by the people aosak, the season of no ice, though it is never really iceless, nor can their sun melt the great snow-drifts. It is, however, a pleasant season, for flocks of beautiful birds come and build their nests in snug corners and shelves of the rocks; and they are so tame that Awahtok can easily catch a netful to carry home for supper. It is an odd way to catch birds, you will think. He climbs the rocks with a net of seal-skin

fastened to the end of a narwhal's tusk, and provides for the family food in plenty.

Do Equrk and Awahtok go to school? They do not know what school is. There are no books, no paper, no pens, no slates in their country; no day-school, nor yet Sunday school or churches. Their mother sometimes tells Equrk and her brother of the "Great Spirit;" but she cannot tell them that "sweet story of old," about the Lord Jesus, who came from heaven to be the Redeemer, for she does not know it herself; or how he took little children in his arms to bless them. I wish we could tell her. Then perhaps she would say, " Asakoateet;" which is, " I love you," in her language.

As for you, dear Christian children, I am sure you must say,— ,

"My God, I thank thee, who hast planned
A better lot for me,
And placed me in this happy land,
Where I may hear of thee."

THE HISTORY OF A SNOW-FLAKE.

IVTOW let me go quickly—do let me go; -Ll I know it's my turn," said a Flake of Snow. "I'm big enough surely to float away, And I long to hear what the people say When we flutter and dance so fairy light, And make the black world look ever so

white. I shan't be alone; there are plenty more, Such dear little flakies, outside the door; They are waiting, mother, so let me go, I long to be off," said this mite of snow. The gray Cloud-mother looked tenderly

wise, With just the dash of a tear in her eyes;

I think she was going to expostulate, But, alas! the counsel was all too late, For the rough Nor'-easter came in with

a run, And hearing the words of his little son, He bade him "be off." "But take care,"

he said, "Don't let the big world turn topsy your

head." Away went the flake with a thousand

more, All bent upon frolic and fun and lore. They danced and capered and fluttered

and fell, Each on the other, a real pell-mell,

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When our special beauty happened to

spy

The ledge of a window-pane, high and

dry, And there he lay on the little black shelf, 'By way of a rest," quoth he to himself. 1 When I've stopped here abit, I'll have more fun" (By a snow-flake not so easily done). 'What a capital place I've got!" said he; 'Why, I've nothing to do but lie and see All that goes on in this wonderful land: But here comes the Sun, who will understand I shall need all the light he can give and more [plore;—

When once I begin to search and ex

This way, if you please, for first I must

show How fair I am," said this atom of

snow. Down came a splendid ray to the flake, And as quickly his sides began to shake; I think he felt sickly, but this I know, That the bonnie, beautiful flake of snow Melted away into vapoury steam, When, thanks to the Sun which sent a

beam To gather him all together again; And in spite of the mist and thaw and

rain, It carried the snow-flake home through

the crowd, And gave him back to his mother the

Cloud.

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