The cowslip sweet, and the wind-flower light,
And the graceful harebell grew.

4. And the dragon-fly, and the painted moth, And the musical-wingèd bee,

And the grasshopper came with its chirping voice, To play 'neath the chosen tree.

5. Not long ere three tiny heads were seen
Peeping out from their downy nest,
And, oh! what a happy mother was she
That warmed them beneath her breast!

6. She loved them as only a mother loves,
And she sang them her songs of glee;
There were no little birds more happy than they,
In their nest in the chosen tree!

7. But one of this little family

Grew tired of his mother's care, He sat all day in sullen mood, And nought to him looked fair.

8. For the heart of this little bird was changed,
And he thought he should like to roam
Away o'er the fields and the high green hills,
In search of a brighter home.

9. Ah me! there is not a brighter home
Than that which is lighted by love;
There is no other light so divinely sweet,
Not the moon nor the stars above.

10. But he fled away, and he sported awhile
Amid flowers of each perfume and hue,
And when night came on, he was weary and cold,
And it rained and the storm-wind blew.

11. Ah! then, how he thought of his mother's wing, Which had covered him tenderly;

And his little brothers so happy and good,
In their home in the chosen tree!

12. Then he lifted his voice, but none to hear The sound of his sorrow were nigh;

So he covered his head with his half-fledged wing,
And he sat on a stone to die.

13. Oh! never more in that beautiful wood
Was the song of his gladness heard;
And for many a day did his brothers weep
For the loss of the truant bird.

14. And for many a day no song of joy
Came up from his mother's breast;
She mourned for him with drooping wings,
But he came not again to his nest.

15. And thus, little children, from this you may learn How even one child may be

The cause of sorrow which nought may remove From a little family.

16. You each have a home in a chosen tree,

Which your parents have lit with love;

Oh! cause not the shadows of grief to descend, The beautiful light to remove.

17. But seek for that wisdom which comes from on

high,

And that truth which shall never decay:

That heaven-born peace which the world cannot give,

Nor the world in its pride take away.

18. And your Heavenly Father, who dwelleth above, Will guard you wherever you be;

He will send down the light of celestial love

To your home in the chosen tree.

THE BOYHOOD OF HUGH MILLER.

PART I.

1. Hugh Miller is an example to every boy of the happy results of steady industry.

2. His father was the master of a small sloop, which was lost with all on board in a fearful tempest. Hugh was only five years old when this occurred, and his mother was unable to make him understand that his father would return home no

more.

3. He would visit the little harbour daily, watching the ships as they came in, and looking anxiously for the return of his father's vessel, which was to him such a season of joy.

4. When the weather was clear, he would climb a grassy hill at the back of his mother's house, which commanded a wide view of the Moray Firth. There he would watch for hours for the sight of the little sloop, with its stripes of white, and two square top sails. But he never saw it or his father again.

5. When a very small lad, his greatest delight was to sit and listen to stories, when he could get any one to relate them to him. He had an uncle named Sandy, who had been a sailor, and had fought in the French wars. Uncle Sandy was often in request to take the little fellow on his knees, to fight his battles over again, and show how they were won.

6. Hugh was sent to a dame school just before his father's death, and in the course of his sixth year

learned to read. At that early age he made his first great discovery "that the art of reading is the art of finding stories in books." No one ever made a discovery with greater delight. A new world seemed opened out to him. He had no need now to ask his friends to relate their tales. He could hold converse with books.

7. True, his reading was not very deep; it was mostly nursery tales. Jack the Giant Killer, Robinson Crusoe, and the Pilgrim's Progress were the chief, and these gave him infinite delight. He would walk up and down by the sea-shore and fancy himself one of the heroes of these tales. His mother and uncle could not make him out.

8. When he could read fairly well, he was promoted to the parish school, and found himself one amongst some hundred and fifty boys and girls. As there was only one teacher for this large number, Hugh was left to do in school pretty much what he liked.

9. He tells us himself that he spent much of his time in play, and the rest in composing pieces of poetry. He would wander for hours by the sea-side quite alone, and recite aloud to himself pieces of poetry about sea-fights and shipwrecks, which were no sooner said than they were forgotten.

10. He now began to manifest a great love for tales of the sea. His books were the travels of Captains Cook and Anson. Their voyages round the world filled him with wonder, and gave him a great desire to become a sailor. He would spend much of his time at the harbour prying into the shipping, and