Some birds are very tall. The os-trich is as tall as a man. It can-not fly like oth-er birds, but it can run very fast in-deed.

The ea-gle builds its nest in a very high place. Its wings are very strong, and it can fly as high as the clouds.

The gen-tlest of the birds is the dove. It can-not sing, but it sits a-lone, and moans soft-ly, as if it was sad.

I cannot tell you the names of all the birds, but you can think of the names of some oth-er kinds.—" Peep of Day."


When Rol-lo was about five years old, his moth-er one eve-ning took him up in her lap, and said,

"Well, Kol-lo, it is a-bout time for you to go to bed."

"Oh, mam-ma," said Rol-lo, "must I go now?"

"Did you know," said his moth-er, "that it is wrong for you to say that?"

"Why, moth-er?" said Rol-lo, sur-prised.

"When I think it is time for you to go to bed, it is wrong for you to say or do any thing which shows that you are not wil-ling to go."

"Why, moth-er?"

"Ee-cause that makes it more un-pleas-ant for you to go, and more un-pleas-ant for me to send you. Now, when-ev-er I think that it is time for you to go, it is my du-ty to send you, and it is your du-ty to go, and we nev-er ought to do any thing to moke our du-ty unpleas-ant."

Rol-lo then said noth-ing. Ho sat still a few min-utes thinking.


"Do you un-der-stand it?" said his moth-er.

"Yes, moth-er," said Rol-lo.

"Sup-pose, now, any moth-er should say to her hoy, 'Come, my boy, it is time for you to go to bed;' and the boy should say,'I won't go.' Would that be right or wrong?"

"Oh, very wrong," said Rol-lo.

"Sup-pose he should be-gin to cry, and say he did not want to go?"

"That would be very wrong, too," said Rol-lo.

"Sup-pose he should be-gin to beg a lit-tle, and say, 'I don't want to go now; I should think you might let me sit up a little long-er.' What should you think of that?" , "It would be wrong."

"Sup-pose he should look up in-to his moth-er's face sor-row-ful-ly, and say, 'Must I go now, moth-er?'"

"Wrong," said Rol-lo, faint-ly. . ." Sup-pose he should not say a word, but look cross and ill-hu-moured, and throw a-way his play-things in a pet, and walk by the side of his moth-er re-luc-tantly and slow-ly. What should you think of that?"

"I think it would be wrong."

"Sup-pose he should look good-hu-nioured and say, 'Well, moth-er,' and come pleas-ant-ly to take her hand, and bid the per-sons in the room good night, and walk off cheer-ful-ly."

"That would be right," said Rol-lo. . "Yes," said his moth-er, " and al-ways, when a child is. told to do any thing, wheth-er it is pleas-ant to do or not, he ought to o-bey at once, and cheer-ful-ly."—>, J. Abbott.


Charles, do not you re-mem-ber the cat-er-pil-lar we put in-to a pa-per box, with some mul-ber-ry leaves for it to eat? Let us go and look at it. It is gone—here is no cat-er-pil-lar—there is some-thing in the box; what is it? I do not know. It is a lit-tle ball of yellow stuff. Let us cut it o-pen, per-haps we may find the cat-er-pil-lar. No, here is noth-ing but a strange lit-tle grub, and it is dead, I be-lieve, for it does not move. Pinch it gent-ly by the tail. Now it stirs: it is not dead quite. Charles, this grub is your cat-er-pil-lar; it is, in-deed. That yel-low stuff is silk. The cat-erpil-lar spun all that silk, and cov-ered it-self up with it; and then it was turned into this grub. Take it and lay it in the sun: we will come and look at it a-gain to-morrow morn-ing. Well, this is very sur-pris-ing! here is no grub at all to be found. Did not we put it on this sheet of pa-per last night? Yes, we did. And no-bod-y has been in the room to med-dle with it. No, no-bod-y at all has been in the room. Is there noth-ing up-on the sheet of pa-per? Yes, here is a white but-ter-fiy. I won-der how it came here, for the win-dows are shut. Per-haps the grub is turned into a but-ter-fiy. It is, in-deed; and look, here is the emp-ty shell of the grub. Here is where the but-ter-fly came out. But the but. ter-fly is too big: this shell could not hold him. Yes, it did, be-cause his wings were fold-ed up, and he lay very snug. It is the same, I as-sure you, Charles; all the pret-ty but-ter-fiies that you see fly-ing about were cat-er-pil-lars once, and crawled on the ground.—Mrs. Barbauld.


What is to-day, Charles ? To-day is Sun-day.

And what will to-mor-row be? To-mor-row will be Mon-day.

And what will the next day be? The next day will be Tues-day.

And the next day? Wed-nes-day.
And the next? Thurs-day.
And the next? Fri-day.
And the next ? Sat-ur-day.

And what will come after Sat-ur-day? Why, then, Sun-day will come a-gain.

Sun-day, Mon-day, Tues-day, Wed-nes-day, Thurs-day, Fri-day, Sat-ur-day. That makes sev-en days, and seven days make a week.

On Sun-day be-gin
The week with-out sin ;
On Mon-day re-sume
Your tasks with-out gloom;
And pray don't be vex'd
That Tues-day comes next;
And when it is gone,
Doth Wed-nes-day come on;
And Thurs-day can ne'er
To fol-low for-bear;
And Fri-day, no doubt,
Not be-ing left out,
With Sat-ur-day, last,
The week will be past.—Sara Coleridge.


Sup-pose a lit-tle boy is walk-ing out in the fields on some fair day in au-tumn. As he bounds a-long he sees some-thing on the ground, which looks round and smooth like a lit-tle egg. He picks it up. It is an a-corn. He car-ries it a little while, and then throws it a-way. He thinks it a small af-fair and use-less. He for-gets it entire-ly. The poor little a-corn lies for-got-ten. The ox comes a-long, and treads it in the ground with-out ev-er know-ing it. It lies and sleeps there in the ox-track dur-ing the cold win-ter. In the spring it swells. The lit-tle sprout peeps out, a root grows down, and two lit-tle leaves o-pen on the top of the ground. It lives and grows. Dur-ing a hun-dred years it grows, while men live and die, and while many a storm beats upon it. It is in time a gi-ant oak-tree. It is cut down, and made into a might-y ship, and la-den with goods. The ship sails round the world, and does her er-rand at many hun-dreds of pla-ces. She bears the flag of her na-tion on her mast, and her na-tion is hon-oured for her sake. What great things may spring from small ones! Who ■would have thought that such a lit-tle thing could contain the might-y oak in it? Be-sides this, that one tree bears a-corns e-nough ev-er-y year to raise a thou-sand more oaks; and these, ev-er-y year, bear e-nough to raise ten thou-sand more. Thus a whole for-est may be shut up in the lit-tle bud of a sin-gle a-corn. What great things may be found in lit-tle things !—Todd,


There is an-oth-er sort of liv-ing orea-tures, called, in-sects. God .made them come out of the earth, and

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