lah laid aside his rich robes, took up again his shepherd's crook, and passed the remainder of his days amid the peaceful scenes of his youth.

V. THE LOST CHILD.

A FRENCH gentleman named Lefevre, who had been compelled to leave his own country on account of his religious opinions, possessed himself of a farm in the western settlements of North America, which his own labor, and that of his family, had reclaimed from a state of nature, and brought under cultivation. He had many children; but the darling of the house was the youngest, a boy of four years old, whose name was Ernest.

One day Ernest was missing. They sought him among the neighbors, but without success. The whole region was scoured in vain; night set in, and to the agonized calls of the parents no answer was returned but echoes, or the cries of wild animals, that had never sounded so fearful before.

While Lefevre and all his family were in search of the lost boy, and their hopes were every moment sinking more and more into despair, an Indian hunter, named Tewessina, came to the house, laden with beaver skins. He was well known, for he had often sold his furs there. He found the place deserted by every one, except a colored female servant, who informed him of the misfortune which had befallen the family. When he had heard it, he directed her to sound upon the horn at once, which was the signal agreed upon for calling back the wanderers, and he assured her that he would be able to restore them the child.

When Lefevre heard the horn, he hurried back in breathless haste, hoping to hear some news of the wanderer. The Indian could not immediately give him the desired assurance, but asked him for the shoes and stockings the child had last worn. These he held to the nose of his hound, and then led

him in a wide circle around the house, in the manner of a hunter who is making his dog recover a lost scent.

The circle had not been completed, when the hound set up a loud bark; by which his master knew that he had come upon the trail of the child. He then, with headlong speed, darted into the forest, and returned in about half an hour to his master, with such expressions of satisfaction that there could be no doubt he had discovered the lost one; but whether dead or alive no one could tell, and this fearful doubt was hardly less painful to the parents than their former anguish.

The Indian now followed the hound into the woods with all the speed of his race; and the others were not far behind. They at length found the child, at the foot of a huge tree, uninjured, but exhausted with fatigue, and more dead than alive. Having ventured into the forest, he had lost his way, and in his alarm had wandered farther and farther from home.

The Indian took him up in his arms, and carried him home, while the hound leaped around them with exulting movements. The joy of the parents at again embracing their lost treasure may be imagined, but not described. There was no end to their expressions of gratitude. The hound, too, came in for his share of caresses; but he laid his head upon his master's lap, and seemed anxious to avoid the kind demonstrations of the family.

As soon as the news of the recovery of the child were spread abroad, the neighbors flocked in to congratulate the Lefevres, who were universal favorites, and the house, though large, could hardly hold the throng. The whole night was passed in joyous festivity; but the mother would not trust her rescued darling a moment out of her arms. dian was somewhat disturbed at so large an assemblage, and took refuge in the barn, and was brought forth with some difficulty, and not until a considerable portion of the visitors had retired.

The In

Lefevre then embraced him, in presence of his family and of his remaining friends, and declared that he should adopt

him for a brother, as was the usage among the Indian tribes. "When you are old," said he, "and your feet can no longer follow the flying game,- when you can no longer bend your bow, -come to me, and I will build you a wigwam, where you shall live after the manner of your people, and I will provide for all your wants. If grief causes your tears to flow, I will wipe them away, as you have mine. And your faithful hound shall share my care; and when he is old, and can no longer follow you, he shall claim food and shelter at my hands."

He then, turning to his family and friends, and holding the Indian by the hand, said, "Neighbors and friends, behold my brother. The name by which my child has hitherto been called shall be forgotten. He shall hereafter be known by that of his uncle and deliverer, Tewessina."

All the spectators testified their satisfaction. While they were expressing their feelings, the Indian was silent and motionless, smoking his pipe, like a chief in the council of his tribe. He then confirmed, after the manner of the red men, the new ties of kindred which had been offered to him. "My brother," said he, "I have done nothing for you which you would not have done for me. It was the will of the Great Spirit who watches over us that I should come to your house, at the right moment, to help you. Are you happy, so am I: your joy is my joy. When you come to our people, you lodge in no other wigwam than mine. My fire shall warm you, and my bearskin shall be your couch, and you shall sleep by your brother's side."

shall

From this time, the little Ernest bore his deliverer's name. When the latter died, his namesake went to his lodge, and took one of his sons, who was also called Tewessina, for a brother. Thus the tie of gratitude was continued through another generation; and the young Indian often came to visit his white brother, bringing the spoils of the chase as presents, and was liberally rewarded in return with the products of civilization.

VI.-BIRDS IN SUMMER.

MARY HOWITT.

I.

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in each leafy tree;
In the leafy trees, so broad and tall,
Like a green and beautiful palace hall,
With its airy chambers, light and boon,*
That open to sun, and stars, and moon;
That open unto the bright blue sky,
And the frolicsome winds as they wander by!

II.

They have left their nests on the forest bough;
Those homes of delight they need not now;
And the young and the old they wander out,
And traverse their green world round about ;
And hark! at the top of this leafy hall,
How one to the other in love they call!
"Come up! come up!" they seem to say,
"Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway.

III.

"Come up, come up! for the world is fair

Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air." And the birds below give back the cry,

"We come, we come to the branches high."

How pleasant the lives of the birds must be,

Living in love in a leafy tree!

And away through the air what joy to go,

And to look on the green, bright earth below!

IV.

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,

Skimming about on the breezy sea,

*Boon, pleasant.

Cresting the billows like silvery foam,
Then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!
What joy it must be to sail, upborne

By a strong, free wing, through the rosy morn!
To meet the young sun face to face,

And pierce like a shaft the boundless space ;—

V.

Το pass through the bowers of the silver cloud;
To sing in the thunder halls aloud;

To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight
With the upper-cloud winds,-O, what delight!
O, what would I give, like a bird, to go
Right on through the arch of the sun-lit bow,
And see how the water drops are kissed

Into green, and yellow, and amethyst !

VI.

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Wherever it listeth there to flee;

To go, when a joyful fancy calls,
Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls;

Then to wheel about with their mates at play,
Above, and below, and among the spray,
Hither and thither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child!

VII.

What joy it must be, like a living breeze,
To flutter about 'mid the flowering trees;
Lightly to soar, and to see beneath
The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,
And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,
That gladdened some fairy region old!
On mountain tops, on the billowy sea,
On the leafy stems of the forest tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be!