Aunt. To me, they were the most wonderful of the whole. These two little figures performed all manner of feats on a rope suspended across

the room. with arms outstretched; sometimes they turned heels over head; sometimes they hung with head downward, and sometimes they were suspended only by one foot. This was all done so naturally, that it really seemed as if the little creatures were alive. I felt half afraid they would tumble and break their bones. By moving the limbs of these figures, they could be made to utter quite distinctly, "Mamma!” “ Papa!" and "La! la!"

Sometimes they were seated firmly,

Ann. This is so very wonderful, that I should not believe it, if you did not tell me you had seen it. Is Mr. Maelzel the only man who can make such strange things?

Aunt. No, my dear; very extraordinary things of this kind have been made in different parts of the world. There is a mechanic in Geneva, Switzerland, who is famous among all the civilized nations of the earth. He made the little jewelled mice, exhibited in London a few years ago.

These mice would pick up the crumbs from the floor, and prick up their ears and scamper, when they heard a noise, just like living mice. A cat was even so much deceived, that she actually caught one of them.

The same man likewise made very perfect

caterpillars. They would crawl along, and you could see all the soft down on them move as they went; when touched with a pin, they would coil themselves up, as if they were in pain. This was all effected by machinery inside their bodies; they were wound up, just like watches. Ann. Did you ever see any of this man's works? Aunt. I once saw a very beautiful musical snuff-box made by him. When a spring was touched, a little bird would rise up, and sing, or seem to sing, the sweetest tunes. He was not longer than my thimble; yet he was so perfect, little feathers and all, that I almost imagined he was alive. He pecked under his wings, looked up sideways, and closed his eyes, just as a real bird would do. I have heard of another musical box, by the same mechanic, where a whole cage full of birds sung together. But I am such a lover of freedom, that birds in a cage would never seem to me to sing half so merrily, as those perched on a tree-even if I knew they were automata.

The little Duke of Bordeaux, grandson of the late King of France, had an automaton goose presented him, which was so perfect in all respects, that those who saw it could not be convinced it was a machine, until they had handled it. It would even swallow the corn that was thrown to it.

Ann. I don't think it was a great compliment to his little Highness, to give him a goose. I

think I should have liked the jewelled mice

better.

Aunt. Should you have liked the famous automaton lady, as large as life, who played upon the piano, moved the pedal with her feet, rolled her eyes, and who even seemed to breathe?

Ann. No, indeed I should not. I think it would make me something like afraid, to see anything so very much like life, and yet not alive. Are you going away? Do tell me some more.

Aunt. Ever since you could speak, you have

teased me for stories. The moment I finished one, you used to say, "more again, aunt Susan!" But indeed I am too much engaged to tell you "more again," at present. I wish you to go and hunt up your old doll, that you may dress it for your little sister Jane. When that is done, I will come back and show you how to finish the pretty little needle-book you began yesterday.

FAREWELL TO MY DOLL.

BY MRS. ANN MARIA WELLS.

My old acquaintance! many a year
Has gone since last I met you here;
And many a change has taken plu,
Since last I saw that smiling face.
But you-except a change of clothes,
And just the tip gone from your nose-
Are still smooth-browed, red-cheeked, and calm,
As last you lay upon my arm,

Those bright orbs stare, those ringlets flow,
Just as they did five years ago;

When with a sad, reluctant heart,
I fix'd the day that we should part;

And promised, all for learning's sake,
Our sweet companionship to break,
1, with my flowing tears the while,
You with that same unchanging smile:
Indeed, I thought it very hard
So little of my grief you shared.
To you I always turn'd whene'er
My little bosom felt a care;
To you I told the piteous tale,
And comfort never seem'd to fail.
Shall I again, whate'er my want,
E'er find so safe a confidant?

But past the time for childish toys-
I feel that there are higher joys;
And things once dim and undefined,
Now shed clear light upon my mind.
I've learn'd to listen to the voice
Of conscience; and my heart makes choice
Of precious things, that teach me true,
Where praise, and prayer, and love are due.
The skies, the hills, the shady nooks,
And those sweet hoards of pleasure-books,
These have I learned to love; for they
Bring some new blessing every day.

NEEDLE-WORK.

PLAIN SEWING.

The

THERE is no accomplishment of any kind more desirable for a woman, than neatness and skill in the use of a needle. To some, it is an employment not only useful, but absolutely necessary; and it furnishes a tasteful amusement to all. first and most important branch, is plain sewing. Every little girl, before she is twelve years old, should know how to cut and make a shirt with perfect accuracy and neatness. Awkwardness and want of judgment are shown in small things, as well as in great. I have seen young ladies make sleeves and sew them into the shirt, before the wristbands were put on; and every other part finished, before the linings were placed on the shoulder; and when I have spoken of it, I have heard them exclaim, "La! what matter is it which is done first?" I never have a high opinion of little girls, who frequently say, "I don't care," or "what matter is it?" The fact

, it is a great deal of consequence what parts