with its steam-engine and its little carriages. Many, many times little Freddy showed her how to make the carriages run on the rails which were laid along the table, till at last the little boy thought it was his turn to manage it for himself; but Caroline was not tired, and forgot she should share the play with the rest. Very patiently stood kind Freddy for a long time, and then sweetly said, ""Tis Freddy's turn now; do let me have the railway." "No, no," said Caroline, and she pushed him away, and kept the pretty plaything all to herself. Freddy stood with his little heart full of sorrow, for he loved to play dearly; but he loved peace, too, and was often called "the little peace-maker" in that happy home. He tried not to feel angry-he tried not to look unpleasantly at Caroline, and at last he turned quickly to his mother, and said in a kind, cheerful, loving voice, "Isn't she a nice little girl, mother?" It would be hard to tell whose heart was the happiest, Freddy's or his mother's, for she had long taught her little ones to love and be kind to all around them. It was God who helped Freddy not to feel angry, but to love Caroline; and he will help all little children who humbly ask him. When Robby's mother had finished reading the story, she said, "Freddy was a good little boy." But Robby did not seem to hear her; he was looking down at his hands, and kept turning his fingers round and round. FRANK stopped suddenly in his walk, and stood still before his shadow. "Who are you there," said he, " mocking me on the wall? You move when I move. But I don't see your eyes. When I stand close to the wall, you are just as large as I am. When I draw back, you settle down, and stretch your long crooked legs on the floor. My legs are not bent so. You are shadow. I don't like you. let me see; the shadow must be like the substance. As I am, so will my shadow be. Well, I will try so to conduct, that I shall never be ashamed of my shadow, and then I shall never be ashamed of myself." not a good But, but That's right, Frank. He who always goes straight, needs never be afraid of his shadow. Who was the Coward? HERE, I knew | and strode off, muttering "pshaw," and you was a making several unsuccessful attempts to coward; you appear unconcerned. durs'n't fight, said Joe Dalton, a big bluff and bullying fellow, to a pale and excited lad, about his own size, who stood by his side. It was in the school-yard, and an unthinking crowd clustered around the two boys. They caught up Joe's words, and cried, "Coward, coward," until the blood rushed to the face of the pale boy, who in vain attempted to speak. At length he managed to articulate: "You may call me a coward," he said nervously, "if my obeying my parents, by not fighting, merits such a title. My mother;" here his voice became thick, and a large tear trickled out from between the long black lashes, and coursed slowly down his cheek. "When she was alive, she taught me not to fight, but ever to return good for evil. Boys, my mother has slept in the church-yard through three long and dreary winters, but I have not yet forgotten that which she told me upon her dying bed, and, boys, I shall not fight, call me a coward if you will, but I shall not fight." Some of the boys coughed quite vigorously, and passed their hands over their eyes. Joe Dalton appeared suddenly to have his attention attracted directly opposite, Mark Watson, the pale-faced boy just alluded to, as having too much reverence for his deceased parents' advice to permit himself to fight, was an orphan boy about fourteen years of age, who resided with an uncle in the next little village of Cloverton. Both father and mother had been dead three or four years, but the principles which they had early instilled into the tender heart of that son were reverently cherished; never forgotten. A few days after the affair in the school-yard, an incident occurred, which showed the true character of the two boys, and showed also which really merited the title of coward. Mark was passing along by the side of the creek, when he heard a loud cry of alarm, and immediately after a plash, as though some heavy body had fallen into the water. The plash was followed instantaneously by another cry louder than before. Hastening forward, so as to get a near view of what he had heard, Mark saw in the middle of the creek a boat, and in it was- -Joe Dalton. A short distance from the boat, struggling furiously in the water, was Joe's younger brother. The brothers had been upon a fishing excursion, when Fred, the youngest brother, accidentally fell out of the boat into the water. his frantic struggles to reach the boat, In A few days after this event, when Mark's conduct was known and appreciated throughout the village, Joe Dalton came forward and made to him an apology for all his past actions, and ended by promising in future: “Do unto others as he would have them do unto him," to which Mark tearfully replied: "God bless you, Joe; don't forget your promise." he had drifted into the current which | moments previous, and paddled for was slowly, yet surely, floating him on the boys; reaching them, he stooped toward the dam. In the boat sat Joe; over, and lifted them into the boat; a his face white through fear; he not moment more, and they were safely daring to lend a helping hand to his un- landed on the bank. Mark had but fortunate brother. All this Mark com- time to grasp his deliverer's hand with prehended at a glance, and divesting a hearty gripe of thankfulness, when a himself in an instant of coat and cap, troop of village idlers, with Joe Dalton he plunged at once into the stream, and at their head, poured down upon the though but an inferior swimmer, struck bank, but they were too late, to render boldly out for the struggling Fred, and any especial aid, all they did being, to just as he was sinking for the third and help convey Fred to a neighboring last time, grasped him firmly by the house, where his wet clothes were dried. hair ; at the same time calling to Joe, and telling him to bring the boat nearer. But the cowardly boy, instead, paddled the boat quickly off in another direction, and was soon on shore. Mark then saw that the life of little Fred, and perhaps his own, depended upon his own exertions, and revolving in his mind a short prayer to his Maker, he commenced the desperate struggle to reach the land. But the current was strong, and though he fought it manfully, yet he made but little progress. The little eddies, as they gurgled past, seemed to mock his furious efforts, and even the little pieces of drift-wood floated on out of the reach of his frantic clutch, as though they had a being, and were afraid of him. Mark had almost given up all hope, when turning his eyes to the shore, he saw upon the bank, a schoolmate, named Ben Collins, a sort of half-witted fellow, yet kind as a lamb. Mark gave one shout, upon this discovery, which attracted Ben's attention, and running down the bank, he jumped into the boat Joe had left but a few Here will we drop the curtain, put out the lights, and taking leave of our little performers, let the reader say, "Who was the coward ?" Buffalo, April, 1856. School Sonnet. Spell, spell, spell! A dozen words or more, C. A. C. A page all bright and clear. Learn, learn, learn! Waste not your time in play. The Pet Chicken. ENRY'S father was He took care to feed his little patient two or three times a day, and keep her well supplied with caterpillars, so that Lamefoot became quite contented with her situation. In a short time her foot became as well as ever; but she had become so attached to her quiet little corner, that after she was able to run about everywhere, she always came back every night to roost in the little coop which Henry had made her. a farmer, and had a great many hens and chickens. One morning, when Henry went out to assist in feeding them, he saw one of the little chickens whose foot had been injured, so that she was quite lame, and she could not run after the rest of the brood. Chickens do not show much affection for each other, and never seem to care much if one of their companions is hurt; they probably do not know any better; so they all ran off to some newly ploughed ground where there were plenty of worms, and left poor little Lamefoot to peep and hobble along by herself. Henry took the little thing up carefully. Lamefoot peeped and screamed very loud, when she found herself held fast in Henry's hand, and struggled to get away, but she soon found that by struggling she only hurt her lame foot more, and so she concluded to lie still and bear confinement as patiently as she could. Henry carried the chicken in and showed it to his mother. She put a little cold cream on the chicken's foot, and told Henry she thought if he could keep the little thing from running about for a few days, she would get as well as ever. So Henry made her a little coop in a shady corner at the back of the house, and shut her up in it. And he became so fond of his little pet, that he used often to carry her out corn, or grain, or fruit, or whatever he thought she would like, and she would come to him and eat out of his hand. any ; By and by Lamefoot grew up to be a great hen, and furnished Henry with a good supply of eggs, which he always ate with a better relish than others and the next spring she brought him out a fine brood of chickens, of which she took such excellent care that they were considered the finest in the farm yard, and his mother was very glad to accept from Henry a couple of pair for her Thanksgiving Chicken Pie, when that joyful occasion came round. Lilies of the Field. God provideth for the morrow."-HEBER We heard it as long ago as we can remember, when we made brief but perilous journeys from chair to table, and from table to chair again. We heard it the other day, when two parted that had been "loving in their lives," one to California, and the other to her lonely home. Everybody says it some time or another. The little boy whispers it when he dreams of exchanging the little stub shoes for boots like those of his father. The man murmurs it-when in life's middle watch, he sees his plans half finished, and his hopes yet in the bud, waving in the cold late spring. The old man says it-when he thinks of putting off the mortal for the immortal, to-day for to-morrow. The weary watcher for the morning, whiles away the dark with "bye-andbye." But Sometimes it sounds like a song; sometimes there is a sigh or sob in it. What would'nt the world give to find it in almanacs-set down somewhere, no matter, if in the dead of December-to know that it would surely come. fairy-like as it is, flitting like a star-beam over the dewy shadows of years, nobody can spare it, and we look upon the many times these words have beguiled us. |