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THE BEE AND THE CHILD.

"I have called them in the bushes',
And the rolling stream beside`;
Yet they came not at my bidding',
I'm afraid they all have died!"

"I can tell you all about them","
Said a little wanton boy`,
""Twas I, that had the pleasure
Your nestlings to destroy.

"But I did not think their mother
Her little ones would miss',
Or ever come to hail me'

With a wailing sound like this.

"If I had known your bosom
Was formed to suffer wo',

And mourn your murdered children',
I had not grieved you so.

"I'm sorry that I've taken

The lives I can't restore'; And this regret shall teach me To do the thing no more.

"I ever shall remember

The plaintive sounds I've heard', And kill no other nestling

To pain a mother bird."

LESSON LXXIII.

THE BEE AND THE CHILD.

COME here, little Bee',

There are fresh flowers by me';

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Come, and just let me see'
How your honey is made'!
I can't', for I fear

That, for coming too near',
I should pay very dear':
So I can't-I'm afraid'

O, feel no alarm';
Not a leg, nor an arm',
Nor a wing will I harm.

You may here sip your fill
"Pretty maid', then I'll come
Close beside you and hum',
And you shall have some
Of the sweets I distil.'

Then my trust shall be free
As yours is in me`,
And be sure, little Bee',

That you don't use your sting!
& Oh! no! no!-since I flew
From the cell where I grew',
None has known me to do
So ungrateful a thing!'

Then why thus supplied
With a sting', but to hide'
And to keep it, untried,'

Out of sight, little Bee'?
'He, who gave me my sting
And my swift gauzy wing',
Bids me not harm a thing

That would not injure mē !*

THE SNAIL. FINERY.

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LESSON LXXIV.

THE SNAIL.

THE snail', how he creeps slowly over the wall`;
He seems not to make any progress at all;

About where you leave him', you find him`,
His long shining body he stretches out well',
And drags along with him his round hollow shell',
And leaves a bright path-way behind him.

Do look, said young Tom', at that lazy old snail'.
He's almost an hour crawling over a pale,—
Enough all one's patience to worry;
Now, if I were he, I would gallop away',
Half over the world'-twenty miles in a day'-
And turn business off in a hurry.

Well, Tom', said his father', but as I'm afraid
That into a snail you can never be made',
But still must remain a young master' ;-
As such sort of wishes can nothing avail',
Take a hint for yourself' from your jokes on the snail',
And do your own work rather faster.

LESSON LXXV.

FINERY.

In a frock neatly trimmed with a beautiful lace'
And hair nicely drest', hanging over her face',
Thus decked, Harriet went to the house of a friend',
With a large little party the evening to spend.

Ah! how they will all be delighted', I guess',

And stare with surprise at my elegant dress';

Thus said the vain girl`, and her little heart beat',
Impatient the happy young party to meet.

But alas! they were all too intent on their fun',
To observe the gay clothes this fine lady had on`;
And thus all her trouble quite lost its design',
For they saw she was proud', but forgot she was fine.

'Twas Lucy', though only in simple white clad',
(Nor trimmings, nor laces, nor jewels she had',)
Whose cheerful good nature delighted them more'
Than all the fine garments that Harriet wore.

'Tis better to have a sweet smile on one's face',
Than to wear a rich frock with an elegant lace`,
For the good-natured girl is loved best in the main',
If her dress is but decent', though ever so plain.

LESSON LXXVI.

AIR.

WHAT is it that winds about over the world',
Spread thin like a covering fair'?

And into each crack and each crevice is curled?
This sly little fluid is—Air.

In summer's still evening how peaceful it floats',
When not a leaf moves on the spray';

And no sound is heard but the nightingale's notes',
And merry gnats dancing away.

The village bells glide on its bosom serene',
And steal in sweet cadence along`;

The shepherd's soft pipe warbles over the green',
And the cottage girls join in the song.

AIR.

But when winter blows, then it bellows aloud',
And roars in the northerly blast`;
With fury drives on the snowy blue cloud',
And cracks the tall tapering mast.

The sea rages wildly, and mounts to the skies'
In billows and fringes of foam';

And the sailor in vain turns his pitiful eyes
To his dear, and his peaceable home.

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When fire lies and smothers, or gnaws through the beam',

Air forces it fiercer to glow`;

And engines in vain their cold torrents may stream',
Unless the wind ceases to blow.

In the forest it tears up the sturdy old oak',
That many a tempest had known`;

The tall mountain's pine into splinters is broke',
And over the precipice blown.

And yet, though it rages with fury so wild
On the solid earth, water, or fire',
Without its assistance the tenderest child
Would struggle, and gasp, and expire.

Pure air', pressing into the curious clay',
Gave life to these bodies at first';
And when in the bosom it ceases to play',
We crumble again to our dust.

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