And burn his house, and kill him too,
And do as he had done?

And every body calls him great
For killing people so!

Well, now, what right had he to kill,
I should be glad to know?

If one should burn the buildings here
And kill the folks within:
Would anybody call him great
For such a wicked thing?"

A WOLF!

We find the following strange account of a wolf among a family of children, in the public papers :— "A woman living in the parish of Redmarley, in the county of Worcester, on going into an outhouse, adjoining her cottage, observed what she supposed to be a large dog, lying in one corner of the building; and thinking it to belong to some drover, took no further notice of it. Shortly afterwards she had occasion to leave the house, and the monster-which was in reality a wolf-taking advantage of her absence, went in and laid itself quietly under a table. The children, three or four in number, likewise thought it was a dog; but the youngest, about two months old, which was lying on a low bedstead, in a corner of the room, looking up and beginning to cry, the savage animal rushed towards it, when a cat belonging to the family courageously attacked the intruder. Poor puss was quickly torn limb from limb; and the wolf, carrying her remains to the outside of the house, proceeded to devour them, when the eldest child, a cripple about eight or nine years of age, had the presence of mind to shut the door. Having eaten the whole of the cat

except the hind legs, the brute strove to re-enter the house. While this was going on, two men, on their way to Ledbury fair, wishing to leave their smockfrocks at the cottage, went towards the door; but finding themselves opposed by the wolf, they procured a pike and a pitchfork, and killed it. It was in a very poor condition; and it is reported to have been seen in the neighbouring woods for some time past, having doubtless escaped from some travelling menagerie."

BOYS-TAKE CARE!

"Or what?" why, of the water. In summer time boys are fond of bathing; and there is no harm in that, but good, if they will only take care and mind that they do not venture to bathe in dangerous places. Now all rivers are dangerous, as you can never be certain about their depth. They may be deeper one day than another.

Boys ought always to bathe in places of equal depth, and level at the bottom. And then, having learned to swim, they are more safe should they bathe in deeper places; though it is better, even then, to keep out of danger.

How often are boys told these things by their kind parents, and yet how often do they forget what they are told, and follow some bold bad boy who may dare them on to deeds of danger. Within the past fifty years how many fine lads have we known who have thus been led to an early grave.

One of our young friends has sent us the following fact, we suppose, of recent date:

"There was once a little boy who did not always do as he was told. One day his mother told him to go to school, and he set out with the intention of going; but as he was passing through a beautiful green lane, he met two boys of his acquaintance who enticed him to go into the fields instead of going to school. "You

66

know," said they, we can return at twelve o'clock, and nobody will know anything about it." So they went into the fields, and after walking about for some time, they came to a river where they had sometimes bathed, and they thought they should like to do so then. The eldest, whose name was Alfred, jumped in first, and attempted to swim, but getting out of his depth, he sank; the other two went in after him and tried to rescue him, but they both sank also. Their cries reached the ears of an old man who was working a few fields off, and he ran as fast as possible to the river, and succeeded in getting them out. The two eldest were dead, and the youngest only remained to return home alive."

BOYS-TAKE CARE!

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

(By Emily Taylor.)

HAST thou sounded the depth of yonder sea,
And counted the sands that under it be?
Hast thou measur'd the height of heaven above?
Then mayest thou mete out a mother's love.

Hast thou talk'd with the blessed, of leading on
To the throne of God some wandering son ?
Hast thou witness'd the angel's bright employ?
Then mayest thou speak of a mother's joy.

Evening and morn hast thou watched the bee
Go forth on her errands of industry?
The bee for herself hath gather'd and toil'd,
But the mother's cares are all for her child.

Hast thou gone with the traveller, Thought, afar
From pole to pole, and from star to star?
Thou hast-but on ocean, earth, or sea,
The heart of a mother has gone with thee.

There is not a grand, inspiring thought,
There is not a truth by wisdom taught,
There is not a feeling, pure and high,
That may not be read in a mother's eye,

And ever since earth began, that look
Has been to the wise, an open book,

To win them back from the lore they prize,
To the holier love that edifies.

There are teachings on earth, and sky, and air,
The heavens the glory of God declare!
But louder than the voice beneath, above,
He is heard to speak through a mother's love.

SHE IS GONE.

Written on the second anniversary of my mother's death.
Two years have flown since that eventful day
When I was forced to bid a last farewell

To her I loved, to her whose love for me
The power of mortal tongue can never tell.

Yes! she is gone-but fancy sees her still,

That mild blue eye, that soft endearing smile,
And that sweet voice which oft with song or tale
The tedious hours of twilight would beguile.

Yes! she is gone-but blest be memory's power,
I still can think of all she said while here;
And those sweet promises she joy'd to tell,

Of that Great God she bade me love and fear.

Yes! she is gone-and I shall ne'er forget

That hour when last her faint voice breath'd my namé;
When first I knew that voice, its tones were love,
And the last words it spoke, were still the same.

Yes! she is gone-and no one else on earth
Can fill her place to me, can act her part,
But one there is in heaven who loves me more,
In Him I'll trust, on Him I'll fix my heart.

Yes! she is gone-and I will look above,
Will find my joys in Christ her Saviour, God;
And soon I'll join her there to sing his love,
And bless the hand that sent this chastening rod.
Birmingham.

BURY ME IN THE GARDEN.

J. D.

THERE was sorrow there, and tears were in every eye; and there were low half-suppressed sobbings heard from every corner of the room;-but the little sufferer was still; its young spirit was just on the verge of departure. The mother was bending over it in all the speechless yearnings of maternal love, with one arm under its pillow, and with the other unconsciously drawing the little dying girl closer and closer to her bosom. Poor thing! in the bright and dewy morning it had followed out behind its father into the field; and, while he was there engaged in his labour, it had patted around among the meadow flowers, and had stuck its bosom full, and all its burnished tresses, with those beautiful things; and, returning tired to its father's side, he had lifted it upon the loaded cart; but a stone in the road had shaken it from its seat, and the ponderous, iron rimmed wheels had ground it down into the very earth-path, and the little crushed creature was dying! We had all gathered up closely to its bed-side, and were hanging over the young bruised one, to see if it yet breathed, when a slight movement came over its lips, and its eyes partly opened. There was no voice, but there was something beneath its eyelids, which a mother could alone interpret. Its lips trembled again, and we all held our breath-its eyes opened a little farther, and then we heard the departing spirit whisper in the ear which touched its ashy lips,-"Mother! Mother! don't let them carry me away down to the dark cold grave-yard; bury me in the garden—in the garden, mother."