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The Fable of the Thrush and the Horse. A THRUSH was once singing very melodiously in a wood, adjoining a field in which a cart horse was grazing. The horse trotted up to the wood, and listened with evident pleasure to the invisible minstrel, who, on seeing him so enchanted, asked with a sneer if he could make the woods echo so merrily. Not I,' quoth the horse, and I find by your question that you are not half so beautiful as your voice.' 'How so?' said the offended thrush. 'Because all beautiful souls speak kind words,' said the noble horse. 'And mine is not beautiful because I asked you if you could sing, forsooth!' said the thrush, tossing her head. 'Not because you asked me if I could sing,' rejoined the horse; but because when you asked me if I could sing you knew I could not sing. I have one faculty, and you another. You have not my strength, neither have I your voice; and if I cannot sing neither can you draw a cart.' At these words, the thrush, who felt the rebuke, flew away a wiser and a better bird

STORIES IN
IN RHYME.

One thing at a time.

Work while you work,

Play while you play,

That is the way to be cheerful and gay,

All that you do,

Do with your might;
Things done by halves

Are never done right,

One thing each time,
And that done well,
Is a very good rule,
As many can tell.

Moments are useless

Trifled away,

So work while you work,

And play while you play.

M. A. STODDART.

The Sounds of Industry.

I love the banging hammer,
The whirring of the plane,
The crushing of the busy saw,
The creaking of the crane,

The ringing of the anvil,

The grating of the drill,

The clattering of the turning lathe,
The whirling of the mill,

The buzzing of the spindle,

The rattling of the loom,
The puffing of the engine,

And the fan's continuous boom-
The clipping of the tailor's shears,
The driving of the awl,

The sounds of busy labour

I love, I love them all.

FRANCES D. GAGE.

The Old Man to Little Children.

Up in the morning as soon as the lark,
Late in the evening, when falleth the dark,
Far in the moorlands, or under the tree,
Come the sweet voices of children to me.
I am an old man-my hair it is grey,

But I sit in the sunshine to watch you at play.

If, at last, you would prevail,
Try, try again.

If we strive 'tis no disgrace,

Though we may not win the race;
What should we do in such a case?
Try, try again.

If you find your task is hard,
Try, try again;

Time will bring you your reward,
Try, try again.

All that other people do,

Why, with patience should not you ?›
Only keep this rule in view,
Try, try again.

The Parts of Speech.

Descriptives are-a, an and the.
Three little words we often see.
A noun's the name of any thing,
As school, or garden, hoop, or swing.

Descriptives tell the kind of noun..
As great, small, pretty, white, or brown;:
Instead of nouns the pronoun stand-
John's head, his face, my arm, your hand.

Verbs tell of something being done-
To read, write, count, sing, jump, or run;
How things are done descriptives tell,
As slowly, quickly, ill, or well.

Some small words join the nouns together-
As, men and children, wind or weather:
Or as descriptives stand before

A noun, as in or through a door.

The exclamation shows surprise,
As, oh! how pretty: ah! how wise.
The whole are called the parts of speech,
Which reading, writing, speaking, teach.

Varied from the Teacher's Assistant.

The Journey to St. Ives.
(A KIDDLE.)

As I was going to St. Ives,

I chanced to meet with nine old wives ⚫

Each wife had nine sacks,

Each sack had nine cats,

Each cat had nine kits:

Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,

Tell me how many were going to St. Ives?

[Explanation --As I met all the others, they of course were coming from, and only myself was going to St. Ives.]

The Cow.

Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread.

Every day and every night,

Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and wrte.
Do not chew the hemlock rauk,
Growing on the weedy bank;
But the yellow cowslips eat,
They will make it very sweet.