by thinking of what he shall buy with it; but the first and last thought is the little shop, and there it goes. The very first thing he purchases, when he is rich enough, is a knife, and he spends hours in sharpening it on a stone; then he cuts gate-posts and sticks, and branches of May blossoms off with it; and it is never out of his hand for the first week or two, only when he is asleep. If he can only get out "to place," he is happy; for he has often heard what lumps of fat bacon, and great hunches of bread, and hugh porringers of new milk, and mugs of home-brewed beer, boys get who live in the large farmhouses; and he longs for the time when he shall get his victuals for his labour, and his parents will only have to find him his clothes. That time at length comes, and oh! isn't he busy then! he has the pigs and poultry to feed, and he goes out into the fields in the early part of Spring with a great fork over his shoulder, and knocks the manure about, to get a good appetite for his dinner. And he has to run all the errands-to the mill about the corn, and to the blacksmith's with something he can hardly carry to mend; but above all, watering the cattle is what delights him most, because he can ride both there and back to the clear white "beck;" for such is the name given to a sheet of water that runs across a road in the country, though I cannot tell you why it is so called. Oh, you should but see him sitting astride of one of the broad-backed horses, and driving the cattle before him! he is some proud I can tell you; and when he has had a little more practice, he is intrusted with the horse all the way to the mill, to bring home a sack of flour on its back. Then, if the land is heavy, he drives the

horses for the ploughman, carries a long whip over his shoulder, and cries "gee-hooe-gee" like a man. He now wears heavy ancle-boots, and a blue or white smock-frock, a round cart-hat, and lifts up his smock-frock to put his knife into his waistcoat-pocket just like the head man, John; and thinks that the day will perhaps come when he shall have a watch of his own, like him; then wo'n't he pull it out about every five minutes to see what o'clock it is? He can now weed, and plant potatoes, and bush-harrow, that is, drive the horses up and down the field, that drag an old gate behind it filled with thorns, to raise and lighten the grass, and level and break up the mould. But, oh! I cannot tell you one half of the things he does. When he gets money enough, he gives five shillings for a "real" beaver hat, to wear on a Sunday; and to show you that it really is beaver, he brushes the nap up the wrong way, so that every body may see what a lot of beaver there is on it. The next thing he purchases is a shaggy plush waistcoat, either a red or yellow one, covered with black spots: if yellow, he believes it to be made of a leopard's skin. He now carries a stick, and takes delight in standing and talking to men, especially if any body of consequence happens to be passing; and if he sees any youngsters trespassing who are a year or so his juniors, he calls out, "Will you boys get off there?" and if they happen to run away directly, he thinks himself somebody at once. He makes friends with the old shepherd-dog, and bribes it with lumps of bacon and pieces of bread to follow him; and if it only steps a yard or two aside, and any body is by, he calls out, "Come here, sirrah," to let

them see that he has something to do with it—for he wishes people to think that he is a man all but " a little bit." Isn't he proud if any great farmer passes him and says, “How are you, Jack?" or, "Do you think we shall have any wet?" Oh, does n't he look up, and if he chances to say, “I think, Mr. Jobbins, we shall have a little rain," he wishes heartily that it may rain, so as to give the farmer a high opinion of his "weather-wisdom."

men ?"

And now I think I have given you an insight into all his little vanities, for when he begins to talk to Betty I have done with him; and if he buys her a ribbon when he goes to market, why, depend upon it he means "sweet-hearting;" and then let any lad call him a boy after that if he dare, for he would turn round and say, "Where do you find your Remember, I have given him no schooling; and there are many like him who, saving a few hours on the sabbath, never had time to go to school, nor ever knew any thing of the world beyond the neighbouring market-town, which they visit once or twice a year, perhaps, and the village in which they were born. Gray, in his beautiful "Elegy," which I hope all of you have read, has summed up such a life in a few lines, where he says,

"Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield;

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor."

THERE are some birds whose funny names do not their nature fit,
But thine, I think, agrees quite well, and suits thee to a tit;
Thou art as grand a little bird as is in England seen;

Thy feathers, beside white and black, are yellow, blue, and green.
I've seen thee on a frosty morn among the branches bare,
Hopping about from twig to twig to pick thy scanty fare;
More lively and more sprightly too, than many a bird beside,
And fearing not, though "times are hard," that ill will thee betide.
And then I've seen thee hard at work some morning in the spring,
Not leaving off to rest at all, but ever on the wing,

Picking up moss, and hair, and wool, to form thy curious nest,
Which, of all I have ever seen, is much by far the best.
In it I have been told thy dame full twenty eggs will lay,
As small as peas almost, but white as snow on wintry day.
But Tom, thou art a saucy elf, if what I've heard is true;
With birds far bigger than thyself thou wilt a battle brew.
And in thy fighting tricks, 'tis said thou dost not fair-play prize,
For if thou canst, thou always wilt pick out thy foeman's eyes!

And then I've heard another thing which deep thy conduct stains,
That thou wilt murder lesser birds, and then pick out their brains!
Forshame, Tomtit! I am ashamed to hear such things of thee;
In this thy pretty-coloured coat and conduct dont agree.
Learn to do better, Tom, at once, and all such passions smother,
For little birds, like little boys, should all love one another.

J. F. W.

THE SHUNAMITE BOY.

"Life is a narrow span,

A short uncertain day;

And if you reach the age of man,

It soon will pass away."

THE life of man, in its longest stage, is only like a tale that is told. Ask the aged pilgrim, whose hoary locks fall upon his bending shoulders, and whose trembling hand can scarcely grasp the staff that supports his feeble frame, if his years appear to have been many, or his pilgrimage long, since the hours of his childhood, or his school-boy days, when he used with light and merry heart to whistle in the woods and chase with delight the butterfly, fluttering in the golden sunbeams, and he will answer you with a sad smile :-" They all appear to me as the scenes of yesterday; my life seems to have been like a fleeting dream."

But there are comparatively few who live to see the evening of life. Most die long e'er then.

Let me now tell you about the little boy who dwelt in the land of Shunam, who was an only child, very young and happy, and who, in the midst of health and joy, went out