in character as well as dress. Donna holds her head very high, and pays no attention to any other hens; runs away from us when we invite her to dinner, no matter how nice it is, and never will get acquainted, all we can do. But Luca we love as we should a gentle, timid little girl. Sometimes, when we open the door, there she stands patiently waiting, and looks up at us with her bright eye so pleasantly, that we must stop, if ever so busy, and feed her. Occasionally we hear a gentle sound on the door-step, which we all know; then some one is sure to exclaim, "There's Luca," and run to get her something nice to eat. The little chickens, with Mater their mother, all come rushing, tapping, perching, chipping at the door, and tease, and tap-tap, and "yip-p yip-p," until we are quite weary of them. If the door stands open, they fly up the steps, walk in, look round the room, and pick up any thing they can find, until we send them away. The moment their tin-pan appears, they are all in a flying huddle, tumble over each other, fly to the pan, to our shoulders, or anywhere, to get the first mouthful. Old Mater is ravenous and impolite as the rest, except that she always waits for her children to get a few mouthfuls first; but not another hen or chicken must come near them. Luca, patient gentle Luca, often stands and waits

modestly behind, and, if she gets nothing, makes a little mournful sound, that is all. Some flocks of russet, black and brown hens, crowers and chickens, who live close by, are a great annoyance to Mater, and to all of us. They come shooting into the yard like little steam-engines, and snatch all they can of the dinner to which they were not invited; and, if driven away a dozen times, rush back the first chance to get and devour all they can. Why, they have been into the house, and eaten a pie that was set to cool, pecked at the apples, Pony's oats, and any thing they could find to eat! What would you have said to them? Even Mater's children never did such impertinent things, hungry as they always are. One white chicken about their size, a naughty-looking little thing, with her head always down, left her own mother, and would come dashing in as if she belonged among them; but Mater and her little ones always found her out, and sent her away. One day we thought we would name the eleven chickens, as Mater could not name them herself; and since then we know them each and all, and just how they behave. Annie and Mary are two sober-looking little creatures, in quakerish feathers of drab and gray. Nat is a white crower, with beautiful soft feathers, and a long graceful black tail. Louise

has a shaded dress of gray and white, and is almost as modest and gentle as Luca. Hannah is a little bantam, with tufted head and large eyes, the smallest but the sprightliest of the family. She always tumbles in amongst the rest, and gets the first taste of every thing; and her mother allows her to do it. One of them, named Lise, a white one, came in the other morning just as we had finished breakfast; and, seeing many things spread out to eat, she flew up to the back of a chair, and, perching herself there, surveyed the whole table, and was very unwilling to get down. At length, getting a little alarmed at our efforts to teach her better, she pounced directly down amidst the cups and dishes, putting her foot into a saucer of tea, and making a great commotion in her fright. Two, named George and John, are trying to learn to crow. Little Mary hears the large hens cackle, and you would laugh long to hear her try to imitate them. They are having warm, new dresses made for them, so let the summer ones blow about in the breeze for any little girls who want them, particularly kind and neat and useful little maidens, who love to dust their mother's books, picture-frames, and flower-baskets. If I can send you another brush, my little friend, you must imagine neat little Louise, Annie, and Mary, gentle Luca and hand

some Donna, sending their best love and kind. wishes, and inviting you to come some summer's day to see them eat their dinner, and run about with them in the green meadows. So, my darling, good-bye. Perhaps, before you come to see us, Luca may be a little mother, with a brood of pretty downy children following all around her. Kisses and love from your friend,

LIGHT.

F. E. H.

How pleasant is the morning light,
As, through my window peeping bright,
Awake, awake!" it seems to say,
"And do the duty of the day."

Then, when the well-spent day is past,
And the pleasant light is fading fast,
"Kneel down," it ever seems to say,
"In prayer to Him who gave the day."

JULIA.

LITTLE ANNIE.

LITTLE Annie was a good child, and we all loved her very much. She used to love to go to Sunday-school, and she listened very attentively to what her teacher told her.

One Sunday, her teacher told her about Christ, and how kind he was to every one; how he spent his life in going from one place to another, curing sick people, and giving the hungry people bread to eat, and teaching them to love one another. After her teacher had done talking to her of all this, she told Annie that she must remember how the Saviour lived, and try to live as he did. Poor little Annie could not think what she meant, and looked very much puzzled.

"I do not mean, my dear child," said her teacher, "that a little girl like you, or any of us, can have Christ's power of healing the sick, or relieving the wants of the poor; but we can all do a little good, if we try. Keep the Saviour's example in mind, even for the rest of this day, and I think you will find some way in which to imitate him."