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Edmund came away in tears, and walked home very slowly. As he was going he reflected that he himself had very often pretended to be ill, and thought it very likely that his parents were now doing the same. In order to satisfy himself whether this was the case, he stood upon a little stool, drew back the curtains of the bed, and saw how pale and ill they both looked. He noticed, too, that they had been crying. This sight affected him deeply; he let fall the curtains, sat down beside the bed, and buried his face in his hands. "Wretched boy that I am!" said he, "if my parents were to die what would become of me? I am refused admittance everywhere, and cannot obtain a bit of bread. I must have acted very wrongly for people to treat me thus. My poor mother! how you have at all times loved me and cared for me, and how often I have grieved you!"

He sat a little longer, and, returning afterwards to the house where he had been first refused, begged for the sake of Heaven that they would let him have a little bread and milk to make a breakfast for his parents. His affliction, and the humble tone of voice in which he spoke, gained him a ready hearing. "Since you ask me in this way," said the good man of the cottage," I will not refuse you. Take the half of

this brown loaf, with the milk that is in this jug, and warm it for your parents. It is but right that you should prepare their breakfast, while they are both working so hard for you." Edmund dare not mention that his parents were ill, for fear of being reproached in the same manner as he had been at the other house where he applied. His benefactor did not, therefore, accompany him to relieve his parents, as he would have done had he known their distress, for he esteemed

them greatly. In the meantime, Edmund brought away the bread and milk, and making a fire, boiled it in a saucepan on the hearth. When it was ready, he drew a little table towards the bed, reached two porringers from the cupboard, and began to fill them with small pieces of bread. His mother heard him moving about the room, and exclaimed, "I wonder what Edmund is doing?" His father replied, "Nothing good, I am afraid." Looking through the curtains, she saw Edmund busily filling the porringers with bread. "See," whispered she to her husband, "I verily believe he is preparing breakfast for us, else why should he be filling two porringers with bread ?" "Would to God," said his father, "that he were! I am not hungry, but should like to be satisfied that he is a better boy than we have thought him."

Edmund with his saucepan came at last, and filling both the porringers with milk, approached his parents. "Here," said he, "dear father and mother, is breakfast for you both." "And is it you that have prepared it?" said his father; "who could give you all this bread and milk?" "It was our neighbour Jones," said he: "I begged him to give it me, in order to prepare it for your breakfast."

His parents bade him replace the porringers on the table. Their eyes were filled with tears of joy. "Dear child, come hither!" they cried. "We are glad to see that you are not so bad as we thought, and have still some affection for your parents." So saying they held out their arms, and embraced him fervently. Edmund asked forgiveness for the sorrow he had caused them, and promised to be a far better boy in the future. He was still in their arms when the good old woman, who had refused him before, entered with their breakfast

in her hands, which she brought thinking that otherwise they would be destitute. She was rejoiced to hear of Edmund's good conduct, and warmly commended him for the happy change in his behaviour. They all breakfasted together, and never in their lives partook of so pleasant a meal. Such a happy surprise soon made Edmund's parents recover their health; and from that time their son never caused them a moment's uneasiness, but did all in his power to please and assist them.

OXEN.

The ox is an animal very useful to man, and especially so to the inhabitants of Great Britain and Ireland. It is a native of Europe and Asia, and has been brought into subjection by the human race from the earliest periods. The Egyptians worshipped the ox in the time of Moses; and we read that when the great lawgiver was absent forty days on the summit of Sinai, the people deputed Aaron to make a golden calf for them to worship. It is not, however, noticed as forming part of the treasures of the patriarchs along with sheep and camels. It is mentioned by Cæsar in his account of Britain at the time of the Roman invasion, 55 years before Christ, as one of the animals then existing in the country.

The ox is used as a beast of burden in some parts of England and on the continent, though for work of this kind it is greatly excelled by the horse. Its gait is slow and plodding; it requires frequent intervals of rest, and is not nearly so intelligent or easy to control as the horse. It attains its full size at two or three years old, becomes aged at ten, and rarely lives longer

than fourteen years.

When it has reached the age of seven or eight years, the yield of milk is less, and of an inferior quality.

Oxen are chiefly valuable for their flesh and milk, but every part of them is useful for some purpose or other. Boxes, combs, and knife-handles are made from its horns; glue from its gristle and the finer pieces of cuttings and parings of its hide, and vellum and leather from its skin.

When in a wild state, oxen are gregarious; that is, they live in herds. They defend themselves with great vigour when attacked by wild beasts of the feline species, as lions, tigers, and leopards.

The different kinds of oxen vary greatly in size; the Shetland ox being little bigger than a calf of some of the other breeds. The wild oxen, which in former times were found in forests in the north of England, are now only preserved in one or two noblemen's parks, at Chillingham and Hamilton. They are much smaller than the domestic breeds, have creamy-white skins, black muzzles, and white horns with black tips bending upwards, sharp, and not very long. In habits they resemble the domestic varieties.

The North Devon ox is noted for its activity, docility, and powers of labour. The Ayrshire breed is valued for the exccllence of its milk, but is not easily fattened. The West Highland ox is a very hardy kind. It is black in colour, and its beef is of the finest quality. The Alderney cows are remarkable for the richness of their milk one Alderney cow among ten others will sensibly improve the quality of the milk produced by them. The short-horned breed is now in much repute, and has only been produced in recent times. It does not give so much milk as some of the Scotch varieties,

but is far more easily fattened, which, in the present high price of beef, is an important consideration.

In olden times, milking cows was the work of the maids employed upon the farm. Goldsmith, in his beautiful description of the "Deserted Village," thus alludes to the various sounds that could be heard in a village towards the close of the evening :

"The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung,

The sober herd that lowed to meet their young,
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,

The playful children just let loose from school.” The poet Milton also refers to the milkmaid in a beautiful sketch of country life, as it existed in his own time :-

While the ploughman near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrowed land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale

Under the hawthorn in the dale."

In the present day, however, in this country the work of milking cows is now chiefly performed by men.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A chieftain to the Highlands bound,

Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now who be ye would cross Loch Gyle,
This dark and stormy water?"

"O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.

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