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LURED by the fairness of the day,

Some little folk have left the town; And, for an afternoon of sport,

Into our green lane wandered down.

CRADLE SONG.

Night now draws her curtain round,
Hushed is every noisy sound,
Not a cricket's chirp is heard,
Not a song of little bird,

Yet my little baby lies
Wide awake with round blue eyes.

Every thing has gone to rest,
Birdie in the soft warm nest,
Little lambs within the fold,
Safe from fox or wolf so bold,

Yet my little lambkin lies
Wide awake with wondering eyes.

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THE FIREMAN. The fireman, Thomas Randall, was a very noble, brave man. He had saved a great many lives in various fires, and often at the risk of his own, but he never ran so great a risk as one day when there was a fire in Liverpool. Thomas Randall was there, and got everybody out of the burning houseat least, it was thought that everybody was, out—when suddenly a little baby's cry was heard, and it was found that the selfish nurse had escaped herself, but had left the dear little baby asleep in its cradle. No one dared enter the house again, and the poor mother was nearly wild with despair, when at last Thomas Randall said, “I can't leave a baby to perish,” and dashed into the smoke and flame. Everybody thought that he would be killed; but after a few minutes of intense anxiety, he reappeared with the baby in his arms. Oh! how the crowd cheered him, and how the mother blessed him! He will never forget that day.

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