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Forthwith she placed upon her nose
The glasses large and wide; And looking round, as I suppose,
The snuff-box too she spied. “Oh! what a pretty box is this;
I'll open it,” said little miss. “I know that grandmamma would say,
Don't meddle with it, dear;'
And no one else is near:
To move the stubborn lid,
The mighty mischief did; For all at once, ah! woeful case, The snuff came puffing in her face. Poor eyes and nose and mouth and chin,
A dismal sight presented;
More deeply she repented.
To wipe her tingling eyes,
Her grandmamma she spies. Heyday! and what's the matter now?" Says grandmamma, with lifted brow.
Matilda, smarting with the pain,
And tingling still and sore,
From meddling evermore.
LITTLE FLORA AND HER LAMB. Little Flora, the daughter of a poor person, was sitting one morning by the side of the road, eating a basin of bread and milk, when a farmer passed, having in his cart about a score of lambs, that he was going to sell at the market. These poor creatures, crowded one upon another, with their feet tied together, and their heads hanging down, filled the air with plaintive bleatings, which pierced the heart of Flora, but were heard by the farmer with unconcern.
When he was come up to the little country girl, he threw down before her a lamb, which he was carrying across bis shoulder. “There, my girl," said he,"is a good-for-nothing beast that has just died, and made me ten shillings the poorer. Take it, if you will, and make a stew of it."
Flora quitted her breakfast, laid down her basin and her bread, and, taking up the lamb, began to look at it with feelings of pity. But,” said she, thinking of what the lamb would shortly have suffered, "why should I pity you ? to-day or to
morrow they would have run a great knife through your throat, while now you have nothing to fear. While she was speaking thus, the lamb revived by the warmth of her arms, opened its eyes a little, made a slight motion, and cried baa faintly, as if it was calling its mother.
It would be difficult to express the little girl's joy. She put the lamb in her apron, bent her breast down towards her lap to warm it, and blew with all her force into its nostrils and mouth. She felt the poor animal stir by degrees, and at each of its motions she felt her own heart throb.
Quite glad to think the lamb was coming round, she crumbled some bread into her basin, and, taking it up in her fingers, forced it between its teeth, which were shut fast. The lamb, which was only dying through hunger, felt itself better after taking this food. It began to stretch out its limbs, to shake its head, to wag its tail, and to prick up its ears. It had soon strength enough to support itself upon its legs, and then went on its own accord to Flora's basin, who smiled to see it drink up her breakfast. In short, before a quarter of an hour was past, it had already played a thousand little gambols.
Flora, filled with joy, took it up in her arms, and, running to the cottage, showed it to her mother. Baba (so she named it) became from that time the object of her cares. She shared with it the little bread which was given her for her meals, and would not have changed it for the largest flock in the district. Biba was so sensible of her fondness, that she never quitted Flora a single step. She would come and eat out of her hand, frisk round about her, and whenever she was obliged to go out without her, bleat most sadly.
This was not the only reward which Flora had for her kindness. Baba became the mother of two pretty lambs, which in their turn grew up, and bore others, so that in a few years Flora had a pretty flock, which supplied all her family with their milk, and gave them warm clothing from their wool.
THE NESTS OF BIRDS.
Little George was fond of walking in a wood that was near his father's garden. Now this wood was formed of small trees, placed very close together; and there were two roads through it, one of which crossed the other. One day as he was walking up and down he wished to rest a little, and sat down with his back against a tree, whose stem was so slender that it shook as he touched it. This rustling of the leaves frightened a poor little bird in a bush near it, so that it flew away out of the wood.
George saw it fly away, and was sorry that he had frightened it. He fixed his eyes upon the bush to see if it would return; and while he was watching it, he thought he saw among the branches something like a tuft of hay. He was curious to see what it was, so he went to it, and looked at it.
He found this tuft of hay was hollow, like a cup, and that there were several very pretty spotted eggs in it. Of course George knew that this was a bird's nest, and he was very pleased that he had found it.
He thought at first he would carry away the nest, but on second thoughts he was content with one egg, and having taken it out, he ran home. As he was going home he met his sister, and said, "See, Ellen, look at this pretty egg. I found it in a nest in the wood, and there are several more of them in the same nest.” Let me have it in my hand," said Ellen, and her brother gave it to her to hold; but as she was turning it about to look at it, she pressed it too closely, and it broke. This made George quite angry, and he began to cry because he had lost his pretty egg.
Their mother heard them talking in a loud tone, and, coming up, wanted to know what was the matter. When she had heard an account of the egg, and how it was broken, she gently blamed George for having brought it out of the nest. “This egg,” she said, “would have become a little bird if you had left it in the nest, but you have
now killed it by bringing it away. The bird that flew out of the bush was its mother. She will soon come again to her nest, and will then see that one egg has been stolen
away. She may then forsake it and fly away, as she will see that her nest has been found out by some one or other, who will very likely take away the rest of the eggs."
“I should be sorry then, mamma,” said George,