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THE FOOLISH KITE.

NCE on a time, a paper kite,

ONCE

Was mounted to a wondrous height,
Where, giddy with its elevation,
It thus expressed self-admiration:
"See how yon crowds of gazing people
Admire my flight above the steeple;
How would they wonder if they knew
All that a kite like me can do!

Were I but free, I'd take a flight,

And pierce the clouds beyond their sight;
But, oh! like a poor pris'ner bound,
My string confines me near the ground.
I'd brave the eagle's towering wing,
Might I but fly without a string."

It tugged and pulled, while thus it spoke,
To break the string - at last it broke.
Deprived at once of all its stay,
In vain it tried to soar away;
Unable its own weight to bear,

It fluttered downward through the air!
Unable its own course to guide,
The winds soon plunged it in the tide.
Ah! foolish kite, thou has no wing;
How couldst thou fly without a string!

FOR VACATION.

ACATION is coming, and we are all glad!

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be pleasant to play all day with no lessons to learn. I hope we can all go home to-night, feeling sure that we have done our best to learn, and to be good boys and girls. If we cannot, let us try hard for it next term. We love each other, we love our teachers; and we hope this will be the happiest vacation that any school ever had.

Good-by, teacher and scholars and friends. Good-by to you

all!

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BRUCE AND THE SPIDER.

NCE Bruce of Scotland flung him down

ON

In a lonely mood to think;

"T is true he was monarch and wore a crown, But his heart was beginning to sink.

For he had been trying to do a great deed

To make his people glad;

He had tried, and tried, but he couldn't succeed, And his heart was sore and sad.

He flung himself down in sore despair,
As grieved as man could be!

And as hour after hour he pondered there,

"I must give it up at last," said he.

Now just at the moment a spider dropped,

With its silken cobweb clew;

And the king, in the midst of his thinking, stopped To see what the spider would do.

It soon began to cling and climb

Straight up with strong endeavor,
But down it came, time after time,
As near to the ground as ever.

But, nothing discouraged, again it went,
And travelled a half-yard higher;

'T was a delicate thread it had to tread,
And a road where its feet would tire.

Again it fell and swung below,
But again it quickly mounted;
Till up and down, now fast, now slow,
Nine brave attempts were counted.

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Sure," cried the king, "the foolish thing
Will strive no more to climb,

When it toils so hard to reach and cling,
And tumbles every time."

But steadily upward, inch by inch,
Higher and higher it passed,

Till a bold little run, at the very last pinch,
Put it into its web at last.

"Bravo! bravo!" the king cried out,
"All honor to those who try!
The spider up there defied despair,
He conquered, why shouldn't I?"

And Bruce of Scotland braced his mind,
And as gossips tell the tale,

He tried once more, as he'd tried before,
And that time he did not fail.

THE AMERICAN INDIANS.

S a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows

As up, their cabins are

the dust. Their council-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast dying away to the untrodden West. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide which is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle over them forever. Ages hence, the inquisitive white man, as he stands by some growing city, will ponder on the structure of their disturbed remains, and wonder to what manner of person they belonged. They will live only in the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. Let these be faithful to their rude virtues as men, and pay due tribute to their unhappy fate as a people.

MR

THE LITTLE PHILOSOPHER.

R. L. [looking at the boy and admiring his ruddy, cheerful countenance]. Thank you my good lad! you have caught my horse very cleverly. What shall I give you for your trouble? (Putting his hand in his pocket).

Boy. I want nothing, sir.

Mr. L. Don't you? So much the better for you. Few men can say as much. But pray, what were you doing in the field?

Boy. I was rooting up weeds, and tending the sheep that are feeding on the turnips, and keeping the crows from the

corn.

Mr. L. And do you like this employment?

Boy. Yes, sir, very well this fine weather.

Mr. L. But had you not rather play?

Boy. This is not hard work; it is almost as good as play. Mr. L. Who sent you to work?

Doy. My father, sir.

Mr. L.

Where does he live?

Boy. Just by among the trees there, sir.
Mr. L.

What is his name?

Boy. Thomas Hurdle, sir.

Mr. L. And what is yours?

Boy. Peter, sir.

Mr. L. How old are you?

Boy. I shall be eight at Michaelmas.

Mr. L. How long have you been out in this field?

Boy. Ever since six in the morning, sir.

Mr. L. Are you not hungry?

Boy. Yes, sir, I shall go to my dinner soon.

Mr. L. If you had a sixpence now, what would you do with it ?

Boy. I don't know; I never had so much in my life.
Mr. L. Have you no play things?

Boy. Playthings! what are they?

Mr. L. Such as balls, ninepins, marbles, tops, and wooden horses.

Boy. No, sir; but our Tom makes foot-balls to kick in the cold weather, and we set traps for birds; and then I have a jumping-pole, and a pair of stilts to walk through the dirt with; and I had a hoop, but it is broke.

Mr. L. And do you want nothing else?

Boy. No. I have hardly time for those; for I always ride the horses to the field, and bring up the cows, and run to town on errands, and that is as good as play, you know.

Mr. L. Well, but you could buy apples or gingerbread at the town, I suppose, if you had money.

Boy. O, I can get apples at home; and as for gingerbread, I don't mind it much, for my mammy gives me a piece of pie now and then, and that is as good.

Mr. L. Would you not like a knife to cut sticks?

Boy. I have one, here it is, brother Tom gave it me. Mr. L. Your shoes are full of holes, don't you want a better pair?

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