3RD CHILD. Horses don't do that, Sir; they could not, when they had bits in their mouths.

MASTER. No, surely. Will you remember if I tell you what this is called?

CHILDREN. We will, Sir.

MASTER. It is called ruminating; and the principal difference between a cow and a horse is, that one is a ruminating animal, and the other is not.

2ND CHILD. The cow gives milk, too, for us.

MASTER. Yes; the mare gives milk also, but it is not good food for man.

29TH CHILD. I should think, Sir, in those countries where they eat the horse's flesh, they might as well drink the mare's milk too.

MASTER. You are right; and they do drink it there, and reckon it very nice.-Aids to Development.

MOTHER, WHAT IS DEATH?

"MOTHER, how still the baby lies!

I cannot hear his breath;
I cannot see his laughing eyes—
They tell me this is death.

My little work I thought to bring,
And sat down by his bed,
And pleasantly I tried to sing-
They hushed me he is dead.

They say that he again will rise,
More beautiful than now;
That God will bless him in the skies-
O, mother, tell me how!"

Daughter, do you remember, dear,
The cold, dark thing you brought,
And laid upon the casement here-
A withered worm, you thought?

I told you the Almighty power

Could break that withered shell,
And show you, in a future hour,
Something would please you well.

Look at the chrysalis, my love
An empty shell it lies;

Now raise your wandering glance above
To where yon insect flies!"

"O yes, mamma! how very gay
Its wings of starry gold!
And see! it lightly flies away
Beyond my gentle hold.

O, mother, now I know full well,
If God that worm can change,
And draw it from this broken cell,
On golden wings to range,—

How beautiful will brother be,
When God shall give him wings,
Above this dying world to flee,

And live with heavenly things!"

Mrs. Gilman.

THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE YOUNG LADY. "ALAS!" exclaimed a silver-headed sage, "how narrow is the utmost extent of human knowledge! I have spent my life in acquiring knowledge, but how little do I know. The farther I attempt to penetrate the secrets of nature, the more I am bewildered and benighted. Beyond a certain limit all is but conjecture: so that the advantage of the learned over the ignorant consists greatly in having ascertained how little is to be known.

"It is true that I can measure the sun, and compute the distances of the planets; I can calculate their periodical movements, and even ascertain the laws by which they perform their sublime revolutions; but with regard to their construction, to the beings which inhabit them, their condition and circumstances, what do I know more than the clown?-Delighting to examine the economy of nature in our own world, I have analysed the elements, and given names to their component parts-and yet, should I not be as much at a loss to explain the burning of fire, or to account for the liquid quality of water, as the

vulgar, who use and enjoy them without thought or exa mination? I remark that all bodies, unsupported, fall to the ground, and I am taught to account for this by the law of gravitation. But what have I gained here more than a term? Does it convey to my mind any idea of the nature of that mysterious and invisible chain which draws all things to a common centre?-Pursuing the track of the Naturalist, I have learned to distinguish the animal, the vegetable, and the mineral kingdoms, and to divide these into their distinct tribes and families;-but can I tell, after all this toil, whence a single blade of grass derives its vitality? Could the most minute researches enable me to discover the exquisite pencil that paints the flower of the field? and have I ever detected the secret that gives their brilliant dye to the ruby and the emerald, or the art that enamels the delicate shell?-I observe the sagacity of animals-I call it instinct, and speculate upon its various degrees of approximation to the reason of man; but, after all, I know as little of the cogitations of the brute as he does of mine. When I see a flight of birds overhead performing their evolutions, or steering their course to some distant settlement, their signals and cries are as unintelligible to me as are the learned languages to an unlettered mechanic: I understand as little of their policy and laws as they do of Blackstone's Commentaries.

"Alas! then, what have I gained by my laborious researches but an humbling conviction of my weakness and ignorance? Of how little has man, at his best estate, to boast! What folly in him to glory in his contracted powers, or to value himself upon his imperfect acquisitions!"

"Well!" exclaimed a young lady, just returned from school, "my education is at last finished: indeed, it would be strange if, after five years' hard application, any thing were left incomplete. Happily, it is all over now, and I have nothing to do but exercise my various accomplishments.

"Let me see ! -as to French, I am mistress of that, and speak it, if possible, with more fluency than English. Italian I can read with ease, and pronounce very well, as

well at least, and better, than any of my friends; and that is all one need wish for in Italian. Music I have learned till I am perfectly sick of it. But now that we have a grand piano, it will be delightful to play when we have company. And then there are my Italian songs, which every body allows I sing with taste, and as it is what so few people can pretend to, I am particularly glad that I can. My drawings are universally admired, especially the shells and flowers, which are beautiful, certainly: besides this, I have a decided taste in all kinds of fancy ornaments. And then, my dancing and waltzing, in which our master himself owned he could take me no farther;-just the figure for it, certainly; it would be astonishing if I did not excel. As to common things, geography, and history, and philosophy, thank my stars, I have got through them all! so that I may consider myself not only perfectly accomplished, but also thoroughly well informed.

"Well, to be sure, how much I have fagged through; the only wonder is that one head can contain it all!" Jane Taylor.

TO MY MOTHER.

AND canst thou, Mother, for a moment think
That we, thy children, when old age shall shed
Its blanching honours on thy weary head,
Could from our best of duties ever shrink?
Sooner the sun from his bright sphere shall sink
Than we, ungrateful, leave thee in that day,
To pine in solitude thy life away,

Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink.
Banish the thought!-where'er our steps may roam,
O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home;
While pity bids us all thy griefs assuage,
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.

H. K. White.

POWER OF MATERNAL PIETY.

WHY gaze ye on my hoary hairs,
Ye children young and gay?
Your locks, beneath the blast of cares,
Will bleach as white as they.
I had a mother once, like you,
Who o'er my pillow hung,
Kissed from my cheek the briny dew,
And taught my faltering tongue.

She, when the nightly couch was spread,
Would bow my infant knee,
And place her hand upon my head,

And, kneeling, pray for me.

But, then, there came a fearful day;
I sought my mother's bed,

Till harsh hands tore me thence away,
And told me she was dead.

That eve, I knelt me down in woe,
And said a lonely prayer;

Yet still my temples seemed to glow
As if that hand was there.

Years fled, and left me childhood's joy,

Gay sports and pastimes dear;

I rose a wild and wayward boy,
Who scorned the curb of fear.

Fierce passions shook me like a reed;
In youth, yet ere I slept,
That soft hand made my bosom bleed,
And down I fell and wept.

In foreign lands I travelled wide,
My pulse was bounding high,
Vice spread her meshes at my side,
And pleasure lured my eye;

Yet still that hand, so soft and cold,
Maintained its mystic sway,

As when, amid my curls of gold,
With gentle force it lay.