No. 106. "I have somewhere met with a story," says a pleasant, gossiping observer, "about a man who went, one dark night, to steal corn from his neighbor's patch. He had taken his little boy with him to keep watch. The man jumped over the fence with a large bag on his arm; but before he began to fill it, he stopped and looked about on all sides, and, not seeing anybody, was just going to work, when his little boy cried out, 'Oh, father, father! there is one way you haven't looked yet!'

"The old man was rather startled, and asked what he meant.

"'Why,' said the little one, 'you forgot to look up.'

"The father was silent—thunder-struck—as if he had been admonished by a little guardian angel: he went back to the fence, took his little boy by the hand, and hurried away without the corn."

No. 107. A mother was reading to her child, a boy of seven, about another little boy whose father had lately died, leaving the family destitute, whereupon the boy went to work for himself, and managed to support them all.

"Now, my little man," said mother, after she had finished the story, "if papa should be taken away, wouldn't you like to help your poor mother and your little sisters?"

"Why, ma—what for? Ain't we got a good house to live in?"

"O yes, my child; but we couldn't eat the house, you know."

"Well—ain't we got flour and sugar, and other things in the store-room?"

"Certainly, my dear; but they wouldn't last long—and what then?"

"Well—ain't there enough to last, till you could get another husband?"

Mamma dried up—just as the boy had slopped over.

No. 108. A mother had been telling her little girl about the blessings above. "But will mamma be there too?" asked the child.

"Yes; you and I, and little brother, and papa." "O no, mamma," said she—"papa can't go; papa can't leave the store."

No. 109. A little four-year-old, living just out of New York, was saying the Lord's Prayer at his mother's knee. After he had finished, she said to him—

"Now, Sandy, ask God to make you a good boy."

The child hesitated, grew thoughtful, and, after a few minutes, looked up and whispered—

"It's no use, mamma—He won't do it, I tell you; I've asked Him ever so many times."

No. 110. A little girl, the daughter of a Brooklyn wife, had been listening to an argument about the occupations above, and the great Hereafter. Turning suddenly to her aunt, she asked what people found to do after they went to Heaven. Her aunt, being taken by surprise, answered, "O, they play on golden harps." "What—all the time!" "Yes—all the time, dear." "Then," said the child, "I don't want to go there—I should be so tired; and, what is more, I don't like the music."

No. 111. "Is it still raining, my dear?" said a mother to her child of only three, at Jamaica, L. I. The child, after looking out of the window, turned to her mother and said, "No, mamma, it ain't a-rainin' now, but the trees is leakin'." The same child, having a habit of putting pins in her mouth, was anxiously watched. Whenever she was very still, they knew she was in some mischief. The other day, on seeing her stand at the bureau in perfect silence, her mother began to have her suspicions. "Mary," said she, "you are playing with pins, I'm afraid; I hope you haven't got any in your mouth." "I ain't dut any in my mouth now," she said; "but I bin playin' pins is meat."

No. 112. One round more, and I throw up the sponge. The same little wee thing—a granddaughter of my own, by the way, and the first of the series—mentioned in No. 10, who spelled pigeon with Q. U. A. I. L., and pronounced it fidget, was looking at a hive, in a book for babies. "O," she shouted—"O, grandpa, I know what them is! They's the honeys, and when they go away, I mean to steal their porridge." N. B.—She had always called honey porridge.

No. 113. Once—and I give this for a fine illustration of the total depravity we hear so much of—I had a pleasant specimen of the inward working of that self-reproach we are all tried with sometimes, in this way: Miss Nellie seemed shy of me one morning, when she came into the breakfast room. Instead of running up to grandpa with a kiss upon her little red lips, she kept aloof, and went wandering about beyond my reach, with her eyes fastened on me all the time. At last, unable to bear it longer, she whimpered, "Oo needn't look at me so, grandpa; I ony toot one tawbelly."

No. 114. "High, there, high!" said Grandfather Hall to my little boy—the first we had. "You don't know where you are." "Yes I do, grandpa." "Well, where are you?" "I'm here," was the reply.

No. 115. Analogy.—"What the plague is that?" said a father to his little boy, as a dog ran past them with a muzzle over his head. "Well, I guess it's a little hoop-skirt," said the boy.

No. 116. Prepare to Pucker!—A little four-year-old chap had been trying a long while to pucker his mouth into shape, for whistling a national tune, which he had just heard upon the street. At last he gave it up, and went to his mother with tears in his eyes, exclaiming, "Ma, I's so little I tan't make a hole big enough for Yankee Doolum to dit out."

No. 117. Disinterested Advice.—"Mammy" said another little fellow, just big enough to gobble dough-nuts, and relish mud-pies and lollipop, who had been set to rocking the cradle of his baby brother, of whom he professed to be very fond—very—"Mammy! if the Lord's got any more babies to give away, don't you take 'em."

No. 118. Rather a Paradox.—"What is conscience?" asked a sabbath-school teacher. "An inward monitor," was the reply of a smart little fellow, not large enough to spell ratiocination with safety. "And what is a monitor?" "One of the iron-clads." Ergo.

No. 119. The Reason why.—A boy of nine, having a motherly hen with a large brood of chickens to watch, undertook to satisfy his mother that he would rather be a chicken than a boy—chickens were so much happier. The mother was obstinate, and so was the boy; but the next day he happened to come across a copy of "Don Quixote," with which he was so carried away, that he ran off to his mother to tell her that, on the whole, "he guessed he'd rather be a boy than a chicken;" for, "if I was a chicken," said he, "I couldn't read 'Don Quixote.'"

No. 120. Retribution.—A little four-year-old shaver, living on Munjoy, had picked up some naughty words—nobody knew where. But his mother, to cure him, was in the habit of touching the tip of his tongue with a little black pepper, until he seemed to have abandoned the practice. Only last week, however, the Old Adam broke out afresh, and he ran off to his mother, saying, "Dod dam it! Dod dam it! Now dit your pepper-bots!" and then rushed to the table and grabbed the box, and turned it up for the prescribed allowance; but the cover came off—as might have been expected—filling his mouth, so that he could neither speak nor breathe for awhile, and looked upon it as a judgment, and has now left off swearing—for the present.

No. 121. Influence of Example.—"I've done it, mamma! I've done it!" screamed a little three-year-old tantrybogus, from the top of the cellar stairs, to his mother, who had just left the kitchen for a few minutes. "Tum and tee, mamma!" And sure enough, he had done it! having upset a basket of eggs, and smashed them all, one after another, in a sort of ecstacy. His mother had been preparing for a batch of cake, and he had been delighted with her treatment of the eggs.

No. 122. Appropriate Language.—"Auntie," said another little three-year-old, one day—"Auntie, I don't lite mine apons tarched so drefful. So much tarchess makes the tiffness tratch my—bareness."

No. 123. After-thoughts.—Master Frank was in the habit of tumbling out of bed o' nights, and his father would call him to account for it next morning. One day he said, "Well, Frank, and so you tumbled out of bed again?" "No I didn't, papa—it was the pillow; for I went up to see, and the pillow was on the floor, by the bed-side." "What made you cry, then, my boy?" "Well, you see, it was so dark, papa, I couldn't tell at first whether 'twas me or the pillow."

No. 124. Baby Theologians.—A child in the sabbath-school, on being asked if he could mention a place where God was not, answered, "He is not in the thoughts of the wicked."

Another, when told that God was everywhere, asked, "In this room?" "Yes." "In the closet?" "Yes." "In the drawers of my desk?" "Yes—everywhere—He's in your pocket now." "No He ain't, though." "And why not?" "Tauth, I ain't dut no pottet."

No. 125. A great Mystery.—"There is a little girl in Kentucky," says a respectable paper, judging by appearances, "who has never spoken to her father. She talks freely with anybody else, but when her father speaks to her, she is speechless. They have whipped her, again and again, but to no purpose; for she declares, with trembling lips, and with tears in her eyes, that she has often tried to speak to him, but could not."

No. 126. Childish Metaphysics.—A grandson of the governor of Virginia, a child of only four or five summers, was on a visit, not long ago, to his maternal grandfather, a large landholder in Ohio. One day, after a first visit to the sabbath-school, he led his grandfather down to a magnificent tree, heavily laden with walnuts.

"Grandpa," said he, "whom do all these woods and fields belong to?"—of course the child said who, instead of whom; but that is neither here nor there.

"They belong to me, Charley."

"No, sir—no!—they belong to God."

The grandfather said nothing, till they reached the tree.

"Well, my boy, whom does this tree belong to?" he asked, as they stopped underneath its wide, heavy branches.

For a moment, Charley hesitated; and then, looking up into the tree, he said, while his mouth watered visibly, "Well, gran'father, the tree belongs to God, but the walnuts are ours."

No. 127. "A touch of Nature makes the whole world kin."—A little boy, who had been tormented by clouds of mosquitoes till he could bear it no longer, exclaimed, "O dear me! O dear me! I do wish God would kill the mosquitoes! I don't know what I would give Him, if He only would."

No. 128. An Etymologist.—A Connecticut boy insisted on knowing what was meant by the slang phrase, "a gone sucker"; and was overheard praying soon after, on being sent off to bed—"God bless papa and mamma, and baby; but I'se been such a bad boy, I rather guess I'm a gone sucker."

No. 129. "How old are you, my dear?" said a railroad conductor to a little gentlewoman, whose mother was trying to pass with a half ticket. "I'm nine at home," was the reply, "but in the cars I'm only half-past six."

No. 130. A fair Inference.—Dear little Mamie H., who had just got over her sixth birthday, was studying her sabbath-school lesson, when her mother told her, in reply to some question she had urged with a deal of earnestness, that the naughty devil was black. "Well, then, mamma," said the child, "if he was a good devil, I s'pose he'd be white."

No. 131. Grandchildren on their Good Behavior.—Bishop, to Nellie peeping through the side-lights, with a big tom-cat in her arms. "Come and see me, Nellie."

"No—I tan't."

Bishop.—"Come come, and bring the cat with you; I want to see her."

"No, no! Tommy don't like Bishops."

No. 132. A Baby Spendthrift.—"I say, Bobby," said one little youngster to another, "lend me two cents, will yer? I got up so early, that I spent all my money 'fore breakfast."

"More fool you."

"Wal!—how should I know the day was goin' to be so long?"

No. 133. A Maxim well applied.—"Never put off till to-morrow, my dear boy, what you can do to-day," said a watchful mother to her inquiring son. "Yes, mamma, and so we'll have the raspberry-pie now, that's put away for to-morrow—shan't we, mamma?"

No. 134. A fair Inference.—At a sabbath-school concert in a crowded and popular church, the pastor, who prided himself on the quickness and cleverness of his little ones, said, "Boys, when I heard your beautiful songs to-night, I had to work hard to keep my feet still; now what do you think was the trouble with them?" "Chilblainth!" shouted a little chap of six, or thereabouts.

No. 135. A timely Rebuke.—A bright-eyed little fellow, in one of the Brooklyn private-schools, having spelt a word, was asked by his teacher, "Are you willing to bet you're right, Bennie?" The boy looked up with an air of astonishment, and replied, "I know I'm right, Miss V——, but I never bet."

No. 136. A dangerous Query.—A pupil was asked what S double E spelt. Being rather slow with his answer, the teacher grew impatient, and exclaimed, "You dunce! What is it I do with my eyes?" "O', I know the word now, ma'am—S double E, squint."

No. 137. Constructiveness.—The Springfield Republican tells of a young gentleman who doesn't want to be the last angel God makes, because "he wants to see how He makes 'em."

No. 138. Imitation.—A little girl at Keokuk, Iowa, was lately found in a barn giving trapèze performances to quite a gathering of wee folks. They had fitted up a trapèze, with an old clothes-line and a broomstick, at an elevation of twenty feet. "The party was broken up," says a spectator, "before anything else was broken."

No. 139. The Tables turned.—"Are you talking to me, sir?" said a respectable man to a little scapegrace, who had been holding what he called an argument with his papa; "I'm your father, sir. Remember that, sir!"

"Well, who's to blame for that, I should like to know—'taint me," said the boy.

No. 140. Language.—A bright, clear-eyed little thing of three summers, after listening demurely to a chapter of the Old Testament, which her father read to the family aloud one pleasant Sabbath, looked up with the air of one who felt called upon to say something, in the dead silence that followed, and whispered, "Papa, ain't God a funny fellow?" What knew that child of irreverence? What she meant to say was that she had been delighted.

No. 141. A new Paraphrase.—A father, who always insisted upon his children giving their version of what they heard, in their own language, to show that they understood it, asked Charlie to repeat the text which they had been listening to.

Charlie hesitated awhile, and then, as if it had come to him all at once, broke out with, "What are you loafing round here for, doin' nothing? Go into my barn-yard, and go to work, and I'll make it all right with you."

The text was, "Why stand ye here all the day idle? Go into the vineyard and work, and whatsoever is right, I will pay thee." Who will venture to say that the poor child did not understand the meaning?

No. 142. The Darlings.—"Mamma!" shouted Lollipop, "make Bobby 'have himself; every time I hit him with the whap-stick he hollars out."

No. 143. Another child was once heard calling out from the head of the stairs to her mamma, that nurse "wouldn't quiet her."

No. 144. Tit for Tat.—Another wee thing, after complaining of her teacher, said, with a tap of her little foot, and a something between a sob and a whimper, she did "wish Miss Maria would go to school to herself awhile, that she might see how she liked it."

No. 145. A fair Inference.—A little boy and girl had been repeatedly cautioned not to take the nest-egg, when foraging in the hay-mow, and along by the fences; but one evening, little Sis found her way to the nest, rather in advance of Bubby, and snatching the egg, off she started for the house. Her brother followed, screaming, "Mother! mother! Susy's ben and got the egg the old hen measures by!"

No. 146. Another.—A little bit of a thing who had just got back from a party, was asked by her mamma how she had enjoyed herself. "O mamma!" said she, "I'm so full of happiness—I couldn't be no happier, without I was bigger." So reasoned Samuel Johnson. The quart pot and the pint may both be full; but the quart holds most.

No. 147. From Over-Sea.—A little five-year-old Parisian went to church with his mamma. Both began praying. "Mamma," whispered the little fellow, "I've said my prayer." "Say it over again, my dear." The child obeys, and whispers, "I have said it again, mamma," and gets the same answer; and so for the third time, the mother not liking to be hurried in her devotions. "But, mamma, I have said it over three times." "Say it again, my dear." "But, mamma—won't it be tedious for the good God to listen all the time to the same prayer? What if I say over the fable I've just learnt at school?"

No. 148. Definition of Faith.—A child was asked, "What is faith?" "Doing God's will and asking no questions," was her reply.

Another fair Inference.—"Lottie, dear," said a little visitor to her playfellow of three, "what makes our Kitty so cross?" "'Cause she's tuttin' her teef, I spec."

No. 149. And yet another.—A little thing in a sabbath-school was asked by her teacher "if she always said her prayers night and morning." "No, Miss, I don't." "Why, Mary! Are you not afraid to go to sleep in the dark, without asking God to take care of you, and watch over you till morning?" "No, Miss, I ain't—'cause I sleep in the middle."

No. 150. Did his Best.—A little chap had a dirty face, and his teacher told him to go and wash it. He went away, and after a few minutes came back, with the lower part of his countenance tolerably clean, while the upper part was dirty and wet.

"Johnny," said the teacher, "why didn't you wash your face?"

"I did wash it, sir," said Johnny.

"You didn't wipe it all over, then?"

"I did wipe it, as high up as my shirt would go."

And this reminds me of a little boy who had been told never to go into the water without leave. One day he came home heated and tired, with his shirt on wrong side out. "You've been in a-swimming, Josie," said his mother. "No, mamma." "How came your shirt turned inside out, then?" "Wal," said Josie, after a moment's hesitation, "I rather guess it was when I got over that high fence, and turned a somerset, head first."

No. 151. A new Version.—A boy in our District School was reading a lesson from the Bible in that deliberate fashion so usual with chaps of six, and when he came to the passage, "Keep thy tongue from evil and thy lips from guile," he drawled out, with a decided emphasis, "Keep—thy—tongue from evil; and thy lips from—from—girls." Of course, there followed an explosion. "Job was an oyster-man; and the Lord, he shot him with four balls," if we may believe a new reading of what was intended for Scripture: "Somebody was an austere man; and the Lord smote him with sore boils."

No. 152. Children and Fools are said to speak the Truth.—"Be you good?" said a little chap to Miss Bella M——, of the sabbath-school here.

"O no!" was the becoming reply.

"You ain't! well I knew you wasn't pretty, but I always thought you was good."

No. 153. The following sweet lines are too good for abridgment, or paraphrase. I know not where they originated; nor who was the author. Was there ever anything more childlike and beautiful than "Mamma, God knows all the rest?"—or ever lines worthier of the text?

No. 154. Natural Language.—A youngster of only two and a half, who had often heard complaints in the family about pegs hurting the feet, stole up to his mother one day, with his fingers in his mouth, and said, "Mamma! O mamma! Me dut pegs tummin in my mouf, and dey hurts Billy." On further examination, he was found to be cutting no less than three little teeth.

No. 155. An embryo Theologian.—A little boy, disputing one day with his elder sister upon some Bible question, sung out, "I tell ye, it's true! for Ma says so; an' if Ma says so, it is so, if it ain't so." That boy's career is evident enough. Submission to authority, and sheer dogmatism, will be likely to overtop the pretensions of private judgment.

No. 156. Budding Subterfuges.—A little girl, belonging to Hartford, Connecticut, was called to account one day by her mother for killing flies. The amusement had become a serious occupation, and her dexterity in catching them was only to be matched by her astonishing aptitude in killing them. Her mother had begun to be frightened. "Mary, my love," said she, "don't you know that God loves the little flies?"

Mary stood for a few moments, lost in thought, her beautiful countenance growing sadder and sadder, as if her conscience had begun to testify against her in a whisper, just as poor Herod's might have done, after the slaughter of his innocents. At last, having apparently settled the question with herself, she stole up to the nearest window where a big blue-bottle was blundering and bumping about, and buzzing at a fearful rate. After watching it for several minutes, with a piteous expression, as if her heart were too full for speech, she began whispering just loud enough to be heard by her mother, "Do ee fy know dat Dod loves oo? Duz oo love Dod?"—stretching out her little hand as if to soothe its evident terror. "Duz oo? Duz oo want to zee Dod?—well," in a tone of the tenderest commiseration, putting her finger on the fly, and crushing it softly against the glass—"Well—oo sal!"

No. 157. A young Nero.—And this reminds me of something told me by General Fessenden, the father of all the general Fessendens we know of. "When I was a little fellow," said he, "not more than so high, the Old Adam within me (what we Phrenologists call Destructiveness, he meant) led me to pull off the wings of flies, and to impale them on pins, and set them buzzing at the end of a hair. My father, in passing one day, stopped long enough to catch me in the act. 'Nero!' said he, and passed on. 'Well,' said I to myself, 'what did he mean by that? Nero—Nero—I'll ask somebody.' I did so—found out who Nero was, and from that day to this, have never tormented any of God's creatures! And yet, he was a lawyer, in large practice—and I believed him—that is, I believed him, till I knew better."

No. 158. Total Depravity.—"Do you say your prayers every day, my little man—every night and morning?" said a mother in Israel to a little reprobate of a shoe-black, to whom she had just given a trifle. "Yes 'm,—I alluz says 'em at night, mum; but any smart boy can alluz take care o' hisself in the daytime," was the reply.

No. 159. Infant Theology.—A visitor of large experience in sabbath-schools, asked the children at a crowded examination, "What was the sin of the Pharisees?" "Eatin' camels, ma'am," said one of the smartest, who had carried off many a prize. On further questioning, the child justified, by referring to the passage, where the Pharisees were said to strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel.

No. 160. Sabbath-school Exercise.—But an English gentlewoman once told me of something she herself had witnessed at a great London sabbath-school examination, where a celebrated questioner called out a little bright-eyed boy, by name, and asked him why Joseph refused to go to bed with Potiphar's wife, when she asked him. A dead silence followed, and then a look of amazement and consternation over all the house, like a cloud: "'Cause he wan't sleepy," said the boy. A dead silence followed; and then a most unseemly titter, on every side, so that the questioner's indiscretion seemed to be entirely lost sight of.

No. 161. Effectual Prayer.—A little boy in Jamaica went to the missionary, and told him that he had been very ill, and often wished for the minister to come and pray with him.

"But, Thomas," said the missionary, "I hope you prayed for yourself?"

"O yes, indeed!"

"Well—and how did you pray?"

"O, I jess begged."

Another child in a Sunday-school, only six at most, said, "When we kneel down here in the school-room to pray, it seems to me as if my heart was talking with God."

Another little girl, just turning four, on being questioned why she prayed to God, answered—

"Because I know He hears me, and so I love to pray to Him."

"But how do you know He hears you?"

Putting her little hand upon her heart, she whispered, "O, I know He does, mamma, because there is something here that tells me so."

No. 162. Tit for Tat.—A pretty four-year-old midget went out to play on the sidewalk. When she returned with wet and muddy feet, showing that she had been somewhere else, her mother began to look serious; whereupon the child, anticipating the worst, murmured, with her head in her mother's lap, "Now, mamma, you be dood to me, and I'll be dood to you."

No. 163. A very proper Distinction.—A little thing, not quite old enough to understand her catechism, getting puzzled over the question, "Who made you?" went for the answer to her mother. Having been told that God made her, and all her little friends, and the whole human family, she lost no time in communicating the discovery to Daisy Dean, her doll of only one summer. Taking the little one on her knee, and looking very solemn, she said, "Now, Daisy Dean, look me right in the eyes: I want to tell 'oo somesin. Dod made grampa—and gramma—and me—and papa and mamma; but——" after a pause, and shaking her head slowly and impressively—"but, Daisy Dean, Dod only sewed you."

No. 164. Human Nature.—A boy of about five, a bagfull of bumble-bees at the best, when required to be still on the Sabbath, getting weary toward nightfall, went up to his father, who had no little of the Puritan mingled with his affection for the child, and said to him, with great seriousness,—"Come, pa, let's have some spiritual fun." This was a little too much for papa's gravity; and so he let him have it—for once.

No. 165. Courtesy.—"A Brooklyn friend, who believes in catechism, and teaches it with unflinching pertinacity, worthy of Calvin or Luther," says somebody—"was putting one of four through his paces one day, when the question came up, 'Who tempted Eve?' The little fellow answered, after some consideration, with a look of triumph, pointing to the floor, 'It's the gentleman that lives down there—I forget his name.'" For "down there," the reader is at liberty to substitute another phrase, if he happens not to be of the mealy-mouthed.

No. 166. Doll-Factory.—A preacher in the neighborhood of Lewiston had a little daughter, who had gone into the business of manufacturing paper dolls. In the midst of a sermon, lately, he drew out his pocket-handkerchief, in somewhat of a hurry, and lo! the whole air was filled with what seemed at first to be Japanese butterflies. When they settled, however, they were found to be paper dolls, about fifty in number, which had been stowed away in his pocket-handkerchief, by his little one, for safe keeping. The audience appeared to enjoy the rest of the sermon exceedingly.

No. 167. Undiluted Orthodoxy.—A little girl was much in the habit of reproving her dolls for misbehavior, and sometimes after a most alarming fashion. Her mother overheard her one day, while she was taking the prettiest to task for being so naughty: "O you naughty, sinful child," said she, shaking the poor little waxen image, "you'll go to the lake of fire and brimstone, you will! and you won't burn up, like other babies—you'll only jest sizzle."

No. 168. Puzzling Questions.—A little boy, who had just been admitted to the sabbath-school, was greatly scandalized at finding, on his way home, an apothecary's shop in full blast at a neighboring corner. "But, my dear," said mamma, "the druggist is obliged to keep open Sunday, so that sick people may get medicine." "Why! do people get sick on Sunday?" "Yes, just as on any other day." "Well, good people don't die on Sunday, do they?" "Certainly." "Why, how can that be? Does heaven keep open Sunday?"

No. 169. Childish Faith.—The Portland Transcript knows of a little four-year-old, who, being out for a sail, was told by his mother that they were now on the sea. "On the sea, mamma! then who'll take care of us?" "God, my dear—He will take care of us." "O yes—I know—he's one o' them kind."

No. 170. The same inquisitive chap could not understand how two boys who had died before he was born, could be his brothers. Mamma explained, that being her children they were his brothers, though God had taken them away to live with Him, before he was born. He was very silent and thoughtful for a few moments, and then exclaimed, "O yes, I see—I used to play with 'em up there in heaven, before I came down here."

No. 171. The Boy and the Bobbylink.—A bird lighted on a twig near a little rugged-and-tough, hardly old enough to make himself understood. The child took up a stone to throw at him, after the fashion of older boys. Just then the little songster opened fire: "Bob-o'-link! bobbylink! won't you, will ye! will ye, won't you! I'll mend your breeches if you'll find the pieces—bobbylink!—link—link!" The boy's outstretched arm dropped slowly down to his side. "Why didn't you let fly, sonny?" said a stranger who had been watching him, and was not a little curious to see how the struggle would end. The boy shook his head, with a sorrowful air, but said nothing. "You might have killed him and carried him home," said the stranger.

"I touldn't," said the little scapegrace.

"Couldn't! and why not, pray?"

"'Cause he sung so."

No. 172. Superfluities.—A youngster, on being taken to the window of a toy-shop where he saw a papier maché mouse, which, on being wound up, ran hither and thither, and whisked about like a live mouse, turned away with ineffable contempt, saying, "O no, mamma, I don't want that! we've got lots of 'em at home, and don't have to wind 'em up, neither."

No. 173. Imitation!—Two children of St. Louis were "playing butcher" not long ago. He who personated the ox doesn't go to school any more. One blow with a hatchet from a sturdy five-year-old, nearly split his head; but he bellowed so frightfully, as to alarm the neighborhood, and bring relief, just as the hatchet was lifted for another blow.

No. 174. Soliloquies.—A little six-year-old, while undressing one night, with his arms over his head tying his night-gown behind, was overheard saying to himself, "I can beat Tommy Tucker, I can; I can write my name in writin'; I can tell the time o' day by the clock, I can spell Nebuchadnezzar, yes—and what's more—I can tie a double bow-knot." There's a reasonable amount of self-complacency for you! He was made for an author, and may soon be getting up his autobiography.

No. 175. Another little chap under four, while wading through a mud-puddle after a heavy shower, came across an angle-worm, and then fell into a reverie,—"Worms—they are the snakes' babies; little mices—they are the rats' babies; and the stars—they are the moon's babies—don't I know"—splash! splash!

No. 176. Capital definition of Happiness.—A six-year-old school-girl of Norwich, Connecticut, was asked for a definition of the word "happy." "O, it is to feel as if you wanted to give all your things to your little sister."

No. 177. A fair Inference.—"Mamma," said a promising chap of four summers, "if the people are all made of dust, ain't the colored folks made of coal-dust?"

No. 178. Not so bad.—A well-known, faithful teacher of Bridgeport, who has charge of an infant class in a Sunday-school there, reports the following case. Not long ago he was talking with them about the origin of Christmas:—

"Where was Christ born?" he asked.

"In Bethlehem."

"Where is Bethlehem?"

"In Judea."

"Who first knew that Christ was born?"

"His mother."

No. 179. As the Spirit moveth.—A little Quaker boy, about six years old, after sitting, like the rest of the congregation, in dead silence, all being afraid to speak first, as he thought, got up on the seat, and folding his arms over his breast, murmured, in a sweet, clear voice, just loud enough to be distinctly heard on the fore-seat, "I do wish the Lord would make us all gooder—and gooder—and gooder—till there is no bad left." Would a longer prayer have been more to the purpose?

No. 180. A Non Sequitur.—"What have you done with your doll, Amy?" "Lock it up, papa; doin' to teep it for my itty dirl, when I get big, jess like mamma." "Ah, but if you shouldn't have any little girl?" "Never mind, papa—then I'll dive it to my g'an'chile."

No. 181. A Young Protestant.—Not long ago, as a crowd of foreigners were presented to the Pope, a little American boy, between four and five years of age, was led up with the rest. The Pope seemed pleased with the bright-eyed little fellow, and lifted his foot somewhat higher than usual, that the boy might more conveniently kiss the cross embroidered upon the toe of his sandal. The boy did not seem to relish the proposition. Drawing himself up, he looked His Holiness full in the face, and said, with emphasis, "No sir, I won't do it!" The Americans and English who were present hardly knew which way to look; but the Pope only smiled good-humoredly, and exclaimed, Americano!

The venerable man is said to be "very fond of children, and very indulgent," having none of his own, and no nephews or nieces, to speak of.

Not long ago, the little son of an architect employed on certain alterations of St. Peter's Basilica, for a coming festival, was sent by the father to His Holiness, with drawings and specifications. The Pope was so much pleased with the plans, and with the sprightliness of the little messenger, that he led him to a secretary, opened a drawer full of gold pieces, and told him to help himself. "Holy Father," said the little scapegrace, "what if you take 'em and give 'em to me—your hand is bigger than mine." The Pope smiled, and took advantage of the suggestion. So says our "Parisian correspondent."

No. 182. Another Word for a Blow.—A little boy and girl were playing on the road-side among the clover-blossoms and butter-cups. The boy, who seemed about five, suddenly took offence, and gave his little playmate, who was still younger, a smart slap on the cheek. She turned away, and sat down in the long grass, and began to cry. At first, the poor boy seemed cross and sulky, as if determined to brave it out, but after a minute or two his beautiful eyes changed color, his mouth trembled, and he said, "I didn't mean to hurt you, Katy, darling—I am sorry." The little rosy face brightened up—the sobs were hushed. "Well, then, if you are sorry," said she, "it don't hurt me."

No. 183. Just as the Twig is bent, etc. etc.—In order to amuse the children of a sabbath-school, the teacher began reading to her class the story of David and Goliah; and coming to the passage where Goliah so boastingly dared the stripling shepherd-boy to enter the list, a little chap, newly breeched, up and said to her, "Skip that! skip that! He's blowin'—I want to know who licked."

No. 184. And only yesterday the following illustration of my text happened in Fore-Street. Near Gorham's Corner, two little boys had set themselves in battle-array against a third, somewhat larger. They were all in petticoats, by the way. At last one of the two stepped a little in advance of his companion, and bending his arm like a prize-fighter, sung out, "D'ye see that! jess feel o' that air muscle!" The arm appeared about the size of a turkey's leg, while he was manipulating the biceps; and the countenance that of a trained pugilist. As the bigger boy stepped up to feel that muscle, the little fellow let fly, and sent him head over heels into the gutter, petticoats and all.

No. 185. The Gates Ajar.—"Our five-year-old," says a neighbor, "stood looking at the new moon a night or two ago. After a long and thoughtful pause, he turned to his mother and whispered, 'Mamma, O mamma! Dod has opened the door a little way.'"

No. 186. Inferential.—A mother, who had with her a little daughter, was examining the figure of a horse on a tomb-stone, and wondering what on earth it was an emblem of. There was nothing to explain it, in the inscription. "Mamma," said the little one, as they moved away, "I shouldn't wonder if she died of the nightmare."

No. 187. Capital!—Just before Washington's birthday, in February last, a teacher, while notifying the class, and preparing them for the holiday, said something to the purpose, about the Father of his Country, and then put the question,—

"Why should we celebrate Washington's birthday any more than mine?"

"Because he never told a lie!" shouted a young whippersnapper near the door. But as he didn't vanish, probably he didn't mean it. He had only read Weems's "Life of Washington" to advantage, and didn't care who knew it.

No. 188. Save the Pieces!—At Winchester, N.H., last winter, a girl of ten, the daughter of O. L. Howard, coasted over a bank twenty feet high, into the Ashuelot river. While on the way she was heard saying to herself, "I'm afraid I shall lose my sled!" But she didn't, and was none the worse for her ducking, though rather damp.

No. 189. Sublime.—A cowardly scamp, though fashionably dressed, having kicked a poor little newsboy, for trying to sell him a paper, the lad hove to, till another boy accosted the "gentleman," and then shouted, in the hearing of all the bystanders, "It's no use to try him, Joe—he can't read."

No. 190. Constructiveness.—The Belfast Journal renders an account of a young authoress in that neighborhood, who, at the age of nine, has written the opening chapter of a sensation story. Two of the characters are described as twins, one five, and the other six years old.

No. 191. Boston Notions.—The rector of a parish in Toledo, Ohio, was lately catechizing the children of his Sunday-school, and asked, "Where did the wise men come from?" "From Boston!" shouted a little wretch, at the top of his voice. Upon further inquiry, it was found that both father and mother were of the Bay-State faith.

No. 192. Timely Preparation.—The Lewiston Journal says that a little four-year-old, while standing by her teacher on examination-day, after having spelt cat, dog, ox, cow, and some other monosyllables, suddenly snatched at the teacher's watch-guard, and whispered, "Please, mayn't I be 'smissed after my class gets through readin', so 't I can run home an' get my hair fizzled for the 'mittee?" Whereupon the teacher 'smissed her.

No. 193. Conscience-money.—A Sunday-school teacher was in the habit of passing round the hat among the little folks, for missionary purposes. One day, he was thrown all aback, on finding a counterfeit shilling among the coppers. Diligent inquiry being had, the little reprobate, who was only expected to give a penny, but an honest penny, was found out. "Georgie," said the teacher, with great seriousness, "didn't you know it was good for nothing?" "To be sure I did," muttered the boy. "Then why did you put it into the box?" "Well, I didn't 'spose the little heathens would know the difference, and so I thought it would be just as good for them."

No. 194. Combativeness.—"Look here, mister!" sung out a lad of seven, who had been treed by a ferocious dog; "if you don't call that dog off, I'll eat up all your peaches!"

No. 195. Childish Faith.—A little fellow with his first pocket-knife, had it in use most of the time, for several days, occasionally lending it to his playmates, "just to whittle with." One evening, after he had been got ready for the night, and was kneeling by his mother's lap in his night-gown, he finished off the usual service of "Now I lay me," with a "please God give little Jemmy Bailey a knife of his own, so't he won't have to borrow mine all the time."

No. 196. A Good Lesson for Mothers.—A bright-eyed, active little fellow, who in due time made his way up to the desk, used to beset his mother, in season and out of season, for a coat like his elder brothers, with pockets behind. To all his importunities, the reply was—"Don't be in a hurry; you are a little boy,—little boys don't wear such coats. When you get to be a man, you shall have a coat with pockets behind." After awhile the boy had to go to the springs for his health; but he shuddered and shrank away from the cold bath. "Why, Charley, you are a man—you shouldn't be afraid."

"O yes, I understand," was the reply; "when I want pockets behind, I am only a little boy; and now that you want me to go in here—now, I am a man."

No. 197. Funeral Ceremonies.—The San Francisco correspondent of a Sacramento paper tells the following: "A little friend of ours found among the gifts of Santa Claus a plump little waxen-doll. She christened it Maud, and used to take it out for a walk, every pleasant morning. The other day, on seeing a rag of orange-colored merino pinned to a stick by the nursery-door, I peeped in at the children, but was immediately served with notice to quit, by Bobby, who seemed to be the doctor, or a health committee-man; for 'Maud was tooken dreadful bad with the small-pox, and the yeller flag was hung out—didn't I see it?' Soon after this, I heard a piteous wailing, with a sad attempt, and a sadder failure, to sing the sabbath-school hymn, 'Sister thou wast Mild and Lovely,' after which there was a little, crooked, undulating procession, Bobby carrying the dog and Floy the cat, wrapped in shawls, and as they slowly made their way up the hill, into the garden, I understood, from the dismal moaning and sobbing, and from the melancholy rags they bore, that the undertakers were 'performing' a funeral, poor Maud having died of the terrible visitation. I hurried up to the grave, in what I dare say passed for unseemly haste, but just in time to save the poor little wax baby from being buried alive, or, at least, in all her bewitching helplessness. Upon remonstrating, 'We'd ony sowed her up in a bag,' murmured Floy, 'and we would have undigged her.'"

No. 198. Glimpses of the sabbath-school.—"Gerty, my dear, you were a very good little girl to-day," said the teacher. "Yes'm—I couldn't help bein good; I got a tiff neck," said Gerty, with perfect seriousness.

"Who's that a-bearin'?"—The solemnity of a fashionable church in Chicago was greatly disturbed, not long ago, by a little incident worth remembering. Somebody's three-year-old pet had been often amused at home with pretty good imitations of a bear, growling over his prey. While the congregation were singing, one of those predetermined, zealous worshippers, to be found everywhere, who cannot be persuaded to withhold their contributions in church, though they never dream of pitching a tune anywhere else, began a low, growling accompaniment, within two or three pews of the child, without regard for time or tune, though evidently to his own satisfaction, under an idea that he was singing base—instead of basely. The little one looked surprised, and turning suddenly to mamma, asked, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the whole congregation, just as a lull occurred in the stanza, "O mamma! mamma! who's that a-bearin'?"

Will nobody take the hint? Let us have congregational singing by all means, instead of oratorios and operas, for church music—but no menagerie music, if you please.

No. 199. A Plea in Bar.—"Come up here, you young reprobate, and take a sound spanking," said the teacher, out of all patience with a mischievous, quick-witted boy.

"You ain't got no right to spank me, and the copy you've set for me says so."

"Saucebox! Let me hear you read that copy; read it aloud, so that everybody can hear you."

Whereupon the boy reads, like a trumpet, "'Let all the ends thou aimest at be thy country's!'"

"Go to your seat, you young scapegrace."

And he went.

No. 200. Foresight.—"Two cocoa-nuts for ten cents! hurrah!" shouted a little shaver to his playfellow across the street; "that'll make me sick to-morrow, and I shan't have to go to school—hurrah!"

No. 201. I wouldn't, would you?—A three-year-old youngster saw a drunken fellow staggering through a crowded thoroughfare. "Mother," said he, "did God make that man?" "Yes, my dear." "Well," after considering a moment, "maybe He did, but I wouldn't have done it."

No. 202. A drop of Gold.—"Mother," said a little poet of four summers, "just hear the trees makin' music, for the leaves to dance by."

No. 203. Another!—A little fellow was eating bread and milk, when he turned round to his mother and exclaimed, "O mother! I'm full of glory! There was a lot o' sunshine in my spoon, and I swallowed it!"

No. 204. Suggestive.—"She said she wouldn't let me go to her funeral, grandma; but you'll let me go to yours, grandma, won't you—there's a dear."

No. 205. Logical Inference.—A little boy of our neighborhood, with an eye as clear as a kitten's, had a dog named Caper. Dining with his grandmother not long ago, when they had boiled mutton, his attention was attracted by something he saw in the butter-boat. "What's them, gam'ma?" said he. "Capers, my dear." He looked puzzled—grew thoughtful—and watched the plates awhile, and then, having made up his mind, he came out with, "Please, gam'ma, I want some more o' them little dogs." Of course he had them.

No. 206. Classification.—"Who makes the laws of our government?" asked a committee-man of the class under review—a class of Lilliputians. "Congress." "And how is Congress divided?" A dead silence. At last a dear little thing, not more than so high, with a wonderful memory, threw up her hand, thereby signifying that she was ready to answer it. "Well," said the teacher, "what say you, Sallie? How are they divided?" "Into civilized, half-civilized, and savage," was the triumphant reply. If it be true, that the greater the truth the greater the libel, might not Miss Sallie be indicted? Congressional miscreants are getting so plentiful, just now, that children should be cautioned—or tongue-tied.

No. 207. Funny.—"There now!" said a little bit of a thing, while rummaging a drawer in a bureau, and turning the contents all topsy-turvy, of course; "there now! gran'pa has gone to heaven without his spectacles. Won't you take 'em with you, gramma, when you go?"

No. 208. A Natural Bonesetter.—A little fellow pitched head foremost from the top of a coal-bin, and put his shoulder out. A surgeon was sent for "about the quickest." No sooner had the messenger turned his back, than the boy went to work anew, notwithstanding the pain, and while climbing over the back of a chair, as if it were a ladder, he got another tumble, which frightened his poor mother so that she hadn't strength enough to scream. But lo! up jumped the young scapegrace, and began surveying his arm, and shouting, "It's all right, mother! it's all right!" And so it proved. The dislocation had been reduced with a snap, the joint was back in its place, and the young gentleman was ready for another demonstration.

No. 209. No you don't!—Freddy, between three and four, and Willie, about five, were both extravagantly fond of milk, and always had a mug of the best, to top off with, at supper; but, being in the country the other day, they happened, for the first time in their lives, to see a girl milking. "There now, Willie," said the youngest, "you see that, don't you? I don't want any more milk after the cow's had it," averting his eyes from the operation as he spoke, with an expression of downright loathing. At supper, when their little mugs of milk were got ready for them, both refused to touch them. On being questioned, Freddy contented himself with saying that, for his part, he didn't want any milk after the cows had it—and there he stopped, as if unwilling to go farther. But Willie came out plump, with an account of the discovery made in the morning.

Their mother saw that she had no time to lose; otherwise an unconquerable repugnance might be associated with their fondness for a wholesome diet, and so she told them how milk was made: that they did not have it from the cows at second-hand, but that when cows ate grass, and clean vegetables, and fruit, they were all changed into milk by a wonderful chemical process, like that which turns all our food to nourishment, giving us flesh and blood, bones and muscle, according to our growth. Willie seemed satisfied with the explanation, and went back to the little mug; but Freddy was not to be persuaded.

After supper Willie took his brother aside into a corner, and was overheard expostulating with him, and saying, "It's all right now, Freddy, and you can go on drinking your milk, just as you always have. The cow eats grass, and that's what makes it. Now if the cow didn't eat the grass, you'd have to, you see. That's what the cow's for."

Freddy went back to his milk without another word, as being, at the worst, somewhat more agreeable than eating grass.

No. 210. Little Pitchers have Big Ears.—A child, the son of a minister, sat on the floor playing with his blocks one afternoon, when two or three female parishioners dropped in for a dish of chat with mamma. The conversation, after a few moments, turned, very naturally, it may be supposed, on a floating scandal of the day. They had entirely forgotten the child; but all at once recollected themselves, and came to a sudden stop, and, looking at each other, tried to recall what had been said.

There sat the little imp, busy with his playthings, and, as it appeared upon further inquiry, after the visitors had gone, without having understood a syllable of what had been said; but the lively chattering stopped so suddenly, he looked up, and then, turning over and rolling on the floor, as if unable to restrain himself, he sung out, "Go on! go right on! that's jess sech as I like to hear, every day!"

No. 211. A Hint for the Doctor.—A little four-year-old midget being in a bad way, was called upon to take a very nauseous medicine, and was sitting in a high chair, in her night-dress, when the cup was offered her. She shook her head with a piteous look, and then said, "No no—me tan't tate it so; but me'll tate it with soogar," and sent off the nurse for a lump. Whereupon her little brother rushed up to her, shouting, "Take it, Sallie! take it, while she's gone, Sallie, and cheat her! and then hide, Sallie—that's the way I do." And thereupon Miss Sallie gulped down the abominable mixture to the last dregs, without winking, only saying, "It choke Sallie," and then scrabbling down from the high chair, and scuttling away under the bed, with an occasional chuckle, and popping out her little curly head, her eyes dancing with joy, while waiting for the nurse to get back. When she appeared, she was welcomed with a shout of triumph by the youthful conspirators, Miss Sallie never dreaming for a moment that she had been bamboozled.

No. 212. The best of Reasons.—"Breakfasting with a physician the other day," says somebody, whose name does not appear in the record, "little Julia began to talk very earnestly, at the first pause in the conversation. Her father checked her, somewhat sharply, saying, 'Why is it that you always talk so much?' ''Tause I've dot somesin to say,' was the reply. The solemn papa was obliged to look another way, while the guests laughed outright."

No. 213. Discouraging.—A little boy named Knight, of the mission-school at New-London, was told by the teachers, one and all, that if he was good, he would go to heaven. The little fellow accepted the situation, and evidently did his best; but the next time he appeared in his place, he seemed downhearted. On being questioned by his teacher about the cause, and asked if he had been a good boy, he replied, "Yes—I've tried ever so hard to be good; but it's no use. The boys tell me I can't go to heaven, if I am ever so good." "And why not, pray?" "Because they tell me the Bible says there'll be no Knight there."

No. 214. How to fix it.—Master Willie, a very good boy, as boys go, happened to begin going to school, just when the first snow fell, and a pretty new sled, with scarlet runners, had become his property. About school-time, therefore, he began to have such terrible aches. But these would soon pass off, and then he would go off to slide. One morning he came to his mamma with a drefful headache—and school had to be given up. "Very well, my dear," said she; "if you have such a terrible headache, you can stay at home this beautiful morning; but remember, you mustn't ask leave to go and slide, for I shall not consent—I tell you now." "Yes, mamma." But within the next half hour Willie came to her, saying his drefful headache was all gone, and would she let him go just this once. "No, Willie—you know what I said—you wouldn't have me tell a lie, would you?"

Willie turned away somewhat discouraged; but after a few moments his little face brightened up, as with inward sunshine, and he stole up to his mother's knee, and whispered,—"No, mother! No, no! I don't want you to tell a lie; but couldn't you just fix it, you see, as you do when you put me to bed, and say you are not going out, and then go?"

No. 215. Excuse my Candor.—"What a fine head your little boy has!" said a propitiatory friend—a phrenologist, perhaps—to a doating father. "Ay, ay," said the delighted papa; "ay, ay, he's a chip of the old block, ain't you, sonny?" "I guess so," said the boy, "for teacher says I'm a little blockhead."

No. 216. One of the Upper Ten.—"Ma," said a little moppet, "if I should die and go to heaven, would I wear my moire antique?" "No, darling, we cannot suppose we shall carry the fashions of this world into the next." "Then, Ma, how would the little angels know I belonged to the best society?"

No. 217. Catching the Idea.—A little chap, on his return from church, one day, where he heard an organ for the first time in his life, said to his mother, "O, mammy, how I do wish you had been at church to-day, to see the fun. There was a man there pumping music out of an old cupboard."

No. 218. Rather embarrassing.—A young lady—all women are ladies, you know—wishing to impress upon her class in the sabbath-school the terrible effect of Nebuchadnezzar's punishment, assured them that for seven long years he ate grass like a cow. Up jumped a little boy with, "Please, ma'am, did he give milk?" It is said the answer was not forthcoming.

No. 219. Total Depravity again.—"O sister! sister!" said little Mattie, "if you would only let me swear once—only just once!" her heart being too full for utterance.

No. 220. A timely Suggestion.—Mamma was telling Master Freddy about the sacrifice, or intended sacrifice, of Isaac, and explaining the illustration which appeared in the old family Bible. There lay the boy, bound hand and foot, on the altar, with the faggots heaped about him, and the great sacrificial knife just ready to descend, and almost touching the nose of the ram. She was explaining, to the best of her knowledge and belief, the necessity of the sacrifice, and the providential appearance of the substitute, when Freddy, whose feelings had been worked up to concert pitch, exclaimed, "Sheepy, sheepy! why don't you grab the knife, and run?"

No. 221. Tenderness of Conscience.—"Dad—I say, dad—Nathan swored last first-day, I heard him," said the little son of Master Blair, a Scotch Quaker, I once knew. "Ah—an' what deed he say, mon?" "He said Old Scratch, an' I heard him."

No. 222. Beautiful—exceedingly!—A little one was talking about home. "And where is your home, dear?" said a listener. Looking up into his mother's face with loving eyes, he whispered, "Where mother is."

No. 223. An embryo Metaphysician.—"What are you going to see, Sherwood?"

"Nothing, gran'pa."

"Nothing, my boy—how can you see nothing?"

"Easy enough, gran'pa."

"Where would you look for it?"

"Down a well, gran'pa."

"Isn't there something burning here?" said the mother of this boy one day, on coming into the room where he was at play, and sniffing as she spoke.

"Yes, mamma," sniffing in reply.

"Bless me—what is it?"

"Coal, mamma."

No. 224. Influence of Example.—The little son of a friend in the army, had learned to curse heartily, whenever anything disturbed him; his father, of whom he had caught the trick, was ordered off, not long ago, to a distant part of the country. Being separated from his boy, and having had time for reflection, perhaps, he wrote home to his wife that he was sorry to hear how little Joe still continued to curse and swear. "Who told him?" said the boy. "He says a little bird told him," was the mother's reply. "D—n that bird!" exclaimed the little scapegrace. He was only six. While yet a baby, but just able to make himself understood, an Irish girl came rushing in to the mother one day, saying, "O ma'am! he keeps a-sayin' Jesus Christ, in the barn!"

No. 225. Retribution.—"Tell you what 'tis, I won't pray for you when I say my prayers, Willie," said a little thing to her playfellow in the next house; "and Jesus won't bless you, and"—after a little hesitation—"and—He shan't redeem you, neither!"

No. 226. A young Poet.—A little four-year-old, laboring to impress a sister with the prodigious quantity of something he had promised to give her, said, "You just turn the sky over and I'll fill it full—chock-full."

No. 227. Literalness.—"I know!" said a little boy to whom his mother was reading that passage where the Lord is said to be walking in the garden in the cool of the day; "I know! Just as papa does, with his hands behind him, and an old coat on."

No. 228. Letting the delicious Secret out.—Soon after his mother's second marriage, a little shaver reached out his hand for another piece of sponge-cake. Step-father shakes his head, and says No, after a fashion that seems to admit of no appeal. "Well," says the boy, "I don't care—only we're sorry we ever married you;" and then, as if concentrating all the bitterness he felt, in a withering outburst, he added, "And mother says so too!"

No. 229. Their Notions of another World.—"Well then," said a little girl, throwing down her book, "I don't want to die and go to heaven that way; but if God would just let down a big basket, and draw me up with a rope, I do think I should like it."

No. 230. Another little girl, after being made to understand what a post mortem examination was, declared that she would never consent to be so dealt with, after death.

"What! when it would be such a help to the living, my dear?"

"Fiddle-de-dee! how would I look going to heaven all cut to pieces?"

No. 231. Another.—Lottie, lying sick with a fever, having lost a dear little cousin not long before, was unwilling to take her medicine, till she was promised a pair of ear-rings. By and by, when she was believed to be sound asleep, her mother was suddenly startled by a burst of loud laughter. Being asked what was the matter, Lottie said, "O, it tickles me so to think how cousin Hiram will laugh, when he sees me come trottin' into heaven with my new ear-rings!"

No. 232. A Justification.—"Golly!—Gosh!—Gracious!" shouted a funny little chap, at something he saw.

"Why, Bobby," said his mother, "where did you pick up such words?"

"O, I've heard you say Gracious, mamma, and the golly-gosh I just made up myself," was the reply.

One day this dear mother, who had expostulated and pleaded with him till she had no patience left, said she could bear with him no longer; she wouldn't have a little boy round her that used such language; and so she would have to put him away, and try to find another little son. In the bitterness and desolation of his heart, Master Bobby went out into the yard, and sat down on the grass to have a good cry by himself; whereupon a little bantam rooster, not understanding the case, flew up on the fence, and fell a-crowing like all possessed. "Shut up, darn you!" blubbered Bobby, through his big dropping tears; "I've trouble enough on my mind, without you!" He had just promised never to use that, nor any other naughty word again, while he breathed the breath of life.

And for a time he kept his promise. But one day, just when they began to feel greatly encouraged, he burst into the room with, "Oh, mother! what do you think? I was coming through the field just now, and a horse was tied there—the wickedest horse ever you did see; an' he jist stood still there, and kept sayin' 'By golly!' and 'By gosh!' and 'Dod darn you!' and everything else he could think of. If you'd a been there, you'd a-whipped him, oh, ever so hard, mamma! wouldn't you? And so would I, if I'd had a whip." His mind was relieved.

No. 233. Fishing and Mousing.—"Some years ago," says the New England correspondent of—I forget what paper, "my cousin kept a district school. Among her scholars was a little fellow of perhaps four years of age, but too young to speak plainly. One day, when all the others were hard at work, this youngster got hold of a pin and a string. The pin he bent into the shape of a fish-hook, baiting it with a morsel of cheese. He had seen a mouse come up through a hole in the corner of the hearth, not long before, and went to work 'bobbing for whales.' On being asked what he was at, he answered, 'Fishin' for a mousie.' This being rather out of the usual course of study, the teacher, by way of punishment, ordered him to stay where he was, and keep bobbing, till further orders. After a while, there was a commotion; the mouse, it seemed, had swallowed the cheese, hook and all, and the next moment Master Jerry, giving a sudden jerk, sprang into the middle of the room, and swinging the mouse round his head, shouted, 'I've dut 'im! I thware I've dut 'im!'"