LXIV. - BOYS' COUNTRY AMUSEMENTS.

AS

S boys must be amused, it is a benevolent provisi which has decreed that it shall take so little amuse them. All that a boy needs is room to play in a companions to play with, and he is happy as a king. always pity a boy without a companion, or a boy in L don, where there is so little room for playing; and y have no doubt that even under these circumstances b manage to enjoy themselves.

2. But doubtless boyhood is in its glory in the coun The rural juvenile has an ever-changing round of conge pleasures, which leave naught to be desired in his First, in winter there is the ice, the broad rivers, the n dy ponds, the wide fens, converted by the magic of k Frost into a play-ground, over which we go skimming miles as if on fairies' wings, spurning the base realitie solid earth, forgetful of all things but the keen air, and sparkling frost, and the exhilarating motion. What i could seem more Elysian to a boy?

3. But the clouds gather, the snow falls thickly o ground; old ladies lament, but the boy rejoices. L Nature has sent him a new pleasure, — to dabble in snow till he glows with heat, to build the snow-man hi higher, and dance around him, oblivious of wet feet, sco of overshoes. A snowball fight, mad charge, swift retre what sport so full of mingled excitement and good-hu

4. Perhaps we have talent enough to construct a s and go spinning down the hillside at breathless speed erally overturning at the end of our journey, which i the fun. Perhaps we have hare-and-hounds over the tracing the hare by his footsteps, and making the woods ring with our shouts. At all events, we don' by the fire in this glorious weather, I promise you.

5. By and by come spring and summer, and tl tribe still is cared for by Nature. We are off to the we are the first to hail the primrose and the gentle

hap, if the cook be gracious, we roast potatoes in the embers, and imagine ourselves young Robinson Crusoes.

8. Thus pleasure is added to pleasure, till a hard frost some night late in October reminds us that it is time to begin the round again. And at all times we have room to run and jump and tumble and howl to our heart's content, without fear of breaking anything, or frightening anybody, unless haply an aged donkey, browsing in the next field. Is not the country boy's lot cast in pleasant places ? A. R. Hope.

LXV. THE MOSS-ROSE.

TH

I.'

HE Angel of the Flowers one day
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay,

That spirit to whose charge is given

To bathe young buds in dews from heaven.
Awaking from his light repose,

The Angel whispered to the Rose :

II.

"O fondest object of my care,

Still fairest found where all are fair,
For the sweet shade thou hast given me,
Ask what thou wilt, 't is granted thee."

III.

Then said the Rose, with deepening glow,
"On me another grace bestow."

The spirit paused in silent thought, -
What grace was there that flower had not?

EARNING ENJOYMENT.

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LXVI. — EARNING ENJOYMENT.

NE day I heard a boy say to his younger brother, who was crying lustily, "Now, Tom, I know you don't want anything, but what do you think you want?" That boy was a philosopher, and went to the root of the matter. It is not what we really want, but what we think we want, that frets most of us. If you only could snatch to-day's happiness, instead of wondering if you could not get a great deal more for that to-morrow which may never come to you, would n't it be wiser?

2. The other day I went off into the woods with a dear little girl who is much more of a poetess than a philosopher. Not a patch of soft green moss, not the tiniest bud of a wild-flower, or flitting butterfly, or bird, or treeshadow on the smooth clear lake, escaped her bright, glad eyes.

3. The first flower she found enraptured her, and she climbed a steep rock for the second, and so on, till her tiny hands were full. Just then she found quite a bunch of bright pink blossoms, and I was so glad for her; when suddenly she burst into such a grieved, piteous cry, “O dear! O dear! what shall I do? I can't hold them all."

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4. If we would only think of that! That we can't hold them all"; that in order to grasp that which is the moment's wish, we must let something else drop that we prize, something that we can never retrace our steps to reclaim, it may be health, or character, or life itself, for that which is so perishable, so unsatisfying, so harmful, that we can never cease wondering how the glamour of it could have so dazzled our mental and moral vision.

5. The little child I speak of, who clambered up the rock to secure that one flower, was happier in its possession than with myriads that she afterwards found lying at her very feet. She had earned that one! She had encountered a fierce brier-bush; she had got her hands scratched in the conflict; she had tickled her little nose with a defiant twig;

she had tangled her curls; she had scraped her little fat knee till it was red, — and got the flower! All herself too! 6. I could n't elaborate a better moral, if I preached an hour. We don't value happiness in heaps. It is the one little sweet blossom that we earn by faithful work, which we love best after all. Is n't it so?

Fanny Fern.

LXVII. WARREN''S ADDRESS.

AT THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL.

STA

I.

TAND! the ground 's your own, my braves!
Will ye give it up to slaves?

Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?

What's the mercy despots feel?

Hear it in that battle peal!

Read it on yon bristling steel!