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she loved, was sufficient to turn her tears to smiles, her anxieties to contentment. She was indeed a happy child, for she had good sense, and a grateful, affectionate heart.

Little Rachel was now a scholar of some standing in the school, and had worked herself up to within a few places of the first class, when it so happened, that two of the teachers left suddenly, and a third became so ill it was necessary to supply her place. Could this have been foreseen a month before, there would have been more than one girl who would have exerted herself to obtain the vacant situation; but coming unexpectedly, the whole community were astonished to find, on examination of the books, that little Rachel Young must become a teacher. All wondered, some grumbled; but the thing was inevitableshe became "little Rachel, the teacher."

Rachel found teaching harder work than learning; but she set to it valiantly, and both toiled herself and made others toil, till she and they were alike ready to drop. I have never seen any thing like her; she would stand before her class, with her book in her left hand, held out at arm's length, in order to give room for the right; and as she gave sign after sign, and uttered syllable after syllable, as though the whole credit of the establishment depended upon her, it was more like the action of a runner straining his ut

most strength, or of a sailor tugging at a rope, than any thing I have met with; and never did teacher labor with a more sincere and single aim to get her scholars forward. It was well she did so; for had she given them time for rest of thought, perhaps few would have been willing to submit to little Rachel; but she got the machine in motion, and all felt that there was no chance of stopping it till the clock struck twelve.

At length little Rachel began to grow; she had, indeed, been growing for some years, as might be supposed; but her being constantly placed amongst taller and older girls, in consequence of her unremitting industry, caused her always to be thought and spoken of as little. At the time when the great book, which she once feared so much, was committed to her charge, she was growing beyond her strength; and bodily weakness, added to her solicitude to do her utmost, was gradually destroying the fragile flower I had watched with so much interest. My poor Rachel was no longer the playful child, the anxious scholar, nor, indeed, the little teacher; but this was not because she loved her school the less, but the more. The great book had done its work; it had not been forced on her, but given when she was ready to receive it, and had become the book she dearly prized before it became her duty to teach it to others. Her tears

fell frequently when she found her efforts ineffectual, and she was, in truth, a partaker of the cares and the labors of a true servant of Christ, without having, in the least particular, lost the simplicity of a child, and the modesty of a female.

My poor Rachel ! it is useless saying more: she is gone gone before me, I trust, to that rest which God has prepared for those who truly love and fear him. Surely she did not live in vain ? and, if taken early, it has been from the evil of the world, and, in her short time, has accomplished a long time. When I am disposed, at times, to use the words of the Prophet, and say, "Who hath believeth our report ?" I remember my little Rachel, and feel ashamed of growing faint in the service to which my Redeemer hath appointed me. A child's lips have taught

me some of the best lessons I have ever learned

-a child's example hath often impelled me to exertion. I wish it were in my power to convey the feelings with which I write these remarks, and have traced this humble memorial; but I trust mothers and school-mistresses will understand them, and perhaps some school-girls also.

MRS. HOFLAND.

SONG OF THE SNOW-BIRD.

THE ground was all covered with snow one day,
And two little sisters were busy at play,
When a snow-bird was sitting close by on a tree,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-de.

He had not been singing that tune very long, Ere Emily heard him, so loud was that song! "O sister! look out of the window," said she, "Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-de.

"Poor fellow! he walks in the snow and the sleet,
And has neither stockings nor shoes on his feet!
I pity him so-how cold he must be!
And yet he keeps singing his chick-a-de-de.

"If I were a bare-footed snow-bird, I know
I would not stay out in the cold and the snow,
I wonder what makes him so full of his glee?
He's all the time singing that chick-a-de-de."

The bird had flown down for some pieces of bread, And heard every word little Emily said; "What a figure I'd make in that dress!" thought he,

And he laughed as he warbled his chick-a-de-de.

"I'm grateful," said he, "for the wish you

express,

But I have no occasion for such a fine dress;
I had rather remain with my limbs all free,
Than be hobbled about singing chick-a-de-de.

"There is one, my dear child, though I cannot tell who,

Has clothed me already, and warm enough too. Good morning! O, who are so happy as we ?" And away he went singing his chick-a-de-de.

WORDSWORTH.

THE POOR WIDOW.

I KNEW a widow very poor

d;

Who four small children had
The oldest was but six years old,
A gentle modest lad.

And

very hard this widow toiled
To feed her children four;

A noble heart the mother had,
Though she was very poor.

To labor she would leave her home,
For children must be fed;

And glad was she when she could buy
A shilling's worth of bread.

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