of whom he may be proud. He has aimed to make them virtuous and intelligent, and has succeeded. All the real elegancies and refinements of life grace his domicil. Ned, (or shall we now call him Mr. ?) has a daughter, who inherits all her father's genius. This talent has not been cultivated at the expense of others, neither is it exerted to attract the public eye. It has often driven care from the brow of the disconsolate, and soothed the breast heaving with sorrow; it has made their own little circle at Cavan the delightful resort of those who make a true appreciation of worth, and love to see genius rise superior to the obstacles with which poverty and obscurity often surround it.

Such is the history of NEDDY OF THE BASKET, a name which is still often given him, and of which he is not ashamed. His kind patroness is still living; and I have seen those who have seen them all. I have recorded his story, in the hope that my young readers will draw from it an important moral. Diligence and perseverance will give success in any pursuit to which our attention is directed.

MES. SARAH WAYLAND.

THE TURTLE-DOVE'S NEST.

VERY high in the pine-tree,
The little Turtle-dove
Made a pretty little nursery
To please her little love.
She was gentle, she was soft,
And her large dark eye
Often turned to her mate,
Who was sitting close by.

"Coo," said the Turtle-dove;

"Coo," said she.

"Oh, I love thee," said the Turtle-Dove; "And I love THEE."

In the long, shady branches.

Of the dark pine-tree, How happy were the doves

In their little nursery!

The young turtle-doves

Never quarrelled in the nest: For they dearly loved each other,

Though they loved their mother best. "Coo," said the little doves;

"Coo," said she.

And they played together kindly,

In the dark pine-tree.

In this nursery of yours,

Little sister, little brother,

Like the Turtle-dove's nest-
Do you love one another?
Are you kind, are you gentle,
As children ought to be?
Then the happiest of the nests
Is your own nursery.

JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN.

ONCE among a band of brothers
There was one, his father's joy,
Loved so fondly that the others
Looked with envy on the boy;
For his kindness and his goodness,
Treated him with scorn and rudeness.

In a desert place they threw him
Down a pit, a living grave,
And when up again they drew him
'T was to sell him for a slave,
To a life of want and danger
In the country of the stranger.

See him there by all forsaken,
Fettered in a dungeon lie,
Yet he keeps his trust unshaken,
And his Father hears his cry,

Lifts him out of tribulation

To a great and princely station.

Years went by, and to that city
In distress his brethren came.
Then, unknown, he showed them pity,
Never spoke a word of blame;
But by words and deeds of kindness
Made them weep their guilt and blindness.

In your youth like him endeavor
Thus to know and love the Lord;
Choose his service, seek his favor,
Follow Christ, and hear his word-
Once this heavenly Friend possessing,
You will want no other blessing.

LITTLE BELINDA.

UNDER the shade of a sycamore-tree,
By the side of a gurgling brook,
Thus merrily sang the children set free
For a time from slate, pen, and book:
"Sing, sing, sing!

Oh, merry and glad let us be;

Sing, sing, sing!

Like little birds up in the tree."

Then out of her window looks Mistress Jane, And sees her dear scholars so gay;

She smiles, for she knows how good they have

been,

And learned their lessons to-day.

Skip,-skip, skip!

Oh, let us be merry, and

gay;

Skip,-skip, skip!

Like lambs in the meadow, at play.

First, little Laura, with eyes of deep blue,
Who loves in the primer to look,
And Stephen, and Frank, and Caroline, too,
Who all take delight in a book :
Sing,-sing, sing!

Oh, merry and glad let us be;
Sing,-sing, sing!

Like little birds up in the tree.

One little girl by herself sits alone,
Nor joins her companions at play;
"Tis little Belinda, who idle has grown,
Nor heeds what her teacher can say!
Skip,-skip, skip!

Oh, let us be merry and gay;
Skip, skip, skip!

Like lambs in the meadow, at play.

She sits all alone, her heart very sad,

She cannot feel happy to-day;

"To-morrow,"

"I'll not be so bad,—

" she says, Then I can be happy and gay!"