3. They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again,
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back

Between the night and morrow:
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lakes,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wakes.

4. By the craggy hill-side,

Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.

Is any man so daring

As dig them up in spite,

He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

5. Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,

We dare not go a-hunting,
For fear of little men:
Wee folk, good folk,

Trooping all together,

Green Jacket, Red Cap,

And White Owl's Feather.

4.- THE BROKEN FLOWER-POT.

PART I.

ab-sorbed' [ab-sorbd'], taken up | de-lib'er-ate-ly, in a slow, thought

with, wholly engaged. ac'ci-dent, what happens by chance. a-ghast', struck with sudden fright. aph'o-rism, a saying, a proverb. be-seech'ing-ly, in an earnest, begging manner.

be-stowed' [bc-stōd'], given.

delf, earthen ware (so called from Delft, in Holland, where this ware was early made).

ful manner.
e-vince', show.

ex-ceed'ing, going beyond.
fa'ble, story, fib.
re-pair', set right.

re-sumed' [-sumd'], went on to say.
sum'mons, call.

trice (originally thrice, while one can count three), a very short time.

1. My father, Mr. Caxton, was seated on the lawn before the house, his straw hat over his eyes (it was summer), and his book on his lap. Suddenly a beautiful delf blue-and-white flower-pot, which had been set on the window-sill of an upper story, fell to the ground with a crash, and the fragments spluttered up round my father's legs.

2. But, totally absorbed in his book, my father continued to read. "Dear, dear!" cried my mother, who was at work in the porch; "my poor flower-pot, that I prized so much! who could have done this? mins, Primmins!"

Prim

3. Mrs. Primmins popped her head out of the window, nodded to the summons, and came down in a trice, pale and breathless. "Oh!" said my mother mournfully, "I would rather have lost all the plants in the greenhouse in the great blight last May, I would

rather any thing else were broken. The poor geranium I reared myself, and the dear, dear flower-pot which Mr. Caxton bought for me my last birthday! That naughty child must have done this!"

4. Mrs. Primmins was dreadfully afraid of my father; why, I know not, except that very talkative, social persons are usually afraid of very silent, shy ones. She cast a hasty glance at her master, who was beginning to evince signs of attention, and cried promptly, “No, ma'am, it was not the dear boy it was I!" "You? How could you be so careless? and you knew how I prized them both. O Primmins!" 5. Primmins began to sob. "Don't tell fibs, nursey,' said a small, shrill voice; and Master Sisty, coming out of the house as bold as brass, continued rapidly, "Don't scold Primmins, mamma: it was I who pushed out the flower-pot."

"Hush!" said nurse, more frightened than ever, and looking aghast towards my father, who had very deliberately taken off his hat, and was regarding the scene with serious eyes, wide awake.

6. "Hush! And if he did break it, ma'am, it was quite an accident; he was standing so, and he never meant it. Did you, Master Sisty? Speak" (this in a whisper), "or pa will be so angry!"

I

"Well," said my mother, "I suppose it was an accident: take care in future, my child. You are sorry, see, to have grieved me. There's a kiss; don't fret." 7. "No, mamma, you must not kiss me; I don't deserve it. I pushed out the flower-pot on purpose."

"Ha! and why?" said my father, walking up. Mrs. Primmins trembled like a leaf.

"For fun," said I, hanging my head; "just to see how you'd look, papa; and that's the truth of it. Now beat me, do beat me!"

8. My father threw his book fifty yards off, stooped down, and caught me to his breast. "Boy," he said, "you have done wrong: you shall repair it by remembering all your life that your father blessed God for giving him a son who spoke truth in spite of fear. Oh, Mrs. Primmins, the next fable of this kind you try to teach him parts us for ever!"

9. Not long after that event, Mr. Squills, who often made me little presents, gave me one far exceeding in value those usually bestowed on children; it was a beautiful large domino-box in cut ivory, painted and gilt. This domino-box was my delight. I was never weary of playing at dominoes with Mrs. Primmins, and I slept with the box under my pillow.

10. "Ah!" said my father one day, when he found me ranging the ivory pieces in the parlor, "ah! you

like that better than all your playthings, eh?"

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Oh, yes, papa!"

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You would be very sorry if your mamma were to throw that box out of the window, and break it, for fun." I looked beseechingly at my father, and made no answer. But perhaps you would be very glad,” he resumed, "if suddenly one of those good fairies you read of could change the domino-box into a beautiful geranium in a lovely blue-and-white flower-pot, and you could have the pleasure of putting it on your mamma's window-sill."

11. "Indeed I would," said I, half crying.

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My dear boy, I believe you; but good wishes don't