Yes, my dear, the drones; and their fate is rather a sad one, for when the working bees are tired of finding them in their way, eating up the honey for which they do not work, they turn them out of the hive stinging numbers of them to death."

Their mother then repeated a very pretty poem of Miss Mitford's.

"Give thee good-morrow, busy bee!
No cloud is in the sky,

The ringdove shines across the lea,
The matin lark soars high;
Gay sunbeams kiss the dewy flower,
Slight breezes stir the tree,

And sweet is thine own woodbine bower-
Good-morrow, busy bee!

"Give thec good-even, busy bee!

The summer day is by,

Now droning beetles haunt the lea,

And shrieking plovers cry;

The light hath paled on leaf and flower,
The night-wind chills the tree,
And thou, well laden, leavest thy bower-
Good-even, busy bee!"

Mrs. Wilson marked some places in natural history books, where Lizzie and Harry could find out a great deal about hive bees and wild bees, and read pretty stories of their curious habits for themselves, and they became so fond of watching the bee-house in the garden, that their father bought a hive with glass windows, and made the carpenter put a door to the back of the wooden shed so that the children could see the little workers without disturbing them or interfering with their flight, and the bees soon became accustomed to the children and did not molest them; but master Rollo had got such a terrible fright there was no difficulty for the future in keeping him out of the garden, where his absence was a decided boon to Mrs. Wilson's pretty flowers.

66

RETTY robin come and sing,
Let thy sweet song cheer me,
Thou dost seem to sunshine bring
Though the day is dreary.

All the ground is hard and white,

Frozen is the river,

And the snow wind's moan at night
Makes the bravest shiver.
Flowers there are none anywhere,

In their outdoor places;
In the gardens black and bare
Summer left no traces.

O pretty robin sing thy lay,
Welcome is thy joyous trill,
Sweet bread crumbs shall be thy pay
Laid upon the window sill.

SARAH LOUISA MOORE,

QUIT IT.

Y Golly!""By George!" "By Jimini!" with which some boys are apt to season their

talk, add no weight to the simple truth, nor can they ever make true that which is false. As exclamations of surprise or wonder, they are vulgar and ill-bred.

"Goodness gracious!" said little Tot, "the sun is shining."

"Did you not know that before, Tot?" "Goodness gracious! yes!" cried Tot. "Does goodness gracious make the fact any more so, Tot?"

"Goodness gracious! no!" said Tot. "Goodness gracious, then, means nothing, Tot. Say good-bye to it, and quit it for ever."

The habit of using exclamations which are silly and unmeaning will by-and-by lead to those which are profane and wicked.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

The Children.

LD Christmas with his pleasant face,

So round, and plump, and jolly,
Comes here again to take his
place
His white head crown'd with holly;
Tho' nearly two thousand years old,
He does not fear the Winter cold.

Give him the old arm-chair, he'll sit
Close to the fireside cosy,
Here he will rest himself a bit,
The old man, hale, and rsoy ;
Baby will sit upon his knee,
We older ones will listeners be.

He will to us a tale relate,

His grand old Christmas story, How Jesus left His royal state

And laid aside His glory;

And to this world of sin and shame,
To bless mankind the Saviour came.

Christmas.

Yes, children, it was long ago,

The old man said, quite cheery, 'Twas in a far-off land, you know, The night was dark and dreary ; When all at once a glorious light Fell on the watching shepherd's sight.

And to the lonely watchers there

The angels told that Christ was born; And Heavenly music fill'd the air,

On that first glad Christmas morn ;
Since then the music of the song
From age to age has roll'd along.
For Him the merry bells we ring,
We decorate with holly bright
Our homes, in honour of our King

Whose advent fill'd the world with

light;

In heathen lands, once dark and
dim,

They chant glad Christmas songs to
Him.

Now children, kiss me, go to bed.

The day is o'er, the stars appear; God bless you! think of what I've said, Till I return another year;

Outside the snowflakes thickly fall,
A "Happy Christmas" to you all.

W. J. NELSON.

HOW KITTY WAS SAVED.

BOY took away to Nantasket
A kitty-puss tied in a basket;
He thought when he got her
Far out on the water,
She'd never get back should she ask it.

So he shut up his eyes as he threw her,
Far off where the water was bluer;
Then he pulled for the shore,
With a very swift oar,

From a sight that he could not endure.

All the way he seemed seeing with pity
How sharks were devouring his kitty ;
His eyes were a source full

Of tears so remorseful
He couldn't tell rocks from a city.

He hurried away with his basket,
Afar from the seas of Nantasket,
In the lap of his mother
His anguish to smother

Or under her apron to mask it.

When he had opened the door, why

T is said, but I will not affirm the truth of the story, that a pretty yellow canary, in a fit of fretfulness, cried out one day, "I wish I were dead!"

Upon this, the tortoiseshell cat looked up with a merry twinkle in his eyes and said: "I don't wonder at it, my dear. Shut up as you are in that cage, it is not strange that you should wish for death."

"Yes," replied the bird, "I am shut up, while my friends are out in the bright sunshine, sporting among the beautiful flowers. It is too bad!"

"So it is," rejoined the cat, in a tone of tenderness.

"And such a sweet singer as I am," added the canary.

"Yes, dearest, your songs are sweeter than those of birds that are free. I don't wonder you are wretched."

"Oh, I do wish I were dead!" groaned the bird. "My life is all pain and vexation. I'm a poor, miserable prisoner."

"My little love," replied the cat, as he rose to his feet, "if you will have the pluck to come out of your cage, I will help free you from all your grief and pain."

"What! what!" chirped the canary, with a terrible flutter in his heart, as the cat rose up on his hind legs and placed one of his fore-paws on the door of his cage.

"It pains me to do it,” replied the cat, "yet for your sake I will stifle my grief, and help you out of your misery."

The bird screamed. A footstep at the parlour door made puss turn his head, and then, seeing his master, he slunk through an open window into the garden. Canary breathed freely again, and having been very near the death it had so

and happier bird.

"Foolish little canary!" I hear a thousand voices exclaim. Yes, a foolish little canary indeed, is that little boy or girl who often utters rash wishes, as, "I wish I were dead!" or, 66 I wish I didn't have to go to school!" or, "I wish I could get away from home!" or any other equally idle wish. If such a child should be taken at his word, as the cat was about to take the canary, he, too, would learn both the folly and the danger of foolish wishing and fretful feeling.

TRY YOUR WEIGHT,
SIR?"

RY your weight, sir! try your weight, sir! shouted the small boys in charge of the weighing machines at the Crystal Palace, as Master George and his papa and sister Clara strolled down the centre transept of the beautiful glass house; try your weight, sir! try your weight.

And, of course, Master George must have his weight tried, and how much do you think he weighed? Why, FIFTY SEVEN POUNDS FOUR OUNCES. And now, Master Sharp-shins, you have just reached the end of another quarter's schooling, and I'll give you a little sum just to see how you have been getting

on.

Suppose Master George was a little bah lamb, instead of the little monkey that he is, how much would it cost to buy him at tenpence a pound?

But before you try and answer this sum, I must tell you that George and