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THE RED-HEADED LINNET.

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CALLED to see a friend the other day, and he gave me a little dead bird; I think I can hear you say, "Oh, how funny!" I wish I could show you this pretty little creature, and that you could in turns hold it in your hands, while I tell you its painful history.

I do not know whether it got up in the morning very cross, as some dear children do if they are not very well, or whether it was very bad tempered always, or if it was the poor little victim of two unkind brothers; but at any rate it was cruelly killed early one morning by two members of its own family, who tried to drive it into the earth with their beaks, and so killed it.

It seems sad to think its life ended just as the spring flowers are all coming out.

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How many suffering hearts it might have cheered with its glad sweet songs For you all know what charming singers linnets are, and this is a red-headed linnet; it is prettier than the green linnet, being beautifully marked upon the wings.

I was so grieved when I heard about this bird's death in a quarrel, for it made me think of children I have seen sometimes in the streets, striking one another, and knocking one another down in their tempers.

I feel quite sure, however, that many of these would have been sorry to have seen the way in which the tiny subject of my story met its death.

SARAH LOUISA MOORE.

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SAMSON'S DEATH.

came a great hero, and was the Captain of God's people for twenty years. But though he was so strong, he showed that he was not strong enough to obey God all the time. He did wrong things, and then he lost his strength, as we shall do if we disobey God; and at last the Philistines got a bad woman to cut off his hair, and he was as weak as any other man. His enemies put out both his eyes, and made him turn a mill, like a horse, in one of their jails!

Then Samson was sorry for his sin of disobedience, and when he repented God gave him back his strength. One day the Philistines made a great feast, and when they sent for Samson to come and make sport for them, he came, and taking hold of the great pillars of the house, he pulled it down, killing both himself and his enemies.

THE CHILDREN OF THE POOR.

BY MRS. BRADLEY.

JP in the garret window,

Watching the daylight die, Two little barefoot children Look out on the wintry sky. Bleak is the wind of December, And dreary the driving rain, That whistles outside the casement, And rattles against the pane. There are other windows shining Far off, with a warmer light, And children with laughing faces Look out on the stormy night. For them there are fires glowing,

There are tables richly spread, And they do not think of the children Who are neither warmed nor fed.

I wonder what these are seeking, With their wistful, watching eyes? Is it the beautiful heaven

Beyond the gloomy skies?

And are the little ones longing
To go, and be at rest,
From the earthly hunger and sorrow,
Upon their Saviour's breast?

I know not what these may long for,
But this one thing I know-
There is many a dreary garret,
And cellar damp and low,

Where the children huddle in corners,
With neither fire nor food,
And never a soul to tell them
That God is wise and good.

So I pray to the Heavenly Father
He may open our hearts to bear
His gospel of love and mercy

To the little outcasts there.
It may be a trifle merely,

That you or I could do,

But a blessing goes with the effort,
And the purpose kind and true!

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THE PRAYER AND THE PROMISE.
INTO her chamber went
A little maid one day,
And by a chair she knelt,
And thus began to pray :
"Jesus, my eyes I close-
Thy form I cannot see;
If Thou art near me, Lord.

I pray Thee speak to me." A still small voice she heard within her soul.

"What is it, child? I heard thee; tell me all."

"I pray Thee, Lord," she said, "That Thou wilt condescend

To tarry in my heart,

And ever be my friend.

The path of life is dark—

I would not go astray; Oh, let me have Thy hand To lead me in the way." "Fear not I will not leave thee, child, alone.

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She thought she felt a soft hand press her

own.

"They tell me, Lord, that all

The living pass away;

The aged soon must die,

And even children may.
Oh, let my parents live

Till I a woman grow;

For if they die, what can
A little orphan do?"

"Fear not, my child-whatever ills may

come,

I'll not forsake thee till I bring thee home."

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Errata.-The Article "Our Pets" in the April No. was written by MRS. BATTERSBY, not by "MARIE.”

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