to play, till you have learned your lesson for the next morning.

"The next morning read it carefully over again before you go to school; and when you have said your lesson well, your teacher will not blame you, but will say that you are a good boy, and that you will be a clever man.

"When you come home from school, stop at the door, and scrape your feet; not carelessly, but in a careful manner; then go to the mat and rub them until they are clean; and then the maid will say, 'Here comes our little Robert; he is a good boydo you not hear how he scrapes and scrubs his feet?' "When you go in or out of a room, shut the door every time after you. When you are with your brothers and sisters, never touch or take away any their playthings, without first asking leave.

of

"If they let you have anything, take care not to break it or lose it, and then your brothers and sisters will never quarrel with you, but will love you, and lend you any thing they have.

"I would have you try and do all this, for a few days, and I am sure, when I come again, you will tell have had no cause to cry."

me you

Little Robert remembered what his uncle had said to him, and tried to be a good boy; he became every day better and better, and cried every day less and less.

In about a week, Robert's uncle came again. Robert ran to meet him at the garden gate.

"Oh," said Robert, "what a good uncle you are; you have made me quite happy. I have tried and

have done all that you told me; now I never cry, and every body loves me."

"I am very glad to hear it, my dear child," answered his uncle; 66 now you shall go with me. The last time I came, you should have gone; but as I found you a bad boy, I could not take you."

A

LESSON LII.

A ROSY CHILD WENT FORTH TO PLAY.

ROSY child went forth to play,

In the first flush of hope and pride,
Where sands in silver beauty lay,

Made smooth by the retreating tide;
And kneeling on the trackless waste,
Whence ebb'd the waters many a mile,
He raised in hot and trembling haste,
Arch, wall, and tower-a goodly pile.

But, when the shades of evening fell,
Veiling the blue and peaceful deep,
The tolling of the distant bell

Call'd the boy builder home to sleep :-
He pass'd a long and restless night,
Dreaming of structures tall and fair;-
He came with the returning light,

And lo, the faithless sands were bare.

Less wise than that unthinking child,
Are all that breathe of mortal birth,
Who grasp with strivings, warm and wild,
The false and fading toys of earth.
Gold, learning, glory-what are they
Without the faith that looks on high?
The sand forts of a child at play,
Which are not when the wave goes by.

LESSON LIII.

CASABIANCA.

THERE was a little boy, about thirteen years old, whose name was Casabianca. His father was the commander of a ship of war, called the Orient. The little boy accompanied his father to sea. His ship was once engaged in a terrible battle upon the river Nile.

In the midst of the thunders of the battle, while the shot were flying thickly around, and strewing the decks with blood, this brave boy stood by the side of his father, faithfully discharging the duties which were assigned to him.

At last his father placed him in a particular part of the ship, to perform some service, and told him to remain at his post till he should call him away. As the father went to some distant part of the ship to notice the progress of the battle, a ball from the enemy's vessel laid him dead upon the deck.

But the son, unconscious of his father's death, and faithful to the trust reposed in him, remained at his post, waiting for his father's orders. The battle raged dreadfully around him. The blood of the slain flowed at his feet. The ship took fire, and the threatening flames drew nearer and nearer.

Still this noble-hearted boy would not disobey his father. In the face of blood, and balls, and fire, he stood firm and obedient. The sailors began to desert the burning and sinking ship, and the boy cried out, "Father, may I go?"

But no voice of permission could come from the mangled body of his lifeless father; and the boy, not knowing that he was dead, would rather die than disobey. And there that boy stood, at his post, till every man had deserted the ship; and he stood and perished in the flames.

boys that ever was born. Rather than disobey his father, he would die in the flames!

This account has been written in poetry; and, as the children who read this book may like to see it, I will present it to them.

The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck,
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though childlike form.

The flames rolled on; he would not go,
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud-" Say, father, say,
If yet my task is done.”

He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father," once again he cried,
"If I may yet begone."

And-but the booming shot replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair;

And looked from that lone post of death,
In still, yet brave despair;