Chapter V: Xxi.--No. 6

THE MARE AND HER COLT.

HERE is a picture of the mare and her colt. The old mare is almost white; but the colt is jet black. He is a bright little fellow, and I am sure that his mother is proud of him.

Our Willie likes to stand at the bars of the pasture and look at the colt. He often comes so near that the little boy pats him on the head.

Willie has named the colt "Frisky," because he is so very lively. He is so nimble with his heels, that it is not safe for a small boy to go very near him now; but Willie expects to ride him by and by.

A. B. C.

KISSING A SUNBEAM.

LITTLE Baby Brown-Eyes
Sitting on the floor,
Every thing around him
Ready to explore,
Plumpy, dumpy, roly-poly,
Pretty Baby Brown-Eyes
Sitting on the floor!

Flutters in a sunbeam
Through the open door,
Like a golden butterfly
Silently before
Plumpy, dumpy, roly-poly,
Pretty Baby Brown-Eyes
Sitting on the floor.

See his little fingers
Eager for a prize,
And the hungry gladness
Laughing in his eyes!
Plumpy, dumpy, roly-poly,
Pretty Baby Brown-Eyes
Capturing a prize!

Plucking at the sunbeam
With his finger-tips,
Tenderly he lifts them
To his rosy lips;
Plumpy, dumpy, roly-poly,
Pretty Baby Brown-Eyes
Kissing the pink tips!

Brother of the sunbeam,
With your browny eyes,
Greet your silent sister,
Stealing from the skies;
Plumpy, dumpy, roly-poly,
Pretty Baby Brown-Eyes
Kiss her as she flies!

Mamma catches sunbeams
In your laughing eye,
Hiding in your dimples,
Peeping very sly:
Plumpy, dumpy, roly-poly,
Pretty Baby Brown-Eyes,
She'll kiss them on the fly!

GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.

THE FISHERMAN'S RETURN HOME.

"FATHER is coming! Father is coming!" was little Tim's cry, as he sat at the window of the little house by the seashore.

"How do you know he is coming?" said mother, who was tending the baby, and at the same time trying to sew up the seams of a dress for Miss Bella, the second child.

"I know he is coming, because I can see him in his boat," cried Tim. "Hurrah, hurrah! I'll be the first one at the landing."

Mamma was by this time satisfied that her husband, Mr. Payson, was indeed in sight. He was a fisherman, and had been absent, on a trip to the Banks of Newfoundland, more than six weeks. There had been many storms during that time, and she had passed some anxious moments.

But now there he was before her eyes, safe and sound. "Come, Bella," she said, "let us see if we can't get the first kiss."

"No, no, I'll get it!" cried Tim, starting on the run for the landing-place.

Sure enough, Tim got the first kiss; but mother's and baby's and Bella's soon followed; and so there was no complaint.

Mr. Payson had made a prosperous trip. His schooner lay off the point, and he had sold his fish at a good profit.

How glad he was to get home, and find his family well! Tim brought him his primer, and proudly pointed to the pages he could read. Bella showed her first attempts at sewing; and, as for baby, she showed how well she could crow and frolic.

"I've found the first violet, papa," cried Bella.

"But I saw it first," said Tim.

"And I smelt of it first," said mother.

"And baby pulled it to pieces first," added Bella.

It was a happy meeting; and father and mother agreed that to come home and find all the little ones well and happy was better even than to sell his fish at a good price.

UNCLE CHARLES.

THE PUPPY AND THE WASP.

AS asleep I was lying,
My ear on the ground,
A queer thing came flying
And humming around.
Humming and coming
Close to my ear:
Shall I never be quiet?
O dear, and O dear!

You bold little teaser,
Now take yourself off;
Of your buzzing and fussing
I've had quite enough.
You will not? Tormentor,
I mean to rest here,
So mind how you vex me,
And come not too near.

You dare to defy me?
You come all the bolder?
I'll punish you, rash one,
Ere I'm a breath older.
With my big paw uplifted
I'll crush you to dust:
Shoo! What a dodger!
Leave me--you must!

I'll bite you, I'll kill you,
I snap and I spring:
If I only could catch you,
You rude saucy thing!
If you were not so little,
So cunning and spry,
I'd punish you quickly,
Pert wretch! you should die.

It darts quick as lightning,--
O woe, and O woe!
On the nose it has stung me:
O, it burns and smarts so!
It pains like a needle,
It gives me no rest;
Oh, the wasp is a creature
I hate and detest.

He knows he has hurt me,
Away now he darts;
Oh, poor little puppy!
It smarts and it smarts!
To think such an insect
Should worry a dog!
He could not have hurt me,
If I'd been a log!

MORE ABOUT CRICKETS.

WE keep crickets in a box, and find them very interesting. They are very active, and occupy themselves in laying eggs, digging holes, eating, singing, and running. Only the males sing, and their wings are very rough, and curiously marked.

Crickets have four different kinds of wings,--yellow, brown, black, and brownish-red. Those that have yellow wings seem to be less hardy than the others. They do not sing so well, but lay and eat more.

The brown-winged crickets are quite common, but not so common as the black-winged, which are the most common of all kinds. Brownish-red crickets are very rare. Those that are black with yellow spots where the wings come out, sing the best.

The eggs are yellow, about an eighth of an inch long, and of an oval shape.

When we were in Lynn, a very handsome yellow-winged singer came into the box, and ate three crickets. We put him in another box with his mate, which he brought with him. In the same box were a large female, and a common sized white-winged cricket, both of which he ate.

Afterwards we found in his place a black-winged singer, somewhat smaller than the yellow-winged one was; but his mate remained the same as before.

Some spiders make holes in the ground, and, when the crickets go into them, the spiders eat them.

The male crickets fight with each other, singing all the while; and the one that beats sings on, all the louder.

There is another kind of cricket that is a great deal smaller, and sings much longer, in an undertone. Its wings are always yellow or brown; but we do not know much about crickets of this kind, except that their habits are similar to those of the large ones, and that they are very numerous.

HERBERT AND ELLA LYMAN.

FIFTH LESSON IN ASTRONOMY.

"A little boy was dreaming,
Upon his nurse's lap,
That the pins fell out of all the stars,
And the stars fell into his cap.

So, when his dream was over,
What should that little boy do?
Why, he went and looked inside his cap--
And found it wasn't true."

IF that little boy had been wide awake, and out of doors, with his cap on his head, instead of dreaming in his nurse's lap, don't you think he might really have seen a star fall out of the sky? Haven't you all seen one many a time?

But you would never dream that those blazing suns, the stars, are pinned into the sky, and that they might tumble into your cap if the pins fell out. You know better than that; but do you know what does happen when a star falls?

We say, "A star falls," because what we see falling looks to us like a star; but it really is no more like a star than a lump of coal. If we should see a piece of blazing coal falling through the air, we might be foolish enough to think that, too, was a star. And what we call a shooting star is, perhaps, more like a lump of coal on fire than like any thing else you know of.

Sometimes these shooting stars fall to the ground, and are picked up and found to be rocks. How do you suppose they take fire? It is by striking against the air which is around our earth. They come from nobody knows where, and are no more on fire than any rock is, until they fall into our air; and that sets them blazing, just as a match lights when you rub it against something.

These meteors, as they are called, do not often fall to the ground; only the very large ones last until they reach the earth; most of them burn up on their way down. I think that is lucky, because they might at any time fall into some little boy's cap and spoil it, and might even fall on his head, if they were in the habit of falling anywhere.

That little boy who thought the stars were only pinned in their places must have felt very uneasy. I don't wonder that he dreamed about them.

Once in a great while, a shower of meteors rains down upon the earth; and sometimes many of them can be seen falling from the sky, and burning up in the air.

The fall of the year is the best time for meteors; but you will be pretty sure to see one any evening you choose to look for it, and, perhaps, on the Fourth of July one of them will celebrate the day by bursting like a rocket, as they sometimes do.