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KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. now going to tell

you some stories of animals. If you do not like the stories, then it will be my fault, and I shall be very sorry for it.

As to your liking animals, I have not a shadow of a doubt. I have never known a boy or girl who did not like them—every one.

Who'ever heard of a boy or girl really dis·liking a dog, or a cat, or a rabbit, or a bird, or, indeed, any animal in this wonderful creation ? No one.

I will ask another question :- Whoever has seen a boy, or a girl, aye, or even a grown-up man illusing a dog, cat, fly, spider, ass, or horse? Well, well, I suppose I must give an

I must give an answer to this question, as well as the last, so here it is :- Every

O dear, dear! boy, girl, and grown-up man, I am ashamed of you! I blush for you !! why is this? I will tell you how it is :

It is because you do not know better. hear that? It is, because you do not know what pain you are causing. Do you know you are making that poor animal weep-weep all over ;


Do you

that you

are breaking its heart, poor thing? Ah! I thought you did not know.

What little girl ever ill-uses even her lifeless, little doll ? Or what little girl, or boy, ever hurts his own Tom or Tabbie. Or what lad ever kicks his own dog ? None of them all. Why is this? That is very curious, is it not?

I will tell you why: It is because they belong to them.

The doll, or the cat, or the dog, is her or his pet. They have talked to them, and they know each other. They are friends.

But if I see another cat and dog that are not mine, of course I do not know them. If I did know them, very likely I should find they were just as good as my own. And if I only take the trouble to talk with them a little, I shall find that they are perhaps better than mine. In that case, what a terrible mistake it would be to do them any harm! O dear! It is dreadful even to think of.

But, suppose they are not so good as my own. Pray, why should I chase them, or throw stones at them, or beat them with a stick ?

Did they bite me ? No.

Good ! Fair play is a jewel ; and it is much wiser to Let well alone than to Run the head against a stme; because, you know, I might Get as good as I give, and I should never Give what I would not willingly take.

Yes, I love each living thing

That Heav'n hath call'd to birth :
Shaggy coat, or painted wing,
Beasts that toil, or birds that sing,
Bees that hum, and sometimes sting-

All, all possess their worth.

So, old Neddy, fear not me,

For I've no thong or stick,
Your poor sides to beat, you see;
Munch your clover; happy be,
Roll and tumble o'er the lea-

Toss, tumble, roll, and kick!
And thou, pretty little bird,

Oh! prithee, do not flee,
I've no heart to take the nest,
Where thy tiny babies rest,
’Neath thy warm and downy breast,

All in the haw•thorn-tree.
And my butterfly so fine,
Why, why such haste, I pray ?

I've no wish to make thee mine,
And my fingers don't incline
To despoil that coat of thine,

So beautiful and gay.
And, old mousie, you may run,
Where sweet the blossoms fall

And go gambol in the sun,
I enjoy your harmless fun,
I'm the enemy of none-

No, no, I love you all.*

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THE LAME DOG. A MAN was walking near a rail-way station, and he saw a lame little dog. It was clear that the dog was in great pain. The took


the poor dog in his arms, and * J. G. Watts' Tales and Songs."


patiently carried him home He bound the dog's lame leg with a piece of cloth. He then gave him a portion of his own supper, and put him in a warm place.

In a few days he allowed the dog to go to his own home.

By-and-bye the dog came back to the man, bringing with him another dog that was lame.

The man's old friend, who was now quite well, first gave his doctor a humble look, and then he gave the lame dog a gracious look. the way the grateful dog had of saying, cured me very nicely, and you will oblige me by doing, the same gracious action to my brother here.

Of course the man was pleased to help his new patient. So he took him in hand. He washed his leg with a nice lotion, and kept him beside him till he was well.

This was

66 You

Oh, little hearts have power to love,

And little hands to labor;
And youthful eyes can tell when woe

Hath smitten down a neighbour.
So let us all remember well

The humblest is our brother;
We are not here for self alone,

But to assist each other.

The tiny, tinkling brook that flows

Towards the distant ocean,
Would but for other streamlets' help,

Soon lose its rapid motion ;-
Stagnate and languish in a slough,

Or with none near to cherish,
Upon some bare and barren moor,

Beneath fierce sunbeams perish.

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