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His word is as true as His nature,

And both are in Jesus combined;
May He make you in Christ a new creature,
And give you His heavenly mind.

May this be your portion below

To banish earth's laughter and sadness,
To lead you to fountains that flow

With joy from His presence and gladness.
Then, though upon earth you may wander,
His spirit shall comfort and guide;
Your eye and your heart will be yonder,
Though here, for awhile, you abide.
How fondly I wish you this joy,.
While left in my cottage without you;
What earnest petitions employ

My lips, while I'm thinking about you;
What welcome awaits your returning;
What songs of thanksgiving shall float;
What love in my bosom is burning;
I'd tell by this musical note!

If home has its toil and its care,

And the hills and the meadows their beauties;
Go, run for a rosy face there,

And return with fresh zeal to your duties.
How sweet is home after a ramble,

When we to its joys are inclined;

But those who run wild like the bramble,
No rest nor enjoyment shall find.
Then dear little Annie, the pet

Of your own loving sister and brother,
I trust you will never forget

The words of your father and mother.
The hills or the ocean can never
The bond of our unity rend;

I therefore subscribe me-your ever
Affectionate father and friend,

Highgate, Aug. 2, 1860.

W. L. (altered a little.)

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YOU MUST NOT READ IT.

A COACH SCENE IN THE OLDEN TIMES.

Ir was about five o'clock in the afternoon of a very hot day in August, when a stage-coach passed by a beautiful cottage. The cottage did not belong to a poor man. No; it was inhabited by the owner, who had spared neither cost nor pains to render it convenient and beautiful. Still it was called a cottage; and it was indeed a very beautiful place. The stagecoach rattled down the hill at a strange rate, and the horses were very hot, for their sides smoked sadly, and the white foam hung from their mouths. As the coach passed the cottage, Henry Seymour jumped up from the table at which he was sitting with his sister, reading, and ran to the window. "There they go, my boys!" said he. "That is just the way that I should drive, if I were a coachmau." At this moment one of the outside passengers, who seemed to have a bundle of papers in his hand, threw one from the coach. The breeze-for there was one blowing at the time-carried the paper towards the cottage, and Henry ran out without his hat to pick it up, with his sister after him. A famous rup they had, for each tried to outrun the other. Henry, however, was the best runner, and soon picked up the paper, which was printed all over very closely. The title at the top of it was, "You must not read it." "Was ever anything so foolish as this?" cried Henry; "here is a book printed that begins with 'You must not read it.' Why, where was the use of being at the trouble of printing it, if it is not to be read ? But I will read it though, I am determined."

Henry's sister was of the same opinion as her brother, that nothing could be more foolish than to write and print what was not intended to be read.

"I wonder what it can be about," said she, "I should like very much to know: let us sit down and read it directly."

"And what are you in such a hurry to read ?" said their father, who had seen Henry pick up the paper, and heard all that he and his sister had said; "what is it that you are so curious to know?" "Why, father," said Henry, "a foolish man has just thrown a very foolish paper from the coach; it is printed, and the title of it is, 'You must not read it." Nothing can be half so silly as to print a book that is not to be read by anybody."

"But how can you tell," inquired his father, "that the man is a silly man, or that the paper was not intended to be read ?"

66

'Oh," said Henry, "look here; it is printed in large letters, You must not read it !'"

And is that the reason," asked Mr. Seymour, "why you and your sister are so anxious to read it ?" Henry and his sister looked a little foolish when their father put this question to them, and were quite silent. 66 "Well," said Mr. Seymour, (6 perhaps the only way to learn whether the man and the paper are foolish, is to read the paper at once, notwithstanding the forbidding title." Then they all sat down on a garden seat, under the shade of a sycamore tree, to read the paper. Henry soon began to read the printed paper. It was as follows:

"YOU MUST NOT READ IT.

"If this paper should fall into the hands of any young people, perhaps they would like to know why I have given it the title of 'You must not read it.' Well, then, I will tell you the reason at once.

"When we want to catch flies, we put treacle or some honey into a saucer, to attract them to the

place; and very soon after their legs and wings are covered all over with it. When we wish to catch a mouse, we put a bit of cheese in the trap, for the mouse is very fond of cheese; and while he is busy ribbling the cheese, down comes the spring, and catches him by the neck. It struck me that if a fly, and a mouse, and other creatures, are to be caught by putting something in their way that they are fond of, boys and girls might be caught in the same manner. Now I have often observed that many young people are more fond of doing what they are told not to do, than they are of doing that which they are commanded or requested to do; therefore, having something which I wanted to be read, I began my paper with the words, You must not read it,' believing that if it should fall into the hands of curious young persons, they would be ten times more anxious to read it than if I had begun with, 'You may read it as often as you like.'

Here Henry's face was almost as red as the rose that bloomed on the bush at his elbow, and the face of his sister was in much the same condition, while Mr. Seymour laughed heartily at them both, and told them that they had been fairly caught in the trap; that for his part he doubted not that the paper would turn out to be an instructive paper, and the man who had thrown it from the coach to be a wise

man.

"The writer of that paper," said Mr. Seymour, "knew something about the heart of young people; he knew that when once he had got curious young persons to begin his paper, that they would never be satisfied till they had read to the end."

"for,

"Come, finish the paper, Henry," said he; to tell you the truth, I feel a little curious about it myself." This last remark made Henry and his

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