Every night, and every day,

When we work, and when we play,
God's good angels watch us still,
Keeping us from every ill.

When we're good, then they are glad;

Are we naughty, they are sad;
Should we very wicked grow,

Then away from us they'll go.

Mary.

Oh, I would not have them go,

I do love the angels so;

I will never naughty be,

So they'll always stay with me.

Filial Devotion.

"Some feelings are to mortals given,
With less of earth in them than heaven:

And if there be a human tear,

From passion's dross refin'd and clear,
A tear so limpid, and so meek,
It would not stain an angel's cheek,

'Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head."

LADY OF THE LAKE.

DURING the sanguinary period of the French revolution, when crimes and horrors were continually perpetrated, the sacred affections of kindred and of friendship were often powerfully excited.

One such instance occurred amid the terrified massacres of an age unparalleled in atrocity; when crowds of unfortunate persons were condemned unheard, and loaded cannon were directed to play upon them. Yet not only in France and its dependencies

- among the instances of unflinching heroism and filial love, which La Vendée continually exhibited, but in the far-off West, in one of those unfortunate islands where the massacres of the reign of terror were acted on a less extended theatre.

An honest Creole, whose only crime consisted in possessing the inheritance of his ancestors, was denounced as inimical to the re public, and sentenced to die with a crowd of his fellow-countrymen. But happily for this virtuous colonist, he was the father of a little girl, eminently endowed with courage, energy, and affection; and when the moment of separation from his family arrived, this courageous child resolved to follow and share his sufferings, however terrible to her tender age. In vain did the father entreat his little Annette to remain at home, and the mother, with streaming eyes, seek to retain her child by force. Entreaties and commands were equally unavailing, and, rushing from the door, she continued to follow, at a little distance, the rough men who urged her unhappy father to the place of execution. Small time sufficed to place him in the foremost rank of the condemed; his eyes were blinded, and his hands tied together, while the executioners made ready those murderous engines which were soon to open a heavy fire of grapeshot upon the crowds who awaited their death in silence.

But suddenly a little girl sprang forward, and her voice, tremulous with emotion, uttered the piercing cry of-"Oh! my father, my father!" The lookers on endeavored to snatch her from de

struction, and those who were alike condemned to death, menaced the poor child, in order to drive her from among them. Annette bounded with light step towards her father, as she had been wont to do in happier days, when awaiting his welcome voice, and throwing her little arms around his neck, she waited to perish with the author of her days.

“O my child, my dearest child! the cherished and only hope of thy wretched mother, now on the eve of widowhood," exclaimed her trembling and weeping father, "I command, I conjure thee to go away."

This unexpected incident disconcerted the director of the massacre. Perhaps he was himself a father, and the thought of his own children might arise within him. Certain it is, that his ferocious heart was softened; he ordered the Creole away, and commanded that he should be taken to prison with his child. Amid the rage of civil discord, and the alternate ascendency of contending factions, a brief respite was not unfrequently productive of the happiest consequences. Such was the case in the present instance. The face of affairs became changed; the father was restored to his family, and ceased not to speak with the tenderest emotion of his little daughter, then only ten years of age.

Many who heard the tale, in after years, pleased themselves with thinking that the human heart is never completely insensible to the voice of nature. But the contrary has been unhappily evinced in those fearful tragedies which have so often disgraced its history, in which the tears of suffering innocence have vainly sought for sympathy and compassion. We cannot, therefore, attribute so wonderful a deliverance to those innate principles of virtue and benevolence, which are thought by some incapable of being totally eradicated in the breast of even the most atrocious and sanguinary. We must rather give to Him the glory, in whose hands are the hearts of men; and who, in preserving the life of a virtuous individual, has permitted to all young people a beautiful and impressive instance of the reward of filial devotion.

11

Sammy and Willie.

BY COUSIN MARY.

SAMUEL and William were two little boys of about the same age. They lived in the same village, and on the same street. Perhaps we ought to tell our little readers that this village had only two streets, one running north and south, without stopping at all; and the other running east and west, terminates at one end by the meeting-house, and at the other by the mill pond. Sammy was a gentle, blue-eyed boy, who made but little trouble, either for himself or others. Not so Willie. The neighbors used to call him "rattling, roaring Bill." In the morning, when the bright sun was shining over the green hills, and the sweet buds were preparing to bloom, Willie would be scrambling out of bed and down stairs (as often head foremost as any way.) Oh, in such a hurry, a world of business on his little hands, and no time to do it in! And what was the reason? Perhaps I cannot better tell you, than by writing down a dialogue between him and Sammy.

Willie. Sam! come here, do, I beg you, just a minute. clare, I shall be late to school again, to-day.

66

I de

Sammy. I can help you just five minutes, Willie, if you will tell me quick what to do. I have not had a tardy mark" this summer; I should be sorry to get one.

No,

Willie. Well, then, just finish weeding that bed for me. hoe that row out, if you please. Or, Sammy, just run and drive those sheep out of the field; father told me to do it long ago, but I could n't find time. Don't stop to finish weeding now, Sammy.

Sammy. Oh yes, I must, or I shall break my rule, "One thing at a time." That's my rule; I never break it.

Willie. Guess, if you lived here, you'd have to break your rule or your neck.

Sammy. I have finished the flower bed, and will now hoe the

row.

Willie. How fast you work! I have n't done a thing yet, only stand and talk.