CCV. THE LITTLE HATCHET STORY.

AND SO, smiling, we went on.

"Well, one day, George's father"

George who?" asked Clarence.

George Washington. He was a little boy, then, just like you. One day his father

"Whose father?" demanded Clarence, with an encouraging expression of interest.

"George Washington's; this great man we are telling you of. One day George Washington's father gave him a little hatchet for a

"Gave who a little hatchet?" the dear child interrupted with a gleam of bewitching intelligence. Most men would have got mad, or betrayed signs of impatience, but we did n't. We know how to talk to children. So we went on:

"Yes, George Washington. And his father told him" "Told who?"

"Told George."

"Oh, yes, George."

And we went on, just as patient and as pleasant as you could imagine. We took up the story right where the boy interrupted, for we could see he was just crazy to hear the end of it. We said:

"George told him?" queried Clarence.

"No, his father told George"

"Oh!"

"Yes; told him he must be careful with the hatchet"Who must be careful?"

"George must."

"Oh!”

"Yes; must be careful with his hatchet

"What hatchet?"

"Why, George's."

"Oh!"

"With the hatchet, and not cut himself with it, or drop it in the cistern, or leave it out in the grass all night. So George went round cutting every thing he could reach with his hatchet. And at last he came to a splendid apple-tree, his father's favorite, and cut it down and

"Who cut it down?"

"George did."

"Oh!"

"But his father came home and saw it the first thing, and-"

"Saw the hatchet?"

"No, saw the apple-tree. And he said, 'Who has cut down my favorite apple-tree?'”

"What apple-tree?"

"George's father's. And every body said they did n't know any thing about it, and-"

it

"Any thing about what?"

"The apple-tree."

"Oh!"

"And George came up and heard them talking about

"The favorite tree that George cut down."

"George who?"

"George Washington."

Oh!"

"So George came up and heard them talking about it,

"Why, his own, the one his father gave him." "Gave who?"

"Why, George Washington."

"Oh!"

"So George came up and he said, 'Father, I can not tell a lie, I————” ”.

"Who could n't tell a lie?"

"Why, George Washington. He said, 'Father, I can not

"His father could n't?"

"Why, no; George could n't."

"Oh! George? oh, yes!"

"It was I cut down your apple-tree; I did

"His father did?"

"No, no; it was George said this."

"Said he cut his father?"

"No, no, no; said he cut down his apple-tree."

"No, no, no; George said. 'Father, I can not tell a lie, I did it with my little hatchet.' And his father said: 'Noble boy, I would rather lose a thousand trees than have you tell a lie.'"

"George did?"

"No, his father said that."

"Said he'd rather have a thousand apple-trees?"

"No, no, no; said he'd rather lose a thousand appletrees than

"No, said he'd rather he would than have him lie." "Oh! George would rather have his father lie?"

We are patient and we love children, but, if Mrs. Caruthers had n't come and got her prodigy at that critical juncture, we don't believe all Burlington could have pulled us out of the snarl. And as Clarence Alencon de Marchemont Caruthers pattered down the stairs we heard him telling his ma about a boy who had a father named George, and he told him to cut down an apple-tree, and he said he'd rather tell a thousand lies than cut down one apple-tree.

Burlington Hawkeye.

CCVI. THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH.

ONE of the kings of Scanderoon,

A royal jester,

Had in his train a gross buffoon,
Who used to pester

The court with tricks inopportune,
Venting on the highest folks his
Scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes.

It needs some sense to play the fool,
Which wholesome rule

Occurred not to our jackanapes,
Who consequently found his freaks
Lead to innumerable scrapes,

And quite as many kicks and tweaks,
Which only seemed to make him faster
Try the patience of his master.

Some sin, at last, beyond all measure,
Incurred the desperate displeasure

Of his serene and raging highness;
Whether he twitched his most revered
And sacred beard,

Or had intruded on the shyness

Of the seraglio, or let fly

An epigram at royalty,

None know. His sin was an occult one,
But records tell us that the Sultan,
Meaning to terrify the knave,

Exclaim'd, "'T is time to stop that breath;
Thy doom is sealed, presumptuous slave!
Thou stand'st condemned to certain death.
Silence, base rebel! no replying!

But, such is my indulgence still,
That, of my own free grace and will,
I leave to thee the mode of dying."

"Thy royal will be done; 't is just,"
Replied the wretch, and kissed the dust;
"Since, my last moments to assuage
Your majesty's humane decree
Has deigned to leave the choice to me,
I'll die, so please you, of old age!"

-Horace Smith.

CCVII. How DENNIS TOOK THE PLEDGE.

A LIMERICK Irishman, named Dennis, addicted to strong drink, was often urged by his friends to sign the pledge, but with no avail, until one day they read to him from a newspaper an account of a man who had become so thoroughly saturated with alcohol that, on attempting to blow out a candle, his breath ignited, and he was instantly blown to atoms. Dennis's face showed mingled horror and contrition, and his friends thought the long-desired moment of repentance was at hand.

"Bring me the book, boys; bring me the book! Troth, his breath took fire, did it? Sure I'll niver die that death, anyhow;" said Dennis, with the most solemn countenance imaginable. "Hear me now, boys, hear me now: I, Dennis Finnegan, knowin' my great weakness, deeply sinsible of my past sins, an' the great danger I've been in, hereby