are able to stretch out the newly-plumed wing, and quit the care of the parent. Say they not to us, as they sing among the branches, "live in love?"

The innocent dove, is cited as a model in the book of God. "Be ye harmless as doves," said our Saviour, to his disciples. The stork spreads out its broad pinions, and bears its aged parents, on their journey through the air. It feeds and cherishes them with the same care, that it received in its own helpless infancy. Shall we not learn from it, a lesson of filial piety?

Once a robin, in returning to her nest, was shot dead. The mate mourned bitterly for her loss, but took her place upon the nest. There he brooded, until the young came forth from the egg, and then he sought food, and fed them like a mother, until they were able to fly away.

Often while he was performing her duties, and always at the close of day, his plaintive note was heard, lamenting his lost love. Ah! who could be so wicked as to destroy the nest, or the eggs, or the young, of those affectionate creatures. Our Father in Heaven, "taketh care of sparrows, and feedeth the young ravens that cry."

THE GOOD BROTHER.

"I HAVE just been to the funeral of poor Mrs. Howard, said Mrs. Ashley, to her family, as they

gathered around the tea-table. Her death was very sudden. She dropped down, in a kind of fit, without any previous sickness. But I do not think she has ever been well, since her husband was lost at sea, more than a year ago.

"You cannot think how affecting it was, to see her two children, walking behind the corpse, and no near relation with them, and then the kindness of Edward, to his little sister Julia. I have always heard that he was a remarkably good boy, but his attentions to her, were most touching.

"It seemed as if his heart was so divided between care of her, and grief for the dead, that he did not think of himself at all. When they stood by the grave, of their only parent, and looked down into it so lone, and desolate, there was not a dry eye among the people.

"The little girl cried so, that she could hardly stand, and her brother tried to support her, as if he was a man. And when the frozen clods falling upon the coffin-lid, made every heart quake, he bent over her as if he hoped to keep the sound from her; and when all was over, and they turned away, he wrapped her short, thin cloak close over her, and put his arm round her so tenderly, that every one was moved."

"Dear mother, what will become of those poor children ?" asked Mary Ashley. "I think, my dear, that when the uncle and aunt return home, they will take one or both of them, though their own family is large. It makes it worse for the orphans, that they live so far from neighbours, but we must go out

there, in the morning, and see what we can do for their comfort."

When Edward and his sister came home from the funeral, he observed that she shivered, and hastened to make a fire, and drew her chair near to it. "Sister, are you warm? Dear Julia, speak to me." But the ague was violent, and her teeth chattered, so that she could not articulate.

A good woman, who came out from the village, made her some warm herb-tea, and put her in bed, but was obliged to go home in the evening, to her own children. So Edward lighted his little lamp, and shaded it from his sister's eyes, and sat down to watch by her side.

Though he was exceedingly weary, he dared not trust himself to sleep, lest she should need something, for her face was red with fever, and she kept continually asking for drink. He felt as if his heart would break, when sometimes after he had moistened her parched lips, she would cry out as if in a broken dream, "oh mother! mother!"

When the morning dawned, she seemed to be in a more quiet sleep, and closing the door behind him gently, he ran to the village, for the physician. "Oh sir, my sister is sick. I am afraid she will die. Please to come down to her. I have no money now. But, sir, I will work and pay you. I will more than pay you, when I get to be a man.”

"How old are you, my good boy?" thirteen, sir, and my sister is ten.

"I am almost There are but

two of us. Our mother was buried yesterday, and father died at sea. If Julia should die, I know not what would become of me."

"Wait,

The kind physician's heart was touched. said he, and I will carry you along in my chaise, for it is nearly two miles, and you will be tired to walk back." But Edward said, "Please to excuse me, that I cannot stay. My sister is all alone. I will run and tell her, that you will come soon. May I do so, sir?"

He reached home, almost before she had missed him. "Sweet sister, said he, the good doctor is coming to see you. I think he will make you well. And now, see what a nice fire I shall make for you. I picked up these shavings, and little bits of pine, as I passed by the carpenter's shop in the village, to kindle with.

"There. How quick it is blazing. Look, Julia, look. And now, I will heat some water, and make some gruel for your breakfast. I know exactly how mother made it, and you used to say how good it tasted."

But the child moaned, and said she could take nothing. When the physician came, he pronounced her to have a fever, and left some medicines, which he was so kind as to bring for her. He encouraged Edward, that she might soon be better, and at those cheering words, the poor boy could not refrain from bursting into tears, and followed him out to the chaise, thanking him with all his heart.

Mrs. Ashley and her daughter, called to see the orphans, and finding how sick Julia was, sent comforts to her, and food for her brother, and one of their neighbours came to watch, that Edward might get some rest. But whenever he heard his sister mourning in her pain, he was by her side, and if she

?

objected to the bitter medicine, he would say, “do dear sister, take it for my sake," until he prevailed.

During her sickness, Julia was often irritable, but Edward's patience never failed. He always spoke to her in the kindest tones, and if she gave any trouble to the neighbours who came in to nurse her would say, "pray, forgive her. She is but a child, and weak, and her heart is grieved, because mother is dead."

At length, the brother of Mrs. Howard, and his wife, returned home. They decided to receive Julia into their family, and she was removed there on her bed. It was thought best that Edward should be apprenticed to a joiner, in the village, and so thankful was he, that his sister was recovering, and had found a refuge with her relatives, that he scarcely remembered his own lot must be among strangers.

Being taken at an earlier age than was usual with mechanics, and much the youngest in a large number of apprentices and journeymen, he was expected to be the waiter of all. Yet whatever hardship befell him, he was patient and gentle-tempered.

His greatest pleasure was to visit his sister. Sunday was his only day of leisure, and he was very punctual in attendance at church; but he was thankful to be invited to take tea at his uncle's, for he had then the satisfaction of spending several hours with her.

As years passed on, he found in some of those interviews, that she was quite disposed to complain. Her aunt required too much work of her, or her little cousins troubled her. But especially the children at school, did not treat her as she desired. "I dare