pleased. Uncle William saw the expression of his countenance, and taking him into the garden, told him the following story :

A dog, named Frank, had become very much attached to the female part of a family, and particularly to the children. One of them, a little girl, about six years of age, attended a school at the distance of a quarter of a mile, and hither the dog accompanied her every morning, as well as at noon; always returning home as soon as he had conducted his charge safely to the house. After a short time, however, he was not content with guarding the little girl to school, but he began also to escort her home. Twelve o'clock was the time at which the children left school for the purpose of returning to dinner; and a few minutes before the appointed hour Frank trotted off, with his tail raised, and at length, placing himself in front of the school, patiently waited the coming out of the little throng. As soon as they appeared, he eagerly selected the object of his care, and guarded her home with the greatest attention. At five o'clock in the afternoon he took exactly the same course.

How this sagacious and affectionate crea

ture contrived to be so punctual, it is difficult to say. Frank always proceeded a few yards in advance, but if any person or animal appeared, from whom he feared danger, he came close to the child, and forbade a near approach. He was especially suspicious of a beggar, or any mean or fierce-looking person.

"Surely," added Uncle William, "this dog was superior to the ill-natured children who refuse to help, or assist with reluctance, a brother or a sister!" I shall not describe Henry's feelings as he heard all this; it is enough to say he was off in an instant, as if his old friend Edward had just pitched the wickets for a game at cricket in the next field. Anxious to interest and impress the mind, Uncle William is as fond of verses as of stories. He knows that the sound helps to the remembrance of the sense; and when he cannot find what is adapted to his design, he supplies the deficiency in his own way. But of his verses and stories you will now have some specimens. For, not long ago, Uncle William was sitting in a room, where he has often been, and where I hope he will still frequently be found, talking to several of his young friends of a very interesting volume

he had just been reading. All agreed with him in opinion from what they had heard, when a sudden thought of one of the party was as quickly uttered: "Oh, how I wish that Uncle William would write a book!" "And I," "And I," went round the whole circle. Uncle William did not reply except by a smile. Time rolled on, however, and at length a packet came into my hands, on which was the inscription, "Kind Words for his Young Friends." These are now presented to the reader, with many desires that they may be as much profited as pleased by the perusal of the volume.

HOME AFFECTION.

"I will love them all dearly, for though I may find A companion or friend in another;

Yet where can I meet with a father so kind

A mother, a sister, a brother?

So I'll love them all dearly, and each one shall see,
How highly they all are regarded by me."

THE words thus employed for a motto, are expressive of feelings which ought to be cherished universally by the young. Where this is done, there will be much amiableness and happiness; and where opposite feelings are fostered, there will be much that is painful to those who judge rightly, and to the inhabitants of so disturbed a dwelling. May you, my young friends, escape in this respect all that is evil, and highly enjoy all that is "lovely and of good report."

Margaret Davidson, a very interesting young person, who lately died in America, was strongly attached to home. Her family lived for some time at Champlain, in that country, but from the illness of her mother, they removed to Canada. The climate of that part, however, did Mrs. Davidson no good; she continued a helpless invalid, confined to her bed for eighteen months, during which time little Margaret was her constant companion and attendant. They afterwards proceeded to New York, and while there, Margaret, who was then about nine years old, expressed her yearnings for the banks of the Saranac, in the following pretty lines:

:

"I would fly from the city, would fly from its care,
To my own native plants and my flowerets so fair,
To the cool grassy shade and the rivulet bright,
Which reflects the pale moon on its bosom of light.
Again would I view the old mansion so dear,
Where I sported, a babe without sorrow or fear:
I would leave this great city, so brilliant and gay,
For a peep at my home on this pure summer-day.
I have friends whom I love, and would leave with regret,
But the love of my home, oh, 'tis tenderer yet!
There a sister reposes unconscious in death-

'Twas there she first drew, and there yielded her breath;