[Illustration:  The Cuckoo comes in the Spring.] [Illustration:  A King-fisher.] [Illustration:  The Turtle-dove lives in the woods.] [Illustration:  A Swallow.] [Illustration:  The Goldfinch is pretty.] [Illustration:  The Nightingale sings sweetly.] [Illustration:  The Red-breast picks up crumbs, so does the Sparrow.] [Illustration:  The Water Wag-tail.] [Illustration:  The Lark flies high in the air.] [Illustration:  The Bull-finch is handsome.] [Illustration:  The Wren is a small bird.]

RURAL AMUSEMENTS.

(See the Frontispiece.)

Do you see the man Angling.  He is trying to catch fish with a hook and a line.

That man is shooting partridges.  The dog finds them for him in the fields.

Oh, what fun! two boys riding a race on Donkeys to see which will get home first.

The poor hare runs away from the dogs.  I fear they will catch her.

Here are some boys and girls at play.  The man is smoking his pipe at the door.

What a pleasant ride they will have in the Park on those Donkeys.

* * * * *

[Illustration]

MY MOTHER.

  Who fed me from her gentle breast,
  And hush’d me in her arms to rest,
  And on my cheek sweet kisses prest? 
    My Mother.

  When sleep forsook my open eyes,
  Who was it sung sweet lullaby,
  And soothed me that I should not cry? 
    My Mother.

  Who sat and watch’d my infant head,
  When sleeping on my cozy bed;
  And tears of sweet affection shed? 
    My Mother.

  Who lov’d to see me pleased and gay,
  And taught me sweetly how to play,
  And minded all I had to say? 
    My Mother.

  Who ran to help me when I fell. 
  And would some pretty story tell. 
  Or kiss the place and make it well? 
    My Mother.

  Who taught my infant heart to pray,
  And love God’s holy book and day;
  And taught me wisdom’s pleasant way? 
    My Mother.

  And can I ever cease to be
  Affectionate and kind to thee,
  Who was so very kind to me,
    My Mother?

  Ah, no! the thought I cannot bear,
  And if God please my life to spare,
  I hope I shall reward thy care,
    My Mother.

  And when I see thee hang thy head,
  ’Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
  And tears of sweet affection shed,
    My Mother.

  For God, who lives above the skies,
  Would look with vengeance in his eyes,
  If I should ever dare despise
    My Mother.

[Illustration]