expanded, and gleaming through the tears that still hung in his long black eye-lashes.

"What is the matter with my dear little boy?" asked mamma, anxiously regarding the trembling child. (I must tell you that my brother Tom was not quite five years old at this time.) "Dear mamma,” he replied, "I am so vexed, for William (a labourer papa had put into the garden to help Robert the gardener, who had been sick with an autumnal fever) has just killed a nice dear hare, that was feeding among the cabbages. It was such a tame one that I do think I could have caught it, for it never ran away when we came to look at it; but William struck it with the handle of his hoe, and now it lies on the ground, looking so bad that I was obliged to cry, and felt quite frightened. Do, Katie, come and see the poor thing!" And here my tender-hearted little brother, who was remarked for his benevolence and sensibility when a child, wept afresh.

During the commencement of this narration, a faint suspicion that this tame hare, as Tom called it, was no other than my pet rabbit, Whitefoot, glanced across my mind; and this idea became more decidedly impressed upon me as Tom proceeded to descant on the unusual tameness and gentleness of the supposed hare's demeanour. Without waiting for further confirmation of my fears, I hastily threw down my work, exclaiming, "Oh! I know that wicked William has killed my innocent rabbit, my dear Whitefoot ;" and without waiting to give further explanation to my words, I hastened to the spot, followed by little Tom. On reaching the cabbage-bed, the first object that presented itself to my view, was my beloved Whitefoot, lying on the dewy ground, and struggling in the agonies of death. At this afflicting sight, my tears flowed fast and passionately; not so much at that minute for the actual loss of my rabbit, as from grief and terror at witnessing the lingering

agonies of the poor dying little animal. I had heard of death, and read of it as something very awful, that must happen earlier or later to every living creature; but I had never before witnessed the painful strife incidental to parting life. I had seen a dead bird; but its stiff, motionless, and composed appearance, occasioned no feeling of terror to be excited in my mind; but here, for the first time, I saw its horrors realized; and trembling and weeping from mingled emotions of fear and grief, I stood gazing on the poor little sufferer, while my brother, scarcely less agitated than myself, clung to me, and joined his tears and lamentations with my own. The young man who had been the unthinking cause of my distress, on hearing that the rabbit he had killed belonged to me, seemed very much vexed, and said: "Indeed, Miss, if I had known, or could have had a thought that the rabbit belonged to you, I would not have killed it for all the world."

"Dear Katie, is it your rabbit?” asked my brother, in some surprise: "how did you come by it? I wish you had showed the nice dear to me, and then I should have known it was not a hare; and William would not have killed it, for I should have told him it was sister Katie's rabbit."

I now saw my folly in having concealed the circumstance of my having a rabbit from my brothers and sisters. Had I not done so, in all probability the life of my little favourite had been preserved, and I should have been spared much uneasiness. I learned, however, by this day's experience, that the straightforward path is the easiest to keep, and the best to pursue; that undue secrecy and concealment are inconsistent with truth and honesty, and too often ends in shame, mortification, and disgrace. My dear mother took this opportunity of impressing this truth upon my mind, pointing out very clearly the evils to which such a line of conduct, if continued, will lead.

How valuable are the instructions of parents! How much sorrow and uneasiness would children be spared in after life, if they would, with meek and humble hearts, hearken to the virtuous lessons that are inculcated by those whose wisdom has been earned through the experience of many years, and who, anxious for the welfare and happiness of their children, would willingly spare them some of the painful consequences arising from the commission of faults and follies incidental to their fallen nature.

But how few of the many will be thus taught! Like the young king of Israel, Rehoboam the son of Solomon, they despise the advice and wisdom of the elders, and turn to the example and thoughtless follies of those of their own age. But if I begin to moralize so soon, and so gravely, my young readers will, I fear, grow weary, and lay aside my little book unread; and as I hope to afford them both amusement and instruction in the present work, I shall be