ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE The Youthful Instructor "Love me, love my Dog" Mortimer's Hole, Nottingham Castle........ The Inquisitive Boy The Coleraine Salmon Leap ..... Affectation Castle of Chillon, Lake of Geneva.... Ducal Palace, Venice ..... FRONTISPIECE. .... VIGNETTE. 22 36 51 63 66 74 Entrance to the Kowee River, Cape of Good Hope ......... 84 FIRESIDE TALES FOR THE YOUNG. THE YOUTHFUL INSTRUCTOR. CHILD. HARK! mother, hark! Is that the song of the thrush, or the blackbird? For I never can tell which it is, they are both so full of joy; they are pleased, I dare say, to be alive and awake again, when the bright morning comes; and to find the same beautiful trees and flowers all around them, which they saw before they closed their eyes to sleep last night. MOTHER. And not the birds only, my child; but even those very trees and flowers seem glad. And see how the lambs are skipping on yon sunny bank, and chasing each other amongst the furze and broom; while the sober herds look scarcely less pleased to browse amongst the buttercups and daisies, cropping the short sweet grass, and then lying down as if to think how peaceful and how pleasant are their lives. CHILD. And are not you happy, too, mother? Or, do you like the evening better than the morning? MOTHER. I believe you have guessed my thoughts; for to me the close of day brings many pleasures, the morning many cares. CHILD. But do you not like to hear the cawing of the rooks, the sparrows chirping their "good morning" to each other, and the swallows, with softer voices, whispering what they want to say. MOTHER. Yes, all these are welcome and pleasant sounds, yet still I must prefer the evening, when the rooks come home from the fields flapping their weary wings over the old elmswhen the sparrows have ceased to chirp-and when the swallows have dipped their feathers for the last time in the willow-shaded brook. CHILD. The busy bees, too, that buzz out of their hive as if all the business in the world was done by them; the old hens that look so proud to teach their chickens how to take care of themselves; and the labourers going out to work-you have forgotten all these, mother. MOTHER. No, I have not forgotten them; but I would rather see the industrious bee laden with honey flying home to its hive; the hen gathering her chickens underneath her wings; and the labourer returning home from his work, his children meeting him at the garden-gate, his wife preparing his evening meal, and the smoke of their cottagefire ascending amongst the dark-green trees. CHILD. But the song of the birds, mother, and all the sweet flowers that burst forth with the morning, you must have forgotten them. MOTHER. No, my child, I remember all these. But I remember also, too well to forget its sweetness, the blakbird's evening song, when it seems to me to be rejoicing that another day has passed-another night has come. CHILD. Mother, dear mother! you must be mistaken; surely nothing in creation rejoices that another day has passed, a bright and beautiful day, with all its enjoyments, which none of us could call back, even if we would weep and pray for it. MOTHER. Yes, my dear child. Such is human nature, and such the precarious hold we have upon earthly enjoyment, that many of us do rejoice when a day is safely over-when |