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sleep with her. She also said that, when the hundred years were past, the son of a king should awaken her, and they should be married together.

The king was, of course, very anxious to spare his child this unhappy fate, so he made a law that no person should use a spindle till the princess was past her fifteenth year.

But it was all in vain. When she had arrived at that age, the king and queen went out one day and left her in the castle by herself. She wandered about through all the rooms, till at last she came to an old tower, and saw a narrow staircase leading up to it. She went up this staircase, and found at the top a little room, in which was an old woman spinning away as fast as she could. The princess asked her what she was doing, as she had never seen a spinning wheel before. “I am spinning, my child,” said the old

“Oh dear! I wonder if I could spin," said the maiden, and she took up the spindle to try, but she used it so carelessly that it pierced her hand, and the enchantment instantly took effect.

She fell down and sank into a deep sleep. They took her up and laid her on a beautiful bed, in a splendid chamber; and, when they had done this, the whole of the people in the castle fell asleep too. The groom in the stable, the dogs in their kennels, the cook in the kitchen, the king and queen, and all their attendants, wherever they happened to be, at that moment sank into a deep slumber, which was to last a hundred years. A deep silence suddenly reigned through the palace, everything became as still as death.

A hedge of thorns now began to grow round the palace, and it soon became so high that no one could see the castle towers. The people said that a castle lay beyond these brambles, and that an enchanted princess was asleep in it, and several king's sons tried to break through, but it was all in vain. The boughs kept together with tremendous tightness and barrel the way against all their attempts.

When, however, the day came in which the enchantinent was to cease there came another king's son, and an old man told him the story of the enchanted castle. The prince was a brave young man, and he determined to force his way through the brambles, and see the enchanteil princess. When he went up to the


boundary, the thorns gave way of their own accord for him, but they kept back every one else. He walked into the castle, and was vastly surprised with what he saw.

Horses and grooms were fast asleep in the stables, pigeons in their holes in the roof, soldiers with guns in their hands in the court outside. Their clothes had not gone to decay, but were as bright as ever, and there was no dust on the furniture or on the walls.

Then the prince entered the chamber where the enchanted princess slept. She was so beautiful that he could not help kissing her, and, directly he had done so, she opened her eyes and smiled sweetly on him. Then she got up off her bed, and accompanied the prince into the great hall of the castle. The king and queen, and all the court, now awoke, and so did every living thing that felt the enchantment. Horses, dogs, cats, servants, soldiers, all of them awoke, started up, and looked about them in amazement. Then the prince and princess were married, and lived in great happiness all their lives.

Sleep, Baby, Sleep !


LEEP, baby, sleep! what ails my dear,

What ails my darling, thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear
To hear me sing thy lullaby.

My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;

Be still, my dear ; sweet baby, sleep.
While thus thy lullaby I sing,

For thee great blessings ripening be;
Thine Eldest Brother is a King,
And hath a kingdom bought for thee.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;

Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.
When God with us was dwelling here,

In little babes He took delight;
Such innocents as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in His sight.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
A little infant once was He;
And, strength in weakness, then was laid


Upon His Virgin Mother's knee,
That power to thee might be conveyed.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;

Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.
The King of kings, when He was born,

Had not so much for outward ease ;
By Him such dressings were not worn,
Nor such like swaddling clothes as these.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;

Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.
Within a manger lodged thy Lord,
Where oxen

lay, and asses fed :
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,
An easy cradle or a bed.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.


The Liar Self-corrected.

ITTLE Roland was now seven years old, and had never yet told a falsehood. He had never committed any very serious fault, and therefore had no need to hide the truth. When any accident befell him, as breaking a pane of glass, or soiling his clothes, he went at once and told his father, who would forgive

him, with a caution to be more careful in future. Roland had a cousin, whose name was Robert, and who was a very naughty boy. Robert came one day to see him, and Roland, anxious to amuse his visitor, asked him if he would like to play a game of draughts. His cousin joyfully accepted the offer, on condition that they should play for money. Roland for a little time refused, but in the end was persuaded by Robert, and in about half-an-hour lost all the money he had been saving up several weeks for the coming fair. He was so sorry for his loss that he went in a corner and began to cry, while Robert merrily returned to his home.

When Roland's father came home, and saw his son crying, he asked him what was the matter. Roland told him that he was

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crying because his cousin made him play at draughts with him. “And what of that ?" said his father. “I have given you leave to play at draughts, for it is a good game, and teaches children to be careful what they do. But perhaps you played for money ?” “Oh! no, no, papa," said Roland. “Then why do you cry?" said his father. “Because I wished to show my cousin how much money I had saved for the fair. Now, I had hid it all under the great stone outside the door, and when I put my hand in the hole it was gone. Some person passing by the door has stolen it."

Roland's father, somehow or other, suspected this story to be false, but said no more at that time. He went in the evening to his brother's, and, as soon as he saw little Robert, he spoke to him in this manner :

“Well, my boy, you have been lucky to-day, I understand.” “Oh, yes,” said Robert, “very lucky, sir.” “Well, what did you win ?” “I won a shilling,” said his nephew. “What, so much? And did he pay you, Robert ?” “Oh, yes, uncle, I have the shilling in my pocket.”

Now, though Roland deserved punishing for telling this lie, his father let him off, as this was the first time he had uttered a falsehood. He said he was sorry that he had a liar in the house, and that such persons were not believed even when they told the truth.

Some few days after, Roland went in turn to visit Robert, and showed him a handsome pencil-case which his sister had given him at Christmas. Robert was so pleased with it that he was willing to give him all his playthings if he would exchange with him ; but Roland refused to part with it. Robert then began to try and force it from him, and said, “ This pencil-case is mine ; I lost it in your house, and you have picked it up.” Roland told him in vain that it was a present he had received from his sister. Robert began by force to take it from him, and, as Roland clung to it with both hands, he threw him down, struck him in the face, and forced him to let it go.

Poor Roland then ran home, his nose covered with blood, and his hair rough and untidy. “Papa, papa,” said he,“ Robert has been fighting me. He wanted me to give him my

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pencil-case, and, because I refused, he knocked me down, struck me in the face, and wrenched it out of my hands.”

Far from pitying him, his father replied, “Roland, you have told me a lie once, and I cannot believe you now. Very likely you have lost your pencil-case at draughts, and smeared your nose with blackberries in order to deceive me.” Roland earnestly assured him that what he had said was the plain truth. “I cannot believe you," said his father, on account of the lie you told me before.”

Roland, quite confounded, went away to his own room, and bitterly repented that he had ever told his father a lie. The next day he went to him and begged to be forgiven. His father saw he was in earnest, and, not wishing to grieve him too much, forgave him for his fault, and since then he has always spoken the truth.

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Bishop Natto.


JHE summer and autumn had been so wet,

That in winter the corn was growing yet ;
'Twas a piteous sight to see around
The grain lie rotting on the ground.
Every day the starving poor
Crowded round Bishop Hatto's door,
For he had a plentiful last year's store;
And all the neighbourhood could tell
His granaries were furnished well.
At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quiet the poor without delay ;
He bade them to his great barn repair,
And they should have food for winter there.
The poor were glad such good tidings to hear,
And flocked to the Bishop from far and near ;
The great barn was full as it could hold
Of women and children, and young and old.
Then, when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto, he made fast the door;
And while for mercy on Christ they call
He set fire to the barn and burnt them all.

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