All you can do is to go and inquire for the gentleman who was reading in the chaise." "Oh!" interrupted Paul, "I know a good way of finding him out. I remember it was a dark-green chaise, with red wheels; and I read the innkeeper's name upon it-John Nelson.' I am much obliged to you for teaching me to read, grandmother. You told me yesterday that the names written upon the chaises are the names of the innkeepers to whom they belong. I read the name of the innkeeper upon that chaise; it was John Nelson.' So Anne and I will go to both the inns in Dunstable and try to find out the chaise-John Nelson's. Come, Anne, and let us set out before it is quite dark." Anne and her brother passed with great courage the tempting stall, that was covered with gingerbread and ripe plums, and pursued their way steadily through the streets of Dunstable; but Paul, when he came to the shop where he had seen the blankets, stopped for a moment, and said, "It is a great pity, Anne, that the sovereign is not ours; however, we are doing what is honest, and that is a comfort. Here, we must go through this gateway into the inn yard; we are come to the Dun Cow." "Cow?" said Anne; "I see no cow." 66 Look up, and you'll see the cow over your head," said Paul; "the sign-the picture. Come, never mind looking at it now; I want to find the green chaise that has John Nelson's name upon it." Paul pushed forward through a crowded passage till he got into the inn yard. There was a great noise and bustle. The ostlers were carrying in luggage; the postilions were rubbing down their horses, or rolling the chaises into the coach-house. "What now? What business have you here, pray?" said a waiter, who almost ran over Paul as he was crossing the yard in a great hurry to get some empty bottles from the bottle-rack. "You've no business here, crowding up the yard; walk off, young gentleman, if you please." "Pray give me leave, sir," said Paul, "to stay a few minutes to look among these chaises for a dark-green chaise with red wheels, that has Mr. John Nelson's name written upon it." "What's that he says about a dark-green chaise ?" said one of the postilions. "What should such a one as he know about chaises?" interrupted the hasty waiter as he was going to turn Paul out of the yard; but the ostler caught hold of his arm, and said, “Maybe the child has some business here; let's know what he has to say for himself." The waiter was at this instant, luckily, obliged to leave them to attend to the bell, and Paul told his business to the ostler, who, as soon as he saw the sovereign and heard the story, shook Paul by the hand, and said—“ Stand steady, my honest lad; I'll find the chaise for you if it's to be found here; but John Nelson's chaises almost always drive to the Black Bull." After some difficulty the green chaise with John Nelson's name upon it, and the postilion who drove the chaise, was found; and the postilion told Paul that he was just going into the parlour to the gentleman he had driven, to be paid, and that he would carry the sovereign with him. "No," said Paul, "we should like to give it back ourselves." “Yes,” said the ostler, "that they have a right to do.” The postilion made no reply, but looked vexed, and went on towards the house, desiring the children would wait in the passage till his return. Poems to be Remembered. No. 1.-ON DUTY. TERN Daughter of the Voice of God! To check the erring and reprove; Thou who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity. The poet calls duty the "Daughter of the Voice of God," because in doing our duty we are doing what God tells us. When people attempt to force us to do what is wrong, even the gentlest nature can resist, if certain that duty demands it. And when, in the " weary strife" of our existence, some sad event befalls us, it makes us calm to think that we have still our duty to perform; and, therefore, we cease our useless lamentations and set about doing it. There are who ask not if thine eye Upon the genial sense of youth. And thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand The poet here refers to children who do their duty in obeying their parents, and being cheerful and happy in their homes without any thought or knowledge that what they are doing is duty. He hopes, if anything should tempt such to do what is wrong, the thought, newly-awakened in them, that they are acting contrary to their duty, may keep them in the right path. Serene will be our days, and bright And happy will our nature be, And joy its own security. And blest are they who, in the main, Live in the spirit of this creed, Yet find that other strength according to their need. The poet here builds upon the text that "love is the fulfilment of the law." Those who love the Lord their God with all their hearts, and their neighbours as themselves, must necessarily do their duty. Thus love "is an unerring light,' to guide them in the right way. Still there are times of hardship and suffering when even such souls must feel unable to do what is right without the comfort which the sense of duty affords. So, although in their ordinary life they "live in the spirit of this creed," yet at such times they "feel that other strength according to their need." I, loving freedom, and untried; No sport of every random gust; Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust. The task imposed, from day to day; But thee I now would serve more strictly if I may. The poet here refers to himself. He is fond of freedom, and has had no great trials in his life to put his sense of duty to the test. He has also been his own master, and consequently too indulgent with himself. He has often put off the execution of his duty from day to day, but he is anxious to do better in the future. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, But in the quietness of thought Me this unchartered freedom tires; My hopes no more must change their name : I long for a repose that ever is the same. He does not desire the control of duty because his soul has been disturbed by any great transgression, or made wretched by dwelling upon his past errors. He is tired of this kind of liberty, which leaves his mind open to the trouble which any "chance desire" may bring upon it. He wishes to have only one hope that of doing his duty; and then he will have a sense of rest in feeling that all other troubles and anxieties are removed from him. Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; As is the smile upon thy face; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong, And the most ancient heavens through thee are fresh and strong. We always think of duty as something harsh and stern, yet there is nothing which gives us so much pleasure when it is done. As the poet says, "Nothing is so fair as the smile of duty." For this, soldiers are content to endure the hardships of war in a foreign land, and fall and die thousands of miles away from their homes. The sense of duty consoles them in everything; and those are honoured most who have done their duty the best. If there was no certain law by which the motions of the stars were guided, they would soon strike against each other and be destroyed. Our duty is a law to us, as the law by which the sun rises every morning, and sets every evening. If every boy and girl was as punctual in coming to school every morning and afternoon as the sun is in rising and setting, there would be more work done, and no need of punishment for late attendance. To humbler functions, awful power, I call thee-I myself commend Give unto me, made lowly wise, The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live. W. WORDSWORTH. [Those who appreciate this manner of opening up the meaning of poems to children, will find the most popular pieces in the language so dealt with in John Heywood's Explanatory Book of Standard Poetry, 160 pages, price One Shilling.1 CATO major would say that wise men learned more by fools than fools by wise men. Notes on Common Garden Flowers. IN TWO PARTS. PART II. HE Convolvulus (Bindweed) is a plant with a belllike flower, planted in gardens, to cover posts and trellises. Some kinds have large roots, used for food, of which the Batata or Sweet Potato, is the most valuable. A kind grown in Asia Minor is much valued in medicine, being the source from which Scammony, a well-known purgative, is obtained. The Fuchsia derives its name from Fuchs, a German botanist, who died in 1565. It is a native of South America, and was first cultivated in England at the end of the last century. This plant takes the form of a shrub, and is sometimes grown as a hedge, when it is very ornamental. It is easily propagated from cuttings. The flowers hang from a very slender thread, and are of a red colour. The berries of some kinds are eaten in South America, but are somewhat acid. They are also preserved in sugar. The climate of England is too cold for many species, which only attain their bloom in tropical regions. The Sweet Pea is not of the same kind as the garden pea. It is a hardy plant, sown annually, and much valued for the beauty and fragrance of its flowers. It is a native of Asia. The Lentil of Spain is grown in France, Germany, India, and other countries, on account of its seeds, which are crushed into flour-not, however, used alone, on account of its narcotic tendency. It has been known to produce paralysis in man and other animals. The Tulip is a bulbous plant, a native of the United States of America. It is a great favourite with the Dutch; and in the seventeenth century the taste for the cultivation of this plant approached a mania. The Dutch now supply all Europe with bulbs. The bark of the tulip has a bitter taste, and has been used in the place of Peruvian bark. It is one of the most beautiful flowers in our gardens, and is used by Dr. Watts as an instance of extreme gorgeousness of colouring— |