LESSON LXXIV.

STO-RY OF LIT-TLE WAL-TER,

LITTLE Wal-ter was al-most al-ways a good boy. If his moth-er told him to do an-y-thing, he did it at once, and did not make her tell him the same thing two or three times o-ver. When his nurse came to fetch him to bed at night he did not cry and pout, but said "Good-night,” and went up-stairs di-rect-ly. If they told him not to touch an-y-thing he took his hands a-way from it; and I nev-er heard him an-swer an-y one rude-ly. But though lit-tle Wal-ter did all this, he would some-times for-get what was told him. And it was through this he came to be lost in the wood. How should you like to lose your way in the wood, as lit-tle Wal-ter did? Not at all, I am sure. I will tell you how

it hap-pen-ed.

LESSON LXXV.

STO-RY OF LIT-TLE WAL-TER.

(Continued.)

ONE fine day in sum-mer lit-tle Wal-ter's mam-ma said to him, “Wal-ter, I am go-ing out, and shall not be home un-til tea-time. You may play in the gar-den with your hoop, or your ball, or an-y of your play-things. But do not go out of the gar-den, and if nurse calls you, come to her at once." Then Wal-ter's mam-ma kiss-ed her lit-tle boy, and went out.

Wal-ter was ver-y glad to havé all the aft-er-noon for play. He ran out in-to the gar-den, and a-mus-ed him-self for more than an hour bowl-ing his hoop a-long the gra-vel walks. Then he watch-ed the bees fly-ing from flow-er to flow-er, and go-ing back to the hives lad-en with sweets; and the sun shone bright-ly, and the birds sang, and the flow-ers smelt sweet, and lit-tle Wal-ter felt ver-y hap-py.

Walter, An'swer,

Rūde'ly, Play'things, Bowl'ing.

LESSON LXXVI.

STO-RY OF LITTLE WAL-TER.

(Continued.)

BUT, as lit-tle Wal-ter sat look-ing at the flow-ers, a paint-ed but-ter-fly came in-to the gar-den. It was of a beau-ti-ful yel-low col-our, and flew gai-ly from flow-er to flow-er. Lit-tle Wal-ter was not con-tent with watch-ing it at a dis-tance, but want-ed to catch it. This was wrong; for he could not catch the but-ter-fly with-out hurt-ing it very much. But Wal-ter nev-er thought of that. He on-ly wish-ed to have the bright in-sect for his own; and seiz-ing his cap herran aft-er it as fast as he could.

The but-ter-fly was not to be caught eas-i-ly. Two or three times, when it had set-tled on a flow-er, and Wal-ter made sure of it, it flew a-way just as he came up, and at length it pass-ed o-ver the hedge at the end of the gar-den, flew a-cross the high road, and en-ter-ed a shad-y wood which lay on the oth-er side. Wal-ter was so ea-ger for the but-ter-fly, that he for-got what his mam-ma had told him. He climb-ed o-ver the gar-den gate, and follow-ed the but-ter-fly in-to the wood as fast as his legs would car-ry him.

LESSON LXXVII.

STO-RY OF LIT-TLE WAL-TER.
(Continued.)

Ar last Wal-ter man-ag-ed to knock the but-ter-fly down with his hat. But in do-ing so he crush-ed the poor in-sect, and he felt very sor-ry when he saw it ly-ing dead on the ground. Now that the but-ter-fly was gone, Wal-ter be-gan to think of get-ting home a-gain. But this was not an eas-y mat-ter. The fool-ish lit-tle boy had not thought of

Watch'ing, A-eross', Elimb,

Knoek.

the way he was tak-ing when he ran aft-er the but-ter-fly. And now he was in the wood all a-lone, tir-ed and lost. There were trees be-fore him, trees be-hind, and trees on each side of him. Oh, how sor-ry lit-tle Wal-ter was that he had not thought of what his mam-ma told him. Night now came on, and poor, tired, hun-gry Wal-ter sat down at the foot of a large tree, and cried as if his heart would break. How he wish-ed he was once more at home with his mam-ma and his nurse, in-stead of be-ing in the lone-ly wood, through all the long dark night.

A-BOUT an hour aft-er Wal-ter had gone in-to the wood his mam-ma came home. The first thing she did was to call for her lit-tle boy. But Wal-ter was not to be found in the house, up-stairs or down-stairs. They search-ed for him in the gar-den, but he was not there. Then Wal-ter's

Break, Be-hind',

Lonely, Up'stairs,

Search'ed.

mam-ma was ver-y much a-fraid lest her son should have come to some harm, and she went out one way to look for him while nurse went an-oth-er. I do not think he would have been found at all if it had not been for the good dog Li-on. Li-on had fol-low-ed Wal-ter's mam-ma to the wood, and look-ed in her face as if he knew whom she want-ed to find. Aft-er a lit-tle time Li-on be-gan run-ning to and fro with his nose to the ground. He was smell-ing out the track the lit-tle boy had tak-en. On a sud-den the dog gave a short quick bark, and set off run-ning at full speed. Wal-ter's mam-ma fol-low-ed as fast as she could; and when she caught sight of Li-on a-gain he was sit-ting un-der an oak-tree watch-ing her lit-tle son, who had fall-en fast a-sleep from hun-ger and fa-tigue.

LESSON LXXIX.

THE HORSE-SHOE.

HERE is a black-smith mak-ing a horse - shoe. The horseshoe is

form-ed of i-ron, and the i-ron is made ver-y hot, and then beat-en in-to the re-quir-ed shape with a ham-mer. The i-ron is too hot to hold, and so the black-smith makes use of a pair of pin-cers to keep it stead-y while he beats it with his

ham-mer. The lit-tle ta-ble on which the horse-shoe lies is call-ed an an-vil. It is made of i-ron.

The an-vil is

An-oth-er pair The black-smith

firm-ly fix-ed in-to a great block of wood. of pin-cers is rest-ing a-gainst the block. must not let the i-ron get cool be-fore he fin-ish-es mak-ing the horse-shoe. If he did so, the i-ron would get so hard that he could nev-er beat it in-to the right shape. He must make good use of his time, and strike the i-ron while it is hot. Fa-tigue', Blaek'smith, Pin'cers.

Caught, Oak'tree,

THIS large hand-some build-ing is call-ed a cas-tle. It was built hun-dreds of years a-go. It be-longs to a rich bar-on,

who lives there with his wife and a num-ber of serv-ants. Look at the tow-ers of the cas-tle, and its point-ed roof. The bar-on is rid-ing out to hunt the deer, and his wife is with him. A serv-ant runs be-fore them, hold-ing the dogs back by chains. The dogs are all in a great hur-ry to run off and seek the deer. By the way-side sits a poor old beg-gar man. He has no fine cas-tle to live in, and no good horse to ride. He is tired and hun-gry. Rich man, pity the poor!

Hand'some,

ۊs'tle,

Tired.

Way'side,

E