very large and fully ripe;
Do look at them, and taste them pray."

"O yes: they're very nice, indeed.
Here's fourpence--that will buy a few:
Not quite so many as I want--
However, I must make it do."

"Nay, Miss, but you must take the whole;"
"I can't, indeed, my money's spent;
I should he glad to buy them all,
But I have not another cent."

"And if you had a thousand, Miss,
I'd not accept of one from you.
Pray take them, they are all your own.
And take the little basket, too.

"Have you forgot the little girl
You last year gave a bonnet to?
Perhaps you have--but ever will
That little girl remember you.

"And ever since, I've been to church,
For much do I delight to go;
And there I learn that works of love
Are what all children ought to do.

"So then I thought within myself,
That pretty basket, Billy wove,
I'll fill with fruit for tha dear Miss,
For sure 'twill be a work of love.

"And so one morning up I rose,
While yet the fields were wet with dew,

And pick'd the nicest I could find,
And brought them, fresh and sweet, for you.

"I know the gift is small indeed,
For such a lady to receive;
But still I hope you'll not refuse
All that poor Phebe has to give."

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Good Children learning their Hymn.]

GOOD CHILDREN.

How lovely, how charming the sight,
When children their Savior obey!
The angels look down with delight,
This beautiful scene to survey.

Little Samuel was holy and good;
Obadiah served God from his youth,
And Timothy well understood,
From a child, the Scripture of truth.

But Jesus was better than they:
From a child he was spotless and pure,
His parents he loved to obey,
And God's perfect will to endure.

Like Samuel, Lord, I would be,
Obadiah and Timothy, too;
And oh! grant thy help unto me,
The steps of my Lord to pursue.

Make me humble, and holy, and mild,
From the wicked constrain me to flee,
And then though I am but a child,
My soul shall find favor of thee.

[Illustration]

POOR CRAZY ROBERT

Poor Robert is crazy, his hair is turn'd gray,
His beard has grown long, and hangs down to his breast;
Misfortune has taken his reason away,
His heart has no comfort, his head has no rest.

Poor man, it would please me to soften thy woes,
To soothe thy affliction, and yield thee support;
But see through the village, wherever he goes,
The cruel boys follow, and