thus a healthful glow.

{155}

{156}

_THE BREATH O' LIFE_.

Our lungs are formed of curious cells,
And tubes to draw in air,--
And if we breathe quite deep and full
And take our needful share,
'Twill keep our blood so red and pure,
Our health so firm and true,
We scarce shall know what suffering means,
But joyous feel, and new.

But if we wear our clothing tight,
The little cells will close,
And then they cannot do their work,
And thus our health we lose;
Or if we breathe the air impure,
'T will give us tainted blood,
While plenty, pure, sun-ripened air
Will make us glad and good.

{157}

_THE GIRLS._

Three little girls with their sun-bonnets on,
Wandered out for a walk in the dew;
And they tip-toed about, full of frolic and fun,
While their aprons around them they drew.

But their little wet feet brought fever and cough,
And their little red lips grew so thin;
And their little round faces were haggard enough,
O, I'm sure they'll not do it again!

Not do it, I mean, without boots that shall guard
Their ankles and feet from the wet;
For the care of the health brings a joyous reward,
The neglect, brings us pain and regret.

{158}

_THE TEMPERANCE CHILD._

Mamma, if you'd have me
Be a temperance child,
You must give me only
Food that's pure and mild.
Highly-seasoned dishes
Make the stomach crave
Stronger things; and often
Lead to drunkard's grave.

{159}

_LISTEN, CHILDREN!_

Listen, children! when your head aches,
Do not eat, but wait a meal;
This will oftentimes relieve you,
Making you right joyous feel.

Listen, children! when your stomach
Rolls and tumbles, wait awhile;
Do not eat, but drink warm water,
And you'll soon be glad and smile.

Listen, children! in hot water
Put your feet when you've "a cold;"
Into bed now, wrapped in blankets,
And you'll soon be well, we're told.

Listen, children! perspiration
Is a saving from much sin:
Wash and rub, and dry well after;
Thus we quell disease within.

Listen, children! when you're hungry
Do not stuff you like a pig,
But eat slowly and chew thorough,
Lest your teeth your grave shall dig.

{160}

_TICK-TOOK, TICK-TOCK_.

Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Sings the pretty cuckoo clock;
Tick-tack, tick-tack,
Time flies on, b