catch the habit of him, before they are aware of it. His teacher was
once asked what he thought of Selden, on the whole. "I can't help being
pleased with the fellow," said he; "he is a good scholar, and very
obedient; but I should like him a great deal better if he didn't tell such
monstrous stories. He is like a book all printed in italic letters, with an
exclamation point at the end of every sentence." Selden has often gone by
the name of the "Exclamation Point," since that time.

Poor fellow! I wish he had tried to break himself of that habit, before it
became so deeply rooted. I am afraid it will stick to him as long as he
lives now; and if it does, he will get a very bad character as a man of
business. Scarcely any reliance can be placed upon his word. No matter how
careful he may be to state a thing exactly as it is, in his business
matters, if he keeps up this general habit, people will say, "Oh! that's
nothing but one of Mason's italic stories!"

Look out, my boy! It wouldn't be the strangest thing in the world, if you
had got into a habit something like this of Selden's, though it may not yet
be half so strong. But keep a sharp look-out, at any rate. Take care that
you never stretch the truth.

THE CITY PIGEON.

With all is the beautiful lingerer in our crowded cities a favorite. All
love this gentle bird, that, shunning the cool and quiet woods, stays with
man in the hot and noisy town, and, amid strife and the war of passions,
passes ever before him a living emblem of peace. "It is no light chance,"
says Willis, in his exquisite lines "To a City Pigeon,"

[Illustration: THE CITY PIGEON.]

"It is no light chance. Thou art set apart
Wisely by Him who has tamed the heart,
To stir the love for the bright and fair,
That else were sealed in this crowded air;
I sometimes dream
Angelic rays from thy pinions gleam."

In these same lines, how truly and how sweetly has he said:

"A holy gift is thine, sweet bird!
Thou'rt named with childhood's earliest word!
Thou'rt linked with all that's fresh and wild,
In the prison'd thoughts of a city child;
And thy glossy wings
Are its brightest image of moving things."

In the language of the same poet, how often have we said, as we looked
forth upon the gentle bird:

"Stoop to my window, thou beautiful dove;
Thy daily visits have touched my love.
I watch thy coming, and list the note
That