them too much, and all for her own pleasure, until they become like spoilt children, peevish, and always wanting sweet things. Kind children love animals, and delight to see them free. In the Zoological Gardens animals are not pets; they have there plenty of room, and are nicely kept for our instruction. See, poor Jacko, the monkey, has grown too fat to leap, as in his native woods he used, from bough to bough. The poor gold fish have hardly room to turn in their glass prison: how they would enjoy a swim in the garden pond!

    QUANDARY.—Poor Dame Partlet having got into the back yard cannot get out again. She is in a Quandary, for she fears the dogs will bite her—though their chains are not long enough. Keeper, the mastiff, is a noble fellow, and would not hurt women or children; neither would Nero, the bull-dog; he would rather face a lion or a wild ox: whilst Snap, the terrier, barks and snarls in the company of his brave companions.

    Little boys and girls should not touch strange dogs, for they sometimes snap at those who are not familiar to them. To take food from dogs is not prudent, for they growl, bite, and are ill-tempered, like a little fellow would be if deprived of his dinner, after he had tasted the first morsel.

    RIVALRY.—To compete for good is famous—such as little boys rivalling one another in a race up the Ladder of Learning—that is exercise of the mind. Here we have a picture of country boys exercising their strength—climbing up a pole covered with grease, for a prize of food for the body. The boy that wins the leg of mutton will be the hero of the fair, and be carried round the place on the shoulders of the men. See how they strive and tear to win the prize. I should not wonder if they all slipped down together, notwithstanding the encouraging cheers of the crowd. See how the man on the housetop swings his hat in the air, and the people applaud. A few inches higher, and the prize is won.

    SLUGGARD.—Heavy-headed, sleepy Ned, awake, arise! You lazy fellow! Look at the clock! Eight hours’ rest is enough for any little boy—and here you have taken nearly fourteen. All Sluggards should get their slates, and calculate how much time they waste every year—weeks that can never be regained. If you only lie in bed two hours later than you should every day, you lose more than one day in a week, or sixty-four days in the course of the year: which, at the end of seventy years, would be awful indeed! Twelve whole years lost! Lazy, idle people, never seem to have time for anything: industrious ones, time for anything and everything. I hope when little Ned sees his portrait he will be 

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