still the dog knew when the regular day of the week recurred, and invariably set out, trotting on by himself, to the very Chapel-door, which, when he found shut, he examined with a strange kind of doggish wonderment; and then, after having walked over the grave-yard, and round and into the stable, without finding any token of arrival, sedately turned back again, and though apparently a little perplexed at first, soon setting his nose to the ground, and tracing out all the wonders of the way, he reached home at the usual time.

Now, that the dog should know when it was the Meeting-day by some external signs, as the bringing up of a horse, the putting on of his master's gaiters or it might be by the conversation of the family does not seem so extraordinary, considering the wonderful instances of canine acuteness which we have on record; but that he should actually know, without ever mistaking it, when the day came-though there was no outward sign of preparation, nor even conversation about it— certainly was singular; and proves, that though he had intellect enough to know the recurring day in seven, he had not sufficient to discover the regular exception, which happened about every seventh week.

THE WOODLAND LESSON.

MOTHER.

WHERE have you been, my wandering boy,
This livelong summer day?

CHILD.

I've been by the hedges and fields, Mother! In the "merry greenwood" to play.

MOTHER.

And what did you hear in the wood, my child, And what in the fields did you see?

CHILD.

I saw the young lambs running races Mother!
Each little lamb playing with his brother,
As happy as happy could be!

MOTHER.

And did not their merry but gentle play
Whisper thus to my precious child?
"In the worldly fields of thy future life
Be as innocent and as mild?"

CHILD.

Then a red-thighed bee, on his downy wing.

Came humming by mine ear :

And I watched him get honey from many flowers, Far more than I've brought you here!

MOTHER.

Learn from the industrious bee, my child,
Who seeks her honey thro' wood and wild :
For those who are idle can never be
So loved and so happy as that poor bee!.

CHILD.

'Mid the sheltering boughs of the quiet trees
I heard a soft dove's song :

One sat on the nest, and one woo'd beside,
That the hours might not seem long.—
Mother! I wish that you could have heard
The affectionate song of that gentle bird!

MOTHER.

Heaven bless thee, my child, and be thou like the dove,

Ever faithful in friendship and constant in love!

THE CABINET OF CURIOSITIES.

PART II.

It is now two years since some young friends, Eustace Spencer and Colonel Fairfax's three children, were introduced to my readers, when, passing a day with their aunt, Miss Berrington—a day pleasurably and profitably employed, in paying a visit to what they termed her " Cabinet of Curiosities;" in which every thing had an interest to them, as they were naturally children of an inquiring disposition, beside having all the love of novelty, which is so constant an attendant upon youth. Eustace Spencer was their superior in age, and also in information; but he was as ready to accompany them to the open doors of the Cabinet as any individual of the party; "for," as he observed, "there was always something he either did not know or had forgotten, and he loved to add daily to his stock of knowledge. It was certain always to come in conveniently. Either he read of some place of which his

Aunt had some memorial, or somebody mentioned the very thing, or perhaps the very next book he took up either alluded to some of the things she had, or fully described them; and then he could know if they were right."

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"Have you many new treasures, Aunt Clara?” asked Agatha. "Oh yes, Agatha," said Elinor ; don't you see my Aunt is opening quite a new part of her Cabinet; an addition, I do think, lately made?"

“Ah! but it is not yet full," answered Miss Berrington. "I fancy I must wait till my nephews are launched into the world, and then, surely, they will bring me so many rarities as quite to crowd my shelves."

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Then you must show us very carefully all you have, Clara," said Eustace," so that we may not bring you a duplicate. First and foremost, what have you here, what do I see, a common cherrystone? "A cherry-stone," exclaimed Philip; "what can be the use of keeping that? That is no curiosity." "As if," answered Eustace, 66 my Aunt would have anything that is not curious, or has not a history attached to it, at least! But you are always in such a hurry, Philip ! "

"This is one of my chief wonders,” replied Miss Berrington. "It is the undoubted stone of a cherry from the very first cherry-tree ever planted in England: No, I am wrong; for the first cherries were brought into England, as Pliny asserts,