corner of the field was a pond, in which the water was so clear that the pebbles could be seen at the bottom.

The bulls were very happy in this pleasant place; and the reason why they were so happy, and were able to enjoy the fresh grass and clear water, was, because they were friends, and were no ill-tempered or selfish. Whenever one of the bulls found the grass sweeter in one part of the field than where his brothers were eating, he would not keep all hat good grass for himself, but would low, and so call his brothers to come and share it. Not only did these happy bulls feed together, but they played and frisked together, and at night they slept close to one another.

There was a lion that lived in a thicket not far from the field of the four bulls. How he did long to devour one of them! How he did watch to seef if he could catch one of them apart from his friends, so that he might spring upon him and tear him to pieces! The bulls were too strong for him to attack all at once; and every day he saw the four bulls feeding side by side.

Sad to tell, the bulls did not remain friends! One day, Brin found a small patch of clover. It was the only clover that had been found in the field. Brin took a mouthful, and as he ate it the taste was so sweet that he lowed with delight. Buff, Black, and Dunn came running up directly. Brin showed them what he had found. The patch of

clover was so small that there could not be much more than a mouthful for each, and there was not room for them all to put their heads down to it at once. For the first time since they had been in the field they were greedy. Not one would give way. They pushed and pushed their horns against one another; and in their silly ill-temper they quite spoiled the clover by trampling it down into the ground

But this was not all the mischief. They fought, and the strongest among them, who was Buff, drove the others, after a long battle, away from the clover, Their necks were torn, and the blood ran from their wounds, Angry, too, with one another, they would no longer be friends, but each went to a part of the field where he could be by himself.

The lion, as usual, in the evening, came to look at the bulls in the field. At first he thought that the bulls had been taken away from the field. He could not see them side by side as he had before seen them. He prowled along the hedge, and then mounted a little hill from which he could have a better view.

The lion could hardly help giving a growl, he was so pleased when he saw the four bulls quite wide apart from one another. The bull nearest to the place where the lion stood was Buff. The lion made a spring, and in a moment he was over the hedge, and his claws were fastened in Buff's side. Buff roared with pain, and hoped his former friends would come and help him. But they did

not go near him. While Buff was dying, how sorry he felt that he had quarrelled with his friends, and he wished he could advise his three brothers to be friends, and to keep together.

The hungry lion tore poor Buff limb from limb, and ate as much as he wanted, and left the rest to vultures and ravens who are fond of dead flesh.

While the lion was eating Buff, he roared most loudly with pleasure. His loud roar was heard by the other three bulls. In great fright they left off eating, and looked trembling around. They ran towards one another, and after they had met, they saw the lion spring back over the hedge.

It was a long time before the bulls forgot Buff's sad death. And whenever they felt selfish or illtempered they took pains to conquer their ill feelings, and as they lived in friendship with one another, the lion did not venture to attack them.

THE COW-TREE.

"DEAR mamma," said little Charles, as he saw looking out of the window, "there goes our cow. I suppose Betsy has milked her, and that she is going back to the field."

"Very likely, my dear," said his mother, "for it is now past four o'clock."

"How useful cows are, mamma: I don't know what I should do if there were no cows to give me milk for my breakfast and supper."

"You would drink something else," said his mother, "unless, indeed, you lived in the country where the cow-tree grows."

"Cow-tree! mamma!" cried Charles. "Cowtree, did you say? Why you are laughing at me."

"I assure you, I am not," said his mother. "The name, perhaps, may surprise you. But the tree has been called by this name because it yields milk. It grows in a country a great way off."

"Do the people of that country milk the tree as we do our cows ?" asked Charles, laughing still as if he could not laugh enough. His mother laughed too, and told him that the people bored holes in those trees, and then held large bowls to catch the milk which ran out in streams. 66 Early in the morning," said she, "is the time that the milk runs out in greatest plenty. To show you that this tree really deserves the name that has been given to it, the milk, after it has stood some time, grows thick and yellow at the top; so that the tree not only gives milk, but cream also."

"But mamma," said Charles, "these trees cannot be like any of ours, such as oak, elm, or pear trees; they must be soft like the udder of a cow." "No, they are not," said his mother. "They look quite dry, with large woody roots, that scarcely go into the ground. For whole months at a time there does not fall a drop of rain to moisten them. Their branches look dead and withered, and yet

they afford this juice or milk in great abundance. And now go to your supper, for I see it is ready."

THE SPARROW'S NEST.

Nay, only look what I have found!
A Sparrow's nest upon the ground;
A Sparrow's nest as you may see,
Blown out of yonder old elm-tree.

And what a medley thing it is
I never saw a nest like this-
Not neatly wove with decent care,
Of silvery moss and shining hair;

But put together, odds and ends,
Picked up from enemies and friends:
See, bits of thread, and bits of rag,
Just like a little rubbish bag!

Here is a scrap of red and brown,
Like the old washer-woman's gown;
And here is muslin, pink and green,
And bits of calico between ;

O never thinks the lady fair,
As she goes by with mincing air,
How the pert sparrow overhead,
Has robbed her gown to make its bed!