I'D BE A BUTTERFLY.
By a Juvenile Correspondent.

"I'd be a butterfly!" Such were the words of little Harry Ramble, as he stood at the school-room window, one summer forenoon, and looked out upon the green fields and rustling trees. A bright butterfly was fluttering among the leaves under his eye; and on one side hung a cage, with a Canary bird in it. Harry looked at the bird and then at the butterfly, and he decidedly preferred the lot of the latter.

"I can't see the use of being pent up, this way, in school," continued Harry; "what was the sunshine made for, if not to bask in! And what were the cherries made for,

But here we must stay, day, and not look upon And if we miss a word

if not to be eaten! the best part of the the clear blue sky. of our lessons, why we must be thrashed for it. Poor John Bluster is having it now; and my turn will come next, I suppose. Oh! I'd be a butterfly."

I have written the very words that Harry uttered, and my young readers will perceive how foolish they look in print. Indeed, I believe that Harry himself will be ashamed of them, when he sees them.

Harry never had any great fondness for his book, and, on a bright sun-shiny day, he was more averse to it than ever. He longed to be in the green woods, searching for ber

ries, or standing on the pebbly beach, and skipping the stones over the smooth water. When told to get his lesson, he would fix his eyes upon his book, but permit his thoughts to wander far away from the subject before him.

One night, Harry came home, and laid his complaints before his father. The idle boy tried to convince him, that there was no use of schools, and said that he should be much happier, if he had no lessons to get. Mr. Ramble heard his son's reasonings with patience, and was about to expose the folly and childishness of them, when another plan entered his mind. He remembered that experience was better than precept, and determined to give Harry a practical lesson, which might convince him that he was in the wrong. The indulgent parent then addressed his son in the following words.

"Well, Harry, you have made a discovery. Here for these thousand years, the good people of the world have been doing, what you have found to be wholly unnecessary. They have worked, when they would have enjoyed themselves better, if they had remained idle. Schools have been established, when there was no use for them; and boys have been made to study, when they would be happier, if there were no such thing as study. You are a bright boy, Harry; come hither. You shall prove by your own example, that what you say is true. You shall leave school this very day. You shall follow your own pleasure. You shall not be pent up from the sunshine in a dark room. You shall roam in the open air, and pluck the bright flowers, and lay at full length, on the fragrant grass. Harry, you shall be a butterfly."

For a long time, Harry could not believe that his father's permission was given in

earnest. When satisfied, however, that he might leave school if he wished to, he clapped his hands with joy! He thought that he should now be the happiest creature alive. He spent the rest of the day in idleness, and the next morning arose at a late hour, and went down into the parlor. He there contented himself with a cold breakfast, and then tried to think of some amusement for the day.

The forenoon was spent by Harry in swinging on a high gate; but, it unfortunately happened, that just as he was going to jump off, the hinges of the gate broke, and down it came upon him to the ground. He limped away into the house, but concealed his pain from his parents. After dinner, he collected a little pile of stones, and stood up to throw them at a mark. He had continued this sport but a little while, when one of the stones glanced, and instead of reaching the mark, took a peep into the kitchen window, and broke a pane of glass. Harry felt rather sorry at this accident, which spoiled his afternoon's play. He went to bed at an early hour, but did not rise any earlier than he rose, the morning before.

The third day of his liberation from school, was a disastrous one to poor Harry. He had gone into the fields to shoot at birds, with his bow and arrow. All at once, he saw a mad bull, running and leaping towards him. He threw down his bow and arrow. and run away as fast as he could. After him came the bull, roaring and plunging, and levelling his horns. Harry was so frightened, that he could not see the path before him. He stumbled and fell into a ditch. The bull leaped right over his head, and went on his way.

Harry felt grateful for his escape, but found himself in a situation, that was not

very comfortable. He was up to his shoulders in mud and water, and he was afraid to get out, even if he had been able to; because the bull might chase him again. There he remained for several hours, till at last the owner of the bull happening to pass by, took him out from the ditch. Unfortunate Harry! I recollect, that I met him, as I was returning from school. He was walking along at a curious pace, and his arms were stretched apart, so that the water might drip from them upon the ground. His shoes were gone, and his stockings were covered with slime. His countenance was sad, and he was evidently not in a good humor. When he got home, his affectionate mother was quite alarmed at his appearance. But I heard his father tell him, "that he looked like any thing but a butterfly." He was taken good care of, and put to bed.

The next day, Harry resolved to keep near the house, and not venture forth into the fields. He climbed up a cherry-tree, which was bending with its ruby burden, and there seated himself to pass the day in feasting. He devoured so many cherries, that he did not feel an appetite for dinner, and as the weather was very warm, he leaned his head against the trunk of the tree, and fell asleep. He was awaked by a sudden and violent fall. The branch, on which he sat, had given way, and dropped him on the ground. The family were startled by his screams, and coming out, they found him considerably bruised. He was taken into the house, and it was found that the fall had not only injured him, but that the cherries had made him sick. A physician was sent for. Harry was obliged to take medicine. He became quite unwell.

Four days after this accident, I visited Harry in his chamber. He was nearly re

covered, and, to my surprise, I found him reading. He welcomed me, and told me that he was anxious to get well, so that he might go to school. "I have become convinced," said he, "of my folly. It is by industry and study alone, that men become great and esteemed. And, do you know, that I used to enjoy myself more in the one little hour between our school hours, than I have done during the whole time that I have stayed away? I pray to Heaven, that my folly may be forgiven."

Mr. Ramble witnessed with pleasure his son's reformation. Harry again became a member of our school; and he is now at the head of his class. He often says, that there is no pleasure like that, which arises from the fulfilment of duty. And next to the duty of gratitude to our Creator, he places that of exerting, in a useful and virtuous way, the talents, which He has bestowed on us.

CANDIDATES.

subsisted in full vigor, for the candidates for It was the custom, while the Roman republic high offices, to appear on the day of election in long white robes; intimating by this, that their characters likewise ought to be pure and unsullied. Hence the origin of our word candidate, from candidus, white, pure, sincere, upright, &c. In the Roman commonwealth, we are told, they were obliged to wear a white gown, during the two years of their soliciting for a place. The garment, according to Plu tarch, they wore without any other clothes, that the people might not suspect they concealed they might more easily show to the people the money for purchasing votes; and also, that scars of those wounds, they had received in fighting for the commonwealth. It was also unlawful to put one up for any public office unless the candidate had attained a certain age.

CROSSING THE TIGRIS. Will my young readers look on the map of Asia, and trace the course of the river Tigris? The above picture represents Mr. Buckingham, an English traveller, and his attendant crossing this river on horseback, at a spot near the town of Diarbekr. I think you will be pleased with his own account of the journey, and will extract it.

"In less than an hour we reached the Tigris, which here came from the southwest on our left, and flowed to the northeast on our right, making a great westerly bend as it goes by the town of Diarbekr; and here taking an easterly bend, so as to get again in the proper line of its descent to the sea, which is from northwest to southeast. The banks of the river were shelving, and its bed a mixture of earth and sand. Its breadth across was not more than a hun

dred feet, and it was so shallow as to be fordable by our horses without wetting their riders. The waters were tolerably clear, and sweet to the taste, and the rate of the current seemned not to exceed two miles per hour.

"After crossing the river, we came on a fine light soil, now used as corn-land, and, as we rode past, started large flocks of black starlings, to the number of several hundreds in each flight. Continuing on a course inclining more northerly, we came, in another hour, to the banks of the Tigris again, the river here coming from the northeast on our right, and flowing to the southwest on our left, or exactly the reverse of what we had found it before, from its making the serpentine bend described.

"It was on the moment of our coming on the brow of the slope, which here formed

the southern bank of the river, and gave us the view of the stream flowing by, that we caught the first sight of Diarbekr, which burst upon us all at once, and presented a picture of so much interest, that I involuntarily checked the bridle of my horse to dwell upon the scene; while my companions, to whom it was a familiar one, dashed across the river without heeding it for a moment, and stemmed together a broader, deeper, and more rapid stream than we had crossed before."

THE GOAT.

The Goat is naturally possessed of a greater share of instinct than the sheep, and is considerably stronger, swifter, and more courageous. Lively, playful, and capricious, it does not easily submit to be confined, but chooses its own pastures, delights in climbing precipices, and is often seen reposing in tranquil security upon an eminence overhanging the roaring ocean. Nature has in some measure fitted it for traversing these declivities: the hoof being hollow underneath, with sharp edges, so that it could walk as securely on the ridge of a house as on level ground. It leaps with the utmost ease and security among the most frightful crags; so sure footed is it

that even when two of them are yoked together, they will not hesitate to take their leaps, and will generally accomplish them in safety.

Sensible of kindness and caresses, the Goat easily attaches itself to man: sometimes, indeed, so strongly as to become troublesome by its affection; and as it is a hardy animal, and very easily sustained, it is chiefly the property of the indigent. It seems, indeed, better pleased with the heathy mountain, or the shrubby rock, than the cultivated field; and its favorite food consists of the tops of boughs, or the tender bark of young trees. It is also capable of supporting immoderate heat, and is neither terrified by the storm, nor incommoded by the rain.

The milk of the Goat is sweet, nourishing, and medicinal, and not so apt to curdle upon the stomach as that of the cow. In several parts of Ireland and the highlands of Scotland, these animals constitute the chief riches of the hardy natives, and supply them with the few indulgences, which their situation permits them to enjoy. They lie upon beds made of their skins, which are soft, clean, and wholesome; they eat their milk with oaten bread; and convert a part of it into butter and cheese.

In the position of its horns, and in its manner of fighting, the Goat differs from the sheep. Its horns are somewhat erect from the top of the head, and bend backwards; and, when it fights, it rises on its hind legs, and turns its head on one side to strike; whilst the ram, on the contrary, runs full tilt, with its head down.

Recreation is not being idle, but easing the wearied part by change of business. If anything can cure vanity, it is experience