IF Winter Sports. F summer is beautiful, with its green fields, its bright flowers, and merry birds, winter is scarcely less so, with its fields of snow, its glassy lakes, and the merry jingle of the sleigh-bells. So thought John and Edward, William and Charles, and a whole troop of merry school-fellows, while revelling in the snow, or skimming over the ice. Sometimes they would go, all together, to the top of a high hill, and slide down, one after another, in a long string, to the bottom. And if, by chance, one of the sleds was checked in its course, by the heel of its rider, or by any thing thrown across the path, what confusion and bustle it would make. The next one would come down upon it, and over the boys would go together in a heap. The next and the next would come rushing on, and sometimes half a dozen, or more, of them would be all mixed up in a jumble, before they could manage to clear the track. Many a scratched face, or bruised skin, or torn jacket was obtained in this way. But it generally passed off in perfect good humor, the fun and excitement of the sport overbalancing whatever real pain or inconvenience they experienced. One day, as John, with his sled, called, by way of distinction, the "Reindeer," was rushing down the hili, with the speed of a locomotive run mad, he encountered Charles, trudging slowly up, and listening so intently to a story which William was telling him, that he did not see what was coming, till it was too late to escape. He made the attempt to get on one side, but happened to take the same side to which John was steering in order to avoid him. The sled struck him powerfully, knocked his feet from under him, and gliding swiftly on, left him sprawling on the snow behind. It was the work of an instant. Charles sprung to his feet, picked up 1 his sled, and trudged along, as if nothing had happened, while William went on with his story, simply stopping to ask-what did you do that for? Charles' shins complained to him, but he did not think it worth while to repeat the complaint to any one else. MAJOR T The Soldier's Rest. of great prudence, bravery, and tact, and had been selected for this occasion, because all these qualities would certainly be called into requisition. He had passed and re-passed the enemy's lines several times. He had fallen in with their scouting parties, and escaped them, sometimes without challenge, as a person with whom they had nothing to do; and sometimes, after severe scrutiny, as a neutral or a secret friend. He had even passed through their camp, and conversed freely with officers and men, and had accomplished successfully all the objects of his mission, except that of getting safely away, and conveying to his general the important information he had obtained. This, too, he had almost achieved. He was beyond the extreme lines of the enemy's outposts, and on the borders of that portion of the country which was decidedly friendly to the war. For several days and nights every faculty of body and mind had been exercised to their utmost capacity. And now that all dangers were passed, and everything looked favorable for an early meeting with his comrades, he began to feel that utter prostration which always follows over-exertion. Giving way to the imperious demands of nature, he dropped from his saddle, and leaving his faithful dog as sentinel, stretched himself on the smooth, soft sward, and was soon lost in a sound, refreshing slumber, disturbed by no dreams but those of ome, and peace, and love. The moon and the stars kept watch over him. MR. The Family Pets. [R. MORTON was an intelligent seafaring man, who had for many years resided in New York. He had now purchased a beautiful cottage in the country, to which his family had removed during his absence, and where they were in daily expectation of welcoming his return. His children were delighted with the change, and felt that nothing could induce them to go back again to the city. To them, a residence in the country was associated with many new pleasures. They expected to find abundant scope for their loving hearts, in pet lambs, chickens, bees, etc., etc. But, as their mother was in feeble health, and their father absent, this part of their establishment was neglected; and Harry and his sister every day roamed the fields, joyous in the liberty which a country residence gives, but eager to find something for a pet. At last, one day they espied a toad hopping along through the grass. "Oh, catch him! catch him!" said Harry, "and we will carry him home. I will make a little box for him, and feed him just as cousin Charles did his rabbits." The toad soon became their captive, and in great glee they took him home to their mother. She smiled, and advised their restoring its liberty! However, at their earnest importunity, she consented to their trying their skill in awakening affection in a toad. He was well fed, and had a snug little place to live in. Every day they allowed him a ramble, keeping watch that he did not escape. They gave him the name of " Jumpy," and tried many arts to make him answer to his name, and hop after them when they called him. One day, as they were playing near the well, poor Jumpy gave a sudden spring from Harry's hands, and dropped into the well, from which they could never recover him. While Harry was trying various ex periments to draw up poor Jumpy, | both exclaimed; "we should be de Mary strolled away into the field, in lighted to go." search of some new amusement. After "But let us wait till father comes a little time, she came running back, home," said Mary, after a moment's quite out of breath, exclaiming, as she pause. pushed open the gate, and rushed into the garden, "Harry! Harry! do you know where Fanny is? I have something to show her." "What is it, sister? what is it?" said Harry, suddenly dropping his rope, and abandoning poor Jumpy to his fate. "Oh! it is the most beautiful flower in the world. Look! here it is." "What is it, Mary? find it?" "Oh, yes! so we will," said Harry, who always agreed with his sister; "we will wait for father, and perhaps he will go with us into the woods. He will come soon, wont he, Fanny ?" "Fanny was intent on her book again, and did not hear her brother's question. But Mary took it up at once, and replied: "Oh, yes! Fanny told me, this Where did you morning, that she thought father would be at home before the end of this week. It is now Wednesday, and he must come very soon. But let us run and ask mother about it." "Why, you curious little chatter-box, you have not told me where Fanny is, yet; and I want her to see it before it fades. Oh! there she is, all alone, in the grape-arbor. She can tell us all about it." Away flew Mary and Harry, to meet their sister, who was busily engaged with a book, in a little latticed arbor, covered with a luxuriant grape-vine. Fanny was quite a botanist, and always expected to be regularly catechized, whenever the children found anything in the fields or woods which they had not seen before. So she quietly laid down her book, as they came up, and told all she knew about their new-discovered treasure. It was the first wild flower they had found that season-a beautiful anemone. Fanny talked with them awhile about it, and then promised to go with them, the next day, and look for more. "Thank you, dear Fanny!" they VOL. I.-2 Mrs. Morton was sitting at the window, engaged in sewing, and heard all that passed in the garden. She did not wait to be asked, for she was as glad as the children were, to feel that the time was so near for her husband's return. "Yes, my children," she said, "your father will come very soon. I should not be surprised to see him to-morrow." The happy children ran away down the garden, with many exclamations of delight. They talked over the matter for some time together, and formed many pleasant plans for amusement, in which their father was to take a part, as if he had nothing else to do. Somewhat later in the evening, they were standing with Fanny under the piazza, looking at the sun, as it went down behind the western hills. Mary thought it strange that they could look at the sun then, without any difficulty, while it was impossible to do so at noon. Fanny was about to explain the cause, when Harry, suddenly springing down upon the walk, scampered away, exclaiming with all his might, "There is father! there is father! coming over the meadow." Down dropped the kitten, which Mary had been folding in her arms, and away ran the little girl after her brother, crying out, "Mother! mother! here comes father!" without heeding whether her mother heard her or not. Fanny followed Mrs. Morton, though not quite so madly; and before Mr. Morton had reached the little brook, that separated the garden from the meadow, the whole family were there, to give him a welcome. By the time that he was seated in his own great-chair, and Fanny had put away his hat, Mary and Harry had asked him a score of questions about his voyage, without waiting for an answer to one of them. Presently Harry, who could not keep still, he was so delighted, cried out, "Dear father, here comes a man with a large trunk, and another 'Yes, they are for you and Mary. You may have them brought into the parlor, and I will tell you about them.” "Only look, mother!" shouted Harry, as he came back with the cages; “here are two beautiful doves. But what is this dull-looking fellow, with a plain | brown coat, in the other cage? I don't think he is pretty at all." "Why, Harry! it is a mocking-bird,” answered Mary, as soon as she looked at him. "I would much rather have him for mine, than to have the doves, that cannot sing." "Well," said the father, "you are both suited. Mary shall have the mocking-bird, and Harry, the doves. But remember, it is only on condition that you take good care of them." "Oh, yes, indeed! dear father; we will be very careful of them for your sake." "But they will require a great deal of attention every day, to keep them clean, and to feed them; and, if they are ever neglected, you will have to give them up to Fanny." They both promised to be unwearied in their attentions to their birds, and soon they were all engaged in trying to find some pretty names to distinguish them by. One of the doves was a clear, beautiful white, and Mary thought the best name in the world for her would be Blanche, for she had seen in her book |