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he do'-ing? He has a forge: he blows the fire with a great pair of bel-lows, to make the iron hot. Now, it is hot. Now, he takes it out with the tongs, and puts it upon the an'-vil. Now he beats it with a hammer. How hard he works ! the sparks fly a-bout'; prets-ty bright sparks! What is the black’smith making ? He is making nails and horse shoes, and a great many things.

Steel is made of iron. Steel is very bright, and sharp, and hard. Knives and scis'-sors are made of steel.

EXERCISES.-What things are made of iron ? Will iron melt in the fire ? What does the blacksmith blow the fire with? What was the blacksmith making? Of what is steel made ? What are knives and scissors made of ?

LEAD, TIN, AND QUICKSILVER. Léad is soft and very hěavy. Here is a piece': lift it. There is lead in the case'-ment; and the spout is lead, and the cistern is lead, and bul’-lets are made of lead. Will lead melt in the fire ? Try: put some in the shovel : hold it o'-ver the fire. Now it is all melt'-ed. Pour it into this basin of water. How it hiss'-es ! What pretty things it has made !

Tin is white and soft. It is bright too. The drip’-ping pan, and the re-flec'-tor, are all cov'-ered with tin.

Quick-sil-ver is very bright, like silver; and it is very heavy. See how it runs about ! You cannot catch it. You cannot pick it up. There is quick

silver in the ba-rom'-e-ter. Gold, silver, copper, iron, lead, tin, quicksilver. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven met-als. They are all dug out of the ground.

There are oth'-er met-als be-sides these, but they are not so much in use; and some of them are procured with great dif'-fi-cul-ty. The num'-ber of metals is gen'-er-al-ly al-lowed to be for'-ty one; but I need not tell you their names, as you nev'-er saw any of them : how-ev'-er, when you are old-er you must learn their names and uses.

EXERCISES.-What things are made of lead? Will lead melt in the fire ? Of what colour is tin? What is quicksilver like? Where are all these metals found ? What is the number of metals ?


Foun'-tain cov'-ert view'-ing balm'-y shep'-herds pur-suit' George guess an'-swered per-suade' pleas'ure waist-coat built Broad'-bill un'-cle stron'-ger pushed a-broad' sin'-gle.


A young stag once lived in a dell by the side of a foun'-tain, un'-der the cov'-ert of some for'-est trees; he passed his days in ease and plen'-ty, repoʻ-șing on the green turf, crop'-ping the flow'-ers that grew on the bor'-ders of the fountain, or in viewing his own shad'-ow re-flect'-ed on its sur'-face : but Fleet-foot, for thus was the young stag called, at

length be-came' wea'-ry of the qui'-et life he led, and longed for a change of scene.

One fine spring mor’-ning he roușed him-self' from the dew'-y grass, and look’-ing round him, said, How bright the sun shines ! the air is soft and balm'-y ; I will leave these si'-lent woods, and vis'-it the plains and yon'-der ver’-dant měad'-owș. Say'ing this, he left his se-cure' and pleaş'-ant re-treat in the dell, and walked forth into the open fields. There he saw the shep’-herds fold'-ing their flocks on the hills, and the mow'-ers cut-ting down the green grass in the meadowş: he stopped to listen to the song of the milk'-maid, and the chime of the bells from the stee'-ple of the distant vil-lagechurch. These sounds and sights were all new to the young stag, who had passed his life in the deep re-cess'-es of the for-est; and as he bound'-ed with light and joy'-ous steps o'-ver the lev'-el plains, he said, I will re-turn' no more to the gloom'-y for-est, but dwell here in these pleas'-ant plains and fruit-ful fields.

But if his for-mer a-bode' was less pleas'-ing it was much more se-cure' : and thought-less Fleet'foot had soon reason to re-gret hav'-ing been tempt'ed to quit hiş quiet home in the sha'-dy dell; for one day, as he was care'-less-ly re-po'-șing by the bank of a riv'-er, the sound of a hunt'-er's bu'-gle rang in his ear:-scarce'-ly had he time to raise him-self on his feet, when a pack of hounds, and a hunts'man mount'-ed on a fleet horse, came in view.

The frightened stag fled swift-ly o’-ver hill and dale, fold-lowed by the noi'-sy pack, in full cry, close be-hind him. Twice that day did the stag plunge into the stream and swim bold'-ly over, think'-ing to baf-fle the pur-suit but in vain : the hounds, cheered by the shouts of the hunts'-man, like'-wise crossed the riv'-er: and now they gained near-er and near-er on his faint-ing steps, and the hunt'-er thought the prize se-cure' ; but Fleet-foot, col-lecting all his re-main'-ing strength, in-creased' his former speed, and leav'-ing the dis-ap-point'-ed hounds and hunter far be-hind', he reached the friend'-ly shade of the for’-est, and, pant'-ing and brěath'less, glad'-ly laid him-self' down once more by the side of the foun'-tain.

From that time he nev'-er left his na'-tive dell, but, con-tent-ed with his lot, passed the re-main-der of his days in peace and hap'-pi-ness.

EXERCISES.- Where did the young stag live? How did he pass his days? What was his name? What did he say one fine spring morning ? Whither did he go? What did he see there? Had he reason to regret quitting his home? While reposing by the bank of a river what sound did he hear? What soon came in view ? What did the frightened stag, do ? Did he escape from his pursuers ? How did he pass the rest of his days?


One day, lit-tle George came run'-ning to his moth'-er, and said, Guess, mother, what I have in my bo'-som. Dear child, said his mother, how shall


I be a'-ble to do that? But she tried to guess, because she thought it would please her son. When George found that his mother could not guess, he opened his bo'-som a lit-tle that she might peep in.

Where did you get that pret'-ty robin ? asked the mother. George told her, the rob' -in had been caught in a trap, by one of its legs ; that he had seen it flut-ter-ing and try'-ing to get loose; and that he went and took it ver-y gent-ly, and that he had taken great care not to hurt it. On, how frightened the poor little thing must have been, when it was caught; and how painful its lit-tle foot must have been, all the time that it was held in the trap, said the mother.

I went and took it out the mo'-ment it was caught, an'-swered George. What will you do with the poor lit-tle bird ? asked his mother, with a sor'-row-ful face. Noth-ing, answered George : I will only sometimes catch it, and feel its soft feath'-ers. It shall fly a-bout the room ; and I will put a sau'-cer with wa'-ter, and a little box with seeds for it, that it may eat and drink. Will not that be pret’-ty, mother?

George's mother did not think it would be pretty to take a poor little bird and keep it in a room ; but she al'-ways tried to per-suade her little son to do what was right; and he was so good a boy that he hard'-ly ev'-er want'-ed to be forced to any thing. She did not, there'-fore, take away the robin and let

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