The house is not so pretty, I think, as some of our English cottages, for it is built of the trunks of trees, closely fitted together, and painted red, the crevices being stuffed with moss: the roof, too, is covered with turf, and there is a tall crop of grass upon it ready for the mower, but the young kid that has just climbed up will do his work without a scythe. The sod around the hut is covered with little flowers that were half awake before the snows melted, and are now wide open and ready for the sunshine of the long summer day; they are far enough from the shadows of the pine-trees to receive it. Broad-faced, flaxen-haired children are at play about the door. They look clean and good-natured, and are comfortably clothed in coarse blue cloth. Perhaps their mother will shew us the path to the nearest village. See, she comes to the door, and bids us enter. The boarded floor is strewn with the tips of the firboughs; and though this does not look very orderly in our eyes, every thing in the room is clean and neat. The walls are hung with gay but not very beautiful pictures, that the little blue-eyed children will be pleased to talk about. The good woman is gone out in her high-heeled shoes to her store-house, that is built on wooden stakes to keep out the mice. She and her children come back laden with their dry cakes made of oatmeal mixed with fir-bark, with some eggs, some slices of meat, that have been salted and then dried in the wind, and a pan of curdled milk. Little Thor, that ruddy-faced boy, carries one great silver spoon that belonged to his grandfather, and was made long before the cottage was built. We must eat before we pass on our way. If we had halted at the cottage in the night, we should have been received with the same kindness; for the inns of the country are few and far between, and the people have not yet forgotten to be kind one to another. Now that we have eaten and rested, the two boys, Harold and Thor, will shew us the path, for their house is built near the edge of the pine-forest, and we are not very far from the village. We cross one or two wooden bridges over a tumbling brook, and are amongst the fields, divided not with hawthorn hedges, but with wooden fences. There is the village! The little red houses are all made of wood, and so is the pretty church, with its taper spire in the midst of the flat grave-stones. The girl at the gate, with one hand full of windflowers, and in the other a huge rusty key, will shew us what is to be seen within: The great picture, painted by one who was brought up amongst the poor children of the village, the carved oak pulpit, and the organ. How pretty the village looks in the mild yellow light! The sun is not set: you can see it like a large red fire among the pine-trees. What do you think the hour must be? Time for children in England to be fast asleep, for it is past ten at night. This is one of the long summer days of a northern land. The sun will only sink for a very short time: the light does not fade from the west before he rises again. Summer has only just begun, but it will not last long. While it lasts, the borders of the great lakes that are almost like seas, are crowded with waterfowl-you hear their clamour all day long. The air is full of insects that are troublesome to the poor reindeer; they remove to the mountains to be out of their way. The rocks are everywhere covered with flowers-some of them very beautiful; and the apple and cherry-trees put forth their pink and white blossoms; but though the fruit is abundant, and soon ripens, it has not much flavour. Perhaps you would like to know why I have been talking so long about the cottages and pine forests of Sweden. Look at the newly-boarded floor beneath your feet. You call the planks deal; and you know that the floor is white and dry to walk upon; but it may be you have never thought how long a voyage the plank of deal must have had before it was made into a comfortable floor for you. From a forest of Norway or Swedensuch as I have mentioned-it most probably came: for deal planks are usually obtained from the pine or firtrees of the north, that, after they have been felled by the woodman, float down the rivers to the great towns of the country, where they are shipped for England: but the deal board beneath your feet shall tell you its own story. 20 LESSONS FOR WEEK-DAY The house is ESSONS FOR WEEK-DAY SCHOOL, น of wood, and so is the pretty are There is the village! The the ret with one hand full of winstown, the midst of the fat grave-phone rusty key, will shew ne vizi ́a the hour must be? Last aulesep, for it is English cottages, for it is built of th high-heele wooden children slices mine cared to est pine-tree grew, ere the skies are bright and g, when the clear-eyed woodman der; and in all that mighty wood So stately as the pine-tree that had had scattered down beside the mossy stone. grown .m heaved, and stoutly, till the pine-tree's topmost the rushing waters, that in those old forests flow,oatmea de wondrous voyage, many a league and far away, ghty heart of Britain, where it spreads the floors to-day the ▾ ne stream was madly leaping, where the lake beamed broad rud ad still, lor/ ver, by day the pine-tree floated through the plain beneath the hill. through many an ancient forest, on, past many a busy town, By the cotter's painted log-hut, by the rich man's house of stone, sailed, With the stormy skies above her, o'er the waters dim and cold, ONS FOR WEEK-DAY SCHOOLS. 23 sunder: yes the craftsman's iron saw,- heam, raindrop, frost and dew, H.T. ESSONS FOR WEEK-DAY SCHOOLS. 21 There is the village! The little red of wood, and so is the pretty church, *he midst of the flat grave-stones. one hand full of windflowers, key, will shew us what is icture, painted by one poor children of the he organ. How light! The fire among ust be? it is 1 RUGBY. se which are most considered by God as im after the same measure yet it is very easy to explain speak of them as trifling, and eir own conduct at school with little The reason is, because they measure the As by the harm which they do in this world, by the harm which they do in unfitting us for Angdom of God, by making us unlike God and arist. Now it is very certain that the faults of boys do not do any very great harm in the world: when boys ill-treat one another, it is very seldom that the injury is so serious as to be felt in after life; when they lie, the consequence of their lie is, perhaps, no more than to save themselves from punishment; when they are extravagant and run in debt, it is very often only to the amount of a few shillings, which it does not seriously inconvenience their friends to pay. Nay, when they are idle, it very often happens that their worldly interest in after life does not seriously suffer from it. Men then, feeling that their own faults in manhood produce so much more serious consequences that extravagance and idleness are then absolute ruin to many others besides themselves-that the indulgence of violent and cruel passions then may absolutely lead to murder-and that falsehood, or theft, would at once cause them to be driven out of societycomparing, I say, these serious worldly consequences of the faults of mankind, with the very light worldly con "Twas a forest of the Northland, 'twas a forest old and dim, Where the pine-trees stood up darkly, like a host of giants, grim: "Twas a quiet night in summer, all the air was golden yet, For the sun, in those old forests, while it sinks is loath to set. Yes; a golden wren had stirred it, swinging on the selfsame bough; From his beak the seeds were dropping: one beside a mossy stone Found a moist and hidden crevice, till a little fir-tree grownNurtured by the mists and raindrops, yellow sunbeams, spotless snows Strait and green as is an emerald, year by year it calmly rose: Many a long and starry winter found it nestling in the nook, Where, nor milk-white hares, nor foxes, nor the ermine cared to look. Greenly, silently, and surely, thus the forest pine-tree grew, Till its topmost bough was waving where the skies are bright and blue. "Twas a fair and ruddy morning, when the clear-eyed woodman stood With his axe upon his shoulder; and in all that mighty wood Said there was no trunk so stately as the pine-tree that had grown From the cone a wren had scattered down beside the mossy stone. Well, the strong arm heaved, and stoutly, till the pine-tree's topmost bough Dipped within the rushing waters, that in those old forests flow,Ready for the wondrous voyage, many a league and far away, To that mighty heart of Britain, where it spreads the floors to-dayWhere the stream was madly leaping, where the lake beamed broad and still, Day by day the pine-tree floated through the plain beneath the hill. On, through many an ancient forest, on, past many a busy town, Till a hundred English voices from the shore the good ship hailed: |