THE HEN

AND HER CHICKENS.

to the

LET us put on our bonnets, Lucy, and give your brothers their caps; we will go farm-yard, and see the young brood of early chickens that was hatched a few days ago. I know of very few scenes, among the animal creation, more interesting or pleasing than that which we are going to behold.

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I see you are all ready: William may run his hoop along the smooth walk, and will lead little Frank, for the morning dew is still moist on the grass, and it would be a pity to allow him to wet his feet.

How sweetly the sun shines, while the fresh air brings us the scent of many blossoms from the garden, and the little birds are busily em

ployed, collecting whatever can assist them in

making their nests strong, and soft, and warm! They will soon be hatching their young ones, and I know my children will not be so cruel as to rob, or even to disturb them, if they are so confiding as to build within our reach. Oh! it is a sad thing when man, who is appointed to rule the inferior creatures, forgets his duty, and becomes their oppressor. I never knew a person who really loved God, guilty of intentional cruelty to any creature He has been pleased to form.

Here is a bush of sweet brier, just come into bloom; you may gather a small sprig of it, but be careful; the thorns are many and sharp, though you can hardly see them, for the abundance of the leaves. It is with most of the earthly pleasures we delight in, my children. The Lord has, indeed, given us liberally all things to enjoy ; but we must be moderate and cautious in using them, or we shall find our too great eagerness after worldly blessings become hurtful, and perhaps we shall pierce ourselves through with many sorrows in pursuing them. When I look at the sweet brier, I would think of our compassionate Saviour, who was wounded by such bitter thorns,

that we might partake in the favour of God's love for ever.

Now, William, open the gate. So, Mrs. Hen, you are strutting about, I see, in the midst of your chickens, very proud of them. Softly Frank! Do not attempt to catch the chickens ; observe how the mother ruffles her feathers, how loudly she threatens you, while running with her beak stretched out, to defend her darlings.

Now she calls them, and they have taken shelter under her. Stand quiet a moment, and let us consider this sight.

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Do you remember, Lucy, about a month since, complaining of this very hen, that she was so fearful and shy, you never could persuade her to feed near you, as the other fowls did, laying her feathers flat, from cowardice, till she seemed so small, and she would run away, as been inclined to hurt her? Look, now, at her eye; how boldly she fixes it upon you, watching every motion, and ready to fly in your face, if you go near her. What a change! The Scriptures tells us that "love is strong as death," and here we have an impressive instance of it. No kind of danger, as I think, would now drive this

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hen to flight, or induce her for a moment, to forsake her chickens. Who taught her this? The eggs she sat on were, probably, very few of them her own; we put them in a basket as they came to hand, and left her to hatch them. From that day nothing could tempt her to leave the nest. The sun might shine brightly, and the other fowls run cackling when called to be fed; she saw and heard it all, but never staid the eggs longer than to take one hasty meal every morning, and just to smooth her pretty ruffled feathers.

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Day after day, for three long weeks, she denied herself any enjoyment, sitting on these eggs, and losing all care for her own comfort in the steady performance of her duty. But, while we admire this constancy in the hen, we must not forget the lesson that she seems to teach us, and which we very much need to learn; let us ask ourselves, my dear children, if we are ready to bear for the sake of Him who died for us, such privations as this poor, simple fowl cheerfully bore for her chickens? Alas! I fear not for one day. How much need have we to look continually for the help of the Holy Spirit,