pool, when seven score were well washed, and then penned in the high meadow, to dry. Many of them made great resistance, at being thrown into the water; and the old ram, being dragged to the brink, by a boy at each horn, and a third pushing behind, by a sudden spring, threw two of them into the water, to the great diversion of the spectators.

Towards the dusk of the evening, the Squire's mongrel greyhound, which had been long suspected of worrying sheep, was caught in the act. He had killed two lambs, and was making a hearty meal upon one of them, when he was disturbed by the approach of the shepherd's boy, and directly leaped over the hedge, and made off. The dead bodies were taken to the Squire's, with an indictment of wilful murder against the dog. But, when they came to look for the culprit, he was not to be found, in any part of the premises, and is supposed to have fled his country, through consciousness of his heinous offence.

Joseph, who sleeps in the garret, at the old end of the house, after having been some time in bed, came down stairs, in his night-gown, as pale as ashes, and frightened the maids, who were going up. It was some time, before he could tell what was the matter; at length, he said he had heard some dreadful noises over head, which, he was sure, must be made by some ghost, or evil spirit; nay, he thought he had seen something moving, though he owned he durst hardly lift up his eyes. He concluded, with declaring, that he would rath

er sit up all night, in the kitchen, than go to his room, again. The maids were almost as much alarmed as he, and did not know what to do; but the master, overhearing their talk, came out, and insisted upon their accompanying him to the spot, in order to search into the affair. They all went into the garret, and, for a while, heard nothing; when the master ordered the candle to be taken away, and every one to keep quite still. Joseph and the maids kept close to each other, and trembled, every limb. At length, a kind of groaning, or snoring, began to be heard, which grew louder and louder, with intervals of a strange sort of hissing. "That's it!" whispered Joseph, drawing back towards the door; the maids were ready to sink; and even the farmer himself was a little disconcerted. The noise seemed to come from the rafters, near the thatch. But soon, a glimpse of moonlight, shining through a hole at the place, plainly discovered the shadow of something stirring; and, on looking intently, an appearance like feathers was perceived. The farmer now began to suspect what the case was; and, ordering up a short ladder, bade Joseph climb to the spot, and thrust his hand into the hole. This he did, rather unwillingly, and soon drew it back, crying, loudly, that he was bit. However, gathering courage, he put it in again, and pulled out a large white owl, another, at the same time, being heard to fly away. The cause of the alarm was now made clear enough; and poor Joseph, after being heartily jeered by the maids, though they had been as

much frightened as he, sneaked into bed again, and the house soon became quiet.

THE GRASS TRIBE.

TUTOR,-GEORGE,-HARRY.

Harry. PRAY, what is that, growing on the other side of the hedge?

George. Why, it is wheat; don't you see it is in ear?

H. Yes; but it seems too short for wheat; and that, which we just now passed, is not in ear, by a great deal.

G. Then, I do not know what it is. Pray, sir, will you tell us?

Tutor. I do not wonder you are puzzled about it. It is a sort of grass, sown for hay, and is called ryegrass.

H. But how happens it, that it is so very much like wheat?

T. There is no great wonder in that; for all wheat is really a kind of grass. And, on the other hand, if you were a Liliputian,* every species of grass would appear to you amazing large

wheat.

G. Then, there is no difference between wheat and grass, but the size?

T. None, at all.

* An inhabitant of Liliput, a fabled country of dwarfs.

H. But we eat wheat; and grass is not good

to eat.

if

T. It is only the seeds of wheat that we eat. We leave the stalks and leaves for cows and horses. Now we might eat the seeds of grass, they were big enough to be worth gathering; and some particular kinds are, in fact, eaten in certain

countries.

H. But are wheat and barley really grass?

T. Yes; they are a species of that great family of plants, which botanists call grasses; and I will take this opportunity of telling you something about them. Go, George, and pull us up a root of that ryegrass. Harry and I will sit down on this stile, till you come to us.

H. Here is grass enough, all round us.

T. Well, then, pull up a few roots, that you see in ear.

G. Here is the grass.

H. And here is mine.

T. Well; spread them all in a handkerchief, before us. Now, look at the roots of them all. What do you call them?

G. I think they are what you have told us are fibrous roots.

T. Right; they consist of a bundle of strings. Then, look at their stalks,-you will find them jointed and hollow, like the straw of wheat.

H. So they are.

T. The leaves, you see, of all the kinds, are very long and narrow, tapering to a point, at their ends. Those of wheat, you know, are the

same.

H. Yes; they are so like grass, at first, that I can never tell the difference.

T. Next, observe the ears, or heads. Some of these, you see, are thick and close, exactly like those of wheat or barley; others are more loose and open, like oats. The first are generally called spikes, the second, panicles. If you examine them closely, you will find that they all consist of a number of distinct husky bodies, which are, properly, the flowers; each of which is succeeded by a single seed. I dare say, you have picked ears of wheat.

H. O yes, I am very fond of them.

T. Well, you found that the grains all lay single, contained in a scaly husk, making a part of the ear, or head. Before the seed was formed, there was a flower in its place; I do not mean a gay, fine-colored flower, but a few scales, with threads coming out among them, each crowned with a white tip. And, soon after the ears of wheat appear, you will find their flowers open, and these white tips coming out of them. This is the structure of the flowers and flowering heads of every one of the grass tribe.

G. But what are the beards of wheat?

T. The beards are bristles, or points, running out from the ends of the husks. They are properly called awns. Most of the grass tribe have something of these, but they are much longer in some kinds than in others. In barley, you know, they are very long, and give the whole field a sort of downy or silky appearance, especially when waved by the wind.