mb's death, Mrs. Sarah Hall, a celebrated woman
who wrote books, composed some verses about Mary's lamb and added them
to those written by John Rollstone, making the complete poem as we
know it. Mary took such good care of the stockings made of her lamb's
fleece that when she was a grown-up woman she gave one of them to a
church fair in Boston.

As soon as it became known that the stocking was made from the fleece
of "Mary's little lamb," every one wanted a piece of it; so the
stocking was raveled out, and the yarn cut into small pieces. Each
piece was tied to a card on which "Mary" wrote her full name, and
these cards sold so well that they brought the large sum of $140 in
the Old South Church.--_Our Sunday Afternoon._

JAMIE'S GARDEN.

"I shall have the nicest kind of a garden," said Jamie, one morning.
"I'm going to make it in that pretty little spot just over the bank. I
mean to have some flowers in pots and some in beds just like the
gardener; and then you can have fresh ones every day, mamma. I'm going
right over there now."

Jamie started off bravely with his spade on his shoulder; but when,
after an hour, mamma went to see how he was getting on, she found him
lying on the grass, with the ground untouched.

"Why, Jamie, where is your garden?"

"I was just lying here, and thinking how nice it will look when it is
all done," said Jamie.

Mamma shook her head. "But that will not dig ground, nor make the
flowers grow, little boy. No good deed was ever done by only lying
still and thinking about it."

CAMP TRIO.

A. DE G. H.

Hurrah! Hurrah! only two days more to vacation, and then!----

If the crowning whistle, and energetic _bang_ with which the strapped
books came down, were any indication of what was coming after the
"then!" it must be something unusual. And so it was--for Ned, Tom and
Con, who were the greatest of chums, as well as the noisiest, merriest
boys in Curryville Academy--were to go into camp for the next two
weeks, by way of spending part of their vacation. They could hardly
wait for school to close, and over the pages of Greenleaf danced,
those last two days, unknown quantities of fishing tackle, tents, and
the regular regalia of a camping out-fit. They talked of it by day and
dreamed of it by night.

At last the great day dawned--dawned upon three of the most
grotesque-looking specimens of boyhood, arrayed in the oldest and
worst fitting clothes they could find; for,