out anything, we are sure to get our
brains knocked out in the attempt. It is very trying to a sensible
baby, who is in a hurry to know everything, and can't wait to grow up.

LITTLE FLOY;

OR,

TEARS AND SMILES.

It was a very hot morning in August, when little Floy stopped to look
in at a city fruiterer's window. There were bright golden apples, nice
juicy pears, plump bunches of grapes, luscious plums and peaches, and
mammoth melons. In truth, it was a very tempting show, to a little
girl, who lived on dry bread and milk, and sometimes had not enough of
that. It was not, however, of herself that Floy was thinking, as the
tears started to her large blue eyes, and she pushed back her faded
sun-bonnet, and looked wistfully at the "forbidden fruit."

Floy once lived in a beautiful house in the country, with her papa and
mamma. Grand old trees stood guard round the house, like so many
sentinels, and many a little bird slept every night in the shadow of
their drooping branches. Near the house was a pretty pond, with
snow-white ducks, sailing lazily about, and two little spaniels--named
Flash and Dash--who were as full of mischief as little magpies. Then
there were three horses in the stable, and two cows, and hens and
chickens, and a bearded nanny-goat, besides a little pink-eyed rabbit,
who darted about the lawn, with a blue ribbon around his snowy neck.
The trees in the orchard drooped to the ground with loads of rosy
apples, and long-necked pears, and tempting plums and peaches; the
garden bushes were laden with gooseberries raspberries, and currants,
(red and white,) while under the broad green leaves the red ripe
strawberry nestled.

Those were happy days for little Floy. How she rode the horses to the
spring, using their manes for a bridle!--how she ran through the
fields, and garlanded herself like a little May Queen!--how she sprang
at night to meet Papa, who tossed her way up high above his dear curly
head!

* * *

_Now_, though it was sultry midsummer, Floy lived in the hot, stifled
city, up four pairs of stairs, in a room looking out on dingy brick
walls, and gloomy black sheds. Her mamma was dressed in black, and
looked very sad, and very tired; bending all day over that tiresome
writing desk. Sometimes she looked up and smiled at Floy; and then Floy
wished she had not smiled at all--it was so unlike the _old_ smile her
face used to wear in dear pap