yourselves that it is not a great fire, like the sun, and that you cannot get warm in the light of it.

And now you will guess at once, that, if it is not fire itself, it must shine from the sun's fire; and that is right. The moon itself is cold and dark. It is the light of the sun that makes it look bright to us. We might call it the sun's looking-glass, in which we see his image or reflection.

But we cannot at all times see the whole of it. When we do, we call it a full moon, and, when we see only the edge of it, we say it is a new moon. The moon itself does not change its shape. It is always round, like an orange—a dark round ball, which we should never see at all, if the sun did not light it up for us; and it is only a part of the time we can see the side which is lighted up.

Which do you suppose is the larger,—the moon, or the stars? Now I know you will say the moon, because it looks so much larger; but you must remember that the stars are so far away, we can hardly see them at all, and the moon is our own moon, and much nearer to us than our own sun.

We can see more of it than we can see of the stars; but it is a very small thing indeed, compared with one of them. It would take about fifty moons to make one such earth as we live on, and it would take more earths than you can count to make one star or sun.

THE ROBBERY.

I must tell you of something that happened one day last summer, when I was at the Zoölogical Garden in Philadelphia.

Among the persons standing around the cage where the monkeys were kept, was an old lady who had on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. All at once, a big brown monkey stretched out his paw between the bars, snatched the spectacles, and scampered away, chattering and grinning with delight.

Of course, the poor lady was in distress. The keeper came to the rescue, and, by driving the monkey about the cage with a long pole, forced him at last to drop the spectacles. But one of the glasses had come out of it; and this the thief still held in his mouth, and refused to give up.

The keeper followed him sharply with the pole. Away he went, swinging from one rope to another, screaming and scolding all the time, until the keeper was so tired, that I feared he would have to let the monkey keep the glass. But this the keeper said would never do; for he knew, that, if he let the monkey carry the day, he never could control him again.

So the keeper still plied his pole. The monkey dodged it as well as he could, until the blows came so thick and fast, that he could bear them no longer, when he opened his mouth, and let the glass drop.

Now comes the funniest part of the story. The glass fell quite near the bars, just where the old lady was standing; and a gentleman took her parasol, which had a hooked handle, to draw it within reach. But he put the parasol in a little too far, and it slipped out of his hand.

Instantly a large yellow monkey wrapped his long tail around it, and started off. Imagine the feelings of the poor old lady—first robbed of her spectacles, and then of her parasol!

But her property was all recovered at last; the robbers were both punished; and she went on her way in peace.

PUSS AND HER THREE KITTENS.

THE LITTLE RECRUIT.

There had been an insurrection in Dolldom. Insurrection is a big word: what does it mean, I wonder? I will tell you: it means an uprising, a rebellion. If a number of persons should refuse to obey the law, and rise up in arms to resist it, they would be guilty of an insurrection.

Now, it happened (according to Tommy's story) that all the dolls in the house, headed by a naughty male doll of African descent, and known as "Dandy Jim," rose in insurrection against their lawful queen, Lucy the First, whose brother, Duke Tommy, was commander-in-chief of her Majesty's forces.

The rebels were well fortified in one corner of the play-room. They had mounted several cannon on alphabet-blocks; and a whole company of tin soldiers defended the outworks. Besides this, a china dog and a wooden elephant had been enlisted as allies, and stood bravely in front.

General Tommy felt a weight of responsibility upon his shoulders, and, like a prudent soldier, he resolved not to go into battle until his army was large enough to make victory certain. So he enlisted Queen Lucy the First as a recruit.

Queen Lucy looked very grand in her paper cocked hat, with a feather at the top. She carried a gun; and General Tommy taught her how to fire it off. When all were ready for the onset, he blew a trumpet.

The army marched in excellent order along the entry, into the play-room; and not a soldier drew back