How merry it is, our balls to throw,
Standing together thus in a row!

He was afraid of dogs, too.—Page 40.

THE LITTLE BOY WHO WAS A COWARD.

There was once a little boy, who was a sad coward. He was afraid of every thing almost. He was afraid of the two kids, Nanny and Billy, when they came and put their noses through the pales of the court; and he would not pluck Billy by the beard. What a silly boy he was! Pray what was his name? Nay, indeed, I shall not tell you his name; for I am ashamed of him. Well, he was much afraid of dogs, too: he always cried if a dog barked, and ran away, and took hold of his mamma's apron like a baby. What a foolish fellow he was! for the dogs do not hurt, you know; they love little boys and play with them. Did you ever see a dog eat up a little boy? No, never, I dare say. Well; so this simple little boy was walking by himself one day, and a pretty black dog came out of a house, and said, bow, wow, bow, wow; and came to the little boy, and jumped upon him, and wanted to play with him; but the little boy ran away. The dog ran after him, and cried louder, bow, bow, wow; but he only meant to say, Good-morrow, how do you do? but this little boy was sadly frightened, and ran away as fast as ever he could, without looking before him, and he tumbled into a very dirty ditch, and there he lay crying at the bottom of the ditch, for he could not get out: and I believe he would have laid there all day, but the dog was so good-natured that he went to the house where the little boy lived, on purpose to tell them where he was. So, when he came to the house, he scratched at the door, and said, Bow, wow; for he could not speak any plainer. So they opened the door.

What do you want, you black dog? We do not know you. Then the dog went to Ralph the servant, and pulled him by the coat, and pulled him till he brought him to the ditch; and the dog and Ralph together got the little boy out of the ditch; but he was all over mud, and quite wet, and every body laughed at him because he was a coward.

Now, Charles, my pen is tired, I cannot write any more at present; but if you are a good boy, perhaps I may write you some more stories another time. Farewell.

MY MOTHER.