For the Wreath.
A Cunning Fellow.
The summer that I lived in Brookdale, I was one day in the woods, with my cousin Jerry, and another boy, named Clinton, when we found a fox’s hole. We began to dig her out; but when we got to the end of the hole, we found nothing. Clinton said he had known a fox to bank herself up in a separate cell, when her hole was invaded; and we determined to see if our fox had not served us so. We dug, and soon found eight little ones, all stowed away in a cell by themselves. We then tried to find the old one, but could not. So we took the little ones and started off; but on looking back we saw the old fox dart out of the hole and disappear. We went back to examine the hole again, and found that she had a separate cell for herself, which escaped our search. So she saved her own life, but she lost her little ones.
Oscar.
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Gleanings.
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Digest what you read. It is not what you eat but what you digest that gives nourishment to the body; so with the mind. Young people sometimes run through a book, and are not able to tell afterwards what they have been reading.
“John,” said the schoolmaster, “you will soon be a man, and will have to do business. What do you suppose you will do when you have to write letters, unless you learn to spell, better?” “O, sir, I shall put easy words in them.”
“Dick, I say, why don’t you turn the buffalo robe t’other side out?—hair is the warmest.”