Perhaps my young readers will not admire this long digression, but I cannot forbear repeating, occasionally, some of the excellent advice I so frequently heard; and I hope there are some children whose hearts will (as Henry’s did on similar occasions) expand with a noble emulation to approve themselves every thing their parents’ most sanguine hopes can anticipate. Henry’s father was no less sensible than his mother, nor was he less indulgent. His time was much occupied in a professional employment, but he still found leisure to improve, and frequently to amuse, his little boy. Henry’s favourite amusement was riding. Hitherto he had ridden only a donkey, but his kind papa had promised to purchase a poney for him the ensuing spring, provided he profited by his brother’s instructions. The little boy was usually diligent and attentive, but on this occasion he displayed so much assiduity, and so entirely satisfied his papa, that the promised reward was already earned; and Henry, in idea, mounted his poney and rode beside his dear papa, though the winter had yet to elapse before his idea could be realized. The season was peculiarly severe, and I had great reason to rejoice that I was not exposed to its inclemency; for I frequently observed from the windows multitudes of little birds flying in every direction, in search of that sustenance the snow-covered earth refused them. I pitied them very much, and would gladly have shared my food with them, but as I could not express my benevolent wishes, they were, of course, fruitless, and compassion was all I could bestow. Happily, however, Henry observed their distress, and soon found means to relieve them. He obtained his mamma’s permission to have the window-sash taken out from a small empty room, and there he put abundance of food every evening, but never went in during the day. The plan succeeded according to his wish, for the birds meeting with no interruption, came there every day to feed, and the dear boy had frequently the pleasure of seeing his numerous little pensioners busily employed about the window of his aviary. The snow continued very long on the ground, but as Henry was a robust boy, that did not prevent his walking out. One morning he came home, and ran hastily into the room where his mamma was sitting. “How now, my Henry,” said she, “why you have been up to your knees in the snow. That is not like your usual obedience.” “Dear mamma,” said Henry, “I am sure you will excuse me when you know the cause. Look at this poor little fellow,” added he, producing a redbreast of the preceding spring; “he flew a few paces before me on the path where I was walking, and then stopped, as if unable to proceed: when I advanced he made another effort, and reached the foot of a tree, where he sat quite still for some time, and I, fearing that he was dying, ventured across the snow and brought him home. I think we may, perhaps, recover him, mamma.”