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THE HOUSE IN WHICH DR. JOHNSON WAS BORN.

I DARE say you have heard of Dr. Johnson, the great author and compiler of the English Dictionary. Well, here is the house he was born in. It stands in the market place in Litchfield. It is an old fashioned, stuccoed house, with plain flat windows and slanting roof. It is still shown to the stranger, and

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is considered one of the curiosities of the place. Dr. Johnson was the son of a poor bookseller, and rose by his own perseverance to be the greatest literary man of his time, He was sent to the free school at Litchfield, and afterwards finished his education at Pembroke College, Oxford. When his

father died, Johnson only possessed seventy pounds in the world, with which he came to London; and after undergoing great privations, and suffering extreme poverty, he worked himself into notice, and was considered the most learned scholar of his day. He died on the thirteenth of December, 1784, at the age of seventy-five, and was buried in Poet's Corner, Westminster Abbey, where he has a handsome monument. Boswell, his friend and companion, wrote his life, which you will read with great pleasure when you grow older, I make no doubt.

Thus you see, that no situation in life, no poverty, however severe, need prevent you using the talents which God has given you; and though you may not be as celebrated as Johnson, you may at least become a useful member of society.

WINTER.

Fierce from the angry prisons of the North,
Lo! Winter spreads her desolating gloom;
In thick array the Tempests issue forth,

And drooping Nature yields her latest bloom.

From every scene Creation's charms have fled:
Where late the Earth in rich luxuriance smiled,
The herds, that venture from their nightly shed,
Scarce find a scanty pittance on the wild.

The little feather'd race, whose matin song,
Oft cheer'd the distant traveller on his way,
Their tuneful warblings hush'd, together throng
In shivering flocks beneath the leafless spray.

Yet shall the gentle hours of opening Spring,
Again with verdure deck the faded plain;
Again the Sun his cheering influence fling,

And joyous groves repeat the early strain.

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WILD BOAR HUNTING.

HE picture represents the method of hunting the wild boar, which was a favourite amusement with our ancestors. The wild boar is a fierce ugly-looking beast much like the common pig, from which it differs in having a longer snout, larger tusks, more gaunt and bony

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form, and fiercer aspect.

Many years ago when there were large forests in England, wild boars as well as stags, wolves, foxes, and wild bulls, were very plentiful, and the hunting them was the common diversion of the nobility. None but the noble, however, were allowed to kill game; and William the Conqueror made a law, prohibiting any of the lower classes of the people from hunting the boar and stag, under the penalty of death. Even in the present day wild boars are common in the forests of Germany, France, and other parts of Europe; as well as in Asia and Africa.

The habits of this animal are much like that of the domestic pig, being fond of grubbing about in

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