Original poems for infant minds by several young persons.


Material Information

Original poems for infant minds by several young persons.
Physical Description:
vol. I; 112 p.;16 cm.
Taylor, Ann, 1782-1866
Taylor, Jane, 1783-1824
Kimber, Conrad, & Co
Printed and sold by Kimber, Conrad, & Co. ...
Place of Publication:
Publication Date:


Subjects / Keywords:
Children's poetry -- 1807
Bldn -- 1807
Children's poetry
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia


Shaw & Shoemaker
Stewart, C.D. Taylors of Ongar,
General Note:
Pagination v. 1: 2, 112 p.
General Note:
Vol. 2 published in 1806; cf. Shaw & Shoemaker.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
All applicable rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 022017417
oclc - 15799168
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Full Text



The B-ldwin UbrarY um of





m.tsy first y ears he past;
That I may give for ev'ry day
Some good aceontlat Last."

,VOL. 1[.


18 7


IF a hearty affection for that interesting little race, the race of children, is any recomimiendation, the writers of the following pages are well recommended; and if to have studied in some degree their capacities, habits, and wants, with a wish to adapt thbo~ ipleverses to their real comprehensive os, and probable improvement....if this has ny further claim to the indu ence of the, public, it is the last and onlyone they at mt to make. The deficiency othe compositions as poetry, is by no means a secret to their authors; but it was thought desirable to abridge every poetic freedom d gure, and even every long sylabled word, which might give, perhaps, a false idea, to cir little readers, or at least A!

make a chasm in the chain- of conception. Images which to us are so familiar that we forget their imagery, are terrible stumbling blocks to children, who have none but literal ideas; and though it may be allowable to introduce a simple kind, which a little maternal attention will easily explain, and which mnay tend to excite a taste for natural and poetic beauty, every thing superfluous it has been a primary endeavour to avoid.

To those parts into whose hands this little volume may chancee to fall, it is very res~ pectfully inscribed; d very innately
vPI ery *ctionately

to that interesting lit e race... e race of children.


A true story ---ag------ 7
The Birds Nest -------- 11
The Hand-Post ---------- -------- 4
Spring -...................... 16

Auum Tmet-------------- --------- 20
W inter -. . - ...- -- 7 - - ------18 --- 2

To Butterfly, on giving it Libr3- ------

lihe Temsty ------ -2
-Vcoreh-yag ---------------2
Evnn---- ------- ----------------3.

The idle Boy ---------------------- 32
l dstrious ---------- -- 34

A 36

The Shepherd Boy - ----- 44
The Robin ----------------------- 46
James and the Shoulder of M1utton--- --- 48 False Alarms ----------------------- 50
The Child's Monitor -- ---- ------- 52
The Butterfly ---------------------- -3
The boys and the Apple Tree - - - - 54 The Wooden Doll and the Wax Doll - 57 The Redbreast -------------------- 59
Idlc Dicky and the Goat - - - - - 60
The Nightingale --- - --. .. .. .. .
Never play with-- -- ------ --- -- 63
The Lark ------ ------------- 64
The TruantBoys ------------ 65
George and the Chimney-Sweeper---- 67
Sophias Fool's Cap - --- - 69
Washing and Dressing - - - - - - 71
Th Plum Cake ------------- -- 2
Another Plum Cake - -- - - - - -73
For a naughty Little Girl -- - - - tionest old Tray - - ----- 1 --- 76
To a little Girl that has told a Re-. 7t The two Gardens ---------- ".. #)
ty Mother. - - ---...

The Palace and Cottage 84
Ball ------------88The Fox and the Crow ------------- 89
The Mother's Wis .--------------- 92
ToMaria -------- ------------- 93.
The Snail ------------ --- 94
The Holidays -------------------- 95
'Old Sarah ------------------------ 97
Old Susan ---------------------- 98
The Gleaner ------------------- 10
Snow -------------------------- 0
The Pigs ------------- --- 103
Finery- ---------------- ------- 104
Crazy, Robert---------------------- 105
XErplr~ymoent ---------- --1G
The Fightilig Exs------- 10




LITTLE Ann and her mother were walking oi)e (1,-y,
Thro' LordWs u i(le cityso fair;
And bu ,;'iiess obli 'd them to go by the way
That led the m thro' Cavendish Square.

And as i4ey passed bAhe great house of a Jor'J,
AJ*autifill chw-i tlker came,
To ke isom,- most i-,legant ladies abroad, W6'straig i,, \ ay pAinto the same.

U10 iuclies in fcai ers and jewels were seev.. The clwarioZ Was paintedall oer The j'uot;-,iea lx,-hi d were in silver aac' reen, And i'Qur hkse,3 gall,)p'd belbre.
A 5


Little Ann, by her mother walked silent and sad,
A tear trickled down fromt er eye;
'Till her mother said, Ann, I should be very glad
To knoV what it is makes yu cy ?

Ah look! said the child, at carriage, mamma,
All covered with va and gold,
Those ladies are riding so charmingly there,
While we have to walk in the cold :

You say Godis kind a the folks that are good,
But surely it cannot e true;
Or else I am certain, shost, that he wou'd
Give such a fine carriase to you.

Look there, little girl, said oth~, and see
What stands at that very co door; "A poor ragged beggar, and hs how she
A halfpenny stands to implore

All pale is her face, and deep sunk is her eye,
Her hands look like skeleton's boo; e
She has got a few rags just about her o tie,
And her naked feet btleed on the tones.

oR I7 ANT MI)NS. 9

Dear ladies, she cries, and the tears trickle down, Relieve a poor beggar, I pray; I've c-ander'd all hungry about this wide town,
And not ate a morse- day.

father and mother are Igago dead, My brother sails over the sea; And I've not a rag or a morsel of bread,
As ptlainly I'm sure you may see.

A fever I caught which was terribly bad,
But no nurse or physic had I;
An old dirty shed was the house that I had,
And only on straw c I lie.

And now that I'm ter, yet feeble and fiLut,
And famish'd, and n aed, and cold,
I wander about vith my grievous complaint,
And seldom get ught bat a scold.

Some will not attend to my pitiful call,
Some thigne a v'g.bond cheat,
Anicarcely a creature relieves me of all
The thousands that traverse the street.

Then ladies, dear ladies, yol pity bestowJust then a tall io man came round, And asking the ladies whi(Ij way they would go,
The chariot turned off wth a bound.

-Al see, Uhttle girl, thnher mother replied. How foolish it~ N as to ctrmplain;
If you would bm~ have lookMd at the contrary side,
Your tear m old have dried uip gan

you~r house, and ywrfrien4~ and your victuals, and
'Twas Ged in his mercy that gave;
You di d not deserve to becover'd and fed, 4And 3,-t all thcse blesisi you have.

"This pour little beg~gar -is bung) and cold.,
wfa-ther nor nmthe1r hjas sli;
And wiule You can dilly suc objets behoA4

A coah ad a footman, amd gaudwy atirc,
Cngil< tinqe de-lgta lo the breat
To be gNmdj iue thing you shld Chflfy desire,
AI inlewve to C-od ali the resL A'.



NOW t4~ sun rises bright and st igh in the air,
The trees smile around us in green
The sweet little birds to the meadows 16, And pick up the moss, and lamb's- hd hair,
To make their nests soft, iaryind clean.

High up in some tree, far awa' 6mr the town, Where they think naug oys cannot creep,
They build it with twigs Td they line it with down And lay their neat eg speckled over with brown,
And sit till the little es peep.

Then come, little boy t Is go to the wood,
And climb up the very tall tree;
And while the old birds are gone out to get food, We'll take dow he nest, and the cherxtpigOd And divide ther betwixt you and me.

But ah! don't you think 't-wid be wicked and ba

To take their poor nestlin away;
And after the toil and the trtuble they've had, When they think themselves safe, and are singing so
To spoil all their work for our play ?

Suppose that S monster, a dozen yard gh,
Should s upat night to your bed; Ando f window along with you fly,
And stop a d your dear parents good bye,
Nor care for a d that you said;

And take you a not a creature knows where,
And fasten you do ith a chain
And feed you with victual you never could hear, And hardly allow you to the the fresh air,
Or ever to come back agai.

Oh how would you cry for your dearest mamma.
And long to her bosom to run
And beat your poor head at your hard prison bar, And hate the vile monster that took you so far,
For nothing at all but his ftin,


Then say, little boy, shall we climb the tall tree
Al no-but this lesson we'll learn, That 'twoul d just as cruel and terrible be, As if a great monster should take away thee,
Not ever again to return.

Then sleep, little innocents, sleep in your nest,
We mean not to take you away;
And when the next summer shall wear t
And the woods in a robe of rich foliage
Your songs shall our kindness repay.

When the spring shall return, to wodlands w
And sit by yon very tall tree;
And rejoice, as we hear your sweet ca ols on high, With silken wings soaring amid the blue sky, That we left you to sing- ahde free.

~ / THE HAND P1'uST.

THE nigit was dark, the suin was bid
Benth the mountain gray;
An no 'zngle star appeared,
asilver ray.

A~ssthe eaththeowlet flew, Adscream' *.g de blast,
AndI onward, wil quicknem'd step,
Benighted Henry past.

At intervals, amid the gmm
A flash of light'nX playd,
And shew'd the ruits wihwater fil'd,
And the black hegssade.

Again, in thickest darkness plsing'd,
'~He grop'd his way to fin&d
l~nd now he thought lie spied bevon
A form of horrid Lind.

tolz i-,FANT -NTNDS. 2i

In deadly white it upw-xrd rose.
Ofcloak or mantle bare,
And beld its naked arms across,
To catch him bv t4e hair.

Foor Henry fl ,k ICS blOOd TUr., Cold
At whift bef;ime *m stood;
But val, thought be, -no barni, 1' ii
Can bAi,pe- to the good.

,oca :all las

91is piecring eyes he bevtAlta when Be: CSTIM wzap gl, 1 'Je
T'll'at gxve 411M s -adl

Aad loudly

And t tj e go,--Vi


And well, thought, he, one thing I've learnt,

Whate,,er frightens me again,
To march straight tip to it,

And wh, n I hear an idle tAe
Oi >,olis and a ghost,
D1'll ilthiis my lonely walk,
Au tall white HandI Y'081. a

AU! see howv thle icesa melting away,
Thie ri er-; have bt~rst Fl their chain;
The w 0,eandct ei with verdure look gay,
And aisi es ensvll h plain.

The sunj ris igh, and shiles warm o'er the daleT!eec ar is w ith ht(ossoms are white;
The Vsi e r4f-the wooilark is "ward in the vale,
And 171- cuckoo returns fromi her flight.


Young lambs sport and frisk on the sides of the hill,
The boney bee wakes from her sleep, The turtle-dove opens her soft-cooing bill,
And snow-drops and primroses peep.

All nature looks active, delightful, and gay,
The creatures begin their emplo ,
Ah' let me not be less Instrious tjan they,
An idle, or sadolnt boy.

Now while in the spring of my vigour and
I the p of fair learning Il run
Nor let the best part of my being consu
nothing of consequence don

Thus while to my essons with ca 1 attend,
And store up the knowledge I gain,
When the winter, of age shall up me descend, 'Twill cheer the dark se ason pain.


THE beat of the Summer come hastily oni,
The frjts aIre transparent and cIear;
Tre and the. bossoms of AV)are gone..
e deep-colour'd cherries appear.

aboe Its is bright andI sue le,
N kdon bt osomn remains;
-he41'cs fields, and the h.dges ate O
An~h h smells smeet iiom the plains.

Doli-T fair inl the valley where SAbles the spring, 11Vhich soft drthin meadow-lanA glides, T~he 09~ thde inwlai the heavy sheep bring,

AiAAI LLhev. ain oatfrom their sides.

me lie down in some shady retreat, ee jo d- thaimean&5 rinf srea m For he swn dart, :,br!adaw: liOt; ble Ilea', A:-d burns with his oyer-ficd beam.


There all the day idle my limbs I'll extend, Fann'd soft to delicious repose ;
While round me a thousand sweet odours ascend, From ev'ry gay wood-flow'r that blows.

But hark from the lowlands what sounds do I hear,
The voices of pleasure so gay;
The merry young hay makers cheerfully bear
The heat of the hot summer's day.

While some with bright scythe, singing s to the
The tall grass and butter weeds
Some spread it with rakes, and by others' o7
Into sweet smelling.cocks in a ro .

Then since joy and glee with activity join,
This moment to labour I'll rise;
While the idle love best i shade to recline,
And waste precious tim it flies.

To waste precious time we can never recol, waste of the wickedest kind; ,n Ia i has more value th al
F he god ta in India they find.


Not di'monds that brilliantly beam in the mine,
For one moment's time should be giv'n;
For gems can but make us look gaudy and fine,
But time can prepare us for heav'n.


TE sun is far risen above the old trees
i monthe silver dew play:
The ssamer tenderly waves in the breeze,
And the mists are fast rolling away.

Let us leave the warm bed, and the pillow of down,
The morning fair bids us arise,
Little bo,-for the sadows of midnight atre flown,
And sun-beams into our eyes.

We'll pass by the garden that leads to the gate,
But where is its gaiety now ?
The Michaelmas daisy blows lonely and late,
And the yellow leaf whirls from the bough.


Last night the glad reapers their harvest home sung,
And stored the full garners with grain;
Did you .hear how the woods with their merry shouts
As they bore the last sheaf from the plain ?

But hark! from the woodlands the sound of a gun,
The wounded bird flutters and dies:
Ah! surely 'tis wicked, for nothing but fun
Tog h the poor thing as it flies

The timid hare too, in affright and dsmay,
Runs swift thro' the brushwood and grass;
How she turns, how she winds, and she tries even
But the cruel dogs won't let her pass.

Ah por little partridge, and pheasaLt and hare,
I wish they would leaveyou to live;
For my part, I wonder how ican bear
To see all the torm the give.
B 2


When reynard at midnight steals down to the farm, And kills the poor chickens and cocks;
Then rise farmer Goodman, their can be no harry In chacing a thief of a fox.

But the innocent hare, and the pheasant so sleek, 'Twere cruel and wicked to slay:
rThe partridge with blood never redden'd her beak,
Nor hares stole the poultry away.

If ks wo id but think of the torture they give,
To dat s who cannot complain,
I think they would let the pooranimals five,
Nor ever (shooting again.
1B ID.


BEHOLD the gray branches that stretch from t#b
Nor blossom nor verdure they wear!
They rattle and shake to the northerly breeze,
Ard wave their lon arms in the air.


The son hides his face in a mantle of cloud,
Dark vapours roll over the sky!
The wind thro' the wood hollows hoarsely and loid,
And sea-birds across the land fly.

Come in, little Charles, for the snow patters down,
No paths in the garden remain:
The streets and the houses are white in the town,
And white are the fields and the plain.

Come in, little Charles, from the tempest of snow,
'Tis dark, and the shutters we'll close
We'll put a fish faggot to make the fire glow,
Secure from the storm as it blows.

But how many wretches without house or home,
Are wandering naked and pale:
Oblig'd on the snow-cover'd common to roam,
And piere'd by the pitiless gale ;

No house for their shelter, no victuals to eat,
No bed for their limbs to repose;
Or a crust dry and mouldy, the best oftheir mea,
And their pillow a pillow of snows.


Be thankfial, my child, that it is not your lot,
To wander an orphan and poor;
A father, and mother, and home you have got, And yet youdeserv'd them no more.

Be thankful, my child, and forget not to pay,
Your thanks to that Father above,
Who gives you so many more blessings than they,
And crowns your whole life with his love.


POOR harmless insect, thither fly,
And life's short hour enjoy ;
'Tis all thou hast, and why should I That little all destroy t

Why should my tyrant will suspend,
A life by wisdom giv'n,
Or sooner bid thy being end,
Than was design'd by Heaven.


Lost to the joy which reason knows, Ephemeron and frail,
'Tis thine to wander where the rose Perfumes the cooling gale.

To bask upon the sunny bed,
The damask flow'rto kiss,
To range along the b-nding shade,
Is all thy little bliss.

Then flutter still thy silken wings,
In rich embroidery drest,
And sport upon the gale that flings
Sweet odours from his vest.

THE TEMPEST. SEE the dark vapours cloud the sky, The thunder rumbles round and round: 'Ae lightning's flash begins to fly, Big drops of rain bedew the ground; The frighteu'd birds, with ruffled wing, Fly through the air and cease to sing.


Now nearer rolls the mighty peal,
Incessant thunder roars aloud;
Toss'd by the winds the tall oaks reel,
The forked light'ning breaks the cloud :
Deep torrents drench the swimming plain,
And sheets of fire descend with rain.

'Tis God who on the tempest rides, And with a word directs the storm 'Tis at his nod the wind subsides, Or heaps of heavy vapours form.
In fire oud he walks the sky,
And let is stores of tempest fly.

Then why with childish terror fear, What waits his will to do me harm? The bolt shall never venture near, Or give me cause for dire alarm,
If he direct the fiery ball, '
And bid it not on me to fall.

Yet tho' beneath his pow'r divine,
I wait, depen ng on his care,
Each right endeavour shall be mine Of ev'ry danger Il beware.


Far from the metaid bell-wire stand, Nor on the door lock put my hand.

When caught amidst the open field, I'll not seek shelter from a tree; Tho' from the falling rain a shield, More dreadful might the light'ning be ; Its tallest boughs might draw the fire. And I, with sudden stroke, expire..

Thus, while with lawful care I try, To shun each dangerous thing and pia I'll lift to God my pray'rful eye, And beg protection from his grace: If spar'd, to himn the praise I'll give, Or if I die, in heav'n shall live.

THE CHURCH-YARD moon rises blght in the east,
The stars with pure brilliancy shine; The songs of the w oodlands have ceas'd,
And still is e low of the kine.


The men, from their work on the hill, Trudge homeward, with pitchfbrk and flail, The buz of the hamlet is still, And the bat flaps his wings in the gale.

And see from those darkly green trees, Of cypress, and holly, and yew,
That wave their black arms in the breeze, The old village church is in view. The owl from her ivy'd retreat, Screams hoarse to the winds ofthe night : And the with its solemn repeat,
Has told te departure of light.

M"y child, let us wander alone, When half the wide world is in bed, And read o'er the mouldering stone, 'That tells of the mouldering dead And let us remember it well, That we must as certainly die, a Foir us too may tollthe sad bell, And in the cold earth we must lie.

You are not so healthy and gay, So young, and so active, and brigI


That death cannot snatch you away,
Or some dreadful accident smite. Here lie both the young aad the old,
Confined in the coffin so small,
And the earth closes over them cold,
And the grave-worm devours them all,

In vain were the beauty and bloom
That once o'er their bodies were spread; Now still, in the desolate tomb,
Each rets his inanimate head.
Their hands, once so active for play,
Their lips, which so merrily sung, Na/senseless and motionless lay,
And stiffis the chattering tongue.

Then seek, nit, my child, as the b et,
Those things which so shortly must fade ;Let piety dwell in thy breast,
And all of thine actions pervade.
d then, when beneath the green sod,
his active young body shall lie, Thy soul shall ascend to its God,
To live with the blest in the sky.



AWAKE, little girl, it is time to arise,
Come shake drowsy sleep from your eye; The lark is loud warbling his notes in the skies,
And the sun is far mounted on high.

O come, for t!e fields with gay flowers overflow,
The dew-diop is trembling still,
The lowing herds graze in the pastures below, .
And the sheep-bell is heard from the hill.

0 c me, for the bee has flown out of his bed,
To begin his day's labours anew;
The spider is weaving her delicate thread,
Which brilliantly glitters with dew.

0 come, fbr the ant has crept out of her cell,
iHer daily employment to seek:
She knows the true'value of moments too well
To waste them in indolent sleep.


Awake, little sleeper, and do not despise
Of insects instruction to ask,
From your pillow with good resolutions arise,
And cheerfiily go to your task, 'T. T,


LITTLE girl, it is time to retire to rest,
The sheep are put into the fold,
The linnet forsakes us and flies to her nest,
To shelter her young from the cold.

'he owl has flown out from his lonely retreat,
And screams thro' the tall shady trees,;
The nightingale takes on the hawthorn tieeat
And sings to the evening breeze.

The sun, too, now seems to have finish'd his race,
And sinks once again to his rest;,
But tho' we no longer can see his bright cefa
He leaves a gold streak ine west.


Little girl, have you finish'd your daily employ,
With industry, patience, and care;
If so, lay your head on your pillow with joy,
No thorn to disturb shall be there.

The moon thro' your curtains shall cheerfully peep,
Her silver beam dance on your eyes;
And mild ev'ning breezes shall fan you to sleep,
Till bright morning bids you arise. T. T.


THOMAS was an idle lad, And loung'd about all day; And tho' he many a lesson had, He minded nought but play.

le only car'd for top or ball, Or marbles, loop, and kite; out as for learning, that was all Neglected by him quite.

In rain his mother's kind advice,
In vain big master's care, Ile fo1ow'dvv'ry idle vioe,
And learnt to curse and swear!

And think you, whlen be grew a man ,
He prosper'd in h is ixays ?[ No,-wicked courses never can Bring good and happy day's.

Without a shilligin his p11itse, tor cot, to call his own, Poor Thomas grew from0),die to wrse,; And harden'd as a sto ue dai t h

And oh, it gieves me m~5i~
His mnelancholy end,
Then let us leave the dteaidi sighl,'{i
And though's of pity isend..

Eut may we this imtportantt truth Observe and ever hold, A 1! hse who 'reM if if th th. W'ill suffer when iT C 2



INJ a cottage upon the health wild,
Tat always was, cleany and nice,,
idWillian good little child. ~Who midIhis parents advice,

~Tis true lie lo,'d marbles and kite,Ad spin-top, and nine-pins, aid, ball, Bttis I declare withi deIigiht,'i is book he lov'd betrthan all.t"

In active and usifat ply
His youth gily glided away;
While rational lasures and joy2
Attended his steps ev'ry day.

And now let us seq'hijm grow up,
Still cheerfulness dA elt inj his mind, Contentment yet swee'4 hisup,
For still he was active and kind.,

roiR I~'rxr bInsns. His wife for gay riches neer sigh'd
No princess so happy v-sth Le;
'While William would sit by her side,
With a mxAsnlingbabe on Iiis knee,

His garden well loaded with store,
His cot by the sid of the greery,
Where woodbines crept! over the dor
And jessaminespeep'd in between.V

These fillld him with honest delight,
And rewarded hiivOPIIf6r-his toil; He went to bed cheerfut at night,
And woke in themorn with a Ide

Wh ke infrmtye brolights to JId NW nhe mte feeoigst oireatodie While his grandchildren knelt romt03bcd,
And his dutiful sons clo'd hi e!

0 then may I diligent be,
And as active av ever I can, That I may be happy alla fmt'
Like him when I gro uP'F



a Cott, was a little fellow once, jhat fLI Earry was, hisuame, M Wil y a ua gbty, trick W he Who r t to his shame.

nded not his friendsadviPef 'is t
t follwwco his own wishes; wfo e mest Itrickofbi$

-;--z watching fishes. is aJ a Utdc poridWhere oFL
,4i.!Jaxrv wcnt,
id in this fivte iahimlan sport, Re many al'L 6 v,hing spent

a day be tmk 16',/ hok and bail,
ind hurried to t1ji( ,p" 8 Tid,
I there be-gat, the ort1k,' !;aURE,
wf which he was sc) fi- Id,


And many a littk fish be caught,
And pleas'd was he to look, To see them writhe in agoqy;, ,And struggle on the hook.At last when having tnpglA enough,
And tired too himself,
He hasten'd home, intes i'g thier.
To put them on a shelf.

But as he juxqpd to reach a dish
To put his fishes, in,,
A sharp mesijionk,-that hung ~ose by,
*Did catch him by the chini.

Poor Harry kjck~d, and eill'd iaoud C
*And scream'd, and cry'd and rooa,~ While from his wound the' crimn blood
In dreadful torrents pous~d.

ThPn aids came running frighfen diku
To see him hanging thde,
And soon they took him from tbe ha*,4
And sat him ini a chair.


The surgeon came and stopp'd the blood,
And up he bound his head;
And then they carry'A him up stairs,
And laid him on his bed.

Inviction darted on his mind, As groaning there he lay; He with remorse and horror thought Upon his cruel play.

-" And oh, "said he, i poor little fish,
What tortures they have borne;
While I well pleased have stood to see
Their tender bodies torn!

"0 what a wicked boy I've been, Such torments to bestow ; Well I deserve the pain I Feel, Since I could serve them so:

-"But now I know how great the smart, *
How terrible te pain! As long as I can fre myself I'll never fish again.



WHO is this that comes tott'ring along!
His footsteps are feeble and slow, His beard is grown curling and long,
And his head is turn'd white as the snov.r

His dim eye is sunk in his head,
And wrinkles deep furrow his brow; Animation and vigour are fled,
And yield to infirmity now.

Little stranger, his nme is old age,
His journey will shofty be o'er,
He soon will leave ifet~ busy stage,
To be torn by affliction no more.

Little stranger, tho' healthy and strong,
You now all adversity brave,
Likeliiinyou must totter ere kng,
Like him you must sink to the kne

Those limbs that so actively play,
That face, beaming pleasure and mirth, Like his must drop into decay,
And moulder away in the earth.

Then ere that dark season of night,
When youth and its energies cease,
0 follow, with zeal and delight,
Those paths that are pleasure and peace

So triumph and hope shall be nigh,
When failing and fainting your breath; 'Twill light a bright spark in your eye,
As it closes forever in death. J.


OLD John bad an appleitree, balthy aWsd green,Which bore the best collins that ever were seen,
So juicy, so meUlw and red;,
And when they were ripe, as old Johnny was Por, He sold them to children that pass'd by his d~oi,
To buy him a mersel of bread.


Little Dickis next neighbour, one often might see, With longing eye viewing this nice apple tree,
And wishing a codlin would fall;
One day, as he stood in the heat of the sun, He began thinking whether he might not take one,
And then he look'd over the wall.

And as he again cast his eye on the tree, He said to hinself, O, how nice they wouldbe;
So cool and refreshing to-day!
The tree is so full, and I'd only take one, And old John won't see, for he is not home,
And nobody is in the wuay."

Btstop, little boy, take y wr hand from the bough, Remember, tho#old John can't see you just n ,
And no one to chide you is nigh,
There is ON E, who by night just as well as by Can see all you do, and can hear all you sa,
From his glorious throne in the sky.

S little boy, come away e re
oot it or wcary, or thirstv to be,
Or any thing rather than sa?
Dn .


For the Great God, who even th ro' darkness can
Writes down ev'ry crime we commit in his book, However we think to conceal. J. T.


IM tears to her mother poor Harriot came, Let uslstei to hear what she says
"Oh see, dear mamma, it is pouring with rain, We cannot go out in the chaise.

'< All the week have I long'd f r,the journey, y~t

Ad fancy'd the minutes were hours,
And now that rm dress'd and all ready to go,
0 see, dear mamma, kow it pours."

I'm sorry, my dear, her good mother rep!y'd, The rain won't permit us to go,
And I'm sorry to see, for the sake of a ride, That you cry and distress yourself so.


These slightly disappointments and crosses you bate,
Are sent you your mind to prepare;
That you may with courage and fortitude wait
More serious distresses to bear.

Oh think not, my child, as you grow up in life,
That pleasures unceasing will flow;
Disappointment, and trouble, and sorrow, and strife,
Will follow wherever you go.

Tho' now the bright prospect seems opening fair,
And hope paints a scene of delight,' Too soon you will see it all vanish in air,
And leave you to darkness and night.

Ah then, my dear W'hen those sorrows appear,
And troubles flow in like a tide,
You'll wonder that ever you wasted a tear
On merely the loss of a ride.

But tho' this world's pleasures are fading and vain,
Religion is lasting and true;
Real pleasure and joy in her paths you may gai ,
or will disappointment ebsue. :



UPON a mountain's grassy side Where many a tall fir grew, Young Colin wander'd with his flocks, Ahd many a hardship knew.

No downy pilkow for his Aead, No shelter 'dhome had he, The green grass was his only bed, Beneath some shady tree.

Dry bread, and water froniU e spring, Compos'd his temp'rate fare ; Yet Colin ate with thankful heart, Nor felt a murmur there.

A cheerful smile upon his face Was ever seen N play, He envy'd not the rich -great,
More happy far than they.


While 'neath some spreading shade he sat,
Beside his fleecy flocks,
His soft pipe warbled throw' the wood,
And echoed from the rocks.

An ancient castle on the plain,
In silent grandeur stood,
And there the young lord Henry dwelt;.
The proud, but not the good.

And oft he wander'd o'er the plain,
Or on the mountain's side, And with surprise and envy too
The humble Olin ey'd.

"And why," said he,, am I deny' 14
That cheerfulness and joy, That ever smiles upon the face
Of this poor shepherd boy

SNor titles, honours, or estates,
wealth, or pow'r has he;
0 yet, tho' destitute and poor,
He see tgore blest than me.' D 2


For this lord Henry did not know,
That pleasure ne'er is found,
Where angry passions reign and rule, And evil deeds abound.

Colin, thd' poor, was humble too, Benevolent and kind :
While passion, anger, rage, and pride, I)isturb'dlord Henry's mind.

Thus Colin, tho' a shepherd boy, Was ever glad and gay;
And Henry, tho' a noble lord,
To discontent a prey. J. T.


AWAY, pretty Robin, fly home to your nest, To make you my pte I still should like best, And fead you N vth worms and % wth bread: Y -~ are so oskiking, your feathers sosj
YoAnd e a is t lloo pretty re And j ur bre-ast is att cuiour d wAre'.


But then 'twould be cruel to keep you, I know, So stretch out your wings little Robin, and go,
Fly home to your young ones again; Go, listen again to the notes of your mate, And enjoy the green shade in your lonely retreat,
Secure from the wind and the rain.

But when the leaves fall, and the winter ainds blow, And the green fields are coverd all over with snow,
And the clouds in white feathers descend;
When the springs are all ice, and the rivulets freeze, And the long shining icicles drop from the trees,
Then, Robin, remember your friend.

When with cold and with hunger quite perish'd an
Come tap at my window again with your beak,
- And gladly I'll let yo come in; You shall fly to my bosom, or pee on my thumbs, Or o round the table and pickpp
eier be hungry again. V 1



YOUNG Jem at noon returned from school, As hungry as could be,
He cry'd to Sue the servant maid, My diner give to me.

Said Sue, it is not yet come hope, Besides it is not late :No matter that, cries little Jem, I do not like to wait.

quick to the baker's Jemmy went,
And ask'd, is dinner done?
It is,' reply'd the baker's man.SThen home I'll with it run."

Nay, sir,' reply'd he, prudently,
SI tell you 'tis too hot."
And much to heavy 'tis for'you.'
I tell you it is not."


Papa, mamma, are both gone out.. And I fbi- dinner long;
So give itmne,-It is all mine,
And baker, hold your tongue.

"A shoulder 'tisAf-mvitton nice! And batter-pudding toa; I'm glad of that, it is so ga
How clevelis our Sue

Now near .his door young jern was come,
He round the corner turn'd4 it 0, sad fate, unlucky chance!
the dish his fingers burn'd1.

Low in the kennel do~w fell dish,
And downfell alltdi meat; Swift went the pudding in the stream~
And saledc down the street.

Th le laugh'il, and rude boy gyinn'd,
tn's hapless fal;*,
But11j ha'd you-g Jemylo4'A"etter lose part than aa

ORIGINAL POEM S The shoulder by the knuckle seiz'd,
His hands both grasp'd it fast,
And, deaf to all their gibes and cries,
He gain'd his house at last.

Ir patience is a fault," says Jem,
SThe baker said too true: In future I will patient be,
And mind what says our Sue."


LITTLE Mary one day most loudly did call"Mamma! 0 mamma, pray come here t A ill I have had-Oh, a very sad fall."
Mamma ran in haste and in fear;
Then Mary jumped p, and she laugh'd in t ge
And cry'd Why, |ow fast you can'
No harm has befall'n, I assure you, to e ,
My screaming was only in fn.


Her mother was busy at work the next day,
She heard from without a loud cry;
O The big dog has got me 1 O help me 1 O pray !
He tears me-le bites me-I die !"
Mamma, all in terror, quick to the court flew,
And there &ttle Mary she found:
Who, laughing, said 'Madam, pray how do you do I
And court'sy'd quite down to the ground.

That night little Mary, when long gone to bed,
Shrill cries, 'and loud shriekings were heard; I'm on fire, 0 mamma 1 come up or I'm dead "
Mamma she believ'd not a word.
Sleep, sleep, naughty child, she call'd out from below,
How often have I been deceiv'd !
You're telling a story you very well know
Go to sleep, for vou can't be believed.

Yet still the child scrc m'd-now the house fit'd
re is above Jane declares,
Alas 's words they soon found were no joke~
Whnev'ry one hasten'dvp stairs.


Ai, burnt and aji 'seam'd is her once pretty faces
~And terribly inark'd are her arms,
Her features all scir'd, leave a Imstng-disgrace,
For giving toamma false alarms


HE wind blows down tile largest tree, nd ythtie wind I cl~iot se.aymates far off, thiat have been kind, .N thought can bring before mny mind, pastt by it is present brought, nd yet I cannot see my thouq;t

ie charming rose perfinmes the air,
-t 1,c-an see no perfumes there ytbe Robin's notes-how sw eet, how Clear omr is smalIl il 11hey reach my ear;
-.d -hlt '!v'n the air they float, iear, yet cannot see a nqte-.


When I would do what is forbid, By something in my heart I'm cltid; When good I think, then quick and pat, That something says, My child do that." When I too near the stream would go, So pleas'd to see the waters flow, That something says, without a sounn, Take care, dear child, you may be drowned And for the poor whene'er I grieve, That something says, A penny give."

Thus Spirits good and ill there be, Altho' invisible to me; Whate'er I do, they see me still, But O, good Spirits guide my will!

THE BUTTERFLY. T Lterfly, an idle tbing,
N makes, nor yet can sing,
L-k tohe ee and bird;

Nor does it, like ti prudent ant, Lup the grain for times of wat,
A wise and cautious hoard.,

My youth is but a summer's day, Then, like the bee and ant, I'll lay
A store of learning by;
And thc' from flower to flower I rove, My stock of wisdom I'll improve,
Nor be a Butterfly.

THE BOYS AND TIE APPLE TREE. As Billy and Tommy were walking one day,
They came by a fine orchardside;
They'd rather eat apples than spell, read, or play,
And Tommy to Billy then cry'd;

Oh Brother, look! see! what e dusters hang
Ill jump and climb over the wall
I will have an npple; I will have aearJ qr else it shall cost me a fall


Said Billy to Tommy, to steal is a sin,
Mamma has oft told this to thee; never yet stole, nor now will begin;
So red apples hang on the tree.

You are a goo4 boy, as you ever have been,
Said Tommy, let's walk on my lad;
We'll call on our sdchoo-fellow, little Bob Gree,

And to see us I know he'llbe glad.

They came to a house, and they rang at the gate,
And ask'd., Pray is Bobby at home 1"
But Bobby's good manners did not let them wait;
He out of the parlour did come.

Bob smil'd and he laugh'd, and he caper'd with joy, is little companions to view.We call'd in to see you, said each little boy, Said B~obby,-I'm glad tsee you.

Come walk in our garden, t large and so fine;
Dshall, for my father gives leave;
And re, he insists that you'll stay here to dine;
A rare jolly day we shall have!


Butwhen in the garden they found 't*as the game
ey saw as they walk'd in the road;
And near the high wall, when these little boys came,
They started, as if from a toad.

That large ring of iron, which lies on the ground,
With terrible teeth like a saw,
Said Bobby, the guard of our garden is found !
It keeps wicked robbers in awe.

The warning without, if they should set at nought,
Tbis trap tears their legs--O so sadf!
Said Billy to Tommy, so you'd have been caught,
A narrow escape you have had.

Cry'd Tommy, I'll mind what mpy good mamma spys,
And take the advice of a friend;
I never will steal to the qd of my days,
I've been a bad boy, I'll mend.



THERE were two friends, a charming little pair Brunette the brown, and Blanchidine the fair : This child to love Brunette did still incline, And much Brunette lov'd sweet Blanchidine. Brunette in dress was neat yet wond'roas plaif, But Blanchidine of finery was vain.

Now Blanchidine a new acquaintance made, A little miss, most splendidly array'd: Feathers and laces beauteous to behold, And India frock, with spots of shining fold.Said Blanchidine, a miss so richly dress'd, Most sure deserves by all to be caress'd; To play with me if she will condescend, Henceforward she shall be my only friend, For this new miss, so dressed and so adorned, Her poor Brunette was slighted, left, and scort-P.

OF Bl3anbidine's vast stock of pretty toys, A wooden DolTI her .ev'rv thought employs;

Its neck so white, so smooth, its cheeks so red, She'd kiss, she'dhug, she'd take it to herbed.
Mamma now brought her home a Doll of wax, Its hpir in ringlets white and soft as flaxIts eyes could open, and its eyes could shut, And on it with much taste its clothes were put, My dear wax doll, sweet Blanchidine would cry; Her doll of wood was thrown neglected by.
One sumtme's day 'twas in the month of June, ,The sun blaz'd out in all the hekt of noon: My waxen doll, she cry'd my dear! my charm You feel quite cold, but you shall soon be warm She plac'd it in the sun,-misfortune dire! The wax ran down as if before the fire! Each beauteous frture quickly disappear'd, And melting left a blank all soil'd and smear'a.
She star'd, she scream'd with horror and dismay, You odious fright, she then was heard to sayFor you my silly heart I have estranged, From my sweet wooden doll, that never changed. Just so may change my new acquaintance fine, For whom I left Brunette, that friend of ineie. No more by outside shew will I be lur'd,Of such capricious whims I think I'm cur'd :

Topainold freftd y heart shll still be true, Nor change for v~ryac because 'tis new. Her slighted wooden doll resum'd its charms, And wrong'd Briuiette she clasp'd within her arms.
ADELA11 1.


The' Thrish sings nably on the tree,
n strength of voice excelling me,
~Whilst leaves and fruits are on.
Think how poor Robin sings for you,
When nature's beauties bid4dicu,
And leaves and fruits are gone.
Ahi, then to me some crumbs of bread 0 fling And thro'the year my grateful Lbaxutsn siU ng,

When winter's winds blow loud and rude,
And birds retire in sull en mood,
And snows make wvhite the ground;
isig your drooping heatrts to charm,
An uetIat yoi i'I not do mc.. arm~,
I hop yelur I-idow rounds.

Ab, then, to rue somnescrumbs of bread 0Ofling! And thro' the year my grateful44hkak FUl sing.

Since~ friends, ii! youx put my trust, As you enjay you should be just, And for your music pay;
And when I find a trav'ller dead, My bill With leaves the corpse shall spread, And sing his passing lay.
Ah, then, to me -se crumbs of bread 0 fling! And thro' the year muy grateful thanks I'll sing.


JOHN Brown is a man without houses- or lands, limself hie supports by the work of his hands; le brings home his wagese ach Saturday night, 'o his wife and his children a vexy good sight.

His eldest boy, D~ky on errands we et 'o lo-iter a-nd Chatter was Very much beni

The ,neighboursA c~izlld hin, anl kf-1little trout1 Hissh5oes t *W; e, ad his toesthey

To see such old shoes all their sorrows were John Birown he much griev'd, and so did his He kiss'd his boy Dicky and stmoak'd his white -had, You shall have a new pair my dear boy, hie then said, I've here twenty shillings;, and money has wings; 4 Go first get this noV-, ci.-,ng'd, I aat4hcr things.

Nowhere conmes the mischiie;-this Dicky would
At an ill-Ilooking, mean-look-ing, green grocer'sshop. F~or here liv'd a chattcfing dunce ofa boy;
Itprate with this urh5 gv Di Aky great joy.

And now, in hi-s boasting, hq shew shim. his not, And now, to the gensd u~p Marches a-ot They laughed, for it was this young Nany~oat's
With hose who passed by her to gambol and play.
Althree they went on in theirfroicLson1e bokits, 'ill Dick drop' th e niote on a hunch, of green sprouts.

Now what was Ock's wonder! to aeethe9ile goat, In munching the green sprouts, eap hi*bn note,
Al ring ran bark to John Brt ht~ ews, By to idlehe lostbhis new s.


TH1Y plaintive notes, sweet Philqmrel,
All other melodies excel!
Deep in the grove retired,
Thou seem'st thyself and song to hide,
Nor dost thou boast or plumne IWIith pride,
N~or wish to be admir'd.

'8o, if endZuf4 with po*' nd grace,
And with that po~V' mnywit4 keep pace,
To acta n'ous part;'
Hence-paltry, ostentations show!
Nor -Iet ny lib~lraI action -know,




My pray'rs I said, I went to bed,
And soon I fell asleep;
But soon I woke, my sleep was broke, I thro' my curtains peep.

I heard a noise Of men nd boys, The wathman's rattle too; And fire they'cry-4nd then cry'd I, Oh dear, what shall I do!

A shout so loud came from the crowd,
Around, above, belowAnd in the street the neighbours meet, Who would the matter know.

Now down the stairs run threes and pairs, Enough to break their bones, The fire-men swear, the e tines tear
And thunder o'er the stones.

01tIGINT4L POM, rhe roof and wall, and stair and all, And rafters tumble in, ted. flamnes and blaze yiow all amaze, And make a dreadfu din

%knd horrid screams, when bricks atid beams Camne tumbling on their heads; .knd some are sniash'd, and some are dash'd; some leap on feather beds.

iome burn hoke, wvith fire and smoke!
And ob, wha was the cause? Vly heart's diSa y'kd, last nigbht I plIay'dl With Tommy, fightiiig straws'


ROM his hum~ble grassybed, Sep the warbling l~rk arise' 37 his gratteful wishe led

Songs of thanks and praise he pouris,
Harmonizing airy space,
Sings, and ~mounts, and higher soas,
T'wards the throne of heav'ily grace.

Small his gifts compared to mine,
Poor my thanks with his com :
I've a soul almost divine;Angels' blessings with me shar'd.

'Wake my soul! to praise aspire,
Reason, every sense accord, Join in pure seraphic fire,
Love, and thank, and praise the Lo .


THE month was April, and the morning cool,
When Hal and Ned,
To walk together to thle neighbouring school,
Rose early from their bed :

6 odtolNAL SOEMS,

When reach'd the school, ia said, Why.con
your task,
Demure and prim?
Ere we go in, let me one question ask:
Ned, shall we go and swim ?"

Fearless of future punishment or blame,
Away they hie4
ro' many verdant fields, until they came
Unto the side.

The broad stream narrow'd in its onward course,
And deep and still,
Silent ran, d with rapid force,
To turn a neighb'ring mill

Under the mill an arch gap'd wide, and seem'd
The jaws of death!
Thro' this the smooth deceitful waters teem'd
On dreadful wheels beneath.

They swim the river wide, nor think nor care;
The waters flow;
And by the current stro thycaed are
Into the mill stream ~sow.

FOR 114PA T 67sns

Thro% the swift waters, as Young Ned was rol'd,
The gulf when near,
Ona kind brier by chance he laid fast hold, And stopped his dread caer

But luckless Hal was by the mill-wheel- torl,
A warning sad
And the untimely death, alt-ffiend now mor,
OF this poor truant lad!.

GEORGE AND !flH1 CIJIMNEYSWEEPERIs pti0as now George cast Ofl;
For he was four years old;
His trowAsers were nankeen s0 fine,
His bulttons bright as goldMy Pretty clothes to shew?

The answer was- No, no. a

68, 0 U G INAT, POR.5 5

Go run belworge, in the court,
Bu go riot- in the street,
Lest naughty boys should play some trick,
Or gypsies you should meet."
Yet, tho' forbad, George went unseen,
The little boys to see,
And all admir'd him when he lisp'd~'Now who so fine as me 1',

But whilsthle strutted to and froi
So proud, as I've heard tell,
A sweep -boy pass'd, whom 'to avoid
He sli pp'd and down he fell. The sooty lad was kind& and good,
To Georgy boy he rat
lie rais'd him up, and kissing said,
"Hush, hush, my Wite man!

Ile rubb'd and wip'd hij clohs with "e~,
And hugging said, don~t cry! Go home, as quicikas you can go!
sweet little boy, gp*o4 bye,"
Poor George loo'4 down, ao to i#' des

FOR INFANT M.WXDS. Al over. soot, and mud, and dirt,
He reached his father's door.

He sobb'd, and wept, and looked asham'd,
His fault he did not hide ; And since so sorry for his fault,
Mamma she did not cbhde.
That night when he was gane to bed,
He jump'd up in his sleep, .
And cry'd, and sobb'd, and cry'd again,
1 thought I saw the sweep!"


SOPHIA was a little child, Obliging, good, and very mild, Yet, lest of dress she should be vain, Mamma still dress'd her well but plain.Her parents, sensible and kind, WVish'd only to adorn her mind; No other dress, when good, had she, But useful, neat simplicity.
S F2


Tho' seldom, yet when she was rude, Or ever in anaughty mood, Her punishmet was this disrace, A large fine cap adorn'd with lace, With feathers and with riblfon$ too; The work was neat, the fashion new Yet as a fool's-cap was its name, She dreaded much to wear the same.

A lady, fashionably gay, Did to mamma a visit pay. Sophia star'd, then whisp'ring said, cc Why, dear mamma, look Ather head! To be so tall and wicked too, The strangesttfiing lIever knriew; What naughty tricks, pray, has she done, That they have put that fools-cap on "


row INFAxxw nsa 71'


AID why will my dear ittle girl be so cross,
And cry, and look sulky and pout? 4
To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss, I can't even kiss her without.

You say you don't like to be wash'd and be drest, But would you be dirty and foul? Come, drive that long sob from your dear little
And clear your sweet face from its scowl.

if the water is cold, and the comb hurts your head,
And the soap has got into your eye, Will the water grow warmer for all that
said ?
And w'hat good wilt it do you to cry?

It is notto teaze you, -:d hrt yt; uty sweet,
Bot onty fortidness ind cre,
That I wash you, and dress you, ad make ou
'loot n teah,
And comb out your tanglesome bair


I don't mind the trouble, if you would not cry,
But pay Ane for all with a kiss ;
ThaV right,-take the towel and wipe your wet eye,
I thought you'd be good after this.


Oh I've got a plum cake, and a rare feast ll

I'll and Pl stuff, and II cram
Morning, noontime, and night, it shall be my
delight;WhaL a happy youngfellow I am."
Thus said little Geprge, pad beginning to gorges
Withi zeal to his cake he apply'd;
While fingers and thumbs, for the sweatmeats and
Were hunting and digging beside.

But woeful to tell, a misfortmuneefel,
Which ruin'd this capital fun;
After eating his fill, he was taken so ill,
That he trembled for what he had done.

As he grew worse, and worse, the doctor and nurses,
To cure his disorder were sent:
And rightly, you'll think, he. had physic to ks, Which made him his folly repent.

And while on his bed he roll'd his hot head,
Impatient with sickness and pain ;
fle could not but take this reproof from his cake,
SDon't be such a glutton again.' ANio


OH! I've got a plum cake, and a feast dtus
Come school-fellows, come at my call;
1 assure you 'tis nice, and we'll each have a slice, Here's more than enough for us all.


Thus said Ibtle Jack, as he gave it a smack, Ss harpen'd his knife for the job!
While round him a troop, formed a clamorous group,
And hail'd him the king of the mob.

Wit masterly strength he cut thro' it at length, An e to each playmate a share;
Dick, Willim, and James, and many more names, Partook his benevolent care.

when it was done, and they'd finish'd4'their fun,
To machles or hoop they went back, And eacl~ little boy felt it always a joy, To doa good turn for good Jack.

In his task and his book, his best pleasures h took, And as he thus wisely began,
Since he's been a man grown, he has constantly shown,
That a good boy will make a good man.

vort INrANT INDs. 75


My sweet little girl should be cheerfil anc mild,
And should not be fretful andcry!
Oh, why is this passion ? remember, my child,
God sees you, who lives in the sky.

That dear little face, which I like so to kiss,
How frightful and sad it appears!
Do you think I can love you, so naughty as this,
Or kiss you all wetted with tears ?

Remember, tho' God is in heaven my love,
He sees you, within and without,
And always looks down from his glory above, To notice what you are about.

t I am not with you, or if it be dark,
And nobody is in the way,
His eye is as able your doings to mark,
In the night as it is in the day.


ien dry up your tears, and look smiling again, Adid never do things that are wrong, SI'm sure you must feel it a terrible pain, To be naughty, and crying so ng.

e'tl pray then that God may your passion forgive, And teach you from evil to fly; id then you'll be happy as long as you live, And happy whenever you die, AN.


Sdon't hurt the dog, poor honest old Tray; bat g&od will it do you to drive him away? Kind usage is justly his right; member how faithful he is to his charge, iA barks at the rogues when we set him at large.. And guards us by day and biy night..

0' you, by and by, will grow up to a man, Ad Tray is a dog, let him grow as he can, R ememlnber, my good little lad,


A dog that is honest, and faithful, and mild, Is not only better than is a bad child,
But better than men that are bad.

If you are a boy, and Tray is but a beast, I think it should teach you'one lesson at least,
You ought to act better than he;
And if without reason, or judgment, or sense, Tray does as we bid him, and gives no offence,
How diligent Richard should be!

If I do but just whistle, as often you've seen, He seems to say,-, Master, what is it you mean I
My courage and duty are tried."
And see when I throw my hatd~er the pale, He fetehes it back, and comesiwagging hiatail,
And lays it down close by my ide.

Then honest old Tray, let him sleep at his ease, While you from him learn to endeavour to
And obey me with spirit and joy;
Or else we shall find (what would grieve en That Richard's no better than honest old Tray!
Anl a brute has more sense than a boy!
AN- :.


LND has my darling told a lie! )id she forget that God wuas bye?
*hat-God who saw the thing she did, Irom whom-no action can be hidl; )id she forget that God courd see, ind hear, wherever she might be?

le made your eytsxn can disernm, A
vbich ever Way yOti 0,to turn~; le made your ears, and liet can hear, Vhen yontnkinobody.i~ tea a every place, by night or dy le watches all you do and saF.

on Lht, because you were alone,
& ood never could be known, ut bars aways are found out, Vhatever ways they wind about; ,nd always be afraid, my dear,. ~o Ltl a lie,-.for God cka hear

FOR INFANT MINDr. I wish my dear, you'd always try, To act as shall not need aic.. And when you wish a thing to do, That has been once forbidden yaou, Remember that, nor ever dare To disobey-for God is there!

Why should you fear to tell me true Confess, and then I'll pardon you: Tell me you're sorry, and will try To act the better by and by, And then, whatever your crime has been, It won' ebhalf so great sin.

But cheerful, innocent, and gay, As psby the smiling day, You'll never have to turn aide, From any one y our faulkts to bide: Nor heave a sigh, nor have a lca That either God, or should hear.


o oRIcIwAL PaOEMw,

HEN Harry and Dick had been striving to please, Their father (to whom it was known) lade two little gardens and stocked them with

And gsve one to each for his own.

arty thank'd his papa, and with rake, hoe, and
Directly began his employ: Ld soon such a neat little garden was made, That he panted with labour and joy

"here was always some bed or some border to pinend, Or something to tie or to stick; knd Harty rose early his garden to tencT4 While snoring lay indolent Dick.

'he tulip the rose and the liMy so white, United their beautiful bloom; knd often the honey-bee stopp'd from his flight, To sip the delicious perfume.

roR INFANT MI A neat row of peas in full blossom were seen,
French beans were beginning to shoot;
And his gooseb'rries and currants, though yet they
were green,
Foretold him a plenty of fruit.

But Richard lov'd better in bed to repose,
And snug as he curl'd himself round, Forgot that no tulip, nor lily, nor rose,
Nor plant in his garden was found.

Rank weeds and tall nettles disfigur'd his beds,
Nor cabbage nor lettuce were seen,
The slug and the snaild shew'd their mischievous
And eat ev'ry leaf that was green.

Thus Richard the idle, who shrunk from the cold.,
Beheld his trees naked and bare;
Whilst Harry the active, was charm'd to behold,
jhc fruit of his patience and care.

G 2 A N


ho fed me from her gentle breast, id hushed me in her arms to rest, .d on my cheek sweet kisses prest?

My mother.

hen sleep forsook my open eye, ho was it sang sweet hushaby, id rock'4 me that I should not cry ?
My mother.

ho sat and watch'd my infant head, ben sleeping on my cradle bed, d t~ha of sweet affection shed?
My mother.

hen pain and sickness made me cry, so gz'd upon my heavy eye, d wept, for fear that I should die Myanother.

rOkl INFANT siDs 8

Who drest my doll in clothes so gay, And taught me pretty how to play, And minded all I'd got to say i My mother.

Who ran to help me whan I fell, And would some pretty Sor- tell, Or kiss the place to make it well ?
My mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray, And love God's holy hook'arid day, And walk in wisdom's pleat, t way i My mother,

And can I ever cease to be Affectionate and kind to thee, Who wast so very kind to me.i

Ah! no, the thoug it I canot be.r, And if God please my lifet6 spare, I h#Upe, llward thycare.
My mother.

bhou art feeble, old, and gray,' Ithyl arm Shall be thy stay, vill sooth thy pains awsa My mnother.

ien I see thee bang thy head, e my turn to watch y bed, WrS of sweet affection shed, My, mother.

I Vh'iftsaore- the skies, look with vengeance in his eyes, ild euvk' dare despise, My mother!.


ia mntain's baughty steep rubert's palace stoodr roll'd a river deep,itway'd a wood.

10R INFANT MINDS. Low iq an unfrequented vnle, A peasant built his cell ;
Sweet flowers perfum'd the cooling gae, And grac'd his garden well.

Loud riot thro' Lord Hubert's hall In noisy clamours ran:
He scarcely blos'd his eyes at all, Till breaking day began.

In scenes of quiet and repose Young William's life was spet ; Withi morning's early beam he rose,
And whistled as he went.

On sauces rich and viands fine, Lord Hubert daily fed;
His goblet fil'd 'with sparkling wine His board with dainties spread.

Warm from the sickle or the plough His heart as light as air,
fis garden grooind, and dappled cow. SSupplyv'd young Wdilliam's fre.

ORLGflTAL Pormgj

ieds of down beset with gold. 'ith satin curtains jirawn, ,ev'41~i limbs LordLfHubert rolld, omn midnight's gloom to. morn.

ih'd on a hard and. flecky-bedo, ie cheerful rustic lay; sweetest slumbers luW4 hjis hea4l, bm eve to breaking day.

r, and gout, and aches, and pains, estroy'd Lord Hubert's rest; rder burnt in all his veins, nd sicken'd in his breast.

ranger to the ills of wealth, ,hind his rugged plough, cheek of Willir glpw'd with health, nd cheerful was his brw.

,entle friend, to sooth his pain, Lt near Lord H ubert's bed; friends and servants, light and vaio, or scenes nf sorrow fled.

vbxR INP5AW t2iND54 But when on William's honest head
Time scatter'd silver hairs,
His wife and children.round his ed,
Partook and sooth'dhis cares.

The solemn hearse, the waving plume,
A train of mourners grin,
Carry'd Lord Ilubert to the tomb,
But no one car'd for him.

No weeping eye, no gentle breast,
Lamented his decay,
Nor round his costly coffin prest,
To gaze upon his clay.

But when upon his dyingbed
Old William came to lie,
When blammy sweats had chill'd his hea
And death bad dimm'd his eyeSweet tears by fond affection dropp'd4,
From many an eyelid fell,
And many a lip, by anguish stopp'd, Half spoke the sad fthrewell.


a marble pile, nor costly tomb, Describes where William sleeps; it there wild thymeand cowslips bloom, And there affection weeps. Ax.


t good little fellow, don't throw, your, ba# there, You'll break neighbour's windows, I koow; the end of the house there is room and to spare;
round, you can have a delightful game there, Without fearing for where you may throw.

terry thoughthe might safely continue his play, With a little more care than before; forgetful of all that his father could say, soon as hpaw he was out of the way, ie resolved to have fifty throws more.

ready as far as to forty he rose, And no mischief happen'd at all; ie more, and one more, he successfully throws. t when, as he thought, just arriv'd at the close hi popped his unfortunate ball.

Poor Harry stood frighten'd, and tui n u
Was gazing at what he bad done;
As the bal had popp'd in, so neighbour popped o, And with a good horsewhip he b a lih kbout,
Till Harry repented his fun.

When little folks think they know better than great,
And what is forbidden them do;
We must always expect to see, sooner or late, That such wise little fools have a similar fate,
And that one of the fifty goes ~tiugh.


THE fox and the crow,
In prose, I well knoir,
Many good little girls can rehearse;
Perhaps it willtell,
Pretty nearly as iell,
if we try the same fable in verse.


In a dairy a crow
Having ventured to go,
.ome food for her young ones to seek,
Flew tipin the trees,
With a fine piece of cheese,
vWhich she joyfuidly held in her beak.

A fox who liv'd nigh,
To the tree saw her fly,
And to share in the prize made a vow!
For having just din'd,
He for cheese felt inclind,
So he went and sat under the bough.

She was cunning he knew,
But so was he too,
And with flatt?'ry adapted his plan
For he irfhe'd speak It must fall from her beak, So bowing politely, began;

"'Tis a very fine day;"'
(Not a word did she say ;)
" The wind, I believe, ma'aw is south:


A fine harvest for pease "
He then look'd at the cheese,
Btt the crow did not open her mouth.

Sly reynard, not tir'd, Her plumage adsih'd,
SHow charming! how bcrilliant.its hue
,The voice must be fine,
Of a bird so divine,
Ah! let me just hear it-pray do.

Believe me Ilong
To hear a sweet song." he silly crow foolishly tries,She scarce gave one squall,
When the cheese she let fal,
And the fox ran ay#y with the p MORAL.
Ye innocent fair,
Of coxcombs beware, To flattery never give ear;
Try well each pretence, '
And keep to plain sense,
And then ye have little to fear. LTTr

THE MOTH WISH. MAY cloudless beams of grace and truth Adorn my daughter's opening youth; Long, happy in her native home. Among its fragrant groves to roam. May choisest blessings her attend, Blest in her parents, sisters, friend! May no rude wish ass" e a. To love this world, by all c t As only giv'n us to prepare For one eternal, bright, and fair. This world shall then no force retain, Its syren voice sl charm in vain; Religion's aid, true peace will bring, Her voice with joy shall praises sing, To him whose streams of mercy flow, To cheer the heart o'ercharg'd with woe; And whilst retirement's sweets we prove, For ever praise redeeming love.



HOW happy the days of your youth, Ittstructed in virtue and truth,
By the parents you love and revere. Your dwelling is healthy and neat, Ofsisters so dear the retreat,
And of neighbours abundance are near.

Oh think whence tfliesi ings arise, From a being so gracios and wise,
And should they by himbe withdrawn: Should ev'ry degree of distress, My dearest of daughters oppress,
When torn from the sweet verdant lawn:

From what must she then seek relief, When her mhd is disturbed with grief,
But from God who but chastens to bless; Fine garments, rich food, and bright wine, With which the voluptuous dine,
Enervate beyond all redress.


In the sad sober moents of woe, Which each mortal is destin'd to know,
With joy will a Christian perceive, That life as a vision recedes, That faith rendered bright by good deeds,
A blessed reward will receive.

Should you as a mother or wife,. Be called on to act in this life,
Oh! strive ev'ry virtue to trace;
On the minds you may have to attend, Join at once the kind mother .fiend, And prayfor their virtue and grace.



THE snail, how he creeps slowly ever the wall, He seems not to make any progress at all,
Almost where you leave hin you find him: His long shining body he stretches out well, And drags along with him his round hollow shell,
And leaves a bright path-w1ay behind him,