Original poems for infant minds by several young persons.


Material Information

Original poems for infant minds by several young persons.
Physical Description:
vol. I, sixth ed; 100 p. : ill. ; 14 cm.
Taylor, Jane, 1783-1824
Taylor, Ann, 1782-1866
Conder, T
O'Keeffe ( Adelaide ), 1776-1855?
Taylor, Isaac, 1759-1829
Barton, Bernard, 1784-1849
Darton, William, 1755-1819
Wm. Darton & Jos. Harvey (Firm)
J. & J. Harvey
Printed for Darton and Harvey
Place of Publication:
London (Gracechurch-Street)
W. Darton, and J. and J. Harvey
Publication Date:
6th ed.


Subjects / Keywords:
Children's poetry -- 1807
Bldn -- 1807
Children's poetry
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
England -- Bucklersbury


General Note:
"Sold also by T. Conder, Bucklersbury."
General Note:
Library lacks v. 2 of what is presumably a two volume set.
General Note:
Chiefly by Ann and Jane Taylor; some poems also signed Adelaide, I.T. (Isaac Taylor) or Little B (Bernard Barton).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
All applicable rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 027289059
oclc - 25860389
System ID:

This item is only available as the following downloads:

Full Text

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ISL "jo

The Baldwin library








In books, or work, or healthful pinyj
Let my first years be past; That I may give for e V'ry day Some good account at last." WATTS.

VOL. 1.


Sold also by T1. CoNDER, Bucklersbau.


tntereb at *tationrr!5 I)aU.

jlti;A:td by IV. Darton, and J. and J. Hai Vey,

IF a hearty affection for that interesting little race, the race of children, be any recommendation, 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 these simple verses to their real comprehensions, and probable improvement:-if this have any further claim to the indulgence of the public, it is the last and greatest they attempt to make. The deficiency of the compositions as Poetry, is by no means a secret to their authors; but it was thought desirable to abridge every poetic freedom and figure, and even every long A2


syllabled word, which might give, perhaps, i false idea, to their little readers, or"at least make a chasm in the chain of conception. Images, which to us arc so familiar that ve forget their imagery, are insurmountable stumblingblocks to children, -xho have none but literal ideas; and though it may be allowable to introduce a simple kind, iihich a little maternal attention will easily explain, and which may tend to excite a taste for natural and poetic beauty, every thing superfluous it has been a primary endeavour to avoid.
To those parents into those hands this little volume may chance to fall, it is respectfully inscribed; and very atctionately, to that interesting little race-the race of children.


A trit StorPage.
A ru Stry ... . .. . .. . .
- The Bird's Nest .......... ... 4
The Hand-Post ............. 7
I Spring ... .. . . . . . . 9
Auu n . . ... . . . . 1
Autumn............................... 15

To a Butter/171, oni giving it Liberty ..........17 7Xch Tempest........................... 18
The Church-'yard........................20o
Morning .............................. 22
Evening ...............................23
The Idle Bo~y...........................24
The Industrious Boy....................2
The little Fisherman .....................28
Old-Age ...............................31
TIC Applc Tree ..........................32
A 3

The Disappointment ................. 34
The Shepherd Bol ..................... 35
The Robin ............................. 38
James and the Shoulder of Mutton ........ 39 Fale Alarms ................4......... 41
The Child's Monitor .................... 43
The Boys and the Apple Tree ............ 44
The W[ooden Doll and the 11rax Doll ...... 47 Idle Dicky and the Goat ................. 49
Never plny with Fire ................... 50
The T2-uant Boys. ...................... .52
George and the Chinmncy-sweeper ......... 54 Sophia's Fool's-cap ..................... 56
The ButterJg ......................... 57
The Redbreat ......................... 58
The Nightingale ....................... 59
The Lark ............................ 60
Washing and Dressing ................... 61
'The Plum Cake ........................ 62
Another Plum Cake .................... 63
For a naatght little Girl ................ 61
Honest old Tray ....................... 66
To a little Girl that has told a Lie ........ 67 The thzo Gardens ...................... 69
Sother ............................ 71
Tf;e Pitrfe an:! Cottage ................. 73

B .............................. .. 77
The Fox and the Croz. ................... 78
he wandering Truant .................. 80
7he Snail ............................. 83
Tle holidays .......................... 8i
01(1 Sarlch ............................ 85
Old Susaan ............................ 87
The Gleaner .......................... 88
Snow ................................ 89
The Pk s ............................. 9 1
Finery ............................... 9%
('ray Robert ......................... 93
Employment .......................... 94
The Fighting Birds .................... 96
Creation .............................. 97
The Tempest .......................... 99



LITTLE Ann and her mother were walking one
Thro' London's wide city so fair; ,
And bus'ness oblig'd them to go by the way
That led them through Cavendish Square.

And as they pass'd by the great house of a lord,
A beautiful chariot there came,
To take sonime most elegant ladies abroad,
Who straightway got into the same.

The ladies in feathers and jewels were seen,
The chariot w as painted all o'er,
The footmen behind were in silver and greel,
The horses were prancing before.


Little Ann, by her mother walk'd silent and sad,
A tear trickled down from her eye;
Till her mother said, Ann, I should be very glad
To know what it is makes you cry."

Mamma'," said the child, "see that carriage so fairly,
All cover'd with varnish and gold,
Those ladies are riding so charmingly there,
While we have to walk in the cold:

You say God is kind to the folks th.t are good,
But surely it cannot be true;
Or else I am certain, almost, that he n- o,'d
Give such a fine carriage to you."

SLook there, little girl," said her mothe, and see What stands at that very coach door; A poor ragged beggar, and listen how she
A halfpenny stands to implore.

SAll pale is her face, and deep sunk is her eye, HIer hands look like skeleton's bones;
She has got a few rags just about her to tie,
And her nal~d feet bleed on the stones.'

SDear ladies," she cries, and the tears trickle do n, Relieve a poor beggar, I pray;
PI've auder'd all hungry about this wide town,
And not eat a morsel to-day.

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

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

" And now that I'm better, yet feeble, and faint,
And famish'd, and naked, and cold,
I wander about, w-ith my grievous complaint,
And seldom get aught but a scold.

"Some will not attend to my pitiful call,
Some think me a vagabond cheat;
And scarcely a creature relieves me, of Mil
The thousands that traverse the street.

"Then ladies, dear ladies, your pity bestow;"Just then a tall footman came round,
And asking the ladies which way they would go,
The chariot turn'd off with a bound.

"Ah! see; little girl," then her mot-r replied,4
how foolish it was to complain;
If you would but have looked at the contrary side,
Your tears would have dried up gaigu,


And take you, not one of your 'iend' could tell
And fasten you down with a chain;
And feed you wvitli victuals you never could
And hardly allow you to breathe the fresh air,
Nor ever to come back again.

0! how for -our dearest mamw would yoo
And long to her bosom to run;
And try to break out of your prison, and cry, And dread the huge monster, so cruel and ly,
Who took you away for his fun.

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

Then sleep, little innocents, sleep in your nest,
To take you away would be wrong:
And when the next summer in green shall be
And your merry music shall join nith the rest,
You'll pay us for all with a sou,'.'

FOR INF1ANT luaNos. 7

V Wiwn sprin, shall return, to "the woodlands wie'll

And sit by ou very tall tree;
d An~d rejoice, as we hear your sweet carols on htighi,
With silken winlgs soaring amid the blue sky,
That we left you to siug and be free.
A. T.


Tiir nicht was dakrlk the sun w as hid
dl, Benieath the mountain grey;
And u Ot a simgl-e star appcar'd,
To shoot a silvi'r ra~y.

-Acro0.5 the heath the u 0i let flew,
A-nd scream'd along the Was!.
And Onward, with a quicken'd step,,
Benighted hleury pa A.

At intervals, a rdte l,
A fla~h of lightning play'd!,
And show'd the ruts with water 1ld
And the black hedge's shade.


Again in thickest darkness plung'd,
HIe grop'd his way to find;
And now he thought he spied be yond
A form of horrid kind.

In deadly white it upward roe
Of cloak or mantle bare,
And held its naked arms across
To catch him by the hair.

Poor Henry fe!t his blood runi cuIb
At what before him stood;
But well," thought he, no ham. I'mure
Can happen to the good."

So calling all his courage up,
ie to the goblin went;
And eager throi' the dismal glo.m,
His piercing eyes hlie bent.

And when he came well nlighi the ghost
'Pht gave him such affright,
HIle clapt his hands upon his side.
And loudly laugh'd outright.
For 'twas a friendly hand-post stood.
His waud'ring steps to guide;
And thus he found, that to the good
No evil should betide.

49 And well," thought he, one thing I've learnt,
Nor soon shall I forget, Whatever frightens me again,
To march stia!ght up to it.

"And vhen I hcar an idle tale
Of goblins and a ghost,
I'll tell of this my lonely wiall,
And the tall white lland-Pos-."
A. T.


An! see how the ices are melting away,
The rivers have burst from their chain;
The woods and the hedges with verdure look gay,
And daisies enamel the plain.

The sun rises high, and shines warm o'er the dale,
The orchards with blossoms are white;
The voice of the woodlark is heard in the vale,
And the cuckoo returns from her flight.

Young lambs sport and frisk on the sides of the hilf,
The honey-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 ga
The creatures begin their employ;
Ah! let me not be less industrious than thcy,
An idle, an indolent boy.

Now, while in the spring of my vigour and bloom,
In the paths of fair learning I'll run ;
Nor let the best part of my being consume,
With nothing of consequence done.

Thus, while to my lessons with care I attend,
And store up the kno ledge I gain,
When the winter of age shall upon me descend,
'Twill cheer the dark season of pai.
A. T.



THE heats of the summer come hastily on,
The fruits are transparent and clear;
The buds and the blossoms of April are gone,
And the deep-colour'd cherries appear.

The blue sky above us is bright and serene,
No cloud on its bosom remains;
The woods, and the fields, and the hedges aregreen,
And the hay-cock smells sweet from the plains.

Down far in the valley, where bubbles the spring
Which soft through the meadow-land glides,
The lads from the mountain the heavy sheep bring
And shear the warm coat from their sides.

Ah! let me lie down in some shady retreat,
Beside the meandering stream;
For the sun darts abroad an unbearable heat,
And burns with his over-head 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,
Fror 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 haymakers cheerfully bear
The heat of the hot summer's daY.

While some with bright scythe singing shrill to the i stone,
Tie tail grass and butter-weeds mow;
Some spread it with forks, and by others 'tis
Into sweet-smelling cocks in a row.

Then since joy and gl3e with activity join,
This moment to labour I'll rise :
While the idle love best in the shade to-recline,
And waste precious time as it fl-cs.

To waste precious time we can never recal,
Is waste of the wickedest kind;
An instant of life is more value than all
The gold that 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.
Buat time can prepare us for heav'n.


TiE sun is far risen above the old trees,
His beams on the silver dew play;
The gossamer 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 boy, for the shadows of midnight are flown,
And sun-beams peep into our eyes.

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

Last night the glad reapers their harvest-home
And stor'd the full garners with grain;
The woods and the echoes with merry shouts rung,
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
To shoot the poor thing as it flies.

The timid hare too, in affright and dismay,
Runs swift through the brushwood and grass She turns and she wiiinds ,to get out of their way,
But the cruel dogs won't let her pass.

Ah! poor little partridge, and pheasant, and hare,
I wish they would leave you to live;
For nmy part, I wonder how people can bear
To see all the torment they give.

When Reynard at midnight steals down to the farm,
And steals the poor chickens and cocks:
Then rise, Farmer Goodman, there can be no harm
In chasing a thief of a fox.


But the innocent bare, and the pheasant so sleek,
'Twere cruel and wicked to slay;
The partridge with blood never reddened her beak,
Nor hares stole the poultry away.

If men would but think of the torture they give,
To creatures that cannot complain,
They surely would let the poor animals live,
And never go shooting again.
A. T.


BFIroL, the grey branches that stretch from the
Nor blossom nor verdure they wear!
They rattle and shaketo the northerly breeze,
And wave their long arms in the air.

The sun hides his face in a mantle of cloud,
Dark vapours roll over the sky;
The wind thro' the wood hollows hoarfely, and
n ud sc4.birds across the land fly.

To bask upon the sunny bed, The damask flow'r to kiss :
To rove along the bending shade, Is all thy little bliss.

Then flutter still thy silken wings.
In rich embroid'ry drest;
And sport upon the gale that ifings Sweet odours from his vest. A. T.


SEP the dark rapours cloud the sky, The thunder rumbles round and round; The lightning's flash begins to fly, Big drops of rain bedew the ground: The frighten'd birds, with ruffled wing, Fly through the air and cease to sina.

Now nearer rolls the mighty peal, Incessant thunder roars aloud;
Toss'd by the winds the tall oaks reel, The forked lightning 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 and cloud hc walks the sky, And lets his stores of tempests fi).

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

Yet though beneath his pow'r divine,
I wait, depending on his care,
Each right endeavour shall be mine,
Of ev'ry danger I'll beware;
Far from the metal 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; Though from the falling rain a shield,
More dreadful might the lightning be : Its tallest boughs might-draw tie fire, And 1, with sudden stroke, expire.


They need not dread the stormy day,
Or lightnings flashing from the sky,
W ho walk in wisdom's pleasant way,
And always are prepar'd to die;
I know no other way to hear
The thunder roll, without a fear.
A. T.


TnE moon rises bright in the east,
The stars with pure brilliancy shine; The songs of the woodlands have ceas'd,
And still is the low of the kine.
The men from their work on the hill,
Trudge homeward, with pitchfork and flail, The buzz 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 long arms in the breeze,
The old village church is in view.


The owl frnm her ivy'd retreat,
Screams hoarse to the vvinds'df the night; And the clock, with its solemn repeat.
Has toll'd the departure of light. AIV child, let us wander alone,
When half the wide world is in bed, And read o'er the miouldering stone,
That tells of the moldering dead; And let us remember it well,
That we must as certainly die, For us too may toll the sad bell,
And in the cold earth we must lie.

You are not so healthy and gay,
So young, and so active, and bright, That death cannot snatch you away,
Or some dreadful accident smite. Here lie both the young and the old,
Coufin'd in the coffin so small; The earth covers over them cold,
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 rests hi6 inanimate head.


Their fingers, so busy before, Shall sileiitly crumble away;
Nor ever a smile any more
About the pale countenance ptai.

Then seek not, my child, as the best,
The pleasures which shortly must fa:Ab;
Let piety dwell in thy breast,
And all of thine actions pervade.
And then, when beneath the green sod,
This active young body shall lie,
Thy soul shall ascend to its God,
To live with the blest in the sky. A. T.


AwAR, 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.
0 core, for the fields with gay flow'rets o'erflow,
The dew-drop is trembling still,
The lowing herds graze in the pastures below,
And the sheep.bell is heard from the hill.


o come, for the bee has flown out of his bed,
To begin his employment anew;
The spider is weaving her delicate thread,
Which brilliantly glitters with dew.

O come, for the ant has crept out of her cell,
Again to her labour she goes:
She knows the true value of moments too well
To waste them in idlexepse.

Awake, little sleeper, and do not despise
Of insects instruction to ask,
From your pillow, with good resolutions arise,
And cheerfully go to your task. .. 7.

LITTLE girl, it is time to retire to your rest,
The sheep are put into the fold,
The linnet fqrsakes us and flies to her nest,
To shelter her young from the cold.
The owl has flown out from his lonely retreat,
And screams through the tall shady trees;
The nightingale takes on the hawthorn his seat.
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 though we no longer can see his bright face,
Ile leaves a gold streak in the wvest.

Little girl, have you finished your daily employ,
Wifh 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 evening breezes shall fan you to sleep, Till bright morning bid you arise. J. i.


YoEiG Thomas was an idle lad,
And loung'd about all day;
And though he many a lesson had,
Ile minded nought but play.

lie only card for top and ball,
Or marbles, hoop, and kite;
But as for learning, that was all
Neglected by him quite.


In vain his mother's kind advice,
In vain hit master's care, le follow'd every idle vice,
And learnt to curse and swear!

And think you, when he grew a man,
Ile prosper'd in his ways?
No,-wicked courses never can
Bring good and hat py days.

Without a shilling in his purse,
Or cot to call his own,
Poor Thomas grew, from bad to worse,
And harden'd as a stone.

And oh, it grieves me much to write
His melancholy end,
Then let us leave the dreadful sight,
And thoughts of pity send.

But may we this important truth
Observe and ever hold,
" That most who're idle in their youth,
Are wicked whn they're old." j. T.



IN a cottage upon the hoath wild,
That always was cleanly and nice, Liv'd William, a good little child,
Who minded his parents' advice.

'Tis true, he lov'd marbles, and kite,
And spin-top, and nine-pins, and baIl, But this I declare with delight,
His book he lov'd better than all.

In active and useful em ploy
His youth gaily glided away; While innocent pleasure and joy
Attended him every day.

Now see him to manhood arise,
Sti! cheerfulness follows his way; ,For as he is prudent and wise,
He also is happy and gay.


His wife for gay riches ne'er sigh'd,
Contented and happy was she;
While William would sit by her side,
With a sweet smiling babe on his knee.

His garden well loaded with store,
His cot by3 the side of the green,
Where woodbines crcpt over the door,
And jessamines peep'd in between.

These fill'd him with honest delight,
And rewarded him well for his toil; lie went to bed cheerful at nighf,
And woke in the morn with a smile.

And when he grew aged and grey,
And found that life shortly would -cease; He cheerfully waited the day,
And clos'd his old eye-lids in peace.

Then let me endeavour to mind
His example, as far as I can; That I may be useful and kind,
Like him, when I grow up a man! T.;



THERiE was a little fellow once,
And Harry was his name;
And many a naughty trick had he,I tell it to his shame.

lie minded not his friends' advice,
But follow'd his own wishes;
And one most cruel trick of his,
Was that of catching fishes.

lis father had a little pond,
Where often Harry went;
And in this most inhuman sport,
He many an ev'ning spent.

One day he took his book and bait, And hurry'd to the pond;
And there begai the cruel game, Of which he was so fond.


And many a little fish he caught,
And pleas'd was he to look, To see them writhe in agony,
And struggle on the hook.

At last, when having caught enough,
And tired too himself;
He hasten'd home, intending there
To put them on a she,'.

But as he jumped to reach a dish,
To put his fishes in;
A large meat hook, that hung close byi,
Did catch him by the chin.

Poor Harry kick'd and cal1'd aloud,
And scream'd, and cried, and roared, While from his wound the ,rimson blood
In dreadful torrents poured.

The maids came running, frighten'd much
To see him hanging there,
And soon they took him from the hook,
And set him in a chair.
VOL. 1.

30 01G1NAL PorM5,
The surgeon came and stopped the blood,
And up he bound his head;
And then they carried him u'p stairs,
And laid him on his bed.

Conviction darted on his mindI
As groaning there he lay;
He with remorse and pity thought
About his cruel play.

" Avd oh," said he, poor little fish,
Wht tortures they have borne;
While I, well pleas'd, have stood to seTheir tender bodies torn;

" 0! what a wicked bo%. 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 the pain!
As long as I can feel myself
I'll never fish again. J. T.



W~io is this that comes tott'ring along?
His footsteps are feeble and slow, His beard is grown curling and long,
And his hair is turn'd white as the snow.

led's falling quite into decay,
Deep wrinkles all furrow his check; He cannot be merry and gay,
lie is so exceedingly weak.

Little stranger, his name is Old Age,
His journey will shortly be o'er,
ie soon will leave life's busy stage,
To sigh and be sorry no more.

Little stranger, though healthy and strong,
You noA are so merry and brave, Like him you must totter ere long,
Like him you must sink to the grave.

Those limbs, which 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 which 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 for ever in death. J, .r


OLD John had an apple tree, healthy and green Which bore the best codlins that ever were seen, So juicy, so mellow and red;
An) %i hen the) were ripe, as oldJohn was quite poo He sold them to children that pass'd by his door, To buy him a morsel of bread.


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

And as he again cast his eye on the tree,
lie said to himself, 0, how nice they would be;
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 at home,
And nobody is in the way."

But stop, little boy, take your hand from the bough, Remember, tho' old John can't see you just now,
And no one to chide you is nigh,
There is One, who by night just as well as by day,
Can see all you do, and can hear all you say,
From his glorious throne in the sky.

Oh then, little boy, come away from the tree,
Content, hot or weary, or thirsty to be,
Or any thing, rather than steal;
For the great God, who even thro' darkness can look, oor Writes down ev'ry crime we commit in his book,
However we think to conceal. 3. T.
D 3



I tears to her mother poor Harriet came,
Let us listen to hear what she says:
SOh see, dear mamma, it is pouring with rain,
We cannot go out in the chaise.

" All the week have I long'd for the journey, you
And fancied the Mninutes were hours,
And now that I'm dress'd, and-all ready to go,
O see, dear mamma, how it pours."

c I'm sorry, my dear," hergood mother replied,
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 sli ht disappointments and crosses you hate, 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.

- Ah then, my dear girl, when 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 though this world's pleasures are fading and
Religion is lasting and true;
Real pleasure and joy in her paths you may gain,
Nor will disappointment ensue.'? J. T.


UPoN a mountain's grassy side,
Where firs and cedars grew,
Young Colin wandered with his blocks,
And many a hardship knew.


No downy pillow for his head, No shelter'd home had he,
The green grass was his only bed,
Beneath some shady tree.

Dry bread, and water from the 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 to play;
Ie envied not the rich or great, More happy far than they.

While neathh some spreading oak he sat, Beside his fleecy flocks,
His soft pipe warbled thro' the woods, And echo'd 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 Colin ey'd.

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

"1 No wealth, estates, nor pow'r has he,
Nor titled honours high;
And yet, tho' destitute and poor,
He seems more blest than I."

For this Lord Ienry did not know,
That pleasure ne'er is found,
Where angry passions rule the breast,
And evil deeds abound.

Colin, though poor, was humble too
Benevolent, and kind;
While selfish passions, rage, and pride,
Disturb'd Lord Henry's mind.

Thus Colin, though a shepherd boy,
Was ever glad and gay;
And Henry was, although a lord,
To discontent a prey. J. T.



Aw.Y, pretty Robin, fly home to your nest, To make *you my captive would please me the best,
And feed you with worms and with bread;
Your eyes are so sparkling, your feathers so soft, Your little wings flutter so pretty aloft,
And your breast is all colour'd with red.

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 winds blow, And the green fields are covered 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.


if with cold and with hunger quite perish'd and
Come tap at my window again with your beak,
And gladly I'll let you come in;
you shall fly to my bosom, or perch on my thumbs, 'Or hop round the table and pick up the crumbs,
And never be hungry again. J. T.


YouNG Jem at noon return'd from school,
As hungry as could be,
He cried to Sue, -he servant maid,
.My dinner give to me.

Said Sue, it is not yet come home,
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 doner'
I it is," replied the baker's ma,." Then home I'll with it run."

"Nay Sir," replied he, prudently,
I tell you 'tis too bot,
And much too heavy 'tis for you."-" I tell you it is not.

"Papa, mamma, are both gone out,
And I' for dinner long;
So give it me-it. is all mine,
And baker, hold your tongue.

"A shoulder 'tis of mutton nice!
And batter-pudding too;
I'm glad of that, it is so good:
How clever is our Sue'"

Now near his door young Jem was come,
He round the corner turn'd;
But 0, sad fate! unlucky chance!
The dish his fingers burn'd.

Low in the kennel down fell dish,
And down fell all the meat;
Swift went the pudding in the stream,
And sailed along the street.

The people laugh'd, and rude boys grinn'd,
At mutton's hapless fall;
But though, asham'd, young Jemmy cried" Better lose part than all."

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

" Impatience is a fault," cries Jem,
The baker told me true; In future I will patient be,
And mind what says our Sue."


ONE day little Mary most loudly did call"Mamma! 0 mamma, pray come here, A fall I have had-Oh, a very-sad fall."
Mamma ran in haste and in fear.
VOL.1. I


Then Mary jump'd up, and she laugh'd in great glee,
And cried, Why, how fast you can run! No harm has befall'n, I assure you, to me,
My screaming was only in fun."

HTer mother was busy at work the next day,
She heard from without a loud cry;
" The great dog has got me! O help me! 0 pray!
Ile tears me-he bites me-I die!
Mamma, all in terror, quick to the court flew,
And there little Mary she found;
Who, laughing, said, "Madam, pray how do you do;"
And curtsy'd quite down to the ground.

That night little Mary was some time in bed,
When cries and loud shriekings were heard; I'm on fire, 0 mamma! 0 come up, or I'm dead!"
Mamma she believed 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 you can't be believ'd.

Yet still the child scream'd-now- the house fill'd
with smoke.That fire is above, Jane declares,
Alas! Mary'swords they soon found were no joke, When ev'ry one hasten'd up stairs,


All burnt and all seam'd is her once pretty face,
And terribly mark'd arc her arms,
Her features all scarr'd leave a lasting disgrace,
For giving mamma false alarms.



Tut wind blows down the largest tree,
And yet the wind I cannot seePlaymates far off, that have been kind, My thought can bring before my mind.
The past by it is present brought, And yet I cannot see my thought.
The charming rose perfumes the air,

Yet I can see no perfumes there.
Blythe Robin's notes-how sweet, how clear:
From his small bill they reach my ear; '' And whilst upon the air they float,
I hear, yet cannot see a notch.
When I would do what is forbid,
L e By something in my heart I'm chid;

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 sound, Take care, dear child, yon may be drowned;" And for the poor whene'er I -rieve, That something says, A penny give."

Thus, something very near must be, Although invisible to me; Whatever I do, it sees me still.
0 then, good Spirit, guide my will! ADELAIDE.


As Billy and Tommy were walking one day,
They came by a fine orchard's side;
They'd rather eat apples than spell, read, or play,
And Tommy to Billy then cried:

O brother, look! see! what fine clusters hang there
I'll jump and climb over the wall;
I will have an apple; I will have a pear;
Or elb it shall cost me a fall.


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

Yon are a good boy, as you ever have been,
Said Tommy, let's walk on my lad;
We'll call on our schoolfellow, little Bob Green,
And to see us I know he'll be glad.

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

Bob smil'd, and he laugh'd, and he caper'd with
His lite companions to view.We call'd in to see you. said each little boy,
Said Bobby,-I'm glad to see you.

Come walk in our garden so large and so fine;
You shall, for my father gives leave;
And more, he insists you shall stay here to dine;
A rare jolly day wc shall have!
E 3


But when in the garden, they found 'twas the same
They 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,
This trap tears their legs-O so sad!
Said Billy to Tommy, so you'd have been caught,
A narrow escape you have had.

Cried Tommy, I'll mind what my good mamma says,
And take the advice of a friend;
I never will steal to the end of my days
I've been a bad boy, but 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 Brunetta lov'd sweet Blanchidino. Brunette in dress was neat, yet w~on ain, But Blanchidine of finery was ain.
Now Blanchidine a new acqnaittance made, A little Miss, most splendidly array'd: Feathers and laces beauteous to behold, And India frock, with-spots of shining gold.Said Blanchidine, a Miss so richly dressed, Surely deserves by all to be caress'd; To play with me if she will condescend, Hienceforward she shall be my only friend. For this new Miss, so dress'd and so adorn'd, Her poor Brunette was slighted, left, and scorned.
Of Blanchidine's vast stock of pretty toys, A wooden Doll her ev'rv thought employs: Its neck so white, so smooth, its cheeks so red, Sh'd kiss, she'd hug, she'd take it to her bed.

Mamma now brought her home a doll of wax, Its hair 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 summer's day, 'twas in the month of June, The sun blaz'd out in all the heat of noon; My waxen doll, she cried, 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 feature quickly disappear'd, And melting, left a blank all soil'd and smear'd.
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 estrang'd, From my sweet wooden doll, that never chang'd: Just so may change my new acquaintance fine, For whom I left Brunette, that friend of mine. No more by outside show will I be lur'd, Of such capricious whims I think I'm cur'd: To plain old friends my heart shall still be true, Nor change for ev'ry face because 'tis new. HIer slighted wooden doll resum'd its charms, And wrong'd Brunette she clasp'd within her arms.



JOHN Brown is a man without houses or lands, ilimself he supports by the work of his hands; He brings home his wages each Saturday night, To his wife and his children a very good sight.
His eldest boy, Dicky, on errands when sent, To loit :r and chatter was very much bent; The neigbbours all call'd him an odd little trout, His shoes they were broke, and his toes they peep'd
To see such old shoes all their sorrows were rife; John Brown lie much grieved, and so did his wife, Ife kiss'd his boy Dicky, and stroak'd his white head; You shall have anew pair, my dear boy, he then said, I've here twenty shillings, and money has wings; Go, first get this note chang'd, I want other things.
Now here comes the mischief;-this Dicky would
At an ill-looking, slovenly green-grocer's shop, For here liv'd a chattering dunce of a boy; To prate with this urchin gave Dicky great joy.

And now, in his boasting, he shows him his note, And now to the green-stail up marches a goat. They laugh'd, for it was this young Nanny-goat's
With those who pass'd by her to gambol and play. All three they went on in their frolicsome bouts, Till Dick dropt the note on a bunch of green sprouts.
-Now -what was Dick's wonder! to see the rude goat,: In munching the green sprouts eat up his bank note.
lie crying ran back to John Brow n with the news; And by stopping to idle he lost his new shoes.


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

I heard a noise of men and hoy s,
The watchman's rattle too;
And fire they cry -and then cried I,
0 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 klow.

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

The roof and wall, and stairs and all,
And rafters tumble in,
Red flames and blaze now all amaze,
And make a dreadful din!

And horrid screams, when bricks and beams
Came tumbling on their heads;
And some are smash'd, and some are dash'd;
Some leap on feather beds.

Some burn, some choke with fire and smoke;
And oh, what was the cause?
My heart's dismay'd, last night I play'd
With Tommy, lighting straws I



THE month was April, and the morning cool,
When Hal and Ned,
To walk together to the neighb'ring school,
Rose early from their bed.

When reach'd the school, Hal 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 hied,
Thro' many verdant fields, until they came
Unto the river side.
The broad stream narrowed in its onward course,
And deep and still,
It silent ran, and yet with rapid force,
To turn a neighboring mill.


ITnder the mill an arch gap'd wide, and s~em'd
The jaws of death!
Through this the smooth deceitful waters teem'd
On dreadful wheels beneath.

They swim the river wide, nor think nor care;
The waters flowAnd by the current strong they carried are
Into the mill-stream now.

Thro' the swift waters, as jonung Ned was rolt'd,
The gulf when near,
On a kind briar by chance he laid fast hold,
And stopp'd his dread career.

But luckless Hal was by the mill-wheel torn;A warning sad!
And the untimely death, all friends now mourn,
Of this poor truant lad!




His petticoats now George cast off,
For he was four years old;
His trowsers were nankeen so fine,
His buttons bright as gold." May I," said little George, go out,
My pretty clothes to show?
May I, papa? may 1, mamma;
The answer was-" No, no.'

Go run below, George, in the court,
But go not in the street,
Lest naughty boys should play some trick,
Or gipsies you should meet."
Yet tho' forbad, George went unseen,
That other boys might spy;
And all admir'd him when he lisp'd"Now who so fine as I?"

But whilst he strutted to and fro,
So proud, as I've heard tell,
A sweep-boy pass'd, whom to avoid
H1 slipp'd, and down he fell.


The sooty lad was kind and good,
To Georgy boy he ran,
He rais'd him up, and kissing said,
Hush, hush, my little man!"

Hie rubb'd and wip'd his clothes with care,
And hugging said, Don't cry!Go home, as quick as you can go;
Sweet little boy, good bye."
Poor George look'd down, and lo! his dress
Was blacker than before;
All over soot, and mud, and dirt,
Hle reach'd his father's door.

He sobb'd, and wept, and look'd asham'd,
His fault he did not hide;
And since so sorry for his fault,
Mamma forbore to chide.
That night, when he was gone to bed,
He jump'd up in his sleep,
And cried and sobb'd, and cried again,
I thought I saw the sweep!"




SoPHIA was a little child, Obliging, good, and very mildt, Yet, lest of dress she should be vain, Mamma still dress'd her well, but plain.Her parents, sensible and kind, Wish'd only to adorn her mind; No other dress, when good, had she, But useful, neat simplicity. Tho' seldom, yet when she was ruden Or ever in a naughty mood, Her punishment was this disgrace, A fine large cap, adorn'd with lace, With feathers and with ribbons too; The work was neat, the fashion new; Ye 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; SWhy, dear mamma, look at her head!

To be so tall and wicked too, The strangest thing I ever khew; What naughty tricks, pray, has she done, That they have put that fool's-cap on',"


THE Butterfly, an idle thing,
Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing,
Like to the bee and bird;
Nor does it, like the prudent ant,
Lay up the grain for times of want,
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 though from flow'r to flow'r I rove,
My stock of wisdom I'll improve,
Nor be a Butterfly. AjDtA;DE.



THE Thrush sings nobly on the tree,
In strength of voice excelling me,
Whilst leaves and fruits are on.
Think how poor Robin sings for you,
When nature's beauties bid adieu,
And leaves and fruits are gone.
Ah, then to me some crumbs of bread pray fling! And thro' the year my grateful thanks I'll sing.

When winter's winds blow loud and rude,
And birds retire in sullen mood,
And snows make white the ground;
I sing, your drooping hearts to charm,
And sure that you'll not do me harm,
I hop your window round.
Ah: then to me some crumbs of bread pray fling! And thro' the year my grateful thanks I'll sing.

Since, friends, in you I put my trust,
As you enjoy 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 some crumbs of bread pray fling! And thro' the year my grateful thanks I'll sing.


THY plaintive notes, sweet Philomel,
All other melodies excel!
Deep in the grove retir'd,
Thou seem'st thyself and song to hide,.
Nor dost thou boast or plume with pride,
Nor wish to be admir'd.

So, if endu'd with pow'r and grace,
And with that pow'r my will keep pace,
To act a gen'rous part;
Hence, paltry ostentatious show!
Nor let my lib'ral action know,
A witness but my heart. ADELAIDE.



FRoM his humble grassy bed,
See the warbling lark arise! By hs grateful wishes led,
Thro' those regions of the skies.

Songs of thanks and praise he pours,
Harmonizing airy) space,
Sings, and mouns, and higher soars,
T'wards the throne of heavenly grace.

Small his gifts compar'd with mine,
Poor my thanks with his compar'd: I've a soulalmost divine:Angels blessings with me shar'd.

'Wake my soul! to praise aspire,
Reason, ev'ry sense accord, Join in pure seraphic fire,
Love and thank, and praise the Lord!



Au! why will my dear little girl be so cross,
And cry, and look sulky, and pout? 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 you dear little breast,
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,
WVdll the water grow warmer forall that you'vesaid2And what good will it do you to cry?

It is not to tease you, and hurt you, my sweet,
But only for kindness and care,
That I wash you, and dress you, an4 make you
look neat,
And comb out your tanglesome hair.


I don't mind the trouble, if you would not cry,
But pay me for all with a kiss
That's right,-take the tow el and wipe your wet eye,
I thought you'd be good after this.


Oh! I've got a plum cake, and a rare feast I'll make, I'll eat, and I'll stuff, and I'll cram;
Morning, noontime, and night, it shall be my de.
light;What a happy young fellow I am."

Thus said little George, and beginning to gorge,
With zeal to his cake he applied
While lingers and thumbs, for the sweetmeats and
Wero hunting and digging beside.

But wofl to tell, a misfortune befel,
Which rumn'd thi ca,.ital fun;
Afre eating hs fill, he was taken so ill,
Tfat he trembled for what he had done.


As he grew worse and worse, the doctor and nurse,
To cure his disorder were sent:
And rightly, you'll think, he had physic to drink,
Which made him his folly repent.
And while on the bed he roll'd his hot head,
Impatient with sickness and pain,
le could not but take this reproof from his cake:
Don't be such a glutton again."


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

Thus said little Jack, as he gave it a smack,
And sharpen'd his knife to begin!
And there was not one found, upon all the plbygroUnd,
So cross that he would not come in.


With masterly strength he cut through it at length, And gave to each playmate a share;
Dick, William, and James, and many more names, Partook his benevolent care.

Anil -o hen it was done, and they'd finish'd their fun, To marbles or hoop they went back: And each little boy felt it always a joy,
To do a good turn for good Jack:'

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


MYsweet little girl should be cheerful and mild,
rI d should not be fretful, and cry!
Ch, why is this passion? remember, my child,
4od sees you, who lives in the sky.


That dear little face, which I like so to kiss,
How dreadful and sad it appears!
Do you think 1, can I ove you so naughty as this,
Or kiss you all wetted with tears?

17 Remember, though 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.

k7 If I am not with you, or if it be dark,
And nobody is in the way,
1Y His eye is as able your doings to mark,
In the night as it is in the day.

Then dry up your tears, and look smiling again-,
And never do things that are wrong;
For I'm sure you must feel it a terrible pain,
To be naughty and crying so long.

We'll pray, then, that God may your passion forgive,
And teach you from evil to fly;
And then you'll be happy as long as you live,
And happy wheRever you die.

VOL. 1.



OH! dnn't hurt the dog, love poor honest old Tray I
What good will it do yon to drive him away,
Ortaehim, to force him to bite?
Remember how faithful he is to his charge,
And barks at the rogues when we set him at large,

And guards us by day and by night.

Though yon, by and by, will grow up to a man,
And Tray'll be a dog, let him grow as he can,
Remember, 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,
j. I think it should teach you one lesson at least,
You ought to act better than he;
..-nd if without reason, or judgment, or sense, T ray does as we bid him, and gives no Offence,
hwdiligent Richard should be.


IfI do but just whistle, as often you've seen,
lie seems to say, "1 Master, what is it yon mean?
My courage and duty are tried.And see, when I throw my hat over the pale,
lie fetches it back, and comes wagging his tail,
And lays it down close by my side.

y! Then 'honest old Tray, let him sleep at his ease,
While from him you learn to endeavour to pleas,
And obey me with spirit and joy;
Or else we shall find (what would grieve me to say) ge That Richard's no better than honest old Tray!
And a bute has more sense than a boy!


AND has my darling told a lie?
Did she forget that God was by?
That God who saw the thing she did,
From whom no action can be hid; Did she forget that God could see, And hear, wherever she might be?


He made your eyes, and can discern
Whichever way you think to turn;
He made your ears, and he can hear,
When you think nobody is near: In ey'ry place, by night or day, Hle watches all you do and say.

You thought, because you were alone, Your falsehood never could be known,
But cunning liars are found out,
Whatever ways they wind about;
And always be afraid, my dear,
To tell a lie,-for God can hear!

I wish, my love, you'd always try
And wcahenl ou weeh a higtod; Ano acwahall ot nee a hie;todo
That has been once forbidden you,
Remeber hatnorever dare

To disobey-for God is there!

Confess, and then I'll pardon you:
Tell me you're sorry, and you'll try
To act the better by and by;
And then, whatever your crime has been, Itwntb half so great a sin.


Btit cheerful, innocenlt, and gay,
As passes by the happy day,
You'll never have to turn aside,
Frrom any one your faults to hide; Nor heave a sigh; nor hare a fear, That either God or I should hear.


WHEx, Mjarry and Dick had been striving to please,
Their father (to whom it was known)
Made two little gardens, and stock'd them with trees,
And gave one to each for hit own.

Harry thanked his papa, and with rake, hoe, and
Directly begin his employ:
And soon such a neat little garden was made,
That he panted with labour and joy.

There was always some bed or some border to mend,
Or something to tie or to stick;
And Harry rose early his garden to tend,
While snoring lay indolent Dick.

The tulip, the rose, and the lily so white,
United their beautiful bloom;
And often the honey-bee stoop'd from his flight,
To sip the delicious perfume.

A neat row of peas in full blossom were seen,
French beans were beginning to shoot!
And his gooseb'ries 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 gardea was found.

Rank weeds and tall ne tles disfigur'd his beds,
Nor cabbage nor lettuce was seen
The slug and the snail show'd their mischievous
And eat ev'ry leaf that was green.

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



WHo fed me from her gentle breast, And hush'd me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My Mother.

When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet hushaby,
And rock'd me that I should not cry?
My Mother.

Who sat and watch'd my infant head,
When sleeping on my cradle bed, And tears of sweet affection shed ?
Ald- My Mother.

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gaz'd upon my heavy eye,
And wept, for fear that I should die?
My Mother

Who drest my doll in clothes so gay, And taught me pretty how to play, And minded all I had to say?
My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell, And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the place to make it well?
My Mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray, And love God's holy book and day, And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?
My other.

And can I ever cease to be Affectionate and kind to thee, Who wast so very kind to me, My Mother?

Ah! to, the thought I cannot beat, And if God please my life to spare, I hope I shall reward thy care, Aly Mother.


When thou art feeble, old, and grey, iMy healthy arm shall be thy stay, And I will soothe thy pains away, My Mother.

And when I see thee hang thy head, 'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed, And tears of sweet affection shed) My Mother.

For God, who lives above the skies, Would look with vengeance in his eyes, If I should ever dare despise My Mother.


HrGH on a mountain's haughty steep
Lord Hubert's palace stood;
Before it roll'd a river deep,

Behind it wav'd a wood.

Low in an unfrequented vale,
A peasant built his cell;
Sweet flow'rs perfum'd the cooling gale,
And grac'd his garden well.

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

In scenes of quiet and repose Young William's life was spent; With morning's early beam he rose, And whistled ai he went.

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

Warm from the sickle or the plough, His heart as light as air,
His garden ground, and dappled cow, Supplied young William's fare.

On beds of down beset with gold, With satin curtains drawn,
His fev'rish limbs Lord Hubert roll'd, From midnight's gloom to morn,


Stretch'd on a hard and flocky bed, The cheerful rustic lay;
And sweetest slumbers lull'd his head,
From eve to breaking day.

Fever, and gout, and aches, and pains,
Destroy'd Lord Hubert's rest; Disorder burnt in all his veins,
And sickened in his breast.

A stranger to the ills of wealth,
Behind his rugged plough,
The cheek of William glow'd with health,
And cheerful was his brow.

No gentle friend to soothe his pain,
Sat near Lord Huberts bed;
His friends and servants, light and vain,
From scenes of sorrow fled.

But when on William's honest head
Time scattered silver hairs,
His wife and children round his bed,
Partook and sooth'd his cares.

The solemn hearse, the waving plume.
A train of mourners grim,
Carried Lord Hubert to the tomb,
But no one griev'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 dying bed
Old William came to lie,'
When clammy sweats had chill'd his head,
And death had glaz'd his eyeSweet tears, by fond affection dropp'd,
From many an eye-lid fell;
And many a lip, by anguish stopped,
Half spoke the sad farewell.

No marble pile, nor costly tomb,
Points out where William sleeps;
But there wild thyme and cowslips bloom,
And their affection weeps.
A N'



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

Harry thought he might safely continue his play,
With a little more care than before;
So, heedless of all that his father could say, As soon as he saw he was out of the way,
Resolved to have fifty throws more.

Already as far as to forty he rose,
And no mischief happened at all;
One more, and one more, he successfully throws, But wben, as he thought, just arriv'd at the c lose,
In popp'd his unfortunate ball.

Poor Harry stood frighten'd, and turning'about,
Was gazing at what he had done;
As the ball had popp'd in, so neighbour popped out, And with a good horse-whip he beat him about,
I'Till Harry repeated his fun.
VOL. I .

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 through.


TIE fox and the crow, In prose, I well know,
Many good little girls can rehearse;
Perhaps it will tell,
Pretty nearly as well,
If we try the same fable in verse.

In a dairy a crow
Having ventur'd to go,
Some food for her young ones to seek,
Flew up in the trees,
With a fine piece of cheese,
Which she joyfully held in hir beak.

A fox who liv'd by,
To the tree saw her fly,
And to share in the prize made a Tow;
For, having just din'd,
Hle for cheese felt inclin'd,
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 knew if she'd speak,
It must fall from her beak, So showing politely began.

"Tis a very fine day;
(Not a word did she say;)
The wind, I believe, ma'am, is south;
A fine harvest for peas:"
He then look'd at the cheese,
But the crow did not open her mouth.

Sly Reynard not tir'd,
IHer plumage admir'd,
( "How charming! how brilliant its hue!
The voice must be fine,
Of a bird so divine,
Ah, let me just near it-pray do.
II $-


'Believe me, I long
To hear a sweet song."
The silly crow foolishly tries.She scarce gave one squall, When the cheese she let fail,
And the fox ran away with the prize.
Ye innocent falr,
Of coxcombs beware,
To flattery never give ear:
Try well each pretence, And keep to plain sense,
And then you have little to fear.


An! why did 1, unthinking youth,
Fraim school a truant stray?
To )arents why not tell the truth,
And then for pardon pray?

i My parents both are good and kind;
Tho' master is severe.With weeping I am almost blind;
0, 1 shall perish here.

The night comes on the air is sharp,
And now it blows a storm;
The pinching wind my skin doth warp,
Miy features soft deform.

As in the stream my face I view'd,
The face to me was new; The buffeting of breezes rude
Hare chang'd it black and blue.

My clothes are by the brambles torn,
My legs are wounded sore;
MIy friends, to see my limbs would mourn:Those limbs all staind with gore.

1, in some well or ditch may fall,
And there, when I am found, Then some will pity me, and all
Will say, The boy is drown'd."

This place is lonely, wild, and drear;
I know not where to turn.I'll lay me down and perish here:
I freeze, and now I burn.

I see a light! a light 'tis sure!
A Jack o'Lanthorn? no:
It comes from yonder cottage door,
And to that door I'll go.


No beggar-boy, alas, am 1:
0 give me shelter, pray;
Or else with hunger I shall die,
For I have lost my way.

Or on some straw, or on the floor,
This night, oh! let me lie;
Or else the cold I must endure,
Beneath this bitter sky.

And let me wash my face and feet;
Then give a little food;
The plainest fare will be a treat,
Dear woman, kind and good.

To-morrow morning take me home;
You'll hearty thanks receive.
IMy father's rich, tho' wild I roam.H My talc you may believe.

If you should have a child distrest,
My griefs with pity see;
With such a friend may he be blest, !: As you shall pity ume.




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

Look, father, said John, at that lazy old snail, lie's almost an hour crawling over a pale,
Enough all one's patience to worry;
Now, if I were he, I would gallop away, Half over the world-twenty miles in a day,
And turn business off in a hurry.

Wellk John, said his father, but as I'm afraid That into a snail you can never be made,
But still must remain a young master; As these idle wishes can nothing avail, Take a hint for yourself from your jokes on the snail,
And do your own work rather faster.
J, T



An! don't you remember 'tis almost December,
And soon will the holidays come;
Oh, 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money,
I'll buy me a sword and a drum.

Thus said little Harry, unwilling to tarry,
Impatient to hurry from school;
But we shall discover, this holiday lover
Spoke both like a child and a foo.l.

For when he alighted so highly delighted,
Away from his sums and his books,
Though playthings surrounded, and sweetmeats
Chagrin still appear'd in his looks-.

Tho' first they delighted, his toys were now slighted,
And thrown away out of his sight;
le spent ev'ry morning in stretching and yawning,
Yet went to bed weary at night.


lie had notthattreasurewhichreallymakespleasure,
(A. secret discover'd by few,)
You'll take it for granted,more playthings he wanted.
O no;-it was something to do.

lie found that employment created enjoyment,
And pass'd the time cheerful away;
That study and reading, by far were exceeding
His cakes, and his toys, and his play.

To school now returning, to study and learning
With pleasure did Harry apply;
He felt no aversion to books,-twas diversion,And never more caus'd him to sigh. .i. T.


WITH haggard eye, and wrinkled face,
Old Sarah goes, with tott'ring pace,
From door to door to beg;
With gipsy hat and tatter'd gown,
And petticoat of rusty brown,
And many-colour'd leg.


:No blazing fire, no cheerful home, She goes forlorn about to roam,
While winds and tempests blow: And ev'ry traveller passing by, She follows 'with a doleful cry
Of poverty and wo.

But see! her arm no basket bears, With laces gay, and wooden wares,
And garters,, blue and red;
To stroll about and drink her gin, She loves far better than to spini,
Or work to earn her bread.

Old Sarah ev'ry body knows, Nor is she pity'd as she goes,
A melancholy sight;
For people do not like to give Relief to those who idle live, And work not wvhen they might. ..


OLD SUSANOLD Susan, in a cottage small, TW low the roof and mud the wall,
And goods a scanty store,
Enjoys within her peaceful she d, Her wholesome crust of barley bread,
Nor does she covet more.

Though old and feeble she must feel, She daily plies her spinning wheel,
Within her cottage gate;
And thus, with industry and' care., Tho' low her purse and hard her fare,
She envies not the great.

A decent gown she always wears, Though many an ancient patch it bears,
And many a one that's new No dirt is seen within her dswr, Red sand she sprinkles on the floor,
As tidy people do.

Old Susan ev'ry body knew, And ev'ry one respected, too,
Her industry aRid care;
And if in sickness or in wo, The neighbours gladly would bestow
The little they could spare. J. T.


BErORE the bright sun rises over the hill.
In the corn-field poor Mary is seen, Impatient her little blue apron to fill,
With the few scatter'd ears she can glean. She never leaves off, or runs out of her place,
To play, or to idle and chat;
Except now and then, just to wipe her hot face.
And fait herself with her broad hat.

Poor girl, hard at work in the heat of the sun1
How tired And warm you must be;
Why don'(you leave off, as the others have done,.
And sit with them under the tre?"


"90 no! for my mother ties ill in her bed,
Too feeble to spin or to knit,
And my poor little brothers are crying for bread,
And yet we can't give them a bit!
c4 Then could I be merry, and idle, and play,
While they are so hungry and ill?
0 no, I would rather work hard all the day,
My little blue apron to fill."
J. T.


0 comE to the window, dear brother, and see
What mischief was done in the night;
The snow has quite cover'd the jennetting tree,
And the bushes are sprinkled with white.

The spring in the grove is beginning tot freez e
The fish-pond is frozen all der;
Long icicles hang in bright rows from tl~e trees.
And drop in odd shapes from the door,.
VOL.I. 1

The old mossy thatch, and the meadow so green,
Are sprinkled al overwith white;
The snow-drop and crocus no more can be seen,
The thick snow has cover'd them quite.

And see the poor birds how they fly to and fro)
They're come for their breakfast again;
But the little worms all are hid under the snow,
They hop about chirping in vain.

Then open the window, I'll throw them some bread,
I've some of my breakfast to spare;
I wish they would come to my hand to be fed,
But they're all flown away, I declare.

Nay now, pretty birds, don't be frighten'd, I pray,
You shall not be hurt, I'll engage;
I'm not come to catch you, and force you away,
And fasten you up in a cage.

I wish you could know you've no cause for alarm,
From me you have nothing to fear;
Why, my little fingers should do you no harm,
Although you camp ever so jaear.
3. T,