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10 "Mamma, why can't we take her up,
And put her in my bed?

I'll feed her from my little cup,
And then she won't be dead:

11 "For sister'll be afraid to lie
In this dark grave to-night
And she'll be very cold, and cry
Because there is no light."


No, sister is not cold, my child,
For God who saw her die,

As he looked down from heaven and smiled,
Recalled her to the sky.

3 "And then her spirit quickly fled
To God, by whom 'twas given;
Her body in the ground is dead,
But sister lives in heaven."

14 "Mamma, won't she be hungry there,
And want some bread to eat?
And who will give her clothes to wear,
And keep them clean and neat?


Papa must go and carry some;
I'll send her all I've got;

And he must bring sweet sister home,
Mamma, now must he not ?"

16 "No, my dear child, that cannot be;
But, if you're good and true,
You'll one day go to her; but she
Can never come to you.

17 "Let little children come to me,'
Once our good Savior said,
And in his arms she'll always be,
And God will give her bread."





TO-MORROW, didst thou say?
Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow:
Go to-I will not hear of it-To-morrow!
"Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury

Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee nought, but wishes, hopes, and promises,
The currency of idiots-injurious bankrupt,
That gulls the easy creditor!-To-morrow!
It is a period nowhere to be found
In all the hoary registers of Time,
2 Unless perchance in the fool's calendar.
Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society
With those who own it. No, my Horatio,
"Tis fancy's child, and folly is its father;
Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless
As the fastastic visions of the evening.

But soft, my friend-arrest the present moment
For be assured they all are arrant tell-tales:
And though their flight be silent, and their path
Trackless, as the winged couriers of the air
3 They post to heaven, and there record thy folly;
Because, though stationed on the important watch,
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel,
Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved.

And know, for that thou slumberest on the guard,
Thou snalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive; and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hoodwinked justice, who shall tell thy audit?
Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio,
4 Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings.

"Tis of more worth than kingdoms: far more precious Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain.

Oh! let it not elude thy grasp; but, like

The good old patriarch upon record,

Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee.

I have some favorite flowers in spring, among which are the mountain daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove, the wild

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brier-rose, the budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight. I never hear the loud solitary whistle of the curlew in a summer noon, or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of gray plovers in an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation of soul like the enthusiam of devotion, or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to what can this be owing? Are we a piece of machinery, which, like the Eolian harp, passive takes the impression of the passing accident? Or do these workings argue something within us above "the trodden clod ?" I own myself partial to such proofs of those awful and important realities-a God that made all things-man's immaterial and immortal nature-and a world of weal or wo beyond death and the grave.—Burns.


The Humming Bird.-AUDUBON.

WHERE is the person who, on seeing this lovely little creature moving on humming winglets through the air, suspended as if by magic in it, flitting from one flower to another, with motions as graceful as they are light and airy, pursuing its course over our extensive continent, and yielding new delights wherever it is seen ;—where is the person, I ask, who, on observing this glittering fragment of the rainbow, would not pause, admire, and instantly turn his mind with reverence toward the Almighty Creator, the wonders of whose hand we at every step discover, and of 2 whose sublime conceptions we every where observe the manifestations in his admirable system of creation? There breathes not such a person; so kindly have we all been blessed with that intuitive and noble feeling-admiration.


No sooner has the returning sun again introduced the vernal season, and caused millions of plants to expand their leaves and blossoms to his genial beams, than the little Humming Bird is seen advancing on fairy wings, carefully visiting every opening flower-cup, and, like a curious florist, removing from each the injurious insects that otherwise would 3 erelong cause their beauteous petals to droop and decay. Hoisted in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously, and

with sparkling eye, into their inmost recesses, whilst the ethereal motions of its pinions, so rapid and so light, appear to fan and cool the flower, without injuring its fragile texture, and produce a delightful murmuring sound, well adapted for lulling the insects to repose. Then is the moment for the Humming Bird to secure them. Its long delicate bill enters the cup of the flower, and the protruded double-tubed tongue, delicately sensible, and imbued with a 4 glutinous saliva, touches each insect in succession, and draws it from its lurking place, to be instantly swallowed. All this is done in a moment, and the bird, as it leaves the flower, sips so small a portion of its liquid honey, that the theft, we may suppose, is looked upon with a grateful feeling by the flower, which is thus kindly relieved from the attacks of her destroyers.

The prairies, the fields, the orchards, and gardens, nay, the deepest shades of the forest, are all visited in their turn, and every where the little bird meets with pleasure 5 and with food. Its gorgeous throat, in beauty and brilliancy, baffles all competition. Now it glows with a fiery hue, and again it is changed to the deepest velvety black. The upper parts of its delicate body are of resplendent changing green; and it throws itself through the air with a swiftness and vivacity hardly conceivable. It moves from one flower to another like a gleam of light, upwards, downwards, to the right and to the left. In this manner it searches the extreme portions of our country, following with great precaution the advances of the season, and retreats 6 with equal care at the approach of autumn.


I wish it were in my power at this moment to impart the pleasures which I have felt whilst watching the movements, and viewing the manifestation of feelings displayed by a single pair of these most favorite little creatures, when engaged in the demonstration of their love to each other :how the male swells his plumage and throat, and, dancing on the wing, whirls around the delicate female; how quickly he dives towards a flower, and returns with a loaded bill, which he offers to her to whom alone he feels 7 desirous of being united; how full of ecstasy he seems to be when his caresses are kindly received: how his little wings fan her, as they fan the flowers, and he transfers to her bill the insect and the honey, which he has procured.

with a view to please her; how these attentions are received with apparent satisfaction; how, soon after, the blissful compact is sealed; how, then, the courage and care of the male are redoubled; how he even dares to give chase to the tyrant flycatcher, hurries the blue-bird 8 and the martin to their boxes; and how, on sounding pinions, he joyously returns to the side of his lovely mate. Reader, all these proofs of the sincerity, fidelity, and courage with which the male assures his mate of the care he will take of her while sitting on her nest, may be seen, and have been seen, but cannot be portrayed or described.

Could you cast a momentary glance on the nest of the Humming Bird, and see, as I have seen, the newly hatched pair of young, little larger than humble-bees, naked, blind, and so feeble as scarcely to be able to raise their little bill 9 to receive food from the parents; and could you see those parents, full of anxiety and fear, passing and repassing within a few inches of your face, alighting on a twig not more than a yard from your body, waiting the result of your unwelcome visit in a state of the utmost despair,you could not fail to be impressed with the deepest pangs which parental affection feels on the unexpected death of a cherished child. Then how pleasing is it, on your leaving the spot, to see the returning hope of the parents, when, after examining the nest, they find their nurslings untouched! You might then judge how pleasing it is to a mother of another kind, to hear the physician, who has attended her sick child assure her that the crisis is over, and that her babe is saved.


The Old Cumberland Beggar.-WORDSWORTH.
THE aged man


Had placed his staff across the broad smooth stone
That overlays the pile, and from a bag
All white with flour, the dole of village dames,
He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one,
And scanned them with a fixed and serious look
Of idle computation.
Him from my childhood I have known, and then

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