From this

may

I a hint obtain,

And take great care indeed,

Lest I appear as pert and vain
As is this gaudy weed.

JANE TAYLOR.

THE VIOLET.

Down in a green and shady bed
A modest violet grew;

Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,
As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flow'r,
Its colours bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bow'r,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints array'd;

And there diffused its sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go,

This pretty flow'r to see;
may also learn to grow

That I

In sweet humility.

JANE TAYLOR.

THE WEEK.

ON Sunday begin
The week without sin;
On Monday resume

Your tasks without gloom;
And pray don't be vext
That Tuesday comes next;`
And when it is gone
Doth Wednesday come on;
And Thursday can ne'er
To follow forbear;

And Friday, no doubt,

Not being left out,

With Saturday last

The week will be past.

ANONYMOUS.

TO A ROBIN-REDBREAST.

LITTLE bird, with bosom red, Welcome to my humble shed! Courtly domes of high degree Have no room for thee and me: Pride and Pleasure's fickle throng Nothing mind an idle song.

Daily near my table steal
While I pick my scanty meal;

Doubt not, little though there be,
But I'll cast a crumb to thee;

Well rewarded if I

spy
Pleasure in thy glancing eye-
See thee, when thou'st ate thy fill,
Plume thy breast, and wipe thy bill.
Come, my feather'd friend, again,
Well thou know'st the broken pane;
Ask of me thy daily store;
Go not near the miser's door:
Once within his iron hall,
Woful end shall thee befall.
Savage! he would soon divest
Of its rosy plumes thy breast;
Then, with solitary joy,

Eat thee, bones and all, my boy.

LANGHORNE.

THE CAT.

I LOVE little Pussy, her coat is so warm,
And if I don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm;
So I'll ne'er pull her tail, nor drive her away,
But Pussy and I together will play ;
She shall sit by my side, and I'll give her some food,
And she'll love me because I am gentle and good.

SONG FOR AN INFANT SCHOOL.

CHILDREN go
To and fro,

In a merry, pretty row;
Footsteps light,

Faces bright:

'Tis a happy sight.

Swiftly turning round and round,
Do not look upon the ground.
Follow me,

Full of glee,
Singing merrily.

Birds are free,

So are we;

And we live as happily.
Work we do,

Study too,

For we learn "twice two;

When we laugh, and dance, and sing, Gay as birds or anything.

Follow me,

Full of glee,

Singing merrily.

Work is done,

Play's begun ;

Now we have our laugh and fun.

Happy days,

Pretty plays,

And no naughty ways.

Holding fast each other's hand,
We're a little happy band.
Follow me,

Full of glee,
Singing merrily.

MRS. FOLLEN.

THE DROWNING FLY.

IN yonder glass, behold a drowning fly;
Its little feet how vainly does it ply!
Its cries we hear not-yet it loudly cries,
And gentle hearts can feel its agonies.

Poor helpless insect! And will no one save?
Will no one suatch thee from a watery grave
?
My finger's top shall prove a friendly shore:
There, trembler-all thy dangers now are o'er.
Wipe thy wet wings, and banish all thy fear:
Go, join thy num'rous kindred in the air.
Smile not, spectators, at this humble deed—
An act of kindness well becomes our creed.

D