2. "There, mamma," said Tit-bit and Frisky, "only see! Jenny Wren and Cock Robin have been in at the bow-window, and it didn't hurt them, and why can't we go?

"Well, my dears," said the old Mother Squirrel, “you must do it very carefully: never forget that you haven't wings like Jenny Wren and Cock Robin."

3. So the next day Aunt Esther laid a train of corn from the roots of the trees to the bow-window, and then from the bow-window to her work-basket, which stood on the floor beside her; and then she put quite a handful of corn in the work-basket, and sat down by it, and seemed intent on her sewing. Very soon, creep, creep, creep, came Tit-bit and Frisky to the window, and then into the room, just as sly and as still as could be, and Aunt Esther sat just like a statue for fear of disturbing them. They looked all around in high glee, and when they came to the basket it seemed to them a wonderful little summer-house, made on purpose for them to play in. They nosed about in it, and turned over the scissors and the needle-book, and took a nibble at her white wax, and jostled the spools, meanwhile stowing away the corn each side of their little chops, till they both of them looked as if they had the mumps.

4. At last Aunt Esther put out her hand to touch them, when, whisk-frisk, out they went, and up the trees, chattering and laughing, before she had time even to wink.

But after this they used to come in every day, and when she put corn in her hand and held it very still, they would eat out of it; and, finally, they would get into her hand, until one day she gently closed it over them, and Frisky and Tit-bit were fairly caught.

5. O how their hearts beat! but the good fairy only spoke gently to them, and soon unclosed her hand and let them go again. So, day after day, they grew to have more and mcre faith in her, till they would climb into her work-basket, sit on her shoulder, or nestle away in her lap as she sat sewing. They made also long exploring voyages all over the house, up and through all the chambers, till finally, I grieve to say, poor Frisky came to an untimely end by being drowned in the water-tank at the top of the house.

6. The dear good fairy passed away from the house in

time, and went to a land where the flowers never fade, and the birds never die; but the squirrels still continued to make the place a favorite resort.

7. "In fact, my dear," said old Mother Red, one winter, to her mate, "what is the use of one's living in this cold, hollow tree, when these amiable people have erected this pretty cottage where there is plenty of room for us and them too? Now I have examined between the eaves, and there is a charming place where we can store our nuts, and where we can whip in and out of the garret, and have the free range of the house; and, say what you will, these humans have delightful ways of being warm and comfortable in winter."

8. So Mr. and Mrs. Red set up housekeeping in the cottage, and had no end of nuts and other good things stored up there. The trouble of all this was, that, as Mrs. Red was a notable body, and got up to begin her housekeeping operations, and woke up all her children, at four o'clock in the morning, the good people often were disturbed by a great rattling and fuss in the walls, while yet it seemed dark night. Then sometimes, too, I grieve to say, Mrs. Squirrel would give her husband vigorous curtain lectures in the night, which made him so indignant that he would rattle off to another quarter of the garret to sleep by himself; and all this broke the rest of the worthy people who built the house.

What

9. What is to be done about this we don't know. would you do about it? Would you let the squirrels live in your house or not? When our good people come down of a cold winter morning, and see the squirrels dancing and frisking down the trees, and chasing each other so merrily over the garden-chair, or sitting with their tails saucily over their backs, they look so jolly and jaunty and pretty, that the said good people almost forgive them for disturbing their night's rest, and think that nothing shall be done to drive them out of the garret to-day. And so it goes on; but how long the squirrels will rent the cottage in this fashion, I'm sure I dare not undertake to say.

3. Into the beautiful valley

The winter night came down,
On forests silent and leafless,
And mountains gloomy and brown.

4. But lo! in the early morning,

Gray with the struggling light,
The beautiful valley was folded
In a mantle of spotless white!

5. No print of wandering footstep,
No stain on its whiteness lay;
And the leafless trees in the forest
Were fairer than orchards in May.

XXXV.-SPRING.

FELICIA HEMANS.

1. I come! I come! ye have called me long,-
I come o'er the mountains with light and song!
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

2. I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers

By thousands have burst from the forest bowers,
And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains;
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb !

3. I have looked on the hills of the stormy North,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth,
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,

And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free,
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,

And the moss looks bright where my foot hath been

4. I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, And called out each voice of the deep blue sky; From the night bird's lay through the starry time, In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,

To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,

When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks.

5. From the streams and founts I have loosed the

.

chain;

They are sweeping on to the silvery main,

They are flashing down from the mountain brows,

They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves !

6. Come forth, O ye children of gladness! come!
Where the violets lie may be now your home.
Ye of the rose lip and dew-bright eye,

And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly!
With the lyre and the wreath and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine—I may not stay.

7. Away from the dwellings of care-worn men,
The waters are sparkling in grove and glen!
Away from the chamber and sullen hearth,
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth!
Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains,
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

8. But ye! ye are changed since ye met me last!
There is something bright from your features passed!
There is that come over your brow and eye

Which speaks of a world where the flowers must die!
-Ye smile! but your smile hath a dimness yet:
Oh! what have you looked on since last we met?

9. Ye are changed, ye are changed!—and I see not here All whom I saw in the vanished year!

There were graceful heads, with their ringlets bright, Which tossed in the breeze with a play of light;