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Now on the chair-back, now on the table,

'Mid balls of cotton and skeins of silk,

And crumbs of sugar and jugs of milk, All so easy and comfortable. It 's patting the little dog's ears, and leaping Round him, and o'er him, while he's sleeping; Waking him up in a sore affright, Then off and away, like a flash of light, Scouring and scampering out of sight. Life? Oh, it's rolling over and over On the summer-green turf and budding clover; Chasing the shadows as fast as they run, Down the green paths in the summer sun : Prancing and gambolling, brave and bold, Climbing the tree stems, scratching the mould: That's Life I said the kitten two months old.

Kitten, Kitten, come sit on my knee,

And lithe and listen, Kitten to me!
One by one, oh, one by one,
The sly swift shadows sweep over the sun;

Daylight dieth, and-kittenhood 's done.

And Kitten, oh! the rain and the wind !
For cathood cometh, with careful mind;
And grave cat-duties follow behind.
Hark! theres a sound you cannot hear;
I'll whisper its meaning into your ear.

MICE!

KITTEN GOSSIP.

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(The kitten stared with her great green eyes, And twitched her tail in a queer surprise,)

MICE!!

No more tit-bits, dainty and nice;
No more mischief, and no more play ;
But watching by night, and sleeping by day,
Prowling wherever the foe doth lurk-
Very short commons and very sharp work.
And Kitten! oh, the hail and the thunder!
That's a blackish cloud, but a blacker's under.
Hark! but you'll fall from my knee, I fear,
When I whisper that awful word in your ear-

R-R-R-R-ATS!
(The kitten's heart beat with great pit-pats,
But her whiskers quivered, and from their sheath
Flashed out the sharp white pearly teeth.)

R-R-R-R-ATS!!
The scom of dogs, but the terror of cats;

The cruellest foes, and the fiercest fighters;
The sauciest thieves, and the sharpest biters.

But, Kitten, I see you 've a stoutish heart,
So, courage ! and play an honest part;

Use well your paws,

And strengthen your claws,
And sharpen your teeth, and stretch out your jaws,

Then woe to the tribes of pickers and stealers,
Nibblers, and gnawers, and evil dealers !

But now that you know that life's not precisely
The thing your fancy pictured so nicely,
Off and away! race over the floor,
Out at the window, and in at the door;
Roll on the turf, and bask in the sun,
Ere night-time cometh, and kittenhood 's done.

ELMWOOD, July, 1857.

BE KIND.

Be kind to thy father-for when thou wert young,

Who loved thee so fondly as he?
He caught the first accents that fell from thy tongue,

And joined in thy innocent glee.
Be kind to thy father, for now he is old,

His locks intermingled with gray;
His footsteps are feeble, once fearless and bold,

Thy father is passing away.

Be kind to thy mother-for lo! on her brow

May traces of sorrow be seen; Oh well may'st thou cherish and comfort her now,

For loving and kind hath she been. Remember thy mother—for thee will she pray,

As long as God gives to her breath; With accents of kindness then cheer her lone way,

E'en to the dark valley of death.

FOOR LITTLE JIM.

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Be kind to thy brother his heart will have dearth,

If the smile of thy joy be withdrawn;
The flowers of feeling will fade at the birth,

If the dew of affection be gone.
Be kind to thy brother-wherever you are,

The love of a brother shall be
An ornament purer and richer by far,

Than pearls from the depth of the sea.

Be kind to thy sister--not many may know

The depth of true sisterly love;
The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below

The surface that sparkles above.
Thy kindness shall bring to thee many sweet hours,

And blessings thy pathway to crown; Affection shall weave thee a garland of flowers,

More precious than wealth or renown.

POOR LITTLE JIM.

The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and

mean, But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and

clean; The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling

wild, As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown

child:

dim. It was a collier's wife and child, they called him little

Jim;

And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down

her cheek, As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was

afraid to speak, Lest she might waken one she loved far better than

her life; For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor col

lier's wife. With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the suf

ferer's bed, And prays that He would spare her boy, and take

herself instead. She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the words

from him, “Mother, the angels do 80 smile, and beckon little

Jim. I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh! I am so

dry, Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, do n't

you cry." With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to

his lip; He smiled to thank her, as he took each little, tiny

sip.

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