Good-night, my dear mother-dear mother,

good-night;

Please take out the candle, and shut the door tight:

Your dear little daughter will not be afraid,
When left quite alone in her own little bed.

THE VAIN LITTLE GIRL.

What, looking in the glass again?
Why 's my silly child so vain?
Do you think yourself as fair
As the gentle lilies are?

Is your merry eye as blue

As the violet's, wet with dew?
Yet it loves the best to hide

By the hedge's shady side.

When your cheek the brightest glows,
Is it redder than the rose?

But the rose's buds are seen
Almost hid with moss and green.
Little flowers, that open gay,
Peeping forth at break of day.
In the garden, hedge, or plain,
Do you think that they are vain?
Beauty soon will fade away,

Your rosy cheek must soon decay;
There's nothing lasting, you will find,
But the treasures of the mind.

O FIE, AMELIA.

"O fie, Amelia; I'm ashamed

To hear you quarrel so:

Leave off those naughty tricks, my child— Go play with sister, go."

“I sha'n't, mamma, the little girl

May play with whom she can;

And while she lives, she shall not have

My waxen doll again."

"Poor little Betsey Smith, she sits Day after day alone;

66

She had a darling sister once,

But now she's dead and gone.

Betsey was quite a fretful child,
And when she used to play
With pretty little Emeline,
She quarrelled every day.

"One day her sister said to her,
'Don't, Betsey, be so cross;
Indeed, I am not well to-day,
And fear I shall be worse.'

"Not well? Oh yes, you're very sick! I don't believe it's true;

You only want to coax mamma
To get nice things for you.'

"But Emma lingered here a while,
Then closed her eyes, and died:
Ah, who can tell the sorrow now,
That fills poor Betsey's mind?"

"And now she goes away and sits,
Day after day, alone;

She does not want to sing or play,
Since sister Emma's gone."

LITTLE MARY.

Before the bright sun rises over the hill,
In the cornfields poor Mary is seen,
Impatient her little blue apron to fill

With the few scattered ears she can glean.

She never looks off, nor goes out of her place To play, nor to idle, nor chat,

Except, now and then, just to wipe her warm face,

And fan herself with her straw hat.

Why don't you leave off, as the others have done,

And sit with them under the tree?

I fear you will faint in the beams of the sun; How weary and hot you must be."

"O, no; my dear mother lies sick in her bed, Too feeble to spin or to knit;

My poor little brothers are crying for bread, And yet we can't give them a bit.

"Then could I be idle, or merry, or play,
While they are so hungry and ill?

Ah no, I had rather work hard all the day,
My little blue apron to fill."

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
Who showed the little ant the way
Her narrow hole to bore,

And spend the pleasant summer day
In laying up her store?

The sparrow builds her clever nest
Of wool and hay and moss;
Who told her how to weave it best,
And lay the twigs across?
Who taught the busy bee to fly

Among the sweetest flowers,
And lay his feast of honey by,
To eat in winter hours?

'Twas God who showed them all the way,

And gave their little skill;

And teaches children, if they pray,

To do his holy will.

GOD'S CARE FOR THE YOUNG.

Isaac was ransomed while he lay
Upon the altar bound;
Moses, an infant, cast away,

Pharaoh's own daughter found.
Joseph, by his false brethren sold,
God raised above them all;

To Hannah's child the Lord foretold
How Eli's house must fall.