THE SNOW-SHOWER.

"See, mamma, the crumbs are flying
Fast and thickly through the air;
On the branches they are lying,
On the walks and everywhere.
Oh, how glad the birds will be,
When so many crumbs they see."
"No, my little girl, 't is snowing,
Nothing for the birds is here;
Very cold the air is growing,
'Tis the winter of the year:
Frost will nip the robins' food,
'T will no more be sweet and good.
"See the clouds the skies that cover,

"T is from them the snow-flakes fall, Whitening hills and fields all over,

Hanging from the fir-trees tall. Were it warm, 't would rain; but lo, Frost has changed the rain to snow." "If the robins food are needing,

Oh, I hope to me they'll come; I should like to see them feeding On the window of my room: I'll divide with them my store, Much I wish I could do more."

Mary Lundie Duncan.

I don't know my letters, and what shall I do? For I've got a nice book, but I can't read it.

through;

O dear, how I wish that my letters I knew.
I think I had better begin them to-day,
"T is so like a dunce to be always at play:
Mamma, if you please, will you teach me great

A,

And then B and C, as they stand in the row, One after another, as far as they go?

For then I can read my new story, you know.

Songs.

9

So do, mamma, tell me at once, and you'll see What a good, very good little child I shall be, To try and remember my A, B, C, D.

Taylor.

THE BLIND BOY.

"Dear Mary," said the poor blind boy,
"That little bird sings very long;
Say, do you see him in his joy,
And is he pretty as his song?"

"Yes, Edward, yes,” replied the maid,
"I see the bird on yonder tree;"
The poor boy sighed, and gently said,
"Sister, I wish that I could see.
"The flowers, you say, are very fair,

And bright green leaves are on the trees,
And pretty birds are singing there—
How beautiful for one who sees.

"Yet I the fragrant flowers can smell, And I can feel the green leaf's shade, And I can hear the notes that swell

From those dear birds that God has made.

"So, sister, God to me is kind,

Though sight to me he has not given;
But tell me, are there any blind
Among the children up in heaven?"

Come, come, mister peacock, you must not be proud,

Although you can boast such a train; For many a bird far more highly endowed Is not half so conceited and vain.

Let me tell you, gay bird, that a suit of fine clothes

Is a sorry distinction at most,

And seldom much valued, excepting by those Who such graces only can boast.

The nightingale certainly wears a plain coat, But she cheers and delights with her song; While you, though so vain, cannot utter a note To please by the use of your tongue.

The hawk cannot boast of a plumage so gay, But piercing and clear is her eye;

And while you are strutting about all the day,
She gallantly soars in the sky.

The dove may be clad in a plainer attire,
But she is not so selfish and cold;

And her love and affection more pleasure inspire,

Than all your fine purple and gold.

So you see, mister peacock, you must not be proud,

Although you can boast such a train; For many a bird is more highly endowed, And not half so conceited and vain.

THE LITTLE BOY.

See me,

I am a little boy,

Who loves to go to school;

And though I am not very old,

I'll prove I am no fool.