PUSSY-CAT lives in the servants' hall,
She can set up her back, and purr;
The little mice live in a crack in the wall,
But they hardly dare venture to stir;

For whenever they think of taking the air,
Or filling their little maws,

The Pussy-cat says, "Come out, if you dare;
I will catch you all with my claws."

Scrabble, scrabble, scrabble, went all the little mice,

For they smelt the Cheshire cheese; The pussy-cat said, "It smells very nice, Now do come out, if you please."

"Squeak," said the little mouse; "squeak, squeak,

*squeak,"

Said all the young ones too;

"We never creep out when cats are about,
Because we're afraid of you."

So the cunning old cat lay down on a mat,
By the fire in the servants' hall:

"If the little mice peep, they'll think I'm asleep ;' So she roll'd herself up like a ball.

"Squeak," said the little mouse, "we'll creep out

And eat some Cheshire cheese,

That silly old cat is asleep on the mat,

And we may sup at our ease."

Nibble, nibble, nibble, went all the little mice,
And they lick'd their little paws;

Then the cunning old cat sprang up from the mat, And caught them all with her claws.

AUNT EFFIE'S RHYMES.

Ah! he finds it is not steady;
He is tottering already;

He is frighten'd-save him, Eddy-
Save baby!

Now he's safely on the ground,
But the rogue is turning round,
For the rocking-chair still bound—
Oh, baby!

Blue-eyed baby, oh! beware
How you clamber everywhere;
Treacherous is the rocking-chair-
My baby!

Better far not climb at all,

But upon the carpet crawl,
would not fear to fall-

If you

Dear baby!

SUMMER SONGS.

A CHILD'S NIGHTLY PRAYER.

BEFORE I close my eyes in sleep,
Lord, hear my nightly prayer;
Though young in years, I have been taught
Thy name to love and fear.

The little birds that sing all day,

In many a leafy wood,

By Thee are clothed in plumage gay,

By Thee supplied with food.

Nor will Thy mercy less delight

The children's God to be,

Who through the darkness of the night

For safety trust to Thee.

BRITISH SPELLING BOOK.

THE BLIND BOY AT PLAY.

THE blind boy's been at play, mother,
The merry games we had!
We led him on his way, mother,
And every step was glad.

But when we found a starry flower,
And praised its varied hue,

A tear came trembling down his cheek,
Just like a drop of dew.

We took him to the mill, mother,

Where falling waters made

A rainbow o'er the hills, mother,
As golden sun-rays play'd;