KITTY AND MOUSIE.

ONCE there was a little kitty,
Whiter than snow;
In a barn she used to frolic,
Long time ago.

In a barn a little mousie,

Ran to and fro;

For he heard the kitty coming,

Long time ago.

And they spied the little mousie,

Long time ago.

G

Four paws had little kitty,
Paws as soft as dough;

And they caught the little mousie,
Long time ago.

Nine teeth had little kitty,

All in a row;

And they bit the little mousie,

Long time ago.

When the teeth bit little mousie,
Little mouse cried "Oh!"

But she got away from kitty,
Long time ago.

LITTLE SUSY.

LITTLE DOG.

I'LL never hurt a little dog,
But stroke and pat his head;
I like to see him wag his tail,
I like to see him fed.

Then I will never whip my dog,
Nor will I give him pain;
Poor fellow, I will give him food,

And he'll love me again.

SONGS FOR LITTLE ONES.

"Will

THE CLOCKING HEN.

you take a walk with me,

My little wife, to-day?

There's barley in the barley-fields,
And hay-seed in the hay."

"Thank you," said the clocking hen; "I've something else to do;

I'm busy sitting on my eggs,
I cannot walk with you."

"Clock, clock, clock, clock,"

Said the clocking hen;

"My little chicks will soon be hatch'd,

I'll think about it then."

The clocking hen sat on her nest,

She made it in the hay;

And warm and snug beneath her breast
A dozen white eggs lay.

Crack, crack, went all the eggs,

Out dropp'd the chickens small! "Clock," said the clocking hen, "Now I have you all.

"Come along, my little chicks,
I'll take a walk with you."
"Hallo!" said the barn-door cock,
"Cock-a-doodle-doo."

AUNT EFFIE'S RHYMES.

A CHILD'S MORNING PRAYER.

I THANK Thee, Lord, for quiet rest,
And for Thy care of me;

Oh let me through the day be blest,
And kept from harm by Thee.

Oh! let me love Thee! kind Thou art
To children such as I;

Give me a gentle, holy heart,
Be Thou my friend on high.

BRITISH SPELLING BOOK.

THE wind is blowing cold,

And the snow is driving fast; The Autumn day has pass'd away, And Winter's come at last.

The cattle are in shed,

The flocks are in the fold, Around the hearth are joy and mirth,

Without is bitter cold.

Is there a single child

That is not blithe and gay, With heart so light and eye so bright,

On happy Christmas-day?

Yes, there are some, alas!

To whom it brings no joyThe widow and the fatherless,

The mother and her boy.